Dirt Page #4

AT THE OUTDOOR TABLES

Lucy sits with her brother, LEO. He’s in his 30s, bi,

working the whole urban neo-Mr. Clean look; worked bod,

shaved head, earrings in both ears, neck tat.

LEO:

I don’t understand...you blacked

out and woke up with some stallion

in your bed?

LUCY:

Yeah. Naked. Both of us.

LEO:

I gotta start tagging along.

LUCY:

Don’t be an a**hole, Leo.

I...screwed this guy or something,

and I don’t remember.

LEO:

How many drinks did you have?

20.

LUCY:

You know me...drinking and bars

don’t really mix. I had one

martini.

LEO:

You don’t remember anything?

LUCY:

I guess I remember him sitting next

to me...then nothing. Is there

such a thing as blackout sex?

LEO:

Nothing?

LUCY:

Nothing. Until I woke up.

LEO:

Sis. You got roofied.

LUCY:

What?

LEO:

Rocker boy roofied you.

It dawns on Lucy...of course.

LUCY:

Son of a b*tch. Sonofabitch!

OFF LUCY, we TRACK a few tables down, where Holt sits with

his manager, CHERYL STEEN, short and cute with a huge rack

and an even bigger crush on Holt.

CHERYL:

Baby...baby...I’m so sorry.

HOLT:

I mean...what the-

CHERYL:

I know sweetie...they suck.

They’re idiots. If you could get a

little press, or even like, do Will

& Grace or something...

HOLT:

I’m not doing f***in’ Will & Grace.

What did Sydney Pollack say

exactly?

21.

CHERYL:

I couldn’t get him on the phone.

JJ went on this whole rant about

how you’re not “bankable” or “hot”

or whatever-

HOLT:

Awright, awright...I get it.

Holt stares into his grilled vegetable salad. Looks up tosee LUCY staring at him. She smiles and waves. He waves

back.

ON LUCY AND LEO:

LUCY:

Oh Christ, here she comes.

LEO:

Look at her, like she could eat us

both.

An older woman, DOROTHY SPILLER, wild-eyed but very put-

together, heads toward them, pissed off, a Belizean NURSE on

her arm.

LUCY:

Hi, mom.

DOROTHY:

Batida tried to poison me this

morning.

Batida, the nurse, rolls her eyes. These two loathe each

other.

LEO:

And yet, here you stand.

DOROTHY:

Tried to give me a mango.

(to Batida, furious)

What’s wrong with you?

BATIDA:

What’s wrong is you’re still alive.

LUCY:

I’m sure she didn’t know about your

allergy.

DOROTHY:

My tongue puffs up like a blowfish.

22.

LUCY:

Well, looks like you made it. Do

you want your Cobb Salad?

DOROTHY:

Yes, I want my Cobb Salad...my mind

is like an old sponge and even I

know I always have the Cobb Salad.

Leo nods to a waiter...the Cobb Salad.

DOROTHY (CONT’D)

Did you read Maureen Dowd this

morning in the Times? Made a real

case for Syria.

Leo glances at Lucy...here we go.

DOROTHY (CONT’D)

Now there’s a journalist.

Lucy grits her teeth.

LUCY:

Yeah, she’s great.

DOROTHY:

She didn’t squander her journalism

degree.

LUCY:

(for the millionth time)

Not like some people.

DOROTHY:

Well, as long as you’re

happy...maybe if you had a

family...

LUCY:

Then I could pass this glorious

mother/daughter legacy on to her.

DOROTHY:

Well...more likely you than Mr.

Clean here...out homo-ing every

night...

LEO:

I’m bi, mom-

DOROTHY:

Ahh!! Don’t say it! God!

LUCY:

Hey, Dorothy. That’s your son.

23.

DOROTHY:

Bi...what is that? Faggotry forcowards.

LUCY:

Hey mom, let’s get back on what a

disappointment I am...I feel that

one’s really got legs.

