99th

Let me set the scene for you…

EXT. PLAYGROUND – DAY

Every inch of the sprawling metal Picasso like structure is crawling with children. Short ones. Chubby ones. Ones who should be popping Ridillin.

O’Neill sits off to the side working on a crossword puzzle. Every so often she glances up to check on an rambunctious boy with a mop of unruly curls.

M.O.T.Y. (O.S.)

Is this seat taken?

O’Neill looks up to find---

MOM OF THE YEAR hovering around the other half of the bench. In shape, stylish, and equipped with all the latest and greatest child wrangling gadgets, she clearly views being a stay at home as an Olympic sport.

O’NEILL

Nope.

O’Neill moves her bag over and M.O.T.Y. takes the seat.

M.O.T.Y.

Which one is yours?

O’NEILL

(pointing towards the slide)

The one over there in the red hoodies.

M.O.T.Y.

Cute. He takes after his father, right?

INNER O’NEILL

Oh please… Really? He’s nine, lady! I’m old but not THAT old.

O’Neill flashes a friendly “please let this be a brief convo” smile.

O’NEILL

I’m just babysitting.

M.O.T.Y.

Oh! Of course you are! I was going to say… So young looking.

INNER O’NEILL

Kudos! Took you less than 3 seconds to remove your foot from your mouth. A new playground record!

A beat.

M.O.T.Y.

So do you mind me asking? What activities is your little Munkin involved in?

O’NEILL

Um—

M.O.T.Y.

Because my Richie—the adorable one over there near the sandbox—he’s all over the place. Karate. Debate. Soccer. Acting. Spanish lessons. Nothing seems to be enough of a challenge for him.

INNER O’NEILL
And the award for over parenting goes to…

O’NEILL

I think he plays Baseball.

M.O.T.Y.

(shocked)

That’s it?

INNER O’NEILL
Well, he also moonlights as a neuro-surgeon but that’s nothing to really brag about.

O’NEILL

Pretty much.

M.O.T.Y.

God that must be so nice! We thought about cutting back on Richie’s schedule but his academic planner advised against it. I know he’s only in elementary school but it’s never too late to start thinking about college.

INNER O’NEILL

Why not? The SATs has a finger painting section, right?

O’NEILL

Uh-huh.

M.O.T.Y.

Infact we’ve already had to start looking into Prep schools. Richie recently tested in the 99^th percentile for his age. Do you believe that? 99^th .

(pause)

They want to skip him a grade or two but I’m just so hesitant to say ok. Really worried about the repercussions. You know, socially speaking.

O’Neill glances over at Richie who is scooping up handful of gravel and shoving it into his mouth.

INNER O’NEILL

99^th huh? Is that actual or intellectual age?

M.O.T.Y.

So what does your little one excel in?

Richie starts spitting out the gravel like a human machine gun.

O’Neill

(motioning to Richie)

Um… Not that.

M.O.T.Y. looks over in abject horror.

M.O.T.Y.

Jesus! Richard! Not again!

M.O.T.Y. instantly leaps off the bench and races towards Richie.

INNER O’NEILL

I’d hold off on Harvard if I were you.

Excuse Me...

INT. SUBWAY – DAY

Semi-packed car filled with the standard New Yorkers and “I Heart NYC” tourists alike.

O’Neill sits in the dead center of a bench somewhat lost in the depths of her iPod.

A beat.

Doors open and instantly there’s a steady stream of human cattle.

Enter THE SMOTHERER. Preppy, decked out in khaki, and wearing the standard country club issued matching pearl earrings and necklace combo. She’s Miss J Crew.

The Smotherer parks herself right next to O’Neill.

O’Neill starts to shift but is suddenly sandwiched by—

NEVER CALLS. Beefy and sulking beneath an old Yankees cap, he’s got the look of a guy on his very last nerve.

THE SMOTHERER

For the record, I’m not talking to you.

O’NEILL
(confused)

Excuse me?

NEVER CALLS

Fine.

INNER O’NEILL

Oh you’ve got to be kidding me…

O’Neill desperately searches the car for another available seat. Nothing. She’s stuck.

INNER O’NEILL

Only two more stops. Not too bad.

THE SMOTHER

You could’ve at least called. That’s all I’m saying.

NEVER CALLS

(sarcastically)

Thought you weren't talking to me?

INNER O’NEILL

Apparently she is cause she isn’t talking to me.

