Carole A. Parker

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 decadance 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 darkhaired 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? (CONTINUED) 2. CONTINUED: 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 Yow. 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 (CONT'D) 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 -- (CONTINUED) 3. CONTINUED: (2) 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, 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. (CONTINUED) 4. CONTINUED: (3) IN A NEARBY BOOTH Sit a pair of GOOD-LOOKING GUYS drinking glasses of top shelf single malt scotch, deep in conversation. SKY MASTERS (30’s) indie hipster movie hunk, smallish, thin, carefully ratty-looking takes a sip. Eyes bleary. SKY Nah. I was a drama nerd. Couldn’t play worth shit. EASY WASHINGTON (30’s), African-American pro baseball player, big, even better-looking, swirls his glass. EASY Lucky for you -(takes a sip) You get injured, you can still act. I get injured, I get fucking traded. SKY There’s other ways you can fuck up your career. EASY Please. You’re the golden boy. Critics and audiences love you. SKY Yeah, well -(sips) They don’t know. EASY Know what? (off his stare) C’mon, man. Out with it. What’s the big secret? Sky stares at him. Raises his glass. Drains it in one gulp. SKY Found out I’m HIV-positive. EASY Damn. (beat) Hey. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re -- I mean, look at Magic Johnson. SKY I didn’t get it from fucking. (CONTINUED) 5. CONTINUED: (4) EASY You shooting SMACK? SKY You wanna say that a little louder? EASY Sorry. SKY And you wanna know the REAL clincher? (pours more) I’m getting married tomorrow. EASY Does she know? SKY No. EASY (raises his glass) The truth will set you free. He downs it. SKY Now you know what I’m doing here at five in the morning instead of being with my fiance. EASY Bet that’s a big load off your mind. (off his look) Sharing your deepest, darkest secret. SKY I guess. Sorta. Easy grabs the bottle. Pours them another. EASY The media’s gonna break a big story about me today. Major scandal. SKY What. You cheated on your wife? There’s no way it can be as bad as -EASY Wanna bet? (off his look) It wasn’t with another woman. (CONTINUED) 6. CONTINUED: (5) SKY You’re sleeping with another dude? Big fucking deal. Welcome to Hollywood. EASY The dude’s another player. PUSH IN ON Easy’s face. Resigned to his fate. AT THE BAR Sitting at the far end is ANGEL DIAZ (20’s), the bouncer, big and burly. Also great-looking, like a model. But looks a bit frayed around the edges. He secretly does a bump of coke out of a portable snifter. Walks over the Mia. ANGEL I’m so fucked. They’re gonna break my fucking knees if I don’t make another payment today. MIA I told you not to borrow money from that freak. What are you gonna do? ANGEL I called Mickey. He’s gonna give me a little more credit. MIA What good is more coke gonna do you? ANGEL (nods at the room) I’m gonna sell it -- to them. Then I can make the payment. MIA Are you crazy? What if the boss finds out? ANGEL If nobody tells him, he won’t find out. MIA What makes you sure they’re gonna buy it? ANGEL Please. Wasted celebrities in an afterhours joint? We should have a fucking vending machine. The buzzer RINGS. (CONTINUED) 7. CONTINUED: (6) MIA Who could that be? We’re about to close. ANGEL Mickey. He goes to the door. Unlocks it. MICKEY MERTZ (30’s) walks in. Tall, blonde and rakish in the lastest hipster threads. Boyish looks a bit fuzzy due to hard-partying. Eyes burning from the combination of chemicals dancing in his head. MICKEY I made it. ANGEL Glad you came. We’re closing soon. MICKEY You know what they say, ‘better late then never.’ (beat) So -- wanna go to your place? ANGEL Sorry, I gotta stay. MICKEY Oh, right. Right. ANGEL Wanna check out the VIP room? MICKEY Now we’re talking. They saunter off toward the back. The buzzer RINGS again. MIA Angel, the door. ANGEL (over his shoulder) Tell ‘em we’re closed. They disappear. Mia shakes her head. Walks over to the door. MIA Sorry. We’re closed. ANGRY GUY (O.C.) It’s an emergency. Open up. (CONTINUED) 8. CONTINUED: (7) MIA We’re closed. ANGRY GUY (O.C.) I need help. I’m bleeding. MIA Then call nine-one-one. ANGRY GUY (O.C.) I don’t have a phone. PLEASE. I need your HELP. Mia’s cell phone RINGS. She looks. Answers it. MIA Hey, sis. What’s up? Calling kinda late -Distracted, she opens the door, listening. We hear WILD CHATTER on her phone. MIA (CONT'D) Mom had a STROKE? Two BIG MEN BURST INTO THE ROOM. The bigger guy holds a sawedoff shotgun, the other a chrome handgun and a giant duffle bag. Bigger Guy aims the shotgun at the girls at the bar. BIGGER GUY Cell phones, ON THE FLOOR, NOW. Meet DANNY PEEL (40’s). Would be a dead ringer for George Clooney, except you can tell he parties too much. Arm a bloody mess. Eyes wild and desperate. But still kinda hot. DANNY CELL PHONES. NOW. He aims the shotgun at the ceiling. FIRES. BANG. Plaster RAINS DOWN. Mia SCREAMS. Bettie and Casey TOSS their phones. Sky and Easy TOSS theirs. Mia DROPS hers. ANGEL AND MICK Appear in the doorway, Angel zipping up his pants. ANGEL Holy shit. MICKEY Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. Smaller Guy, bleeding from the leg, aims his gun at them. (CONTINUED) 9. CONTINUED: (8) SMALLER GUY Glad you could join the party. Toss your phones, NOW. Meet VIN VARGAS (30’S), your typical grunt cop gone to seed. Paunchy. Dark circles under his eyes. Sweating like crazy. Eyes darting back and forth. Pumped with adrenaline. ANGEL Okay, okay. Don’t shoot. Angel and Mickey TOSS their phones. DANNY Okay. Everybody go sit at the bar. (to Vin) Smash ‘em. VIN You got it. He drops the bag. Starts CRUNCHING them with his boot. Sky, Easy, Angel and Mickey move to the bar. Take stools. DANNY Okay, everybody. We’re gonna be here a little while, so I want you to get nice and comfortable. Do exactly what I say and nobody gets hurt. (off their terrified nods) Just because I’m covered in blood and holding a gun doesn’t mean I’m not a nice guy -- so, in the interest of all of us getting along, the next round’s on me.