DUNE DAY AFTERNOON:
A Short Film Script Treatment
(with apologies to Frank Pierson and Sidney Lumet)
A municipal parking lot at noon. OLENSKA and her friend JC are hanging around the central meter-- wild-eyed, disheveled, making civilians nervous.
OLENSKA: (scratching obsessively at her arms) I'm on my last drop. My last drop, I'm telling you. I don't know if I can deal with this. I got the weekend coming. (shrieks at passerby) WHAT?! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?
JC: (raises eyes slowly from contents of purse which she has dumped out haphazardly out over pavement and is currently pawing through on hands and knees. Her face is a mask of rage) Are you holding OUT on me?
OLENSKA: Jeez, what, no, I would never, you don't think I'd--
JC: (scary quiet) I heard you say you have a drop. Do you have it or not?
OLENSKA: (scratches even faster, avoiding eye contact) No, c'mon... not even. HALF a drop, maybe, if that. Probably gone by now, it's so hot out, you know? The way the heat dries things up--
JC: (muttered with narrowed eyes) I'll dry you up.
She continues to scrabble desperately through the paper clips, receipts, mascara tubes, and other miscellany while OLENSKA paces back and forth, gibbering like a manic monkey.
OLENSKA: You know DC, right? DC took me to Walgreen's where they were having some kind of big perfume blowout sale, right? Everything half off, she says. So we go in, and there's ALL THIS DUNE, baby, SO much of it, just staring me right in the face, but ALL LOCKED UP, see, and none of it, NOT A SINGLE BIT OF IT is on sale. So I'm all ready to storm the barricades, right? Set it FREE, right? Like they've got MY Dune-- (stops at seething look from JC) -- I mean OUR Dune in PERFUME PRISON and I'm gonna help BUST IT OUT--
JC: (Holds up a crumpled bill, excited) AH! (Uncrumples bill, then sags, crestfallen) A single. A rotten, lousy single.
OLENSKA: (overcome with enthusiasm, starts shouting and pumping fists as pedestrians scatter) AT-TI-CA! AT-TI-CA! AT-TI--
JC: (leaps up and claps both hands over OLENSKA's mouth from behind) ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR SKULL?!
OLENSKA: Mmmmph! Mmmphhphffh mff MMMMM-phhfffh!
JC: (hisses) Everyone's looking over here! You're gonna blow the whole goddamn thing for us! Now SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE! (She lets up on OLENSKA's mouth and gives her a shove with both hands)
OLENSKA: (tearful) I'm sorry. I'm so confused anymore.
JC: Jesus Christ, just get it together, will you?
OLENSKA: (itching arms again) I just-- I can't-- it's so good, you know? I feel like magic when I've got it, but when it's gone.... I just don't know if I can make it. What are we gonna do, JC? After this, we ain't GOT NO MORE.
JC: (straightens up as a parking lot patron approaches) Don't be so sure. Keep quiet and follow my lead. (Addresses patron in clear, calm, and professional voice:) Good afternoon. We're with the Parking Authority. The electronic meter is currently malfunctioning, so we've been sent down here to collect parking meter payments in person. That will be five dollars, please.
PARKING PATRON Isn't it usually twenty-five cents an hour?
JC: Municipal floating holiday. Triple tax clause. I don't make the rules, sir, I just enforce them.
As the man shrugs and extracts his wallet from a back pocket, OLENSKA stifles a giggle and starts to bounce up and down on the balls of her feet, hugging herself in ecstasy.
Another Short Film Script Treatment
(this time with apologies to Gus Van Sant)
A suburban living room, late morning. JC and OLENSKA sit collapsed against the cushions of the sofa. Both appear completely intoxicated. A brand spanking new 3.4 oz bottle of Dune sits on the coffee table in front of them, catching the sunlight. A scratchy recording of Anita O'Day singing "Sweet Georgia Brown" at the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival plays in the background.
OLENSKA: (after considerable effort) ....ohhhhhhmaaaannnn.
JC: (dragging her eyelids open) ...what?
OLENSKA: (head lolling) I said.... um.... ummmmmm.... what?!
