Thursday, September 22, 2011
Irony Be Thy Name
Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 29 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, after finishing her 'going on the lam' disguise, private eye Carrie Love visits 'her own private ground zero,' the burned ruins of her former home ...
INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
Carrie stands in front of the bathroom mirror.
A towel around her shoulders.
Her hair is now bleached-blonde white.
eat your heart out.
She grabs a pair of hair clippers.
Holds it to her head.
Time to get all
Britney Spears on their asses.
And starts CHOPPING OFF
her long, beautiful hair.
Maybe I sleep around.
But that doesn’t make me a bad person.
Sue me. I was drawn that way.
I didn’t fucking KILL anyone.
Okay, maybe I like a
cocktail now and then,
but I’m not a fucking MURDERER.
And okay, so I like to
bend the rules a little.
But that’s no reason to FRAME me.
So fuck all of you.
You don’t want me around, FINE.
I’ll buy myself a one-way ticket to Splitsville.
Do the disappearing tango on your asses.
I’ll go to Frisco, do a Dashiel Hammett.
Find a Continental Opp-ortunity.
Hair in blocky, spiky chunks.
She slides on shades.
Sneers at her reflection.
But first, it’s time for the eulogy.
EXT./INT. LA BREA AVENUE - PHILLIE’S HUMMER - AT THAT MOMENT
Peers over at Chinette,
staring out the side window.
Pensive. Dabs her eyes with a tissue.
I’m not sure I’m in the mood
for a -- big surprise.
Nonsense. Nothing is too good
for my little whippoorwill.
We just have to make one quick stop.
THE MOTEL STARLET
comes into view. A real dive.
Irony be thy name.
pulls into the parking lot. Stops.
turns to Chinette.
Now wait right here.
I’ll be back in
two shakes of a lamb’s tail --
He kisses her. Gets out.
POPS open the rear door.
Grabs a long, rolled carpet
wrapped with duct tape. Bloodstained.
Hefts it onto his shoulder.
Looks up at the sign.
'The Motel Starlet.'
You can’t make this shit up.
Phillie looks around.
Coast is clear.
He carries the body around
the back of the building.
TOSSES it in a dumpster.
And that’s a 'wrap' --
EXT. VACANT LOT - RUINS - MOMENTS LATER
Carrie stands in the driveway
behind what once was her home.
We can’t see her eyes behind the shades.
But we know they’re bleeding, black with pain.
She gingerly walks through the rubble.
I don’t know what compelled me
to visit my own, private ground zero.
I was inexplicably drawn to
what would rip me apart.
Like a gambler to the table,
a junkie to the needle --
This was my first real home on my own.
After I split with Bernie,
I combed the beach until I found
that hundred-year-old bungalow
on one of the prettiest walkway streets.
Then I painstakingly decorated it from top to bottom.
Filled it with what gave me pleasure.
I discovered a creativity I didn’t know I had.
It was my palace, a den of color, joy --
Carrie bends over.
Picks up a burned, ruined Barbie.
People asked me how the Barbie thing got started.
(she tosses it, keeps walking)
When I first moved here from New York,
I knew exactly two people in town.
And they both lived forty-five minutes away.
I soon learned that everyone
lived forty-five minutes away.
So I was in the supermarket
my first night here buying a few necessities,
feeling a little alone,
and they had these Barbies
on sale there at the register.
What you call an ‘impulse purchase.’
I thought, ten bucks each,
what the fuck, so I got two.
The checkout clerk said,
‘that’s sweet, you have kids?’
When I shook my head no,
she looked at me like I was
some kind of pervert --
and I knew I had found my calling.
That night I set them up in my kitchen
and on my bar, and never looked back.
Of course it wasn’t until a year later
when my porn star girlfriend tied one up,
stuck a ball gag in her mouth,
and named her ‘Bondage Barbie.’
That was when things
REALLY started getting interesting --