Hello, Ruby Tuesday. Where you been all my life -- or death? Welcome to another spine-tingling ticket to the dark side ... where the gates of Hell will open up and swallow you whole. If you're lucky. So put down whatever you're doing, and get the Hell in here ...Screened the first half-hour of LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD last night, and was loving it ... but then there was a knock at the door ... and there were two lovely ladies standing there with a bottle of wine ... one is my neighbor's GF (he's away at Cannes - tee hee) ... and the other was her BFF ... and they wanted to party ... so I broke my 'weekends only' rule.
Let's just leave the rest to your imagination ...
I'm still a little sore.
Onto today's three-fer from Wilshire Boulevard.
Part 1: Carrie Love motors over to Gay Flender's joint, on the good side of town.
Part 2: The cops find Gay's husband Harvey's body on the Hollywood walk of fame.
Part 3: Christian producer Ken Rice and his 'agent' David Nance toast to Harvey's demise at a chicken-hawk bar. (Not for the faint of heart.)
Let the the games begin ...
***
EXT. OCEAN AVENUE - CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - AT THAT MOMENT
The silky, hep-cat swing of Milt Buckner’s THE BEAST
on the car stereo grooves over --
Carrie’s white whale. Cruising north through a tunnel of palm trees.
Passes lux beach joints. Ivy at the Shore --
CARRIE (V.O.)
Ah. Smoggy, muggy Los Angeles.
Like a sauna, blanketing this godforsaken berg
like a warm, damp shroud.
Just the thing for a hangover.
The car stops at a light.
The sign reads MONTANA AVE.
Carrie signals. Turns right.
Starts heading east.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
My mouth was dry. Heart, pounding. Head, throbbing.
Muscles aching from my tryst with the Empress of the Damned.
CAMERA flies by a series of trendy boutiques.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Maybe this would help take my mind off
being left at the dog collar.
An easy, simple missing husband --
who’s probably sleeping off a bender
in some sleazy motel room with a high-priced call girl.
The car turns left onto 26th Street.
Passes by beautiful multi-million dollar homes.
Luxury SUV’s. Luxury nannies with
luxury strollers pushing luxury heiresses
and future CEO’s.
CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
This neighborhood always makes me feel like
Ray Milland in ‘Sunset Boulevard.’
(beat)
Hungry. Desperate. Doesn’t belong.
Carrie’s car pulls over to the curb. Stops.
She inspects herself in the rear view.
Sniffs an armpit.
CARRIE (CONT’D)
Not too bad.
But I probably should have jumped in the shower.
(beat)
Nah. Never stopped Sam Spade --
EXT. VINE STREET - AT THAT MOMENT
A couple blocks south of Hollywood Boulevard,
where the celebrity stars end.
An old hotel, ‘The Grand,’ now not-so.
A small CROWD OF ONLOOKERS
is cordoned off behind yellow police tape.
A uniformed COP ON HORSEBACK
pushes them back.
COP ON HORSEBACK
Behind the BARRICADE --
Another OFFICER, this one a beefy,
plainclothes HOMICIDE DICK,
leans against the hotel steps.
Hung-over. He pukes.
BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
GAAA.
ANGLE ON --
The bug-eyed dog walker we saw earlier.
Now a corpse lying on a star.
Shot in the mouth. The eyes. Crotch.
The name reads --
Don Simpson.
BEEFYwalks over. Takes a look.
His PARTNER, a tall, lanky string-bean,
searches through Bug-Eye’s billfold.
BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK (CONT'D)
Whattawe got?
STRING BEAN DICK
Name’s Flender. Some movie producer.
BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
Huh.
(beat)
Talk about bombing at the box office.
EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - SCANDALS - DUSK
A restaurant on the second floor,
above a gay video store.
INT. SCANDALS - CONTINUOUS
Connie Francis’ SECOND HAND LOVE plays on a jukebox over --
Dark, very old school. BARTENDERS in shirt and tie.
Cute, buff WAITERS strut about.
The patrons are all men. Very old. Or very young.
Ambiance heavy and quiet with lust and money.
Welcome to a ‘chicken-hawk’ bar.
Ken sits at the bar with DAVID NANCE (50’s),
gender-fuck clone from another planet.
Stick thin. Fashion a’la ‘85.
Spiky hair teased with blond tips.
Eyes bright with makeup.
He raises a pink cocktail with an umbrella.
DAVID
Here’s to the demise of the biggest
fucking thief in Hollywood.
Ken grins. Raises his glass.
KEN
And -- to my pet project.
They sip.
Eyes twinkling.
DAVID
And just why doesn’t your
AGENT know about this ‘pet’ project?
Hmmm?
KEN
I’ve been keeping it to myself for a bit.
Didn’t want to go off half-cocked.
DAVID
Who does?
(winks)
So spill it.
KEN
Okay. Did you see on the news about that teacher
that had an affair with one of the students?
DAVID
I saw it on Perez Hilton.
The boy is what, 13?
Talk about prime rib.
(sips his drink)
Shame on that teacher,
seducing a young boy like that.
Old enough to be his mother.
KEN
This is another one.
The teacher, a man, had an affair with a student,
a sixteen-year-old BOY --
(dramatic pause)
Who turns out to be his SON.
DAVID
Kinky. But I can’t sell that to a network.
KEN
I have a plan.
(sips his drink)
The Lord works in mysterious ways, my boy.
Ken notices someone at the other end of the bar.
His eyes light up. He leans over to the bartender.
KEN (CONT’D)
You see that great, big bear of a man down there?
Would you please send him another drink?
On me --
ANGLE ON --
A large, hulking freak of a guy.
A 300-pounder.
Massive, misshapen head
like something out of FREAKS.
He finishes his drink.
Starts CRUNCHING ice.
Dim bulb flickering.
KEN (CONT’D)
And be sure to tell him who its from.
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