Hot And Cold Running Decadence

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 1 of AFTERHOURS, we meet Oscar-winning screenwritr Casey Montana and goth-rocker Bettie Black, who are drowning their sorrows in a bottle of bourbon at The Exit Room, an after hours joint on the Sunset Strip ...


EXT. THE SUNSET STRIP - NIGHT
A CHYRON reads ‘August 16, 4:47 AM.’

An occasional CAR passes by.
An occasional HOOKER works the stroll.

A trio of WASTED PARTY GIRLS (18)
turn a corner and stagger down
a side street looking for their car.

CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON a
SMALL WHITE BUILDING that was once a bank,
now a high-end designer boutique
at the foot of the Hollywood Hills
in the Sunset Plaza shopping district.

CAMERA GLIDES OVER
to the side of the building,
where we see a STAIRCASE
to the basement.

CAMERA GLIDES DOWN THE STAIRS
and STOPS at the door.

No window. No sign.
Just a small red buzzer.

INT. AFTER HOURS CLUB - NIGHT
Plush and jazzy. Part Art Deco.
Part tiki lounge.

The dim, pin-spot lighting
makes the joint seem to glow.

Welcome to The Exit Room.
Hot and cold running decadence
until dawn.

Standing behind the long,
polished bar is MIA TANAKA (20’s),
mixologist deluxe, shiny black hair
down to her ass.

Looking every bit the
wannabe actress she is.

Right now she’s cutting up
lime wedges and evesdropping on --

A pair of WOMEN doing shots
of top-shelf tequila.

They SLAM them down,
then CRACK their shot glasses
on the bar.

The dark-haired chick
grabs the bottle.
Pours two more.

DARK-HAIRED CHICK
(raises hers)
To the best fucking screenwriter
in HOLLYWOOD.

Meet BETTIE BLACK (40),
fading grungy-goth rock star.

Still good-looking, but now
a bit rough around the edges.

But still sexy in revealing,
ripped black threads.

If you squint your eyes.
She lights a new smoke
off the old one.
A crooked grin.

BLONDE BABE
(raises hers)
To the best poet since PATTI SMITH.
Meet CASEY MONTANA (20’s), white-hot
Oscar-winning screenwriter.

Sexy-dirty, working that
vintage pinup look.

The black and blue streaks
in her hair match her outfit.

BETTIE
Patti Smith? Really?

CASEY
Hey. If you’re gonna compare me
to Quentin Tarantino --

They DOWN them.

BETTIE
Flattery will get your clit sucked.

Bettie pours two more.
They DOWN them.
CRACK their glasses.

CASEY
That’ll grow hair on your tits.

BETTIE
What are you working on now?

CASEY
That bottle. Keep pouring.

BETTIE
Ever seen Leaving Las Vegas?
Wanna write the rock star version?

CASEY
Only if Nic Cage plays you.

BETTIE
Pay him enough, he probably would.

They DOWN them.

BETTIE
Doctor says if I don’t
stop drinking, I’ll die.
(pours more)
Works for me.

CASEY
Hey. Don’t talk like that.

BETTIE
(downs hers)
It’s the end of the road, baby.
My label says if I don’t go
to rehab, they’re dropping me.

CASEY
(downs hers)
But you don’t seriously mean --

BETTIE
(pours more)
You don’t know my pain.

CASEY
Well, if we’re playing
‘to tell the truth,’
I’m in a bit
of a crisis myself.

They raise their shots.
Nod. SLAM them. CRACK.

BETTIE
Oh, yeah? Having a hard time
spending all that money?

CASEY
No, that’s easy. It’s --
(beat)
I can’t come up
with my next story.
I’m blocked.
(off her look)
It took me a year
to write the first one.
I wrote it longhand
during my lunch hour at work,
carefully crafting it.
Now they want another one
right away, and I can’t --
(beat)
Can you imagine the pressure
after winning the Oscar?

BETTIE
Hey.

CASEY
What.

BETTIE
There’s two of you.

CASEY
Two of me --

BETTIE
Got double vision.
See two of you.
(puts hand over one eye)
One --
(takes it off)
Two.

CASEY
I think that calls
for another drink --