Note from the creators of Simpson/Lynch Studios: Pleasantview: What we'd already planned for today's entry coincides quite nicely with the Theme Thursday topic of the week, "RED." We have a brief second scene, preceded by a longer first scene. Enjoy.
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Scene One -- Red Hair in the Morning, Skipster Take Warning!
The time is shortly after one o'clock on the morning of Wednesday, January 27th. The scene opens on an upstairs room in the Pleasantview, Alabama home of Vickie Wickie.
This is what red-haired Vickie calls her "anger management" room.
It is a strange room, long and narrow, and windowless. It measures approximately 10' x 30'. A single door on one of the two shorter walls provides the sole way of entering or exiting the room. There is a single, low-wattage, recessed light in the center of the ceiling. There are no wall hangings whatsoever, nor any furniture save a small, nondescript nightstand next to the door. Upon this nightstand sits a large cardboard box, containing a plethora of inexpensive glassware. There are plates, ashtrays, drinking glasses, coffee cups and saucers, wine glasses, and even a small vase or two in the box.
Vickie enters the room, and turns on the overhead light via a wall switch near the door. She still wears the red dress she wore for the Kewl Beanz! Grand Opening on Tuesday evening, just hours earlier. She closes the door behind her, and reaches into the cardboard box. She withdraws a plain-looking glass coffee cup, and stares at it briefly.
Then, with a blood-curdling screech, Vickie violently hurls the cup against the far wall, where it shatters into countless tiny fragments.
For several minutes, Vickie throws items from the box, one at a time, usually with her right arm but sometimes with her left, smashing most of the cheap glassware against the opposite wall. Some of her makeshift projectiles fall short, breaking on the hardwood floor. One even strikes the ceiling a couple of dozen feet away. Each thrown object is launched along with either a primal scream from Vickie, or a shouted obscenity.
After only a few minutes, Vickie is winded, and soaked with perspiration. Her throat is raw and red, as well.
It is only then that she turns slowly, toward the door. It is open. Milo Fenderbender stands there, eerily framed by the light from the hallway behind him.
Vickie: How the hell did you get in here?
Milo: I'll answer that the same way you answered me when I asked you the very same question a few days ago: The lock hasn't been made that can keep me out.
Vickie: How long have you been standing there?
Milo: Long enough... You really should consider having this room sound-proofed. I heard your shrieks before I'd even gotten through the front door.
Vickie: Mind your own damned business. (Vickie rudely shoves Milo aside and exits the room. She walks down the hallway, toward her bedroom; Milo follows.) So, what do you want, anyway?
Milo: Just checking on your fragile emotional state, you might say.
Vickie: There's nothing "fragile" about me! I just see red when I think of those fools at the studio!
Vickie and Milo enter her bedroom. Vickie inspects herself in a full-length mirror beside her bureau, frowning at the sight of her sweat-soaked red hair clinging to the sides of her face. While she does this, Milo appraises the room itself.
Milo: Nice decor.
Vickie (ruefully): It's not like you haven't seen it before.
Milo: Well, that other time, we were busy concentrating on... other things.
Vickie: You were "concentrating." I was drunk.
Milo: You weren't all that drunk. Besides, you later said it was a very nice... experience.
Vickie: Don't flatter yourself. If I remember correctly, my actual comment was along the lines of it being somewhat better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick.
Milo: Ah, yes... A remarkably Freudian comparison.
Milo remains silent as Vickie nonchalantly unfastens her tight-fitting gown at the neck, and wriggles out of it. Milo openly stares at her naked body.
Vickie: Don't plan on staying much longer. I need a shower.
Milo makes no move to leave. Vickie goes to her closet and takes out a red silk bathrobe, which she dons.
Vickie (after a long pause): Can you believe that idiot?
Milo: Which idiot?
Vickie: The Skipster, of course! He actually proposed to that brain-dead Bavarian! Of course, she accepted. The [expletive deleted] bleached-blonde Kraut [expletive deleted]! You think she really loves him? She's just in love with all those dead presidents! Who could turn down all that money?
Milo: You certainly couldn't. (brief pause) So, you've lost your chance with both the Skipster and the Foxster in... what, two weeks or less? Time to move on? Or do you have your sights set on that Asian guy now?
