Onto today's bleak scenario from A DISH BEST KILLED. When we last left our murderous couple, D-movie starlet/femme fatale Haven Crayce and corn-fed lesbian/personal trainer Jett Targo, things were getting quite steamy. And now that Haven's husband, elderly film director Dart, is going to the hospital to have some tests run after his horrible 'accident,' it leaves the ladies free to get a little naughty ... and plot his death.
EXT. HOUSEBOAT - DAY
The little person smiles, turns, and skittles down the gangplank.
What’s going on here?
Fucking nosy midget. Spying on me.
We’re going to have to do it soon.
Have you thought of anything yet?
Yeah. His insulin pump?
What about it?
I’ve been researching what happens if it fails --
MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Top o’ the mornin,’ Mrs. Crayce!
Haven turns, sees --
‘BING’ BIRMINGHAM, MD (70’S).
Tall, hulking with a big gut, shock of white hair.
Gap-toothed smile in a soft, doughy face.
Waddling up the gangplank with his doctor’s bag.
Dr. Birmingham. Nice to see you.
Gorgeous day for a workout.
I see you’ve hired a trainer.
(offers his hand to Jett)
Bing Birmingham, MD.
But you can call me Dr. Bing.
(takes hand, shakes)
Dr. -- Bing. Jett Targo, hi.
PUSH IN ON Bing. Suddenly serious.
Let’s go see the patient.
INT. CRAYCE HOUSEBOAT - MASTER BEDOOM - MOMENTS LATER
Dart lies in bed, scowling. Dr. Bing holds a stethoscope on Dart’s chest.
Haven and Jett stand nearby, watching.
Heart rate is a bit high --
I’d like you to come to St. Luke’s for a couple of days
so I can run some tests.
No hospitals. I hate hospitals.
Can’t you run tests -- here?
I’m sorry, but I want to run a cat scan,
do an MRI, some blood work --
No hospitals, godammit.
Still feisty. That’s good. You’re a fighter.
But I’m sorry, Dart, I’m going to have to insist.
He pulls out his cell phone. Punches a number. Listens.
Yes. This is Dr. Bing Birmingham.
I have a patient I’d like to admit --
PUSH IN ON Haven and Jett. Exchanging nervous glances.
A CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE
is gripped by red-nailed hands. The cork POPS.
INT. MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT
Shades are drawn. Candles are flickering. Soft music bubbles.
In bed are Haven, saucy in red panties and bra.
And Jett, suave in a black tank top.
Cut arm muscles glistening.
A champagne bottle erupts in a geyser of FOAM.
Haven and Jett try to catch it with their flutes. LAUGHING.
Shit! It’s getting all over the bed!
So we’ll wash the sheets. Who’s gonna complain?
Jett takes a sip. Haven GUZZLES hers.
(pours another, raises glass)
A toast --
A toast --
To three days all by ourselves.
To wanton acts of illicit desire.
They CLINK. Drink.
That sounds like a line from a movie.
That Killing Feeling.
The one where two guys rob a bank --
Farley Granger and Sal Mineo.
With a homoerotic subtext that gives a new meaning
to the phrase riding off into the sunset.
Haven puts her hand on Jett’s thigh.
Speaking of illicit desire --
Jett leans over. Kisses Haven softly. Touches her face.
You are -- so beautiful.
Haven smiles. Thinking. A storm cloud passes. Bites her lip.
We have to come up with our plan.
Right away. We don’t have much time.
We’re being watched.
(grabs her glass, takes a sip)
I’ve been thinking. I think I have an idea.
What if the battery died in his insulin pump?
But I change the battery once a week.
But what if you put in a defective battery?
By mistake. On purpose.
There would be no suspicion.
If you didn’t change the batteries,
then it would be suspicious.
But if you put in a defective battery,
by mistake --
That’s fucking brilliant.
But where do we get a defective battery?
We drain a new one.
Put one in a flashlight or something.
Leave it on until it’s almost dead.
So how long -- would it take?
How long would what take?
For him to -- you know.
I dunno. A couple hours?
Maybe a little longer.
He’ll go into insulin shock,
which at his age would be fatal.
But what am I supposed to do while he’s --
You screen a movie every night, right?
YES. But, wait -- most of those movies are short.
A little over an hour.
So you pick a long one.
I just saw A Place In The Sun,
and it’s over two hours.
Perfect. I’ve never seen it,
and he’ll be impressed I want to.
And if we have little wine, he’ll fall asleep --
Then it’s a plan.
They raise their glasses. Toast.
To -- doing this.
To -- gether.
Straight down the line.
They drink. Drain their glasses.
Jett takes the bottle.
Slowly pours champagne on Haven’s thigh.
Hey! What are you doing? That’s COLD.
Jett smiles, leans down. Starts licking it off.
Haven writhes in ecstasy. Little kitty moans.
Jett GRABS the comforter --
And PULLS IT over them.
Wait, that’s --
Yeah, RIGHT THERE.
Oh MY GOD.