Leo looks at her with gratitude, but still says:

LEO:

I can take care of myself, Lu.

LUCY:

(smiling)

Actually, no, you can’t.

They share a moment of conspiracy in the misery of their

mother.

The Cobb Salad is deposited in front of Dorothy.

DOROTHY:

What’s this? Where’s my breakfast?

OVER THE IVY:

The giant mass of clouds swirls. Don stares up at it while

the world moves around him.

INT. TRANSCOMMUNICATION MEDIA CONSOLIDATED

MOVING FAST...Lucy. She may be a mess off the clock, but

Lucy is back in tiger shark mode at the office. Some coworkers

see her and literally flee in the opposite direction.

Some hand her proofs. Some beg favors. Some simply suck up.

ALEXANDER BARROW falls into step next to Lucy. While he is

technically her boss and the publisher of the media group,

she’s the one who runs the day to day and without whom the

thing wouldn’t function.

Barrow wears an absurdly sharp bespoke suit, walks with an

actual swagger, and speaks with a thick Australian accent.

BARROW:

Why’d you have guys on Prince

Tyreese?

LUCY:

(superfuckincool)

He’s the basketball player?

24.

BARROW:

Yes he’s the goddamn basketball

player. He’s the highest paid

spade in the world.

LUCY:

We always have people on him. He’s

got a squeaky clean family man

image and he’s a total slimeball.

That’s what people want us to do.

Barrow looks at her blankly.

LUCY (CONT’D)

Produce slimeballs. We’re either

chronicling the meteoric rise of

some dipshit as they crawl out of

the slime or taking him off the top

of the caviar pile and pitching him

into the sh*t with the rest of us.

That’s what we do, Alex. And I do

it better than anybody else. But I

guess it’s hard to know that when

all you do is take advertisers out

to Lord of the Dance and review our

expense reports. I pad mine, by

the way.

Barrow, somewhat used to her rants, plows ahead.

BARROW:

Did you get anything on Tyreese?

LUCY:

Why? You want an autographed ball?

(shakes her head)

Sonofabitch loses us every time.

BARROW:

You realize that Transcommunication

Media has a 30 percent interest in

the team.

LUCY:

Shame on you, Alex. As journalists

we’re not supposed to cave to

corporate interests.

BARROW:

Is that how you get through the

night? Pretending to be ajournalist?

LUCY:

(caught, glibness gone for

a second)

(MORE)

25.

LUCY (CONT'D)

No.

(recovering)

How do you get through the night?

They round the corner in the art department, where Don stands

at a light table. He uses a loop to make his selects.

Don quickly covers the Prince Tyreese photos he’s working on

and puts some shots from the premiere on top of them.

BARROW:

Don Konkey! The last pap to shoot

on film.

Don flinches, brought out of his reverie in the photos.

DON:

Hi, Mr. Barrow.

He stares at Lucy. They share a moment of quiet conspiracy.

LUCY:

Hi, Don.

DON:

Hi.

Now Don looks down at his feet. Barrow plows ahead.

BARROW:

Really great job on the Holt

McLaren and Julia Myers of it all.

Very nice. You’re a terrific

playmaker...keep it up.

Don doesn’t answer. Just keeps working. Finally Barrow just

starts off. He stops and turns back to Lucy.

BARROW (CONT’D)

You’ll let me know if you turn up

anything on Prince Tyreese.

LUCY:

(cold)

You’re always my first call, Alex.

Barrow exits.

LUCY (CONT’D)

Don?

Don stops his work and looks at Lucy. Looks away.

DON:

Yes.

26.

LUCY:

See if you can get any dirt on the

lead singer of a band called

Student Driver. His name is Kai...

something.

DON:

‘Kay.

INT. JULIA MEYER’S BIG HOLLYWOOD HILLS HOUSE -- DAY

Holt sits in front of Julia’s massive plasma screen watching

TV.

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