LUNCH HOUR IN
LAWNDALE
A 'Daria' fan
fiction by Brother Grimace
(Scene: The
Ruttheimer Estate (lest any of you forget that the Sloanes are not the only
wealthy family in town). Situated near the end of town, it looks like a
slightly toned down version of Southfork (from 'Dallas'), with the main manor,
the guesthouses, a gazebo, stables out about a quarter-mile from the main area,
and acres upon acres of beautiful land. If the Ruttheimers were Black, one
might quote Arsenio Hall & say that 'He's glad to see that at least ONE
family's gotten their forty acres and a mule!' In other words - it's a nice
place.)
(Scene: Outside
Upchuck's room. Bronwyn Ruttheimer, Upchuck's mother, is looking through a
sheaf of papers as she reaches the door, then knocks several times in a
no-nonsense manner. She is six-foot plus and has an actual figure, with a full
mane of scarlet hair and dark emerald eyes that hold the fire of the Irish
within. Think of the actress Suzie Plakson (the female 'Q' from 'Star Trek:
Voyager) and you've got the idea.)
Bronwyn: (her
Irish accent coming through when she's angry - and she sounds like she's back
in County Derry now) Charles Emerson Ruttheimer the Third, I don't care if you
are at Death's door - you get out here right now before I beat you like a dusty
old rug out of the basement!
Upchuck (OS)
Mother, I didn't do anything!
Bronwyn: Oh. And
you didn't do a thing, did you? (Upchuck sits up in bed as Bronwyn explodes
through the door and across the room like a crimson tornado as she goes
directly to one of the walk-in closets in her son's room.) And if I open this
door and poke around a bit, that spineless little bit of suburban fluff won't
come flying out, I suppose?
(PAUSE)
(Backing up a bit,
Upchuck's room. Despite what one would think, it's not papered in centerfolds
from 'Playboy' magazine. It is surprisingly tasteful - and average for a
teenage boy's room - just a LOT bigger. There is a computer nook off to one
side - the size of a bathroom in an average home - which holds enough high-end
computer equipment to run a small corporation, and a king-size bed with normal
sheets - NOT anything sci-fi oriented or 'R'-rated. On one side of the room, several professionally mounted paintings
are hung on the wall. They are of surprising quality, and include 'Ride,
Chuckie, Ride!' (from 'Arts N' Crass'), a flattering portrait of Bronwyn and a
handsome, red-haired man about her age (obviously Upchuck's dad), a hauntingly
colorful fractal work of a black hole, and a STUNNING, museum-quality reproduction
of the 'nude demon' painting seen in Al Pacino's office in 'The Devil's
Advocate' - but with flattering imagery of many of the students from LHS,
including Daria, Jodie, Sandy, Kevin, Andrea, Mack, and others. The kid is
apparently not without skills.)
(PLAY)
Upchuck: Mother,
you promised that -
Bronwyn: I
promised that I'd afford you the same courtesy that you show me, Little
Charles!
Upchuck: (wincing)
Please don't call me that, Mother.
Bronwyn: We'll
discuss your fragile ego later, son of mine. (snapping her fingers, then
crossing her arms as she takes an imperial stance next to the door) Get the
girl out here now, or I'll do it for you.
Upchuck: Stacy…
(Bronwyn winces as
the door swings open to reveal Stacy Rowe, her eyes wide as saucers as she
glances up at the older woman - once. She is all but shivering with fear.)
Bronwyn: Oh, look
- and if it isn't 'Rowe the Doe' that we've flushed from the woods!
Stacy: (her teeth
chattering with fear) Mrs. Ruttheimer, we weren't doing anything -
Bronwyn: (under
her breath) As though you'd have the backbone to even try, like any normal girl
who's taken a fancy to some young man of means…
Stacy: - I was
just bringing Chas a few slices of pizza, since he's out sick -
Bronwyn:
(advancing on Stacy) Go on…
Stacy: -And I
wanted to see him!
Bronwyn: But not
enough to come to the front door instead of sneaking through the window, I see.
(She points towards the door.) OUT.
Upchuck: Mother-
Bronwyn: You
should be spending your energy saying goodbye to the skittering violet, Little
Charles. (beat; turning to Stacy) BOO!
(The entire house
is rocked by Stacy's scream, and the young woman tears out of Upchuck's room
with amazing speed. Upchuck turns to his mother, who can barely keep from
bursting out in laughter.)
Upchuck: Mother,
you don't have to scare her every time you see her! It's bad enough that she
acts like you eat babies…
Bronwyn: Only for
snacks, and only when the villagers arouse my wrath. (beat) You know I'm only
doing this to help you, my little man. You picked badly.
