Tim & Flippa; a quest gone astray; goldfish in bags; more of a vignette
FADE IN:
INT. APARTMENT ‚ DAY
The doorbell buzzes, repeatedly and at quick, irregular intervals. TIM, 24, tall and too thin for his height, hurries to the door. He has slept in his clothes. His apartment is messy and spare, in a very post-college sort of way.
TIM
(muttering)
Okay, okay, just ‚ one second, hold up!
He opens the door. FLIPPA, 26, is bouncing on the balls of her feet. She wears a number of odd accessories ‚ knit arm stockings, costume jewelry, hair extensions, the works. She is holding a spoon scooped full of a creamy brown substance. She holds it out to Tim and smiles.
FLIPPA
I though you'd never come. Here, eat this.
Tim takes the spoon and squints at it.
TIM
What am I eating?
FLIPPA
Just trust me on this.
TIM
Whenever you say that, things always happen.
FLIPPA
What's your problem? Here I am offering to expand your palate, and you're giving me a hard time for it!
TIM
And rightly so. This stuff looks like... mud.
FLIPPA
It's chocolate. Don't be a smartass. Whatever happened to new olfactory horizons et cetera?
TIM
What? I outgrew that when I was twelve.
FLIPPA
Come on, you're gonna let a little blob of innocent brown goo defeat you this early in the day?
TIM
Fine, fine! You win. Give it here.
He tries the substance. Flippa watches, biting her lower lip. It's clear Tim doesn't quite know how to react.
FLIPPA
That was my very last spoonful of Nutella. Now I'm out, and you got to help me find some more.
She grabs his arm and tugs him out into the hallway.
TIM
Wait, what? The hell kind of logic is that?
FLIPPA
You've tried it! You've experienced the glory and the wonder of a spread more popular in the rest of the world than peanut butter. You're addicted now: you've got no choice but to help me. I've got scientists and the FDA to back me up.
She tugs, with more exaggerated movements, digging her heels into the carpet and leaning back. Tim overbalances, and throws his free arm up.
TIM
Just ‚ dude, okay! Let me get some shoes on!
FLIPPA
I knew you were a reasonable person at heart!
Tim steps back a pace, and she heads into his apartment, triumphant. She pauses next to him and holds out her hand. He gives her back the spoon and she nonchalantly sticks it in her pocket.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. CITY STREET ‚ DAY
Tim and Flippa walk briskly, shoulder to shoulder, down the sidewalk. Tim now wears a jacket and scuffed trainers over his t-shirt and jeans. They pass small groceries, boutiques, record stores and the odd food stand. Wind ruffles them every so often.
TIM
Is there any reason you can't just get some more from wherever you got that batch?
FLIPPA
You got a plane ticket to Nevada?
TIM
Why are you importing your Nutella from Nevada?
FLIPPA
'Cause that's where my minions can get it for me. Actually, no, it was a gift from my friend Christine. Damn her eyes, she only sent me one jar. The fiend.
She catches sight of a store that interests her: Exotic Companion Emporium & Supplies.
FLIPPA
Hey! Let's go in there!
TIM
That's a pet store.
FLIPPA
(pushing the door open)
So?
TIM
So if it's a pet store that's also a grocer, I'm going to be really scared.
FLIPPA
(scandalized)
You know what you are? You're a bitter forty-six year-old trapped in a young man's body.
She goes in without waiting for him. Tim sighs and follows her in.
INT. PET STORE ‚ DAY
The Emporium is not nearly as grandiose as its name suggests. The left side is ceiling to floor with fish tanks: their air filters fill the store with a dull, relentless hum. Down the middle aisle are some freestanding cages containing various pets ‚ parrots, chinchillas, the like. In the back are supplies; to the right is the counter, attended by a CLERK. Flippa makes a beeline for a display of canaries. Tim, on the other hand, stands in the middle of the floor, looking around uncertainly until something catches his attention. Above the clerk's counter is a bar, on which are suspended a long row of goldfish in plastic bags, county fair-style. He hovers in front of the counter, taking the sight in and oblivious to the clerk's presence.
CLERK
(bored)
Can I help you with anything?
TIM
(noticing the clerk)
Oh! Uh. No, I'm just... just looking.
CLERK
We just got those in yesterday afternoon.
TIM
Where do you get goldfish from?
CLERK
(deadpan)
Thailand.
TIM
What?
CLERK
No, that's the bettas. The goldfish we get from a breeder in West Montrose, actually. Support your local economy and all that.
TIM
Huh. How much for one?
CLERK
Two fifty.
Tim eyeballs the fish and chooses one that feels right. The clerk, unenthused, unties it from the bar and sets it on the counter. Flippa notices Tim shuffling for his wallet and comes over from the rat display.
FLIPPA
This is unexpected.
TIM
I figure I can use the conversation.
FLIPPA
You got stuff to keep that in? That? What am I talking about? (to the clerk) How can you tell is a goldfish is a boy or a girl?
CLERK
I have no idea. I just work here. It's going to be $2.69 with tax.
Tim pays, and, paper bag in arm, he and Flippa leave the store.
EXT. CITY STREET ‚ DAY
FLIPPA
What brought that on?
TIM
He looked cute. I think I identified with the mournful way he waved his fins and blubbed at me.
FLIPPA
Oh, thank heavens. You were worrying me there for a moment.
TIM
Why's that?
FLIPPA
(smiles)
I was afraid you might be lightening up.
