© 1994 by Michael Chaskes

BLACK. The sounds of a CUP of TEA being STIRRED.

I mean, it wasn't in so many words, but he was basically saying, "Look, I'm paying for this dinner, so I should get to stare all I want. Don't you think that's fair? In fact, could you pull that blouse down a little lower?" What a pig.

A LOW RUMBLE begins, and then, LOUDLY, we hear the sounds of an apartment and everything within it VIBRATING: dishes in cabinets, panes in windows, etc. One instance of SHATTERING GLASS.

All throughout, the MONOLOGUE continues unabated.

TITLE CARD: "LIFE IN THE SEISMIC ZONE"

And when he wasn't doing that, he was doing this fake chivalry thing. An actual quote--"Waiter, another carafe of Chardonnay for myself and the lady"--and the whole time his feet are fondling me under the table. What an asshole.

The EARTHQUAKE subsides, and we join the scene in progress as we

CUT TO:

INT. SHERRY'S APARTMENT - DAY.

WIDE SHOT of SHERRY, an attractive young woman in her 20's, standing in the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room of a small West Los Angeles apartment.

A broken glass vase lies on the floor somewhere in front of her, with a bouquet of flowers lying half in it. General earthquake-induced disarray can be seen in the frame.

SHERRY, who is wearing a U-2 concert T-shirt and sweat pants, is holding a cup of tea and talking into a cordless phone.

I mean, you know me, I'm not fundamentally opposed to playful banter, or a little physicalness, but not from a guy I hardly know who looks like he just stepped out of a Bud Lite commercial.

A pause, and we can hear very faintly the PHONE-FUTZED VOICE of a female FRIEND briefly adding her outrage, ending with an interrogatory.

As SHERRY replies, she puts down her tea, picks up a dustpan and handbroom, and begins to clean up the shards from the vase, holding the phone between her shoulder and her head.

Well, not right away. I probably should have, but I was only halfway done with my dinner, and it was really good... I had this barbequed chicken pizza with goat cheese, you know? I love those. And there was this chocolate tort kind of thing on the menu that sounded really good. I left right after dessert, though. Took the RTD home.

Another inaudible PHONE-FUTZED contribution from the FRIEND.

During the following, SHERRY dumps the shards into the kitchen trash and throws the flowers after them.

Yeah, I know it's the MTA now, but everyone still calls it the RTD. The jerk just sent me a vase of flowers today, can you believe it?

PHONE-FUTZED indignation.

And it's not like he's out of the ordinary, either. My last date before him left something to be desired, also.

CUT TO:

INT. RESTAURANT - EVENING.

WIDE SHOT of SHERRY and her date, BRAD, both dressed in casual but smart summer clothes, seated at a table in a pleasant-looking Italian restaurant, against a wall near a window which overlooks the street. A bread basket, a decanter of olive oil, and a candle are between them on the table. BRAD is tearing whole-heartedly into the rolls and oil, chewing as he talks.

BRAD is good-looking and muscular, in his late twenties. However, he seems overly intense, and a little too quick with a high-pitched, probably insincere laugh.

So, Rebecca tells me you work in the industry.

You know Fritz Donatello, the director, right? He did some MOWs for NBC, and this feature for NewMark called The Last Straw?

SHERRY shakes her head. As BRAD continues, a HOMELESS MAN on the street stops at the window and looks in hungrily for a moment before walking on.

Oh. You should see The Last Straw sometime. It didn't do too well, but that's because it never found its audience. Normally Fritz makes his work very accessible, but The Last Straw was sort of like his Frenzy, you know--brilliant, but everyone sort of missed the point?

Oh, yeah... I think the Times critic said it played like something Hitchcock might have made after a lobotomy.

The Weekly loved it. Well, anyway, I'm Fritz's assistant! I've been right there, watching all the creative decisions getting made, for, oh, six years now. I mean, most of six years. Whenever Fritz has been working. "Vhen I haf verk, you haf verk," that's what Fritz says.

It sounds very rewarding.

Oh, it's great. Most of the time. I mean, oh, sure, sometimes I'm just running out to pick up his drycleaning, sometimes I'm just making the cappuccino, but the rest of the time I'm seeing an auteur at work.

Don't you ever get to do any creative work yourself?

