Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, where things are about to come to a boil.
White slave trafficker/Marine Bland Loosener has arrived on the scene at White Line Pictures, hot in pursuit of wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster, who has taken the employees hostage, and is holed up in the conference room ...
Meanwhile, the media has just arrived in the form of 'Crime Time News,' featuring anchor-babe Rebecca Diaz, hot for this late breaking story ...
And what of our hostage-taking, revenge-seeking Friday?
She's bickering with the executives, angry as hell, and has a semi-automatic weapon trained on ...
The studio's 'Best Picture' Oscar.
INT. ELEVATOR - AT THAT MOMENT
Bland rides up slowly. He PUNCHES the ‘up’ button repeatedly.
Reporting for duty, SIR --
Gears GRIND. A loud POP. The car stops.
Mechanical failure, Sergeant!
He GRABS the phone. Starts pressing buttons.
Command to base! Command to base!
EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE
A NEWS CREW comes barrelling through the doors.
REBECCA DIAZ, delicious in mini-skirt and boots,
portly BALD CAMERAMAN
and a great-looking BLACK LIGHTING GUY.
Rebecca dashes over to Mr. George. FLASHES her credentials.
Rebecca Diaz, Crime TV.
Yes. We’re here for The Siege.
‘The Siege?’ What is -- The Siege?
Don’t you watch television?
Friday Foster has taken a dozen hostages
in your conference room with a semi-automatic weapon.
I don’t watch televisions. They are berry, berry bad --
Friday Foster? Has taken hostages?
Yes. And it’s MY STORY, understand?
Now what fucking floor is the conference room on?
I’m not going to tell you. You are a berry rude lady.
(looks off camera)
The light stopped on six. They must be on six.
Alright, okay -- they’re on six.
But you must sign the book before I let you in.
‘Let me in?’ LET ME IN?
Do you realize who the FUCK I am?
(to the crew)
C’mon boys, let’s leave Idi Amin to his precious little book.
They dash over to the elevator.
Hey! Idi Amin was from GHANA.
I am from JAMAICA, you racist stoopid-woman!
The crew watches the elevator lights. Not moving.
One is stopped on three. The other on six.
Goddamit. They’re not moving.
Let’s take the stairs. Great cardio.
Fuck that. You want me to have a heart attack?
Actually, yes -- I’d love it.
Then maybe I could get a crew that cared about
GETTING THE FUCKING STORY.
Now, move it, ton of fun. March.
EXT. SIXTH FLOOR - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie closes the phone box in the elevator.
You are a genius. How long will they hold the elevator?
Until they figure out it’s a fake,
we probably have about fifteen minutes.
EXT. ACROSS THE STREET - AT THAT MOMENT
A gorgeous, mini-suited FEMALE REPORTER
is doing man-on-the street interviews.
Next to her is a SPICOLI-LIKE STONER DUDE (18),
wearing a FREE FRIDAY T-shirt. Sips from a longneck.
This is Holly Hand, News 5 On Your Side,
and we’re here in front of White Line Pictures,
where a crowd has assembled for The Siege.
(points the mike at Stoner)
Your T-shirt -- is Friday Foster a hero to you?
SPICOLI-LIKE STONER DUDE
Friday is the MAN. With tits. Grand Theft Gnarly.
What’s your damage, Heather?
You have a brain tumor for breakfast?
An ALTERNA-CHICK (17) with dayglo hair
in a BONUS POINTS T-shirt GRABS the mike.
Holds a large super-soaker SQUIRT GUN.
A big, bright PAGEANT SMILE!?
And SOAKS her. Stoner fires up a joint. ROARS with laughter.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
Friday waves the Uzi at the suits. Jimmy Joe listens.
So they offered me a deal, optioned the script,
got the wheels in motion, fast-tracked my payment,
I quit my job --
And then they pulled the plug.
AFTER the story had hit the trades,
after they fucking OUTED ME.
You fucking promised, asshole.
So what do you reckon yer gonna do?
Jimmy Joe, shut up the fuck up.
You’re egging her on.
Idiot. You could become an accessory.
Like vat, a handbag?
Shut up, all a’ y’all. This lady’s goddamn angry,
and we’re gonna have to figure out a way to satisfy her --
or else we’re gonna have ourselves a Dog Day Afternoon here.
Then let’s hurry this the fuck up.
I’ve got a story meeting at ten.
FUCK your story meeting. THIS is the story.
And I want a news crew in here, NOW.
The revolution WILL be televised.
And what are you gonna tell them --
that we’re being held hostage by a SCREENWRITER?
You bet your fucking ASS.
Friday raises her MAGNUM. Points it at Don.
Everybody GASPS. She turns. Takes aim at --
AN ACADEMY AWARD
sitting on a shelf at the far end of the room.
CLICKS the safety.
I’d like to thank God, my mom, my agent --
And SHOOTS -- BANG. The Oscar SHATTERS.
And all the LITTLE PEOPLE that FUCKED ME.
You, you shot --
Our best picture OSCAR.
I never watch the Academy Awards.
I’m more of an Independent Spirit kinda gal.