Upchuck: She's
still my choice, Mother.
Bronwyn: She's a
weak little child. She'll break if anything of consequence ever happened, and
if some other boy who's more handsome and has more money came by - someone who
her little friends would get all cliqued-off about - what do you think she'd do
with you? (beat: Upchuck's head droops just a touch.) Now, you know how I feel
about you acting like women are prizes and possessions -
Voice (OS): That's
right, son - the most precious possession you can own! (Upchuck's smile
brightens as Charles E. Ruttheimer, Jr. sticks his head into the room. He is a
head shorter than his wife but just as attractive, with red hair a shade or two
lighter and a small, well-trimmed mustache. Think of Eric Stoltz and that's the
ticket.)
Bronwyn: Charles -
you're not helping. (beat) The boy's already got the wrong idea about women!
Charles: I'll
check for myself, thank you. (He flashes a smile and wink at his wife as he
enters the room.) L.C. - do you like girls?
Upchuck: Yes.
Charles: Would you
like to have sex with a girl someday?
Upchuck: With more
than one, Dad. (beat) Not necessarily at the same time, but then again… (His
face takes on a dreamish reverie, and Bronwyn throws up her hands in disbelief
before reaching for a pillow and plowing her son dead in the forehead with it!)
OW!
Bronwyn: SEE?
(beat) I blame you for this…
Charles: What's
the problem, love? He likes girls!
Bronwyn: But he
has no respect for them!
Upchuck: That's
not true! (He sits up, and looks Bronwyn straight in the eye.) I respect YOU,
Mother. How could I not have respect for women, when you are the most important
woman in my entire life?
(Bronwyn's
expression softens immediately as she goes to Upchuck, and Charles lets his
breath out with a 'Man, did that kid dodge a bullet or what?' expression on his
face.)
Bronwyn: Oh, my
little baby boy… I know you do. (She hugs him, and then raps him upon the top
of his head.) Now, if you could just practice that 'honesty' trick and get it
down until the girls like you for who you really are - or at least don't take
it personally - then maybe you'll find something a little better than Miss 'Do
You Know Where Your Backbone Is?"
Charles: Bronwyn…
Bronwyn: Tell me
you would have been interested if I had just come running up and jumped into
your lap. (She scowls as Charles lets a slow smile cross his face.) Well, maybe
YOU would have, but…
Charles: I get
your point. (he flashes a look at Upchuck that clearly says, 'and YOU get the point,
too - RIGHT?)
Upchuck: I
understand, Mother. (At that moment, six scarlet-haired youths - two older than
Upchuck, and four younger - fall through the door.) Oh, look - the bookends are
here!
(The Ruttheimer
parents turn towards Samuel and Joseph, the younger twins (five years old),
Francis and Claire (the fraternals - around 12, and Francis is a boy), and
Michelle & Danielle, the older pair (about 21.)
Charles:
(jokingly; to Bronwyn) What's with all of them being here right now? Don't we
pay good money to send them off to private schools so we can be alone?
Danielle: Isn't
that why you keep ending up with Mom as a Xerox machine?
Michelle: I'd say
that Mother needs a break from you, Dad!
Danielle: We came
to take Mom out for lunch - sorry, Pops, but you're not invited. You get to go
back to the office, invent more software and help people develop new computer
tricks so we can waste your money on girl things - or at least, (motioning
towards her twin) SHE does.
Michelle: And when
did you ever think about sending us off to private school? (She snaps her
fingers, and all seven Ruttheimer children speak in unison.)
Children: 'Public
school was good enough for my parents and it got me to where I am, so you'll go
to public school and make the grade so you won't have to depend on your
parents' money to be worth something!'
Charles: And was I
wrong…? (Upchuck pulls the cover over his head as he falls back into bed, and
the others all pour out of his room - leaving Charles and Bronwyn standing
alone.)
Bronwyn: Come on,
tycoon o' mine. Let's let your boy get some sleep.
(Scene: The LHS
Teachers' Lounge. Claire Defoe sits at a table next to the window, eating a
fruit plate of mango, kiwi, plantain (somewhat like banana) wild berries and
coconut chunks. She occasionally dunks a fruit chunk in the container of plain
yogurt next to her plate, and sips from a bottle of mineral water - but there
is an automatic feel to her actions, as she is staring out the window with a
lost expression.)
(Timothy O'Neill
walks into the lounge, an almost identical plate to Claire's - except he has
vegetables, ranch low-fat dressing, and iced tea. He walks over to Claire.)
Timothy: Claire…
do you mind if I sit down? (She is still lost in thought, and he sits.) You're
still thinking about Anthony, aren't you?