After a beat, both women burst into uncontrollable giggles. This continues for at least five minutes and is broken only by a loud knock at the door.
OLENSKA: (instantly alert) Shit. Oh shit.
JC: Just stay cool.
She grabs the bottle of Dune and wrestles it back into its box. OLENSKA starts cleaning up all traces of the perfume fix they have indulged in-- waving at the air with a magazine, scrabbling for a can of Linen & Sky Febreze and spraying it madly around. The knocking at the door continues.
JC: (loudly) Uh, coming!... be right there!...
She rushes over to the bookcase and jams the box of Dune out of sight behind some books, then approaches the door. OLENSKA follows close behind, pointing the can of Febreze at the door as if it were a loaded pistol.
JC: (looking through the peephole, then heaving a relieved sigh) It's just BB.
OLENSKA: (whispering) What's she doing here?
JC: Guess. (Loudly, without opening the door) What's shakin', BB?
BB: (muffled voice) Hey, hi, JC, hi there, how's it going, whatcha doing, what's going on, can I come in?
JC: (wearily) Jeez.
(She begins to undo the multiple deadbolts and chains on the door and motions to OLENSKA to keep the can of Febreze up. As JC opens the door, BB -- young, stylish, but visibly jittery -- steps inside. When she sees the Febreze pointed at her, she instinctively puts her hands up.)
BB: Whoa, hey, JC, c'mon, we're all friends here!
JC: (all business) You know the drill. (She spins BB around and subjects her to a quick pat-down, discovering something of interest in her jacket pocket. It is a bottle of Chanel Coco.) Well, what have we got here? You still jacked up on this Neiman Marcus crank?
BB: (insinuatingly, itching her arms) Well, I wouldn't be if I had something to take the edge off, bring me down easy... word on the street is you got a shipment in.
JC: Ooooh, a shipment! (Sarcastically, to OLENSKA) You hear that? I got a shipment in. Yeah, that ol' LuckyScent wagon pulled out of the driveway not two minutes ago! It was like Christmas, Hanukkah, and my birthday all rolled into one! (gestures around the empty room) I mean, YOU see all the perfume bottles, don't you?
OLENSKA: Heheheheh, yeah, you tell her, JC!
BB: Aw, cut it out, wouldja? I KNOW you're holding, I can smell it for miles!
JC shoots a stern glance at OLENSKA, who gives the Febreze trigger a nervous squeeze.
JC: (to BB) Okay, look. It may actually have been my birthday recently... (BB starts hopping up and down in ecstasy, itching arms double-time in anticipation) You get ONE hit, and then you're outta here.
BB: (ecstatic) Sure thing, no prob! I'm a ghost, like you never saw me!
JC wearily holds out her wrist. BB grabs it, jams her nose up to it, and inhales enormously.
JC: (long-suffering) Weekend tweakers.
DISCLAIMER: This review is a parody written strictly for the sake of entertainment. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious; any resemblance to real Dune junkies, living or dead, is purely coincidental. However, care has been taken to portray Dune withdrawal in a realistic light. Addiction is no laughing matter. Olenska and JC have never shaken down total strangers in the street for perfume money, so obviously we are not that far gone and can quit anytime we want (except for JC, who -- after long patience and yearning -- really did recieve a fresh supply of Dune for her birthday and is now completely strung out on the stuff). BB is every bit as well-dressed as herein implied, and she is not even remotely hyperactive, which is how you know this is all just for fun. I can totally do without Dune (Note to Walgreens: I am patient. You'll have to mark Dune down eventually. I CAN OUTWAIT YOU.) No Linen & Sky Febreze was used in the making of this teleplay. In real life I wouldn't touch the stuff, though I am totally curious about the "Moroccan Bazaar" line. Ginger and nutmeg-scented room spray? Sure! Say... you holdin'?
Scent Elements: Aldehydes, bergamot, mandarin, peony, broom, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, lily, wallflower, lichen, carrotseed, vanilla, patchouli, benzoin, sandalwood, palisander, ambergris, labdanum, oakmoss, musk