Onto today's joint from A DISH BEST KILLED, and this one's a real poboiler. It's the end of the idyllic three-day tryst for our star-crossed lesbian lovers, D-movie starlet/femme fatale Haven Crayce and her very 'personal' trainer, Jett Cargo, when Haven's husband, noted elderly film director Dart Crayce returns home from the hospital.
They then decide to kill him.
Later that evening ...
But first, Jett has an unexpected visitor.
EXT. 'THE SAFE HAVEN' HOUSEBOAT - REAR DECK - MORNING
Overcast and foggy. A bit of a chill. Wind FLAPS the sails.
Jett trains Haven on the deck. They both look sad.
Funny. No Trimmer. No Nola.
No stalking on Sunday.
What time is he supposed to get here?
Any minute now.
These last three days have been -- nice.
Really nice. It went by so fast.
Imagine what it’s going to be like after he’s --
I know. It’s all I can think about.
So when are we going to --
I don’t know.
Maybe we should wait a little while.
I can’t wait. I can’t stand it anymore, Jett.
I don’t wanna have to -- service him anymore.
I want this to be over with, so we can be together.
We have to do it tonight.
Yeah. We’ve only known each other a few days,
so no one will suspect there’s anything going on.
And besides, I’m doing all the heavy lifting.
There’s the hospital van. You better get going.
Okay. Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.
I don’t think the grieving widow should be weight training.
I’ll come see you.
(turns, eyes well up)
Okay, bye --
Jett hustles off down the gangplank in the other direction.
PUSH IN ON Haven. Looking to her right. Concerned smile.
Dart, honey! It’s so good to SEE you.
EXT. JETT’S APARTMENT BUILDING - MOMENTS LATER
Jett pulls out her keys. Opens her mailbox.
Sifts through the envelopes.
Unlocks, opens the front door.
MALE VOICE (O.C.)
She WHIRLS around, sees --
in the shadows of the front porch.
Jesus fucking Christ, you scared the shit out of me.
Jett, please -- I need your help.
I asked you to stay away from me.
I’ll call the fucking cops if you don’t leave, now.
I’ve been -- up for eight days.
I need, need to -- need to crash.
I just need to -- to crash for awhile.
Then I promise I’ll go. I promise.
I need your help. Please.
Can’t you sleep in your car?
In this neighborhood? In MY car?
(off her stare)
I’ll be good. I promise.
I just -- need to sleep.
Give me your car keys.
My -- keys?
Yeah. So you can’t rip me off
and split in the middle of the night.
(weak smile, tosses his keys)
How big is your couch?