BRAD has been waiting for this question.

Usually no, but once, in pre-production, Fritz just turned to me out of the blue and said, "Vat angles should I shoot for zis scene?" I was just floored.

The room begins to shake visibly, and we hear all the GLASS, CHINA, and SILVERWARE in the room VIBRATE. The chandelier begins to swing pendulum-like above, and servers stagger slightly to keep their balance as they carry their serving trays.

Otherwise, neither the servers nor anyone else pay much attention to the tremor. BRAD's MONOLOGUE continues uninterrupted.

I was just like, "Well, after the master, why not do close-ups on him and her, and then maybe do the kitten's POV, like a real low-angle thing with the camera moving really quickly around their feet?" Fritz just thinks about it and then goes, "Put it in," because he was dictating the shot list to me.

The quake stops.

So it went into the shot list! As it turned out, we never found the time to set up the kitten POV, but at least he got the close-ups I suggested.

He must have been impressed with your talent.

Well, I guess so, because he gave me a step up. (dramatic pause) You're looking at Fritz Donatello's next second-unit assistant director!

CUT TO:

INT. SHERRY'S APARTMENT - DAY.

We have returned to the SAME SCENE and ANGLE as before: the WIDE SHOT of SHERRY talking on the phone in her kitchen.

Actually, I'd just as soon not talk about it. Let's just say that I'm getting very discouraged with the quality of men in this city.

We hear the sound of the FRIEND's PHONE-FUTZED reply, interrupted in short order by a DOUBLE-CLICK.

Oh, that's my call waiting. Can you hold on a minute?

SHERRY taps the appropriate button on her phone.

Hello?

We hear the PHONE-FUTZED voice of a MAN (FRANK). SHERRY lights up immediately.

FRANK!? Oh, my God! How have you been?

As she listens, we

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. SUPERMARKET - DAY.

CLOSE-UP of raw steaks, in the meat department of the supermarket.

SHERRY, still in T-shirt and sweats, has narrowed her field down to two or three steaks. She picks each one up, studies it, and puts it down just a few times more than should have been necessary before she finally selects a winner.

SHERRY puts the steak in her shopping cart, which already contains a few potatoes, a bottle of white wine and a pint of premium ice cream.

During the above, a small quake occurs, which SHERRY and all other visible SHOPPERS ignore.

CUT TO:

SHERRY waiting in the checkout line. Against the wall beyond the checkstand, we can see a row of familiar-looking lottery machines dispensing Lotto and Scratch-Off cards, as well as one emblazoned "Pick the Richter."

Above this last, a red diode sign flashes a repeating message, broken up Burma-Shave style:

"4.2?" "5.3?" "What Do You Think..." ..."The Next One Will Be?" "That Last One Was A..." "4.7." "Were You a WINNER?" "Try Again!"

CUT TO:

INT. SHERRY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT.

SHERRY is having dinner with FRANK. She is wearing dressy jeans and a silk shirt; he is in a jacket and tie. FRANK is around SHERRY's age and reasonably good-looking.

FRANK's luggage, still tagged "LAX," is visible IN FRAME.

They are eating the steak and twice-baked potatoes, and drinking the wine.

I really appreciate your picking me up on such short notice. I want you to know, I meant to call you much earlier.

Not a problem. It's not like I had an especially full schedule today.

No, I mean I'd been meaning to give you a call for a long time now. Just to talk, you know? I mean, I still think of you as a friend. I feel bad it's been so long.

I understand. I mean, I could have called, too. It's just you get busy, you're trying to have a life somewhere, you lose track of time.

Right, that's exactly it. (beat) So, you like it out here, then? It doesn't, uh, bother you to live here?

SHERRY considers a moment.

Well, you know, they say the traffic was much worse ten years ago, and the smog levels are actually going down--

No, I mean the, uh, the...

Oh!... Nah. It's like anything else, you get used to it. You got used to New York, right? Crime, traffic, street people... it just becomes part of the backdrop.

Um... what are they like?

Oh, jeez, that's right... you've never been out here before, have you? And it's been pretty quiet today. Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough.

Well, great. Are you always so flip about it?

No. Usually I don't talk about it at all. No one really does. Seriously, it's no worse living here than in New York. It's warmer, too. (beat) So where's your convention?

