Onto today's joint from LEGS, and this one's a real hum-dinger.
The plot thickens when lipstick lesbian private eye Carrie Love is hired to find a Stanley Kubrick-loving guy's missing wife, who turns out to be a crew member of a certain demented snuff film director ...
INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY
The score from A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. LOUD.
A bland suburban living room somewhere deep in the Valley.
MICHAEL SAMMS, (36) a piggy-eyed, shifty slug of a man,
sits on the couch watching TV, eating chips. Picking his foot.
We see on the coffee table a stack of DVD’s, a box of Kleenex --
and a tube of lubricant.
A phone RINGS. He ignores it, eyes glued to the screen.
Malcolm MacDowell's eyes are viciously held open with clamps.
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Samms gets up, walks, watching the screen.
Fucking Kubric. Fucking genius.
INT. SAMMS' KITCHEN - DAY
He listens to the answering machine.
Hello there, kinky sound man, it's your fearless leader.
The shoot's on for tomorrow at eleven. Be there or be square.
And don't forget to call the female dick. She's the next one.
EXT. SAMMS' DRIVEWAY - DUSK
Samms opens the mailbox, pulls out a large manila envelope.
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.
EXT. CARRIE'S PATIO - DUSK
A sexy, Chris Isaak-kinda croon washes over --
Carrie. Resplendent on a chaise, glorious in red lipstick,
shades and a killer bikini. Her tiny cell phone chirps.
INT. SAMMS' KITCHEN - DUSK
Samms talks on the phone, holds up a business card.
Yeah, hi -- is this "Carrie Love, Private Investigations" -- uh --
(squints at the card)
"Fast, cheap and out of control?"
SPLIT SCREEN WITH:
EXT. CARRIE'S PATIO - CONTINUOUS
(on the phone)
That's a strange way to advertise your business.
It gets attention. You called me, didn't you?
You still there?
Uh, yeah -- I need you to find my wife.
She's been missing since this morning.
She went to have lunch with a friend,
and I haven't seen or heard from her since.
No phone call, no message, no nothing. Zip.
And she doesn't answer my text messages.
Wow. That’s serious.
How much you charge?
A hundred bucks a day. Plus expenses.
But your slogan is "fast, cheap --
Look, if you can't afford it,
then call the fucking cops.
But guess what --
they won't do jack shit
until a missing person is missing twenty four hours.
For all you know, your wife could be lying in a ditch
with a bullet in her head --
and you're worried about chump change?
Hey, no need for you to get nasty.
Darling, nasty is what you need.
Right now, your wife could be in the hands of a fucking psychopath.
You take plastic?
EXT. CAFE TABLE - DUSK
A hand slaps a credit card on a restaurant bill.
CAMERA pulls back to reveal--
EXT. SUNSET BOULEVARD - THE COFFEE BEAN - PATIO - DAY
Sidewalk tables overflow with a hip, young crowd --
with a liberal sprinkling of Persian-trash.
Klaus and Jorel watch the flesh parade.
That one, there. Check out those legs.
A glossy, reed-thin MODEL TYPE oozes by their table.
Her breasts are too small. I like nice, big, boobs.
So, did you read the treatment?
Of course I did. Are you fucking crazy?
The "Wheel of Misfortune?"
It's fucking ridiculous.
(lowers his shades)
And did you really think you could get me
to dress up like Vanna White?
Vanna White? Who said anything about Vanna White?
I want you to dress up like Idi Amin.
You have to keep bringing up my father, don't you.
EXT. CARRIE'S PATIO - DUSK
A gorgeous sunset lights up the horizon over the ocean.
Carrie and Samms sit on her patio sipping Coronas.
Sharon met her at an audition, they hit it off.
They were wearing the same shoes.
I dunno, some foreign name. Who cares?
I do. You can tell a lot about a woman from her shoes.
Blahnik? Manolo Blahnik?
I tried on a pair of those once.
(a delicious memory)
What's the bim's name again?
Monica Lynn. She's a B-movie actress.
She does that direct to video shit,
you know, girls in bikinis with semi-automatic weapons.
I love those movies.
I thought she was great in "Operation Sunscreen."
And a complete dyke.
Carrie lights a smoke. Burns with contempt.
Maybe they ran off together somewhere.
No way. I mean, Sharon's bi, but she's no lesbo.
Besides, she wasn't into Monica.
Sharon likes brunettes.
Brunettes with real tits.
She takes a long drag.
Exhales a taunting French curl.
That makes two of us.