Heathers Page #9

J.D.

Good plan.

VERONICA:

But before that, I'd like to see

Heather Chandler puke her guts out.

INT. HEATHER CHANDLER'S BEDROOM--DAY

HEATHER CHANDLER's bedroom is lushly and expensively furnished

with a glass coffee table as an eye-catching centerpiece.

HEATHER CHANDLER half-sleeps in twisted bedsheets as MRS.

CHANDLER'S VOICE attacks through the door.

MRS. CHANDLER (O.S.)

We are leaving soon for your

grandmother's. If you care to join us...

HEATHER CHANDLER

Bag that.

MRS. CHANDLER (O.S.)

Is that a "No" in your lingo?

HEATHER CHANDLER gives the voice behind the door "the finger."

HEATHER CHANDLER

Lingo this.

INT. THE CHANDLER KITCHEN--DAY

The sound of a lock being jimmied is heard moments before

VERONICA and J.D. burst through the door.

VERONICA:

(quietly)

Trust me. She skips the Saturday

morning trip to Grandma's even

when she's not hungover.

J.D.

Then let's just concoct ourselves a

little hangover cure that'll induce

her to spew red, white, and blue.

VERONICA opens the refrigerator. J.D. opens the cupboard

beneath the sink.

VERONICA:

What about orange juice and milk?

What's the upchuck factor on that?

J.D. holds up a bottle of cleaning fluid.

J.D.

I'm a No Rust Build-up man, myself.

VERONICA:

Don't be a dick. That stuff'll

kill her.

VERONICA and J.D. make queasy eye-contact. VERONICA descends

back into the refrigerator with some worked-up enthusiasm as

J.D. suavely pours bits of various toxic containers

(detergent, scouring powder) into a glass beer mug.

VERONICA:

O-kay. We'll cook up some soup and put

it in a Coke. Sick, eh? Now should it

be Chicken-Noodle or Bean-with-Bacon?

J.D.

Man Veronica, pull the plug on that

sh*t. I say we go with Big Blue.

J.D. raises the glass filled with what is now a strange blue

liquid. VERONICA stares at the glass, scared by her own

thoughts.

VERONICA:

What are you doing? You just

can't go.....Besides, she'd never

drink anything that looks like that.

J.D.

Okay we'll use this. She won't be

able to tell what she's drinking.

J.D. pulls down a ceramic cup and triumphantly pours the

poisonously blue beer glass contents into it. An eerie pause

ensues. VERONICA takes out a milk carton and a container of

orange juice. She struts back to the counter in anger, icily

muttering.

VERONICA:

Just give me a cup, jerk.

J.D. sheepishly pulls down an identical ceramic cup. VERONICA

tears it from him and pours some milk and then some orange

juice into the cup.

VERONICA:

Milk and orange juice. Hmmmm. Maybe

we could cough a phlegm globber in

it or something.

J.D.

Yeah, great.

They both start coughing harshly.

VERONICA:

No luck? Well, milk and orange juice'll

do quite nicely. Quite nicely.

J.D.

Chick-en.

VERONICA:

You're not funny.

J.D. turns on his heel and slinks away. VERONICA glares down

at the mess of toxic containers.

With both arms, VERONICA clumps the toxic containers together

and drops beneath the sink to put them away. J.D. swaggers

back into the kitchen as VERONICA bobs back into view.

J.D.

I'm sorry.

J.D. kisses the back of her neck. VERONICA closes her eyes

with a grudging smile.

VERONICA:

Bonehead.

VERONICA dreamily reaches out to one of the two ceramic cups.

Not the one with milk and orange juice in it.

INT. HEATHER CHANDLER'S BEDROOM--DAY

HEATHER CHANDLER angelically sleeps as VERONICA and J.D.

enter.

VERONICA:

Morning, Heather.

Like a lion, HEATHER CHANDLER rouses herself up.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Veronica. And Jesse James. Quelle

surprise. Hear about Veronica's

affection for regurgitation?

VERONICA:

We both said a lot of things we

didn't mean, last night.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Did we? How the hell'd you get in here?

J.D.

Veronica knew you'd have a hangover.

So I whipped this up. Family recipe.

J.D. holds out the ceramic cup. HEATHER CHANDLER snorts.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Did you put a phlegm globber in it

or something? I'm not drinking that piss.

J.D.

I knew this stuff would be too intense.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Intense? Grow up. You think I'll drink

it just because you call me chicken.

They do. They're right.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Just give me the cup, jerk.

HEATHER CHANDLER rises from the bed and struts to J.D. in

anger. She takes the cup, slams her head back and downs it

all.

She then launches her head forward, her face contorted in

agony.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Corn nuts!

HEATHER CHANDLER'S eyes slam shut and her limp body crashes

through the glass coffee table. VERONICA and J.D. freeze.

J.D.

Something tells me you picked up

the wrong cup.

VERONICA:

No sh*t, sherlock. I can't believe

it. I just killed my best friend.

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