Grand Ghoulish (II-I)


The musty darkness of a roadside motel in some forgotten corner of Santa Ana. Harold and Sophia lose themselves in each other.

NARRATOR: (voice-over) Their first hotel room felt like a lifetime ago. This was the second room this week. Another stolen moment in a summer of stolen moments. They stole kisses at a mall like a couple of teenagers cutting class. Text messages became love notes. Love notes evolved into voicemails. Voicemails slipped into hushed late-night calls. Long drives and short make-out sessions in parking lots and malls quickly abandoned for more hotel rooms and lunch at her favorite places. And when Sophia paid with cash, Harold never asked why.

A phone rings and rings in the musty darkness.

Sophia rolls atop Harold, answers it.

SOPHIA: I’m busy. What do you want?

She listens and nods along, rolls her eyes, gestures with her hand, “Blah-blah-blah.”

(growls) Goodbye, Oliver…

She hangs up, tosses the phone aside, returns to pawing and nibbling Harold.

Where were we?

HAROLD: Everything cool?

She stops, looks at Harold as if he’s the stupidest man alive.

SOPHIA: What? Yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Why?

HAROLD: He just called.

SOPHIA: For fuck’s sake… You’re not going to start being a little bitch about this, are you?

HAROLD: (lies) No… It’s just… isn’t this even a little fuckin’ weird to you?

SOPHIA: That’s funny…

She rolls off Harold.

I didn’t know that was your conscience inside me a minute ago. My bad.

Sophia gathers her clothes, disappears into the shower. Harold sits, watches in his mess.

HAROLD: (sighs) Goddammit.