Vickie: Until I get what I want out of them, I'm not going anywhere. And I'm going to be so sweet and charming that it'll make you puke!
Milo (nodding): I believe it. I believe it. In fact, just thinking of you in the same context as "sweet and charming" made me throw up in my mouth a bit.
Vickie: Don't be crude. (pause) Anyway, you must be joking. Leaving? Ha! They're going to pay for what they've done to me.
Milo: Other than resisting your surgically-enhanced charms, what exactly have the Skipster and Foxster "done" to you?
Vickie: You were there, Milo! Didn't you see how they made me work, serving drinks like some common waitress, and cleaning up like some lowly scullery maid? And that drunken fool, the Foxster, actually called me Vickster at one point! Ooh, I'd like to kick his black-trousered ass around the studio until there's nothing remaining but a red splotch on the floor! (pause) I suppose you were too busy making points with that little witch, Tara, to notice anything?
Milo (chuckling): Guilty as charged. I still intend to slip between the satin sheets with her at the soonest opportunity. Kewl Beanz! can expect me as a regular customer, I should say!
Vickie: Did you see that conceited little witch jumping onto the stage and grabbing the microphone every chance she got? "Oooh! Now listen to me sing with my best friend Gretchen! Oooh!"
Milo: Well, she is the manager of Kewl Beanz!, isn't she? (pause) You know, Vickie, that's the second time in less than a minute that you've called Tara a "witch." I'm rather surprised that you're not using the all-too-similar "B" word, instead.
Vickie: Well... I'd really think she was a witch, if I believed in that crap. She has this annoying habit of using terms like "my gods," or haven't you noticed? She's also got very spooky eyes. And the way that damned black cat keeps sliding up against her...
Milo: Well, the "my gods" thing doesn't necessarily mean she's a witch. She could be a pagan of some sort... someone who subscribes to a polytheistic religion...
Vickie: Like those things are different?
Milo: Yes, actually, quite different. But I won't bother trying to explain it to you.
Vickie: Don't you dare talk down to me like that! You think you're so damned superior because you went to college...
Milo: As opposed to getting an "eduction" at various truck stops throughout the deep South?
Vickie (coldly): Milo... You are jumping, not walking, on very thin ice. (long pause) I'm the one who should have been up there, in that spotlight.
Milo: Doing what? What talents do you have? (brief pause) I mean, what talents do you have that could have been showcased in mixed company, here in small-minded Pleasantview? (brief pause) Of course, you could probably catch a red-eye flight to Mexico, and snag a booking or two in Tijuana...
Vickie (snarling): You're leaving now, Milo.
Suppressing a laugh, Milo exits, closing Vickie's bedroom door behind him.
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Scene Two: Red Hair at Night, Foxster Take Flight!
The small foyer in the home of Vickie Wickie, a little more than a week after Scene One. There is a staircase to the second floor only a few feet from the front door. It is shortly after 5:00 p.m.
Vickie enters, stopping suddenly when she sees Milo sitting calmly on the fourth step of the staircase, reading a magazine.
Vickie: Do me a favor, Milo? The next time you break in here, kindly do it in the middle of the night, so I can shoot you as an intruder and get away with it.
Milo smiles and holds up the magazine he's been reading. It is the new issue of Peeps, the one with the cover photo of the Skipster and Gretchen.
Milo (casually): Have you seen this yet? (Vickie tears the magazine from Milo's hands, and rips it to shreds while growling like an angry animal.) Is that a yes or a no?
Vickie: All those disgusting losers sat there for over an hour reading it, commenting on it, and joking about it! Eight pages, and they never even mentioned me in the article.
Milo: Of course they did! Did you miss it?
Vickie: What? Where was it? How could I have missed that?
Milo: Well, it wasn't much... but there was a black-and-white candid shot of most of the staff going about their business, and you were wayyyy in the background. The caption didn't name you specifically... and they called you "a secretary."
Vickie (breathing in short gasps): A secretary. A secretary?!? (pointing toward the door) Get the [expletive deleted] off of those stairs, and get the [expletive deleted] out of my house!
Milo hurriedly exits, smiling. Vickie slams the door violently. As Milo walks briskly from the house to the end of the driveway, he hears Vickie scream.
Vickie (at the top of her lungs): Secretary!!! (sound of furniture breaking)