Um, some hotel in Hollywood or East Hollywood.

West Hollywood?

Uh, yeah, I think so.

A pause.

How long's it been? Since we were last together?

Boy, I guess about... what? Three years? Is that right? We got out of college in... then we were together through that summer... yeah, I guess about three, three-and-a-half years.

Did you think you would find someone else quickly? (beat) I did. Think so, I mean.

Tell the truth, I wasn't really sure. After you, I wasn't sure there could be anyone else.

SHERRY colors slightly, hoping for more.

I did find someone, though.

That wasn't what she was hoping for.

Really? Has it been a long time?

Yeah, we've known each other a little over two years, actually. Last year, in fact, we kinda made it official.

FRANK sticks out his left hand.

Observe--the golden handcuff.

Oh my God, you got married! You didn't even tell me on the phone! Congratulations!

Thanks.

A tremor.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, shit.

Relax. It's small.

The shaking intensifies a bit.

Oh, Christ!

Relax. We're just going to stand up and get in the doorframe.

They stand. FRANK gets up too abruptly, sending his plate of food flying.

Don't worry about it. We're just going to get in the doorframe.

She helps him get into the doorframe, by which time the shaking has stopped. They stand there for a few more moments.

Jesus. Is that it?

For now.

How the hell can you get to sleep at night, knowing it's going to do that?

How do you sleep knowing it might snow? You just can't worry about it. If they wake you up, you go back to sleep.

And these are supposed to be small. Don't you ever worry about...

A long pause. SHERRY shakes her head no.

There's no point.

They return to the table. FRANK picks up his plate from the floor, tries to dust off his steak.

CUT TO:

INT. SHERRY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT.

SHERRY is lying awake and alone in bed. The room is lit only by moonlight coming in through the Venetian blinds. The digital clock on her nighttable reads "1:06 AM."

A tremor: the blinds shake, and the moonlight shifts back and forth across the room. A neighbor's CAR ALARM goes off.

SHERRY shakes her head and digs into her pillows.

CUT TO:

INT. SHERRY'S LIVING ROOM - MORNING.

SHERRY, in an oversized nightshirt, is reclining on the couch, watching Sunday morning television. The Sunday L.A. Times is sitting unread next to her.

A small quake rumbles through. SHERRY doesn't budge from the couch.

DISSOLVE TO:

Same shot, an hour later. Half a sandwich is on a plate on the coffee table in front of SHERRY; she is idly munching the other half, still watching TV.

Another quake, a little larger than last time. The power cuts out.

SHERRY, still eating, picks up the newspaper and reads that instead.

DISSOLVE TO:

Same shot, an hour later--most of the newspaper is in a pile by the couch, and the sandwich is gone, although the plate isn't.

SHERRY puts aside the last section of the paper.

Another quake.

When it's over, SHERRY sighs, gets up, and walks out of the room.

CUT TO:

INT. SHERRY'S KITCHEN - AFTERNOON.

SHERRY is once again talking on the telephone while making tea.

Why I keep putting myself through this is entirely beyond me. If there're any worthwhile men around here, they're sure keeping their distance from me. It seems like if they're good-looking, then they're dumb and obnoxious, and if they've got even an ounce of intelligence or wit, then they're bitter because they can't seem to get their big break in the industry.

The inevitable tremor. This is a fairly strong one: dishware on a drying rack in the kitchen tumbles to the floor and shatters.

Needless to say, SHERRY's MONOLOGUE plows on.

I mean, am I supposed to learn to enjoy living like a nun? Actually, scratch that: a nun's married to God, at least. What am I married to, my job? I'm married to 26K a year answering phones? That's just great. I'm really thrilled about that, let me tell you.

The quake has ended. SHERRY listens to a PHONE-FUTZED reply from female FRIEND 2.

Nah. I'm pretty settled here, to be honest. And maybe you're right, but I don't think men are any different anywhere else, really.

FADE TO BLACK and CREDITS over the following.

Maybe they act like jerks in different ways, and Lord knows even someone acting like a jerk in a non-L.A. way would be a pleasant change of pace at this point, but I don't think it's like there's this big selection of terrific men all holed up in Austin or something. There's going to be a lot of assholes no matter where you look. In fact, I think the Asshole Quotient may be one of the universal constants.

THE END.