Claire: (returning
to reality) What did you say about Anthony?
Timothy: I was
wondering… Claire, maybe you should date other men besides him.
Claire: I'm not
dating Anthony-
Timothy: No,
you're sleeping with him - and I think you're developing feelings for him.
(beat) We've talked about this before… maybe it isn't a good idea for you to
try to build something with him. I really don't think he's ready…
Claire: I'm not
going to push him… we've both got plenty of time, and I make sure he's got his
space, so he won't feel crowded in.
Timothy: Just some
friendly advice. (beat; to himself) You were warned… (He turns back to his
lunch, a wary look on his face.)
(Scene: Pizza King. Daria and Jane sit in a
booth, warily eyeing the steaming-hot pizza on the table before them. Music -
'For Those About To Rock, We Salute You', by AC-DC.)
Jane: What's in
this thing, again?
Daria:
Rattlesnake, rabbit, squirrel, raccoon, grizzly bear, venison, and bison.
(beat) The 'Wild West Meat Lover's Special'. (beat) It's sad - but you know,
those trendy idiots are actually going to pay forty bucks for one of these.
Jane: Well -- this
is what we get for basically making this our only known public hangout.
Daria: This is
what we get for not worshipping at the local temple of the golden arches.
Jane: No - THIS is
what we get for you agreeing to try the damned thing… free pies for a week
isn't worth this.
Daria: The really
scary thing is that it actually smells good. (pause; she points to a lump of
meat) Do you recognize that?
Jane: Not even
with dental records. (beat) Say, when did you decide on this psychic
bungee-jump, anyway?
Daria: Necessary
conservation of funds.
Jane: What's Grand
Moff Helen come up with this time?
Daria: She's decided
that, despite seventeen years and my emasculation in effigy of the
thrice-dammed Val to the contrary, I would need to start thinking about having
'the right clothes' for all of those college visits I'll be dragged off to
sooner or later. (beat) She's decided that, from now until the middle of my
senior year, that half of my allowance will be used for buying clothes.
Jane: Ouch.
Third-degree buzzkill. (beat) I’ll bet Quinn’s just thrilled about your
upcoming adventures in fashion.
Daria: Mom’s
allowing her to come along with the rest of the Fashion Borg, so that I can see
once and for all that ‘I will comply’. Damn Type-A personalities…
(They look up to
see Jodie come in, a thundering gloom on her face.)
Jane: (to Jodie)
Hey, lady of the lake of sadness! Join with us, and eat of our pizza as you
speak of the latest indignity cast upon your soul by those branded villains of
our fair community, which you must endure before you are carried away to
rejoice forever in the glorious halls of Valhalla – among the honored dead!
(Daria gives her a
strange look, one echoed by Jodie as she heads over.)
Jane: (shrugging)
Max brought over a metric boatload of his old ‘Thor’ comic books over last
night. I’ve been doing the ‘I say thee NAY!’ thing on and off all morning.
Jodie: Save it for
Mr. O’Neill and freak him out.
Daria: Better
still, cut loose on Kevin in Barth’s class and let her think you’re born again.
Jane: Yeah.
(beat)Tell me again why we decided to hit this place for lunch instead of after
school?
Daria: Just
something different. (to Jodie) So, why did you go over the wall?
Jodie: I just… I
just needed to get away from the madness for a while.
(Daria & Jane
notice the sad, almost defeatist tone in her voice.)
Jane: You know,
it’s really not all that bad here. (pause) You’re in the best time of your
life, you know?
Daria: Yeah –
you’re making relationships with people who, after you’ve spent your life
becoming a worthwhile and wealthy person, will resent and curse you behind your
back while planning to ask you to co-sign on major loans for them because they
can’t finance a new home and car on their take from working the concession
stand at the local multiplex. (pause) Sometimes, I love being me.
Jane: Jodie, don’t
let the bastards get you down – unless, of course, you’re into the group thing.
(Jodie almost smiles.) Oh, is THAT how it is? It’s always the goody-two-shoes
who really know how to get their freak ON!
Jodie: You two are
something else.
Daria: And as long
as those boys at the NSA don’t release DNA samples, you’ll never know what.
Jodie: (actually
relaxing a little) Can I ask you two something? You know… something personal…?
Jane: Every night,
hon. It’s very soothing.
Daria: Take your
fingers out of the gutter and listen to her! (to Jodie) Go on…
Jodie: Do you… do
you ever look at your life and think that there’s nothing out there for you?
Jane: I don’t
understand.
Jodie: You know,
like, no matter what you do, no matter how much you accomplish, no matter how
many times you succeed in reaching your goals – you’ll never really be a
successful person?
