Story: Wednesday

INT - NONDESCRIPT BAR IN NYC - MIDDLE OF THE DAY.

[The bar is not well-lit, but sun through the windows shows that its probably somewhere around 4 pm. There's a group of women, about 10 of them, in the corner, laughing and sharing pints. A few men sit around the tables in the back of the bar. One guy, in his mid-thirties, Jeremy, is sitting by himself at the bar on a stool. He's drinking a beer. He looks dejected. After a while, one of the women from the group comes up to the bar. She orders a drink.]

Mae: Hi. Corona, please?

Bartender: Sure.

[Bartender walks away to get drink. Mae takes a seat on the stool and sneaks a peak at Jeremy, who doesn't look up. He's staring, in a mopey sort of way, into his beer. Mae looks like she wants to say something to him, but she's not sure what to say. She plays with a few random items on the bar, like matches or a paper coaster. Jeremy still doesn't look up. Bartender comes back and places the beer in front of Mae.]

Mae: Thanks. Can you just put this on the tab that we started?

[She motions to the group of women in the back without even looking at them].

Bartender: Yup.

[Bartender walks away and makes a note on a slip of paper near the register. Then disappears in the background of the bar. Mae stays on the stool. She looks back at the women, since they have just burst out laughing. Mae rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Jeremy]

Mae: It's sort of a cliché, don't you think?

[She's speaking to Jeremy, but he doesn't respond. She pauses.]

Mae: Don't you think?

[She takes her beer bottle and taps it on the table in front of Jeremy's face to get his attention. He seems to jump out of a daze]

Jeremy: Huh? Sorry, what?

[Mae eyes him suspiciously now that she has his attention]

Mae: It's sort of a cliché?

Jeremy: What is?

Mae: The whole brooding man at the bar thing, in the middle of the afternoon?

[Jeremy looks around, trying to figure out who she is talking about]

Mae: You, man! I'm talking about you.

Jeremy: [He stifles a laugh] Huh. Yeah. You think?

Mae: Well, aren't guys your age normally at work or something?

Jeremy: Aren't women your age usually at work? Or something?

Mae: Flattered, thanks.

Jeremy: Sorry, you're right. My mother raised me better than that.

Mae: Well, I had no choice. I'd rather be at work. I had to go to this... [she looks back at the women] bachelorette party... lunch thing.

[This catches Jeremy's attention. He looks back at all the women.]

Jeremy: Really. Huh. [He seems to ponder this] Shouldn't...?

Mae: What?

Jeremy: I don't know much about these things, but shouldn't that be taking place at some sort of night club or something? And not on a Wednesday afternoon?

Mae: We're starting early. It's a rare phenomenon, you realize, women in their thirties getting married in New York.

Jeremy: Is it?

Mae: No one gets married anymore. Not necessarily by choice. But just, you know, they can't really fit a husband into their schedules, in between business meetings and manicures and the gym. At least not in this city.

Jeremy: Interesting. So the celebration started early because, someone's getting married and you all are so impressed with the concept?

Mae: [smiling] Exactly. [She leans in close and says in a whisper] And you know what I've learned?

Jeremy: What's that?

Mae: It's a crock of shit. It's all a crock of shit. Did I mention the crock of shit part already?

Jeremy: No, I don't think you did. A crock of what now?

Mae: Those women aren't happy. They're faking it. They're raising their glasses, shouting things like, "woo hoo, congratulations!" but all they're really thinking is, "you dumb bitch, I spent way more hours than you on the treadmill, how did you get the fiancé before I did?"

Jeremy: I see, so they're a supportive bunch.

Mae: Viciously so. Marriage is a trap, a trophy that people want, thinking that it will make everything better if they can just have it, own it, put it on the mantle. And here we all are, celebrating the conquest. It's ridiculous.

Jeremy: Maybe you should just tell them you have to get back to work.

Mae: We all work together, in the same office, so I'm stuck here. My boss just bought the last round. [Pause] So that's my excuse. What's yours?

Jeremy: Excuse for what?

Mae: For being here. At 4 in the afternoon. On a Wednesday.

Jeremy: Self pity.

Mae: Attractive.

Jeremy: Ya think?

Mae: Oh, totally. Manic, self-loathing, drinking problem. All signs of a man you want to bring home to mommy.

Jeremy: If I were an alcoholic then I would at least be way cooler than I am now. I've been sitting here for an hour and all I've had is half a beer.

Mae: A light weight! Even sexier.

[Jeremy laughs]

Mae: I have to say, you look, for some reason, familiar. Not in a generic sort of way, but like, I've actually seen you before.

Jeremy: That's an acute possibility. [He takes a drink]. I'm insanely famous.

