Diabolic Fiction

The Attic Wars

(a.k.a. 9&PENN)
excerpt from feature-length screenplay

FADE IN:

EXT. IDYLLIC BACKYARD -- AFTERNOON
Camera holds on a pink, terry cloth towel hanging from a clothesline, swaying gently in the breeze.

CARR
(v.o., thoughtfully)
Terry cloth.
(pause)
Have you ever felt it? On your face? Hands? Knees? I have. It is luxurious. Oh, you like silk? Well, fuck silk. You’re wearing caterpillar shit. I’d never be caught dead in it. But the first girl did. I bet she loved the stuff.

BLOOD is splashed across the towel as the song “Hole In My Life” by The Police begins.

FADE OUT

FADE IN

MUSIC is still playing as CREDITS begin over JON SUNN (early-30s, clean cut, impeccable black suit) walking down a Washington, D.C. urban street in a ritzy part of town.

He enters a high-class men’s clothing shop.

A MONTAGE shows Sunn being FITTED for several dress shirts and a dark suit by a tailor.

Montage ends and Sunn leaves the store and enters an Irish pub next door. The address over the door reads “6”.

CREDITS END – MUSIC ENDS

INT. BROTHEL, SAN FRANCISCO -- EVENING
WINSTON CARR sits in a row of chairs against one wall of the ornate waiting room. The walls are covered in crushed red velvet wallpaper. He waits quietly, with his hands in his lap.

PEGGY HIPP enters, followed by a line of prostitutes, all of varying ethnicities, sizes and shapes.

PEGGY
Welcome, Mr. Ca-

CARR
(interrupts, whispers)
Tiberius.

PEGGY
(whispers)
Sorry.
(out loud)
Welcome, Tiberius. Who will it be today?

Peggy walks over to the line-up of girls and holds her hand over the first one’s head. Carr shakes his head. Peggy and Carr repeat this ritual several times until she holds her hand over the head of MS. EDITIRX (asian, early 20s). An almost imperceptible frown appears on her face.

PEGGY
(sotto)
Of course.
(out loud)
Ms. Editrix, would you escort Tiberius to suite 6?

Ms. Editrix takes Carr by the hand and leads him down a side hall lined with red doors, all with numbers starting from 1. They stop in front of 6 and disappear inside.

INT. IRISH PUB, WASHINGTON D.C. -- EVENIING
Sunn’s friend, LIAM DANVER (early-30s, looking a bit disheveled) is sitting at a table in the middle of the pub. The happy hour crowd is in full force. Liam looks up as Sunn approaches.

CROSSFADE TO:
Sunn and Liam have been in the pub for several hours now. The happy hour crowd has dwindled. Liam is looking drunk while Sunn remains relaxed, distant. Liam has a small glass of scotch with a sugarcube dissolving at the bottom. Sunn has a tall, slender glass of lager.

LIAM
Do you have any idea how much you cost?

SUNN
Do we have to do this?

LIAM
Just drink up and hear me out.
(pause)
And what’s with the glass? It reminds me of my mother.

SUNN
Why?

LIAM
She was a model in the ‘60s. Runway, department store ads, movie stand-in, the whole thing. She also liked to dress me up like a ballerina and have me dance for her fucking druggie friends.

SUNN
Was this before college?

LIAM
Jesus Christ, Sunn. I try to tell you something and you just make fun of it. What the fuck?

SUNN
You’re right. Sorry.

LIAM
Anyway, how much do you think it would cost to replace a woman? I mean, if she were an android or something, fabricated from parts and stuff?

SUNN
I don't know, Liam.

LIAM
Take a fucking guess.

SUNN
Are we talking replicant, or robot?

LIAM
It doesn't matter, but if you must have an answer, then I would say replicant, because who would want to fuck a metal girl?

SUNN
Well, if you're talking replicant, then I would have to say around, uh, twenty-two thousand dollars.

Liam coughs. Scotch drips from his chin.

LIAM
(wiping chin)
You're kidding, right?

SUNN
What do you mean?

INT. –- BROTHEL, ROOM 6, EVENING
Carr is laying with his eyes shut, in a post-coital coma.

EDITRIX
(O.C.)
I mean, do you ever think some wealthy, great-looking guy will come in here and fall for you?

INT. –- BROTHEL, BATHROOM
Ms. Editrix is standing in a bathroom that adjoins room 6 and room 8. She is talking to fellow prostitute, MS. CARAMEL (40s, Af.Amer).

CARAMEL
(weak smile)
Every day, it’s the only thing that keeps me from killing myself.

EDITRIX
This guy keeps telling me he’s a government agent, but when I looked in his wallet, I found out he’s only an insurance investigator. All I get are these aging, flabby losers that can’t even keep it up for more than a minute. Most of their money pays for nap time. I don’t know why they don’t just get a hotel room and rent some porn.

CARAMEL
Be thankful, girl. The last thing you want is some pig sweatin’ on you for an hour.