Daria: Nope. Never
get that feeling.
Jane: Me neither.
Daria: I can
always become a super-terrorist and blow up buildings and jets.
Jane: As long as
there’s plastic surgery, a porno industry and CGI, I’ll always be a success.
Daria: CGI?
Jane: Being
double-jointed will only take you so far. (beat) Jodie, did something happen?
Jodie (pausing for
a moment as she glances around) I had a dream.
Daria: Wait until
graduation night – then we’ll all be free at last.
Jodie: I dreamed
about… I thought – Daria, I dreamed about your mother.
Jane: (eyes wide)
Whoa – now THAT one I didn’t see coming! (beat) Does Mack know about this -?
Daria: Jane. Mind.
Gutter. Out. Now. (beat) Talk to us, Jodie.
Jodie: (slowly) I
dreamed that I was just like your mother - well, I dreamed that I had a career
like your mother, but I wasn't happy with anything about my life. (beat) Everybody says that what we do now, while we're
in high school, will determine how our lives turn out.
Daria: I know that
I've heard that particular song far too many times.
Jodie: When I look
at where I'm headed, guys… I'm not so sure that that's a place I want to go.
(beat) I don't want to be a Black Republican, or a corporate weenie, or some
rich, snotty bitch who looks down at everybody because I graduated first in my
class from Harvard or Oxford medical or law school and makes at least five
million a year…
Jane: Wow. (beat)
Even when she's depressed, she's tasked for high-performance.
Jodie: I just want
to feel that it's all going to be worth it, you know? I want to believe that
what I'm doing is going to mean something - that I'll make a difference in the
lives of others for the better. I don't really do anything for myself, so I just
want to - (She stops talking, and Daria passes her a glass of ice water.) This
is all time from my life that I'll never get back. Is it going to be worth it?
(The table goes
silent for a moment.)
Jane: Is all of
this worth it?
(Silence. The
three young women mournfully look at one another. Jodie sips from her glass.)
Jane: Sure, it's
worth it. I can always use the experience for some really cool cubist art
project that'll score six figures in Manhattan, easy.
Daria: After I'm
through here in Lawndale, I'll go on and write about this. Pulitzer, American
Press Award, probably a Nobel for literature…
Jodie: No matter
what I do - I'll have at least ten to forty million in the bank by the time I'm
thirty, with at least one cover story in 'Ebony' or 'Jet' magazine about being
successful…
(The area becomes
silent once again. The threesome look down at the table with morose
expressions.)
Jodie: No matter
what I do - I'll always be known as the 'successful Black girl'…
Daria: I'll
probably sell out and create a lot of crappy TV shows that'll go forever and
make me rich because the idiots are so starved for something new and different,
my stuff'll seem like the Second Coming.
Jane: All I want
is someone to hold me in his arms and make me feel good.
(They look at each
other.)
Jodie: I have to
go.
Daria: Me, too. I
might as well finish the day out.
Jane: Why? (The
two look at Jane as if she just stepped on a kitten.) Look, we're all bummed -
why go back to the cause? Let's just blow it off and have some fun!
Jodie: Like what?
Jane: Basement -
my house. No parents. Just stocked the fridge the day before. Got the entire
run of 'Renegade' on videotape. Trent and the band left a keg from last night
cooling on ice.
Daria: 'Renegade'?
Jane: Lorenzo
Lamas out in the desert with tight jeans, no shirt and a gallon of ice water
that he pours all over himself. To quote a local citizen of some disrepute -
(she makes a pawing motion with her hands) 'Rrrrrrr…'
(Daria and Jodie
glance at each other, and burst out laughing.)
Jodie: (wiping her
eyes) Well, since we're walking anyway…
Daria: I don't
want to go back. (beat) I also have a nice little excuse in my log that'll fit
just beautifully for this little occasion.
Jane: Then it's
settled! (beat) And there's a bonus…
Daria: What have
you done now?
Jane: This I've
been saving for a special occasion - or when I was really down and needed some
laughs. (beat) About a month ago, I caught Upchuck wiring the showers for
video. In exchange for my not turning him in or beating the crap out of him, he
made a… special tape for me. (Jodie and Daria's eyes go wide.) That's right -
'The Men of Lawndale High - Uncovered!'
Jodie:
(disbelieving) You didn't -
Jane: Oh, yes, I
damn well did! (beat) So, proud co-conspirators - shall we adjourn to my house
of ill repute, and indulge proudly in naughty teenage revelry?
Daria: We can do
that.
(The girls head
out of the eatery, unaware that two men in a nearby booth have been paying
attention to their entire conversation.)