Mae: Are you?

Jeremy: No, I am not. I am quite, not, insanely famous. But yes, there is a chance you have seen me before. Do you have a pet, by chance?

Mae: I do, actually. A dwarf hamster.

Jeremy: Perfect. Do you ever line your dwarf hamster's cage with newspaper that you don't want to read? You know, old boring articles that seem irrelevant?

Mae: I do.

Jeremy: Yes, well, the next time your dwarf hamster takes a piss and a thousand little turds on one of those papers, look closely. And you just might notice a photograph of yours truly.

Mae: [She gasps] You're that guy! [She points at him suddenly, happily, recognizing him]

Jeremy: Wow. I'm glad my reference to hamster piss joggled your memory.

Mae: I've seen you! You're that guy! That guy that wrote that movie!

Jeremy: Well, I'm not sure which movie you're referring to, but if it's the one that I wrote, then yes, I wrote that one.

Mae: Dweebs! You wrote Dweebs! I saw it, like 3 years ago? Wow, I can't believe I remember this. It was great, I loved it. Well, not really. I'm just saying that because you're in front of me. It's not really my kind of humor. But I heard everyone else loved it. People talked about it forever. I can't tell you how many bad dates I went on that year with guys who would immitate that character, what's his name, any time we needed to hail a cab.

Jeremy: Igor.

Mae: Igor! Right. Or was it? I don't know.

Jeremy: I'm pretty sure that was his name.

Mae: Right, that scene where he hails the cab.

Jeremy: With his ass.

Mae: Riggghhht. Right. Yeah, not really my style. But boy, people were obsessed. Wow. So, now I really want to know, what are you doing in a bar at 4 in the afternoon?

Jeremy: Joe public has a short attention span.

Mae: Hmm. Yeah.... [she takes a long look at him]. Shouldn't you be driving around L.A in a Mercedes or something?

Jeremy: I drive an Accord.

Mae: And you live here?

Jeremy: I do.

Mae: Well, hey. That's cool. Yeah, I remember your face. I remember seeing some interview with you on Extra. You were talking about, hot dogs, was it? Something about hot dogs and bullemia. I think you called it the perfect accessory. A two for one.

Jeremy: That sounds like something I would say.

Mae: It wasn't very funny. I felt bad for you that you thought that was funny. That's why I remember it.

Jeremy: Yes, well, I did write a movie called Dweebs, remember. So prolificacy isn't really my thing.

Mae: You still haven't told me why you're here. I'm guessing it's not for a bachelor party. And I already know you're not an alcoholic.

Jeremy: I am here because. Because.

Mae: Because.

Jeremy: Well, I had a bad day. A bad week, actually. No, more like a bad year. And so, I thought. I thought, why not get a drink.

Mae: Well, what happened on your bad day, in your bad week, in your bad year.

Jeremy: Do you really want to know?

Mae: Always.

Jeremy: Darling, I have come to realize, that I am not the great writer people think I am.

Mae: Get out.

Jeremy: It's true. Sure, I've cranked out a few fart jokes in my career. And really good ones, I might add. How do you think I paid for that Honda? But, sadly, it seems the world doesn't want fart jokes from a 37-year old man anymore. They want to hear it from 17-year old punks that never even went to college. The market is infiltrated with these... actual dweebs now... these brilliant, funny, can't dress themselves dweebs who are writing this great material and giggling like girls on TRL. And for some reason, god only knows why, when I walk into the studios now, me, the KING of the dweebs, the man who put these little fuckers on the map in the first place, they look at me, like, shouldn't you be writing for CSI now? Shouldn't you be, like, hanging out with Alan Alda on PBS? 37 is old in this business. O-L-D. And if all you know how to do is write jokes about farting, and penises, and cheerleaders, and you've banked your CAREER on this god-given talent.... Well, well... well.... Well.

[Mae doesn't say anything. She sits silently and the two of them stare at their drinks for a while.]

Jeremy: See, I told you I'd be cooler if I was an alcoholic.

Mae: So that's why you're here. Because no one likes your writing anymore.

Jeremy: No, actually. I'm here because I have this band. Because, you know, when I'm not writing fart jokes I dare to dream that I could be a rock star one day. And I have this band, and we played last night at this club. And someone wrote a review about it. And it wasn't good.

Mae: What did they say?

Jeremy: That I was a cliché.

Mae: Where have I heard that before?

Jeremy: And that I shouldn't quit my day job.

Mae: That's encouraging.

Jeremy: For the day job, sure. Except the day job doesn't really want me anymore either.

Mae: So now you want to be a rock star.

