My Best Friend's Wedding Page #8

JULIANNE:

You okay? This is one of those

problem phones.

Lifts the toothbrush and tube of paste from her kit.

JULIANNE:

Right. Your role. You know guys

from Sports Illustrated, yes? I

mean, you can walk right in there...

Squeezes on the paste, lifts the brush to her mouth...

JULIANNE:

You could get access to letterhead,

for example.

JAMS it in her mouth, brushing as...

JULIANNE (mouthful)

... or even, maybe, their fax.

Stops. The funniest look on her face. Down to the toothpaste

tube...

Which says BEN GAY.

Oh.

INT. TIFFANY'S - MORNING

Julianne and Kimmy cruise the stately display cases. Everywhere,

the Tiffany logo, the silent, watchful staff in morning coats. As

they browse, Julianne takes a blueberry Danish from a paper sack,

and begins to eat.

The staff notices. So does Kim.

JULIANNE:

It's an homage thing.

Hmm?

JULIANNE:

Awkward girls grow up on Audrey

Hepburn movies. You wouldn't

understand.

Kimmy doesn't. But wipes a blue glob from Julianne's face.

KIMMY:

Anyway, I think you're wrong.

Wrong?

KIMMY:

What you were saying before.

Before?

KIMMY:

About Michael's job.

JULIANNE:

Oh, that. I forgot I even said

th...

KIMMY:

I just think you're wrong, is all.

JULIANNE:

Probably am. Forget I brought it

up.

Points to some jade pins. Kimmy wrinkles her nose.

KIMMY:

I mean, he loves his job.

JULIANNE:

Bad games, bad towns, bad pay, bad

flights, bad hotels, real bad food.

Homeless, rootless, lonely, maybe

your copy gets into one issue out

of four...

Smiles.

JULIANNE:

What's not to love?

None of this is lost on Kimmy. She's wondered the same.

KIMMY:

But he always says...

JULIANNE:

... whatever is manly and

independent.

Kim nods slowly. Way ahead of her.

JULIANNE:

Why would he trade that for

running, say, a big piece of

the PR at a powerful, complex,

challenging conglomerate like

your dad's?

Kim stares back. A strange look.

KIMMY:

That's just the sort of thing

my father and I discussed.

Julianne just blinks. Amazed.

JULIANNE:

I'm not stupid. Say, how

about this?

Pointing to tiny golden scissors in the novelty case. Kim so

absorbed by the main topic, she has to force herself to focus on...

KIMMY:

For the twins? What in the

world is th...

JULIANNE:

Gold nose hair clippers.

Points to the tiny hand-lettered sign. Indeed. Kimmy shrugs, not

quite it.

KIMMY:

So you don't think Michael's

as happy with his job as...

Julianne points to a matched pair of large...

KIMMY:

Gold dog collars? They don't

have dogs.

JULIANNE:

Hello.

Kim nods, oh. But can't keep her mind off...

KIMMY:

You think he'd accept?

Hmm?

KIMMY:

Michael. A job like that.

Oh, well...

JULIANNE:

By any yardstick that involves

sanity, it would be the greatest

thing that ever happened to him.

Present company excepted.

Kimmy nodding slowly. Her yearing achingly apparent.

JULIANNE:

On the other hand, he's proud.

Last thing a man wants to admit,

is being trapped in a dispiriting

dead-end job that can never

support a family.

A very sweet smile.

JULIANNE:

Throw a man a life preserver.

He'll say, "Thanks, anyway,

I'd rather drown."

Kim nods again. Right. They are so bonded at this moment.

KIMMY:

So... one almost has to...

JULIANNE:

Exactly.

KIMMY:

Exactly what?

JULIANNE:

What you said. Make it appear

that he's doing you the favor.

Kimmy bites her lip. Her eyes go down. Self-conscious to admit...

JULIANNE:

I couldn't really... do that.

After, you know...

Her voice trails off.

JULIANNE (kind, but wise)

... lying. All the time.

That brings the gray eyes up. Julianne bats her dark ones...

JULIANNE:

Oh, darling, my pitiful desires

and ambitions are dirt beneath

the manly boots of your priorities!

Kimmy has to smile small. A self-awe gal.

JULIANNE (pouring it on)

Two hundred seedy motels a year?

Dinners out of vending machines?

Waiting for you in vermin-infested

corridors of dark crotch-rot locker

rooms? This stuff makes me hot!!

KIMMY:

The very words I've used.

Julianne 'thinks it over.' Kimmy waits for guidance.

JULIANNE:

We make Dad your co-conspirator.

Michael does a favor for Walter.

Simple.

JULIANNE:

Walter's reorganizing his public

relations, needs a brilliant guy

who's close to him, who he can

completely trust.

Kimmy nodding. Hope overriding reason.

JULIANNE:

So you beg. Michael, please do

this for Daddy, please, please,

please, blah, blah, blah... it's

only for six months... it would

mean so much to me to help him out...

Turns up her palms. Viola!

KIMMY:

He'll see right through it.

JULIANNE:

Only. If he wants to.

They share a smile.

JULIANNE:

In six months, he'll be happy,

settled, successful...

KIMMY:

He won't get mad, huh?

MR. MOONEY (O.S.)

May I be of any help, whatsoever?

Mr. Mooney is the most gracious Brit salesperson ever to offer

kindness, intelligence and thoughtfulness to a customer. He is

large, sixty, with disappearing hair, watering eyes, and a manner

that makes you think of immediately hiring a butler.

JULIANNE:

Bridesmaid gifts for two, well,

assertive, outspoken, Tennessee

debutantes.

KIMMY (still focused)

He won't be mad?

JULIANNE (to Mooney)

Nothing here seems to quite capture

their distinctive personalities.

MR. MOONEY

Something customized, perhaps?

We can fashion most any item

from gold.

Ah. Julianne nodding. Reflecting.

MR. MOONEY

An object that might represent

what is closest. To their heart.

KIMMY (under her breath)

Don't even think dildo.

Julianne digs through her jumbled bag...

JULIANNE:

Could you do this...

Tossing an object on the counter...

JULIANNE:

In 24 carat?

It is a MASTERCARD. A gold one.

KIMMY (softly)

Bingo.

They smile at each other. More bonded than ever.

KIMMY:

You don't think he'll be mad.

A beat. Can Julianne even make herself do this?

JULIANNE:

Your call. You can live a lie.

In a fabulous selection of Red

Roof Inns. Or you can make one

desperate stab at hap...

KIMMY:

I just don't want to freak him

out.

What do you think? Julianne stares into the soft gray eyes. It's

now or never. The smile of a dear sister...

JULIANNE:

How mad could he get?

INT. FASHION RESTAURANT - LUNCH HOUR

Julianne enters with a really nervous Kimberly in tow. Approaches

the maitre d'. We CLOSE to hear...

MAITRE D'

Oh, Mr. Wallace and his guests

have retired to the humidor.

Points to an escalator, leading to the mezzanine. Behind a glass

wall, what looks like a British men's club. Thirty guys and a

billion cigars. As Julianne starts toward it...

MAITRE D'

Oh. Mademoiselle.

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