Onto today's joint from LEGS, and trust me, this one fucking rocks.
First up, demented snuff filmmaker Klaus Speer entertains his latest starlet du jour ...
Then, Michael Samms, private eye Carrie Love's latest client, (ahem), pleasures himself to Klaus' latest cinema verite ...
While Carrie Love and her ex-lover/equestrienne patrolwoman Megan Paul decide to go undercover ... at Club Fuck.
INT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS MANSION - KITCHEN - NIGHT
An art-directed culinary orgy of marble, chrome and glass.
Spooky, slinky, trance-hop pulses on hidden speakers.
Klaus sips wine at the gourmet island
with starlet MONICA LYNN (20),
the stuff of blue collar pin-up calendar dreams.
You always have pate' for me, Klaus.
You're such a good host.
She takes a bite, savors it.
Anything for my delicious little starlet.
(beat, surveys his prey)
You look good. Your boobs are settling nicely.
Thank you, darling.
For ten grand, they better fucking "settle nicely."
ISABELLE, (23) Klaus' yummy trophy wife, bursts in the room.
I'm going out with Blaise.
We're going cock-teasing at the Geffin party.
Oh, hello, Monica. Isn't that a fetching outfit.
Thanks, I got it at Red Balls --
(to Klaus, leaving)
Don't wait up, we're going to the Clit Club afterwards.
Jesus, you could cut her attitude with a fucking chainsaw.
That's not all I'd like to cut with a fucking chainsaw.
So. Tell me how it went with young Sharon Samms.
She seem like a good prospect?
God, yes, she's perfect.
Young, beautiful and stupid.
And she's dying to be in the movies.
Her first starring role.
And her last.
INT. SAMMS' LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Candles flicker. Samms sits on the couch in his bathrobe.
Lusty, full of joy. Punches the remote.
Settles back to enjoy the show.
Slips his hand between the folds.
ON THE SCREEN
Klaus stands at the top of the hill with Chick.
That’s a Bozo no-no.
INT. SAMMS’ LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Samms watches, rapturous, hand moving.
Ready -- speed -- action!
He works faster. A screech -- then a THWAP on the TV.
ON THE SCREEN
Chick lies in a crumpled heap at the base of the tree.
Ahhh, ahhh, ahh --
INT. CARRIE'S LIVING ROOM - DAWN
A cozy, cluttered array of color, comfy furniture, pop culture.
Blondie-like girl pop punctuates the ambiance.
Carrie stretches in her rollerblades, to die for in short-shorts.
A tiny sports bra. Helen of Troy. On wheels.
I go for a blade every morning.
Gets the juices flowing, wakes me up.
The sunrise on the ocean is breathtaking. Spiritual.
And my Gold's Gym membership expired.
She rolls out of the room.
INT. CARRIE'S DINING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Hard rubber wheels hum on the hardwood floor.
I like to maintain a balance in my life.
I work, I play, I rest.
I drink, I smoke, I see a shrink --
And until a little while ago, I got laid.
INT. CARRIE'S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
She rolls over to the fridge. Opens it. Gets a sports drink.
It's a Zen thing, clears my head.
And I'm gonna need a clear head, 'cause right now I'm broke.
That knucklehead in Tarzana is my first client in three months.
Thank god for infidelity.
(beat, stares off into space)
EXT. VENICE BEACH BIKE PATH - DAY
Hooky, soaring Brit-pop against the sea, the sunshine.
Carrie glides like a figure skater on the freeway in the sand,
beaming, lost in the music. Joggers pass her and smile.
EXT. VENICE BEACH BOARDWALK - DAY
The strand is throbbing with TOURISTS, BUMS, VENDORS.
A Gen-Y STREET PERFORMER plays bad music on a crap guitar.
Carrie and Megan sit on a bench eating pizza slices.
Revolver begs, eyes pleading.
(to the dog)
The starving act isn't gonna work, babe.
Go take it to Sally Struthers.
She pinches off a piece of pepperoni, holds it up.
Revolver BARKS. Carrie pop it in her mouth.
Don't tease her, that's mean.
She FLINGS her slice in the air. The dog JUMPS --
And WOLFS IT DOWN in one greedy gulp.
Revolver pants happily. Carrie pets her.
That's my killer.
The dog BURPS.
She did NOT just do that.
Hey, she takes after her mom.
Stop trying to seduce me.
(takes her hand)
I'm so glad you're here, Meg.
She lights two cigarettes, hands one to Meg.
Carrie takes a drag. Holds it in.
Blows a smoke ring.
Ever been to Club Fuck?
Been there? We fucking busted it.
Some perv was piercing his cock.
Onstage. It was the fucking show.
Part of the reason I left vice.
That's right, I forgot --
You were there?
You never told me you --
That's where I met her.
It was our hangout.
(eyes start to tear)
I wanna go there and sniff around.
I forget, what night is it open?
Well, whattaya know.
Undercover? I don't have the --
Don't worry about it, babe.
I got a cute little latex number
that's gonna fit you like a glove.