Jeremy: Yeah, but not till I'm 40, though. Y'know? I don't want to loose out on my youth. [He smiles]

Mae: Funny. [she laughs] Hey! That was a joke and it wasn't even about farts!

Jeremy: Wow, you're right. Look, there's hope for me yet. [They clink glasses] So. Tell me. What do you do and are you brilliantly successful at it?

Mae: I don't want to depress you even further. But yes, yes I am. Brilliantly.

Jeremy: Are you making a difference in the world, young lady?

Mae: Absolutely not.

Jeremy: That's what I like to hear. [They clink glasses again]

Mae: I work in real estate. I sell ridiculously priced apartments to ridiculously rich people. It's utterly fulfilling. One client, this guy I've been working with for a few months actually, just bought the perfect 3-bedroom apartment, overlooking the Hudson. Gorgeous. We closed at 3.5 last week....

Jeremy: Wow, now I feel a lot better about myself.

Mae: You should. Guy was a total, asshole. Total asshole. His money is wasted on him. He wanted one room for his gym, another one for his office, and the other one, he said, would be his meditation room. Meditation, can you believe it? If I spent 3.5 for a meditation room I'd be having anxiety attacks about it every night. [Jeremy laughs]. Plus, the thing that gets me is, what the fuck does he need an office for? The guy was an idiot. He made fast money like all the rest of those egomaniacs on Wall Street, and he's not even, remotely interesting. He had not one interesting thing to say. So I just picture him now, in his office, looking at porn all day and IMing underage co-eds on myspace. You know?

Jeremy: Wow. Yeah, I'm not like that at all. Puritan, all the way.

Mae: And the thing is, these men hit on me every time. Every time...

Jeremy: That's rough for you.

Mae: And I have to play along with it, you know, flirt with them a little. Make them think there's a chance they're gonna get some, but they're not of course. All I want is their signature. Sign the papers, asshole. Make the deal happen. Close, close, close. So I can get the hell out of here.

Jeremy: Hmm.

[They're silent again. Then they look at each other and smile]

Jeremy: We are something else.

Mae: Totally.

[They're quiet. Suddenly Jeremy starts shifting a little bit on his stool, and seems a little awkward. He looks like he wants to say something. Mae notices.]

Mae: What?

Jeremy: No, you know, I was just wondering.

Mae: What?

Jeremy: I was just thinking. You know. I was thinking I should ask you for your number. You know, just in case, I wanted to buy an apartment one day. With an office.

[Mae smiles, laughs a little, and looks down uncomfortably at her hands]

Jeremy: Or. Or, we could get a drink sometime. Which, apparently, we're already doing. But a more official one. [He notices Mae's silence, and tried to make a joke] How's that for a segue? I'm so suave.

Mae: Wow.

Jeremy: What's up?

Mae: Nothing, it's just. [She looks back at the women who are still laughing in the corner, oblivious to her absence]. Well, those women over there?

Jeremy: The ones who secretly want to kill the bride-to-be?

Mae: Yeah. Well. [Pause] I sort of, AM, the bride. [pause] To be. [pause] That everyone wants to kill.

Jeremy: [He looks back at the group of women. Then he looks at Mae again] No shit.

Mae: Yes, shit.

Jeremy: Well. Hmm. OK, then. [He takes a drink again] So, I don't mean to be a girl about this, but, shouldn't you be wearing one of those big shiny rings or something?

Mae: I should. But I'm, adjusting? Still. To the concept.

Jeremy: Or, maybe it's just a survival tactic.

Mae: Meaning?

Jeremy: You know, so other thirty-something single women on the streets of New York won't jump you for getting hitched before they do.

Mae: Funny. Very funny. See? You've still got it.

[Jeremy smiles and looks down at this drink, a bit shy. Mae sits silently, a bit awkwardly. She looks back at the women and sees that they're all starting to put on their coats and getting ready to leave.]

Mae: It looks like my party is over. So, I should probably...

Jeremy: Yeah! Right. Sure.

Mae: It was, it really was, a pleasure talking to you. I promise not to let my hamster shit on your face anymore.

Jeremy: That's kind. That's very kind, thank you. I appreciate it.

[Mae gets up from the stool and faces Jeremy. He faces her and they pause in front of each other. Smiling a bit.]

Mae: You know, I don't actually know your name, now that I think about it.

Jeremy: Jeremy. Jeremy Kohl.

Mae: Jeremy Kohl. Pleased to meet you. I'm Mae Gordon.

Jeremy: Pleased to meet you too, Mae Gordon.

[They shake hands, slowly. Then Mae turns quickly and walks back to her friends who are walking out the door. She stops at the door and turns back to look at Jeremy, who is still watching her. She ties the belt around her coat, smiles, waves, and walks out the door]