EDITRIX
(pointing back into the room)
I never have to worry about that with him. It’s over before it’s even started. I get to catch up on my soaps while he sleeps it off.
(pause, sobbing)
I almost got sick again.

CARAMEL
Oh, no, baby.

Caramel hugs Editrix.

CARAMEL
(cont’d)
Baby, baby, baby. You got to get out of this.

INT. –- BROTHEL, ROOM 6
Carr is laying in bed wide awake as the girls converse. His lips are trembling as he listens to them.

EDITRIX
(O.C.)
He always picks me. Why? I had to bite my hand just to keep from throwing up.

CARAMEL
Oh, baby. Let Caramel take care of you.
(pause)
Talk to Ms. Deinomache. Maybe she could make it so you don’t have to be with him again.

EDITRIX
You think? God, I would be so happy. I don’t know if I can do this again.
(pause)
I don’t think she likes me.

CARAMEL
Don’t worry, baby. Caramel will make everything all right.

A single tear runs down the face of Carr.


CROSSFADE TO:
INT. - IRISH PUB, WASHINGTON D.C.
Liam and Sunn are still in the middle of their heated discussion.

LIAM
What do you mean, it’s all right? Do you know how much it costs to train you, clothe you, house you and pay you?

SUNN
I never thought about it, Liam.

LIAM
It's why Deuxchamp is always on your ass about getting rid of that racecar. If you die in a crash, or are even injured, there goes the investment.

SUNN
I would hardly call a 1974 Chevelle a racecar.

LIAM
It growls when you touch the gas pedal- its got fucking stripes on it- it's a racecar.

SUNN
Whatever, the point is I don't race it.

Liam shakes his head and waves his hands.

LIAM
That's not the point. We're getting off the subject. You say that the female replicant should cost twenty-two thousand dollars. Is that right?

SUNN
Yes, depending on her looks. I mean, I'm not paying 22-grand for the Mona Lisa.

LIAM
That's a given. I'm talking about a beautiful girl, like Asia Argento or Sandra Bernhardt.

Sunn coughs, hiding a grin by wiping his mouth with a cocktail napkin.

SUNN
How can you put Asia Argento and Sandra Bernhardt in the same category? One you would pay any amount to have while the other is maybe a blue-light special at $9.95.

LIAM
(agitated)
It doesn't fucking matter, allright? Whatever you think is beautiful and whatever I think is beautiful doesn't fucking matter. All I'm saying is that our ideal, ok, our ideal is worth twenty-two thousand. Can we agree on that?

SUNN
Sure. Our individual ideal, no matter how fucked up it is.

LIAM
Yes, no matter-
(pause)
For fuck'sake, can we just have a normal conversation for once?

SUNN
Normal? What is normal about the list price of a female replicant?

LIAM
It is just an example. I don't even know why we're talking about replicants.

Liam finishes his scotch and waves to a waitress. While he waits he chews on the sugarcube.

LIAM
(cont’d)
Listen, just pick out a girl that you like.

SUNN
Well, I like Lynda Carter.

LIAM
Wonder Woman? No, I mean someone in this bar.

SUNN
Oh. Well, I would have to say...

Sunn scans the women, all of varied ethnicities and forms. There’s an Asian girl in the corner, two black girls at a table by the bar, a group of solidly-built softball players chatting by the window and a tired-looking brunette in the back. All women. Liam and Sunn are the only men in the place besides the bartender.

SUNN
How about the one back there?

LIAM
The Korean girl?

SUNN
No. Brown hair, at the table in the back. She kind of looks upset and tired at the same time.

LIAM
Upset and tired? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you profiling her?

SUNN
If you don’t want to play…

LIAM
Ok. Whatever.
(pause)
Now, considering you'd pay twenty-two thousand dollars for your ideal woman, what would you pay for her?

SUNN
Well, if my ideal is Wonder Woman, then I am basing all my assumptions on physical attraction and creative use of a lariat. But, what if she's completely uninteresting, or she hates everything I like, or she smokes, or has bad breath? In that case, she would only be my ideal for beauty, but not the whole package. If the brown-haired woman's personality is perfect, then she would become my new ideal. How much then? Fifty thousand? One-hundred thousand? But it is not what I'd be willing to pay, but the manufacturer's perception of what men would think of her. To me she might be the ideal, but to the majority of consumers, she might be a blue light special.
(pause)
I'll be right back, Liam.

LIAM
Hurry up, I'm losing interest in this shit.

Sunn walks over to the brunette who is sitting alone at a corner table.

SUNN
(to woman)
Hi. My name is Sunn.

The woman doesn’t seem to hear Sunn. She is engrossed in the swirls of her drink.

SUNN
(cont’d)
Excuse me.

Sunn clears his throat to which the girl absently responds by holding out her empty glass.

RAMONA
Seven and seven.

Sunn takes her glass, turns to get her another drink, then stops and turns back to her.

SUNN
I'm sorry. I'm not a bartender.

RAMONA
Then what can you do for me?

SUNN
I'm an FBI agent. Maybe I could help you.