Now that we've wrapped A DISH BEST KILLED, it's time to return to my roots. LEGS was my second screenplay, written back in '96. It was where I found my voice, and created my favorite character, Carrie Love, a/k/a 'Legs.' A hard-drinking, chain-smoking, lipstick lesbian private eye. LEGS is the first installment in a trilogy of stories featuring Carrie, which also include WILSHIRE BOULEVARD and DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUSIED (she appears in a couple other stories, but she's not the main character -- as you've seen in HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, and as you haven't in the not-yet posted story LITTLE GIRL BLUE).
That said, please be kind. I still love this one, but it's a little rough around the edges. But then, a gal has to start somewhere. Hope you enjoy. This one will always have a special place in my cold, cruel heart ...
INT. SHITTY APARTMENT - NIGHT
Swanky music. A nasty, trashy go-go groove.
Somewhere deep in the heart of the wrong end of Hollywood --
A tiny bedroom in an uproar.
A table lamp sits on the floor,
red light bulb spilling seedy ambiance.
LAURA LANG, (26),
cruelly Grace Kelly beautiful,
sits at her vanity putting on her face.
Slowly. Expertly. Perfectly.
It's quite a vision. Milk white skin caressing black vinyl.
Brutal tattoos. A nasty pout. Eyes that have seen it all.
She paints her mouth a bloody red. Blots her lips.
Licks her teeth. Kisses the mirror.
Rises. Stretches like a cat.
Laura slips on a motorcycle jacket. A Gestapo cap.
Silver mirrored shades. Snaps chrome handcuffs onto her belt.
She appraises her ensemble.
Adjusts her hat, just so. Sneers.
AT THE DOOR
the goddess grabs a riding crop.
Storms out into the night.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - SIDEWALK - CONTINUOUS
Shiny black bondage stilettos clack-clack on the pavement.
She stops. Cocks her head. What was that?
A strobe FLASHES, blinding her. A camera WHIRS.
Big, thick, dark hands GRAB around her neck -- and SQUEEZE.
She STRUGGLES violently, eyes bugging out.
The beauty THRASHES, POUNDS on her attacker, to no avail --
Her eyes flutter, close, as she sinks into blackness.
A WOMAN'S FACE
And a bit weathered from a trip in the fast lane.
But still, her long chestnut hair,
caramel tan and pillow lips make most men stare.
And more than a few women.
CAMERA pulls back to reveal --
INT. BEDROOM - DAWN
A brassy detective theme, ala PETER GUNN.
The first light streams in through the blinds, to reveal --
CARRIE LOVE, (27), a tall, tight drink of water in an hourglass-shaped goblet,
asleep like the dead, sprawled across her thrashed bed.
Mouth open. A trail of spittle.
REVOLVER, a cuddly cocker spaniel sleeps at her feet.
My god, I look so peaceful.
But when I wake up, look out.
I gotta stop betting people I can out-drink them.
'Cause I always win.
She starts coughing. Leans over. Grabs a glass of water.
Glugs it down. Throws the covers over her. Burrows back in.
I smoke too much.
My doctor tells me the only reason
I've gotten away with it for so long
is 'cause I work out every day.
The phone rings. She yanks it off the hook. SLAMS it down.
Fucking bill collectors. Don't they know it's Sunday?
BR-RING. She whips off the covers, seizes the phone --
and RIPS out the cord.
I've got this habit of taking out my anger on appliances.
They love me at Radio Shack.
You shoulda seen what I did to that toaster oven.
She slowly, achingly gets out of bed. Tries to stretch. Ouch.
We see she's still dressed from her night out.
She unzips her skirt. Peels it off. Tosses it.
My name's Carrie. Carrie Love.
But everyone calls me Legs.
People say my legs are my best feature.
Comes from rollerblading ten miles a day.
Being five foot ten doesn't hurt either.
More legs per square inch.
INT. CARRIE'S BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS
She looks at herself in the mirror. It's not a pretty sight.
I think my best features are
my ironic smile and my rapier wit.
But what the fuck do I know?
Most guys just stare at my boobs.
INT. CARRIE'S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Carrie watches the Mr. Coffee do its thing.
Ever see those guys waiting for their methadone?
At least I get to have more than a little paper cup.
She pulls off her top, tosses it across the room --
revealing a black bra. And a leather shoulder holster.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
That's right. I carry a gun.
She reaches behind. Grabs her piece.
Gingerly rubs her spine.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I'm a private dick.
I do Rockford Files kinda stuff, nothing dangerous.
Guys who cheat on their wives hire me
to prove their wives are cheating on them.
I also do missing persons --
last week it was some Beverly Hills asshole
trying to find his junkie son who swiped his Humvee.
It pays the rent. I've thought about bounty hunting --
I mean, that's where the real bucks are --
but I like breathing, thank you very much.
EXT. PATIO - DAY
A view of the ocean, lush with trees and flowers.
On the patio, a big, old wooden hot tub. Steam rising.
IN THE HOT TUB
is a headless female body. Red smears the green water.
A chlorine floater bobs against an exposed breast --
with a tattoo of a hummingbird feeding off the nipple.
I'm reasonably happy.
Being a low rent dick keeps food on the table,
and I get a few thrills every now and then.
I mean, what can I say?
I grew up on The Avengers.
EXT. PATIO - DOOR STOOP - DAY
Carrie squints in the sunlight,
cups her mug with both hands like it's the Holy Grail.
Revolver runs out onto the patio.
Welcome to my life.
Hope you enjoy the ride.
She sips her coffee.
Looks at the ocean.
Smells the scent.
Another fucking beautiful day in paradise.
Revolver starts BARKING.
Carrie sees the body. SCREAMS.
Her mug hits the ground -- POP.
Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!
LAURA! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
She clutches her chest -- and VOMITS.