My Best Friend's Wedding Page #21

... runs. Back Down the path. Michael BOLTING after her, SHOUTING

her name. A frozen moment, and...

... Julianne TAKES OFF after him. All three running, SCREAMING

their various emotions at the top of their lungs, as workmen stop

to watch from neighboring countries.

Kimmy, staring from halfway there, has an insurmountable lead.

LEAPS into her convertible and PEELS OUT, just TEARING up the

gravel as she ROCKETS out of sight. No way to catch her. Still...

... Michael is racing for the cars. Julianne, sprinting her guts

out, losing ground with every stride. Michael JUMPS into a

Cherokee...

JULIANNE:

MICHAEL, DON'T, YOU'LL NEVER

CATCH HER!!

He GRINDS the gears. She keeps RUNNING. His engine FIRES.

JULIANNE:

SHE HAS TOO BIG A LEAD AND SHE

DRIVES LIKE A RABID ANIMAL!!!

He BLASTS OFF. She keeps going. Gasping for air, clutching her side,

she's dying here. Slams into a florist's truck, looks inside, sh*t!

Next, a butcher's van, looks inside, Jesus!

JULIANNE:

(to the world at large)

DOESN'T ANYBODY LEAVE KEYS

ANYMORE? WHATEVER HAPPENED TO

TRUST??

Up ahead, Michael has STALLED the Cherokee. She still has a chance,

DASHES to the next van. BORNSTEIN EXTERMINATION, a handsome

rendering of a rat above the TOXIC MATERIALS warning FLINGS the

door open. Stumbles in. Keys!

JULIANNE (O.S.)

THANK GOD, A SAMARITAN!!

Michael SPEEDS away. She KICKS the ratmobile in gear.

LURCHES off.

INT. RATMOBILE, DOWNTOWN CHICAGO - DAY

Julianne tearing through traffic, desperately struggling to keep

Michael's Cherokee in view, while she shrieks into her cellular...

JULIANNE:

IT IS NOT GOING WELL!

Down the block, Michael WHIPS around a corner. We follow suit to see

his destination dead ahead. Union Station. The DISPATCHER RADIO

intrudes...

DISPATCHER (O.S.)

Uh, Unit Four Baker Charlie,

how we cookin' on that Skokiie

infestation?

Now she's steering the car, tearing at the radio controls, and

screaming into the phone cradled on her shoulder...

JULIANNE:

THIS IS WHAT COMES OF TELLING

THE TRUTH!

FIELD MAN (O.S.)

Copy, dispatcher...

JULIANNE:

OR EVEN PART OF IT!

FIELD MAN (O.S.)

Uh, what happens if you got

that methyl-ethyl sh*t on

your hands?

Michael RIPS into the train station's parking lot. We SWERVE

around a taxi, CUT OFF Harley, CAREEN into the lot...

JULIANNE:

GETTING WHAT YOU DESERVE IS

NOT FAIR!

DISPATCHER (O.S.)

Uh, you got maybe thirty seconds

before you're sterile. For God's

sake don't touch yourself, or

anything.

Up ahead, Michael is OUT of his jeep and running.

JULIANNE:

AND I HATE TALKING TO YOUR

MACHINE!

She SLAMS on the brakes, THROWING herself against the wheel.

YOUNGER FIELD MAN (O.S.)

Uh, this is One Monkey Zebra.

It wasn't bees in the gal's

wall, it was cats!

She TEARS the door open. SCRAMBLE OUT...

YOUNGER FIELD MAN (O.S.)

She says gas 'em, anyway,

she'll pay cash. Uh... how

do I pay this?

WITH Julianne now, RACING through the lot, Michael vanishes INTO

the Station, she PLUNGES in after him, BOUNCING off bystanders,

apologizing, lunging on, gasping for breath, past exhaustion,

threatening clumsily through the crowd like a staggering drunk,

catching a lucky glimpse as he heads...

... DOWN a staircase to the TRACKS. My God, what's he doing? A

second wind, fueled by panic, and she BOLTS after him, DANCING down

the steep staircase somehow without killing herself, reaching the

concourse to see him, running for...

... Track 29, a train already RUMBLING, ready to pull out, she

SPRINTS after him.

JULIANNE:

MICHAEL!!

He DISAPPEARS behind the train, she FALLS, skids, springs up,

pushes through gaping onlookers, almost there, the train PULLS

AWAY...

JULIANNE:

NNNOOOO!!!

But he's just standing there. His back to us. Watching it go.

Her body nearly collapses with relief. She pushes herself on, but

her legs aren't working right in their maxed-out fatigue, and she

lopes and staggers until she comes up behind him. He's still lost

in thought, staring after the train.

She tries to speak, but there's no breath. So she puts her hands

on her knees and just GASPS for air like a dog. Wheezing, panting,

trying once more to speak, but she can't yet, and then he casually

turns and...

... JUMPS out of his skin! A heart attack seeing her.

JULIANNE:

(croaks)

Don't speak!

He just blinks at this sweaty, ripped-up, maniacal figure.

MICHAEL:

Uh. I saw that moving...

JULIANNE:

DON'T SPEAK!

FLINGING both her hands across his mouth. A frozen beat. He nods,

okay. Cautiously, she takes her hands away. At least she has made

him smile, in spite of everything. At least she's done that.

JULIANNE:

I have to make a confession.

Another confession. Besides

that I love you. This is even

worse.

This. He's waiting to hear.

JULIANNE:

The E-mail? You thought Walter

sent your boss? I wrote that.

You. WHAT?! Synapse overload.

MICHAEL:

You're not saying you actually...

you're saying that y...

JULIANNE:

(stricken with remorse)

... wrote it, yeah. I'm the

bad guy.

MICHAEL:

ARE YOU CRAZY?

She nods her head wildly, hair flopping.

MICHAEL:

ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY INSANE??

Bigger nodding.

MICHAEL:

ARE YOU ON DRUGS???

Shakes her head, like a two-year-old.

MICHAEL:

(pacing in circles)

I mean, do you realize what

you've... well, of course you

realize, that's why you're

confessing, I mean... I mean...

how could you do that?

JULIANNE:

I didn't know it would get

sent. I just wanted you to...

get mad at Kimmy... and...

And watching. As this begins to sink in.

JULIANNE:

I've done nothing but slimy,

underhanded, despicable, not

even terribly imaginative,

things. Ever since I got

here. Trying to...

Staring in his eyes. Eyes she can't read at this point.

JULIANNE:

... to win you. To win you

back.

Tears in her own eyes now. Big ones.

JULIANNE:

And I was blinded by love.

Like you said.

Shaking her head...

JULIANNE:

But that doesn't excuse any

part of it. I am pond scum.

No...

JULIANNE:

Actually. Lower. I am the fungus

that feeds on pond scum. Lower.

The layer of mucous that cruds up

the fung...

MICHAEL:

Lower.

JULIANNE:

(agreeing)

Lower.

MICHAEL:

The pus that infects the mucous

that cruds up the fungus.

And to her amazement. The trace of a smile...

MICHAEL:

(softly)

On the other hand, thank you.

She blinks at that. Which squeezes out a tear.

MICHAEL:

For loving me that much, that

way.

He shrugs. Just above a whisper...

MICHEL:

It's pretty flattering.

JULIANNE:

Except it makes me fungus.

MICHAEL:

Well, that part I knew.

She's never loved him more.

JULIANNE:

So you have to marry Kim.

Because she will actually make

you happy. I, in contrast, am

a shallow, neurotic psychopath,

with relatively little to offer.

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