THE SMOTHER

Ugh! This is what I’ve been talking about! So childish. Can’t we talk like two grown adults for once?

NEVER CALLS

(mocking)

You’re childish.

Infuriated, The Smother presses in closer, squeezing O’Neill in the process.

INNER O’NEILL

Good-bye personal space.

O’NEILL

Excuse…

THE SMOTHER

And another thing. I know that was her number on your phone. Don’t lie. It was so her.

NEVER CALLS

Jesus!

INNER O’NEILL

I second that!

THE SMOTHER

If you just want to break up with me then go ahead and do it. I’m so sick of your shit.

NEVER CALLS

(Under his breath)

Drama queen.

This is the final straw. The Smother stretches herself completely over O’Neill using her thigh as an arm rest.

THE SMOTHER

We are done! You hear me? Done. Over. Through! I don’t want to see you, hear you, or even look at you ever again! I’m—

Subway stops.

O’NEILL

EXCUSE ME!

O’Neill forcibly sends The Smotherer back to her side as she pries herself off of the seat.

THE SMOTHER

God! You don’t have to be so rude.

O’Neill catches Never Calls eyes.

O’NEILL

(to Never Calls)

Friendly piece of advice, buddy…Run.

Stay Tuned...

... My real life has been getting in the way lately (in a great/wonderful/ can't stop smiling sorta way) and has been causing some writer's block of epic proportion. I promise, though, a new post is coming asap!

In the meantime, here's the first few pages of a tv pilot I've been working on called The Mean Club. Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

COLD OPEN

INT. KITCHEN, DINING HALL - NIGHT

Industrial style kitchen cloaked with heavy moonlit shadows.

JACKIE “HANLEY” MICHAELS (20). Hint of freckle. Ponytail with stray pieces. She’s a typical girl next door. Hanley stands frozen, eyes locked upon--

A massive TUB OF CRISCO.

The WALKIE TALKIE hanging off of Hanley’s sweatpants CRACKLES.

KARA (O.S.)

(through Walkie Talkie)
Hanley? Hanley?! C’mon already. Just do it.

Slowly, Hanley extends her hand, never once taking her eyes off of the Crisco.

HANLEY (V.O.)
You might be wondering why I’m in the middle of a kitchen, in the dead of night, about to get up close and personal with a vat of Crisco...

HANLEY
(to herself)
You can do this... You can totally do this...

Hanley inhaled deeply, closes her eyes, and--

SQUELCH. Hanley plunges her hand into the Crisco.

FREEZE on Hanley’s disgusted face.

HANLEY (V.O.)
Yup. So am I.

END OF COLD OPEN

ACT I

EXT. CENTRAL CAMP, CAMP BIG ELK - MORNING

Beautiful, early morning calm. Dew glistening off of the bunks, pagodas, and clusters of pine trees. It’s a Thomas KinKade painting brought to life.

CUT TO:

INT. CAMP OFFICE -MOMENTS LATER

A strange blend of rustic with state of the art office equipment.

CHYRON READS “Two days earlier”.

JUDY SHWARTZ (60’s), gaudy Jewish grandmother drenched in every shade of pink known to man, shuffles into the office. She’s perky-- too perky for this hour in the morning.

Judy heads straight towards the PA SYSTEM, reaches into a draw and pulls out BARRY MANALOW’S GREATEST HITS CD.

CUT TO:

INT. BUNK V - MORNING

A pre-teen pig sty. Platform shoes, designer jeans, and halters as far as the eye can see.

KARA WILSON (20), a no nonsense tomboy, lays spread eagle on her bed, dead to the world.

HANLEY (V.O.)
This is Kara Wilson. She’s loud, rowdy, and the sole reason I flinch at the mere mention of Push Pops.

Suddenly--

COPA CABANA blares over the PA system at mind splitting levels.

Kara jolts awake, flips out of bed and--

SMACK. She gets a face full of floor.

HANLEY (V.O.)
Oh yeah. And she also happens to be my very best friend.

PHOTOS

A quick series of photos of Hanley and Kara throughout the years. They stand in the same exact positions with only the backgrounds and outfits changing.

ON KARA

Kara sits up, rubbing the newly forming knot on her forehead, and surveys the bunk.
In every bed a PRETEEN COUPLE plays an intense game of tonsil hockey. None are least bit concerned that it’s morning.

KARA (CONT’D)
What the hell?

