Grand Ghoulish (I-VI)


The sandy coastline of a slightly more affluent coastal California “community.” Harold and Sophia sit on a bench. He, ever a slobbish chimp, watches the boats. She, a fashionable mess, peruses a stack of photographs.

NARRATOR: (voice-over) It was a sweltering afternoon in a slightly more affluent coastal California “community” where nobody really likes each other, but are too medicated to care. The still air was thick and smelled of fish. And as Harold watched another yacht struggle to navigate the calm waters of the harbor, he concluded the world was wrong and life was meaningless.

SOPHIA: Would you do me?

NARRATOR: (voice-over) They sat on a bench beneath the thinning shade of a patch of trees, yacht clubs and hotels to their left, families splashing about on a narrow stretch of sandy beach to their right. She was a fashionable mess of hair blowing in the wind, making her way through a stack of photographs of herself. He was very confused.

Whatever “it” is finally registers with Harold.

HAROLD: I’m sorry. What?

Sophia ignores this, holds up a particularly flattering image in which she made creative use of a chair, a mirror, and the contents of a box she kept buried in the back of her closet.

SOPHIA: I’d do me.

HAROLD: (smiles) I’m glad you like them.

SOPHIA: (gushes) I love them! Don’t take this the wrong way, but how are you not getting more work?

HAROLD: (shrugs) What’s there to say? One minute, you’re young and full of shit and the world is yours. Next minute, you’re looking at a clock on the wall in an empty art gallery, wondering what the Hell you did wrong.

Sophia sees the man beside her, turns to the stack of photographs in her hands.

SOPHIA: I haven’t seen myself… (beat) I haven’t felt this beautiful in years. Thank you, Harold.

She kisses him.

Harold blinks, “Wow. Okay.”

SOPHIA: (soft) Your lips are soft…

And then…

She gathers her things, walks away.

Harold sits, watches like an idiot, then realizes he should probably say or do something.

HAROLD: (blathers) Wait. What? Shit… I’m sorry, Sophia. I didn’t–

Sophia stops, turns to Harold.

SOPHIA: I know you didn’t. I did.

HAROLD: Then, what’s the problem?

She smiles with her eyes.

SOPHIA: No problem.

They share a moment.


Sophia walks away, toward a nearby hotel.

Harold follows.