Something Borrowed

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FADE IN:

CLOSE ON A WOMAN’S FACE, BEAUTIFUL AND STRONG. SHE’S CRYING.

INT. KAT’S BEDROOM - NEW YORK CITY - DAY

The woman is KAT ELLIS, 30. Tears stream down her face as

she sits cross-legged amid the detritus of a packing frenzy.

There is an unfortunate green bridesmaid’s dress hanging on

the back of the door.

Kat’s pain is palpable. She buries her head in her lap.

Suddenly, the doorbell RINGS.

Kat sits bolt upright, wide eyed. She looks around in

disbelief. How did this happen? What is she doing on the

floor?

KAT:

(sweetly)

Hold on!

INT. HALLWAY

A BIKE MESSENGER stands outside Kat’s door. He busts a

covert ipod dance while he waits.

KAT (O.S.)

Coming!

INT. KAT’S FOYER

Kat wipes her face and inhales, summoning deep calm.

INT. HALLWAY

The Bike Messenger looks up as the door swings open.

Kat is a changed woman. Nothing like the girl we saw on the

floor. You’d never know she had been crying. Or that she

even knows how.

KAT:

I’m so sorry. I wasn’t quite ready

for you.

Kat props the door open with her foot as she slides a plane

ticket into an envelope. She scribbles a name on the

envelope, seals it, and hands it to him.

BIKE MESSENGER:

Lady, you said this was a rush. I

can’t rush anything anywhere if you

don’t give it to me.

Kat looks down at the envelope, she’s still holding on to it.

KAT:

It’s a plane ticket.

BIKE MESSENGER:

So it is.

KAT:

For a date.

(beat)

For my date. To my sister’s

wedding. In London.

(beat)

He’s never met my family.

BIKE MESSENGER:

I hear that noise.

Kat wills herself to surrender the envelope.

BIKE MESSENGER (CONT’D)

You need to let go.

KAT:

Yeah.

(beat)

You’re going to have to help me.

The Bike Messenger gently tugs the envelope out of her hand.

Kat smiles.

KAT (CONT’D)

Thank you.

The Bike Messenger looks at her with genuine concern.

INT. KAT’S APARTMENT

Racing against time, Kat throws open a linen closet to reveal

three neat rows of plastic bins, all perfectly labeled. Kat

reaches into the bin marked "TRAVEL" and pulls out a prepacked

toiletry kit.

Kat pulls a box marked “LONDON” out from underneath her bed.

She opens it.

Pushing aside an old private school uniform and some letters,

she pulls out a worn London A-Z, a Ziploc marked “ADAPTERS,”

and her passport.

She’s about to close the box when she sees an old photo. In

it, a GORGEOUS GUY kisses Kat on the cheek. He’s holding the

camera himself -- it’s blurred and goofy, but full of love.

Kat jams it back in the box and shoves it under the bed.

EXT. NEW YORK STREET

The Bike Messenger darts in and out of traffic, avoiding the

throngs of NEW YORKERS enjoying this crisp fall day.

INT. KAT’S APARTMENT

Kat races through her apartment, packing, cleaning, getting

ready. Her place is small yet put together. It’s Crate and

Barrel meets Martha. But in a good way.

INT. KAT’S BATHROOM

Kat, finally still, stares into the mirror as she brushes her

teeth. There’s a strange intensity to it, like she’s

scrubbing away the last of her distress.

EXT. BROWNSTONE APARTMENT

The Bike Messenger passes a waiting Town Car as he pulls up

to a stoop. He hefts his bike, runs up the stairs, and slips

the envelope into the door of...

INT. BROWNSTONE APARTMENT

A tasteful flat. Stylish yet masculine. A MAN stoops to

pick up the envelope. We don’t see his face, just his

ordered, minimalist apartment as he zips his carry-on and

walks out the door.

EXT. NEW YORK STREET

His face obscured, the man steps into the purring Town Car.

EXT. KAT’S APARTMENT BUILDING

A TAXI DRIVER slams his trunk as Kat gets in. Kat’s

apprehensive face peers out the window as they pull away.

INT. JFK AIRPORT

A ridiculously long line snakes towards the X-Ray machines.

Latte in hand, Kat cuts right through the middle.

Irate PASSENGERS scowl at her. Kat does this every day. She

should be used to the looks by now. She’s not. She

pointedly flashes the crowd her AIRPORT EMPLOYEE BADGE as she

sails through security.

INT. CUSTOMER SERVICE - JFK AIRPORT

Kat enters the Virgin Atlantic customer service hub. It’s as

cramped as it is busy. A FEMALE EMPLOYEE approaches with a

question. Kat puts up her hand.

KAT:

I’m off duty. I do not exist.

Don’t even look at me.

The lady backs off. As Kat hurries away, a HARRIED EMPLOYEE

matches her step and launches in.

HARRIED EMPLOYEE

I’ve got a tour group from Taipei

trapped in customs, a dead poodle

in Cargo parked at T9, and a lost

grandmother staggering around

International asking for her mommy.

Oh, and there’s a guy on two who

was stuck with his in-laws for a

week because we couldn’t get him

out of Dulles. The in-laws aren’t

speaking to him anymore and, for

some reason, he’s pissed.

Kat’s trying not to get sucked in.

KAT:

I would love to help you.

Sincerely. But my sister’s getting

married this weekend, I haven’t

seen my family in two years, and my

flight leaves in fifteen minutes.

The Harried Employee looks like he’s going to lose it. Kat

struggles, then caves.

KAT (CONT’D)

You take Taipei. Tammy’s schnauzer

just had puppies.

Put her on the dead dog. Park reps

with wheelchairs at every john in T8.

If Grandma just got off a trans-con,

she’s gotta go sometime.

Kat starts to walk away.

HARRIED EMPLOYEE

What about line two?

Kat spins around and glares at him.

INT. OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER

On the phone, Kat is in the middle of saying way too much.

KAT:

(into phone)

I completely understand, sir. You

just want your in-laws to see you

the way you see yourself. Or at

least the way you would see

yourself if you didn’t feel so

victimized by them.

At that moment, a CLIPBOARD manager walks by. He overhears

Kat’s diatribe and is incredulous.

CLIPBOARD:

Hello? Calls may be monitored for

quality control?

KAT:

Huh?

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