Kara storms across the bunk, eyes honed in on--

ALI MILLER (21), a future republican’s wife, peacefully sleeps with an EYE MASK on. And it’s no accident. The eye mask perfectly matches her bed spread.

KARA (CONT’D)
Miller! Miller, get your ass out of bed and give me a freakin’ hand here.
Miller stirs, but doesn’t take her mask off.

MILLER
You know my rule.

KARA
(angry)
It won’t kill ya to get your ass out of bed before reveille's over.

Kara turns back around--

The Preteen Couples have finally moved out of their beds, but are still groping like drunken twister players.

KARA
Jesus.

FREEZE on Kara’s annoyed face.

HANLEY (V.O.)
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Kara’s really got a raw deal with her campers.
(pause)
But here’s the thing...

CUT TO:

INT. BUNK F - DAY

Hanley (12), wide eyed and guilty, is being interrogated by a FRAZZLED COUNSELOR.

FRAZZLED COUNSELOR
(demanding)
For the last time. Where’s Kara??

HANLEY
Um... The roof?

FRAZZLED COUNSELOR
The roof?!

KARA (O.S.)
TOWANDA!!!

CRASH! The Frazzled Counselor eyes widen in horror.

HANLEY
The bushes?

CUT TO:

EXT. BUNK V - CONTINUOUS

Kara manhandles TWO BOYS off of the bunk porch.

KARA
(sarcastically)
--I better see some freakin’ Benjamins next time, or find yourself another whorehouse!
Just as Kara finishes her sentence, she look up to find--

ROBIN MAGER “MAGE” (mid 30’s), a bulldog of a woman, glaring right back at her... Busted.

HANLEY (V.O.)
It’s really just Karma biting her in the ass.

CUT TO:

INT. KATE BROOKS CONDO - MORNING

It’s a one room, bunk style condo. Make-shift furniture. A trail of last night’s clothes leads to the bed.

OAKES (23), an androgynous hipster, slips out from beneath the covers and collects her clothes.

HANLEY (V.O.)
See the one who’s about to pull a bag and bail? That’s Oakes.

KATE BROOKS (25), petite and bird-like, peacefully asleep on the other side of the bed.

HANLEY (V.O.)

And the one who’s about to be bailed on? That’s Kate Brooks.

(pause)
She’s head of the junior girls’ division and Oakes’ soon to be ex-girlfriend.

Oakes slips on her jeans and quietly tip toes towards the door.

SQUEAK!

OAKES
(under her breath)
Shit.

KATE
You’re leaving?

OAKES
Reveille went off.

KATE
So?

OAKES
I’ve gotta get back.

KATE
What about Hanely?

OAKES
She’s covered me three times already.

(pause)
I’ll swing by during my off period.

HANLEY (V.O.)
In the two short summers that Oakes has been here, she’s become a camp legend of sorts.
(pause)
Campers idolize her. The guys think she’s cool. And the girls... Well there’s just no word to describe it.

KATE
That’s it?

Oakes stops and lets out a sigh. This is the last thing she wants to be talking about.

OAKES
Can’t we talk about this later?

KATE
There isn’t going to be a later.

OAKES
What?

Freeze on Oakes stunned face.

HANLEY (V.O.)
But like all legends, Oakes has a major Achille’s heel.

CUT TO:

INT. DINNING HALL - DAY

Oakes strolls up from behind an adorable RED HEAD and gives her tray a once over.

OAKES
Sausages? Too bad. I was guessing you were more of a melon type of girl.

The Red Head blushes and lets out a flirtatious giggle.

CUT TO:

INT. BAR - NIGHT

Oakes and the Read Head prepares to do a round of TEQUILA SHOTS.

The Red Head Counselor licks her hand, sprinkles the salt, and then hands the shaker off to Oakes.

Oakes, though, reaches over, licks the Red Head Counselor’s neck in a slow, sensual pattern, and then gently applies the salt. She couldn’t any get closer to foreplay if she tried.

CUT TO:

EXT. KATE BROOKS CONDO - MOMENTS LATER

Oakes storms out of the condo.

OAKES
(shouting)
Screw you! I’ve got vibrators that give better orgasms!

Oakes turns back around and comes face to face with--

A crowd of wide eyed JUNIOR CAMPERS (5 to 10 yrs old). They’ve have heard every last word.

HANLEY (V.O.)
She can’t do monogamy.