Man #1: After that
conversation, sir - I think that you're wrong. Landon's the one with the
problems, not Morgendorffer!
Man #2: (his form
hidden from view) Trust me on this. Little Miss Cynic is the one we want.
Man #1: But Landon
-
Man #2: -Would be
perfect if we wanted someone who would suicide after they were finished. We
want someone who's going to want to strike back, who's got her own agenda. The
fact that we're going to give her a chance to hit back at them is ultimately
irrelevant.
(pause) Have you
ever read 'The Stand' by Steven King?
Man #1: A bit of
it, long ago.
Man #2: There is a
character within that our Miss Morgendorffer reminds me of. The Trashcan Man, they call him. He is
absolutely and totally inept in the realm of the social, but he has a savant
skill for destruction by fire. (beat) When he first meets Randall Flagg, man
has beaten him down - but now, here is someone who will see the beauty in what
he is and will accept him without reservation.
(Doctor Kyle
Armalin stands, and we see that he is a tall, average-looking African-American
man in his thirties.)
Kyle: For our
young lady, the beatings will begin soon enough. She will be forced by
necessity to find sanctuary with those who accept her unconditionally - and
when she finds them…
Man #1: Dr.
Armalin, I don't know -
(Kyle looks back
down at the first man.)
Kyle: You don't
have to know. It's been arranged. (He goes to the window, watching as Daria and
her friends walk away, and speaks as if to her.) 'There's work for you in the
desert' - the desert of the mind that is our world. (beat) Great work. If you
want it.'
Man #1: (his skin
going pale as he rises from his chair and goes to where Kyle stands) Doctor,
you're starting to scare me…
Kyle: That is
because you are smart. (He turns back to the window; his eyes fixed on Daria.)
'It was Daria
Louise Morgendorffer, now known as the Misery Chick, now and forever, world
without end, hallelujah, amen.' (The first man stands beside him as Kyle places
his hand over the shrinking reflection of Daria in the window.) 'I'm going to
set you to burn....'
THE END OF THE
BEGINNING…
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This is a tiny
story. It stands on its own, but also serves as a prequel to 'It's All About
Respect' - the work I'm currently working on at the Kuat Drive Yards. (Yes -
although I didn't plan it to be that way, it's going to be that big.) IAAR is going to be the first of a number of
works, all following a similar path and affecting one another, but standing as
separate pieces. Think of the way the networks do the miniseries, such as the
'North & South' miniseries, or the upcoming 'Pretender' TV-films. I'd love
to do a regular series of 'Daria' fanfics, but with my trying to get a damned
agent again (man, this bites!), working on my seal script (still) as well as a
'Friends' episode ('You sellout-!' 'First chance I got, and look - my bills are
paid!') I couldn't put out the product the way SOME people do. Even worse - the
Canadibrit's out there setting the bar so damned high, I'm almost afraid to do a
regular series!
What I do know is
that I'm planning on a group of four to six fanfic minis for this universe, all
about the same length, that cover the final year of Daria's high-school career.
I can't say much more, except to say that IAAR should have been finished before
Christmas break - but its not - and then there's the editing, and re-editing,
and the damned people from Standards & Practices… anyway, enjoy!
One more thing -
CINCGREEN, if you're interested in doing a little beta reading, give me a shout.
You seem to have a bit more skill than the average bear in critiquing works,
you don't shrink from using the heavy beam-weapon when needed and you seem
somewhat lucid (despite your dislike of She Who Will Not Be Named. Oh, well.
Everyone has faults.) Brothergrimace@yahoo.com. We
will be waiting.
Oh, and P.S. -
'The Sun Will Come Out, Tomorrow' was only nominated for ONE category in the
Canadibrit Fanfic Awards and DIDN'T win? I DEMAND A RECOUNT! I want hand
recounts, and I want Paperpusher and CINCGREEN to fly over to London (okay,
wherever she is) to oversee the recount! I demand Justice! I want -
Oh, hello, Lynn -
excuse me, 'Miss Cullen'. Yes, I'm feeling all right - what are you doing with
that sock, and why do you have those rolls of quarters? Why are you looking at
me like that…?
I have to go
(SWOOOSH!) MISS CULLEN! That was my HEAD you almost (SWOOOSH!) -What the hell
is wrong with you - I'd like to think that between Trent and AP, you'd be a lot
calmer, or doesn't sex soothe girls like -
THWACK! THWACK! SQUOOSCH!
That hurt. The
pain that only a man can know. Ouch. I really mean it when I say 'ouch'. I
really need to go lay down somewhere… never mind what I just said. Later.
January 7, 2001