Eat Me
 
by
 
Harlan Friedman-Romell
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1.

1 INT. DINER - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Overhead fluorescent lights buzz, fridges hum. Empty.
Except for AMBER (early-20s, eyes-glazed over, earbuds in)
cleaning the flat top with a GRILL SCRAPER: pristine, sharp.
She's listening to an interview:
PIERRE (V.O.)
I know it was all those years ago,
but what was that like? Coming from
nothing, then suddenly, having the
restaurants, the books, the line,
all the money you'll ever need?--
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
But that's the thing, Pierre. It's
not about any of that. This
industry is like any other
industry. If you want to make it in
the kitchen, you have be tough,
emotionally and physically, yes,
but you also have to love it. Truly
love it. You don't cook to become a
chef, you become a chef to cook.
PIERRE (V.O.)
And what advice do you have for
young, aspiring chefs?
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
Hah, right. I always get this
question--
A DOOR JINGLING from the main dining room. Aw, a customer?
She looks to the clock: 11:56. What an asshole.
She sighs, pulling her buds out and setting the scraper to
the side.

2 INT. DINER - BAR

GARY (mid-50s, larger than life) sits at the bar, repeatedly
slamming the bell.
Amber comes from the kitchen, checkpad in hand.
He keeps smacking the bell, until she grabs his hand.
Gary looks up, bemused. She lets him go.
GARY
I haven't seen you before.
 2.

AMBER
Strange. You seem familiar.
He looks to her nametag: AMBER!
GARY
Beautiful name. Beautiful face.
Gross.
GARY (CONT'D)
You've been here how long?
AMBER
Just started this week.
GARY
Ooh, fresh meat!--
AMBER
What can I get you, sir?
GARY
(a nauseous burp)
Alright. Let's see what you're made
of. The Hebe Burger. And I want
alterations, IN THIS ORDER.
Amber readies her checkpad.
GARY (CONT'D)
(with hands)
Toasted bun--I'm not an animal--
aioli, portobello, NO tomato, THEN
patty one with PROVOLONE not white
cheddar, then onions--don't give me
those raw ones, I KNOW YOU'VE GOT A
VAT OF THEM CARAMELIZING BACK
THERE--then patty two, provolone
again, pickle, GENEROUS aioli, and,
lastly, the other, toasted bun.
Sound good, princess?
Amber's eyes roll back into her skull.

3 INT. KITCHEN
Amber wipes her forehead with a towelette. Time to shine.
MONTAGE:
Buns in the toaster, browning.
Patties hit the flat top, sizzling.
 3.

They're FLATTENED with a SPATULA!

Salt! Pepper!
A portobello mushroom next to the patties, sweating. Brushed
with a marinade.
Pickles chopped, juicy.
Caramelized onions fished out of a pot, shimmering.
Aioli dregs scooped out of a metal sauce cup, silky.
Patties flip: cheesed up.
Portobello flips: brushed again.
Buns POP out; Amber grabs and--
--sets them down. On one bun: aioli, then grilled mushroom,
patty, onions, patty, and pickles.
On the other, aioli, and--
--HOCH-PTOOEY! Amber SPITS onto the bun. Proud.
END MONTAGE.

4 INT. BAR
Amber slides the plate in front of Gary. The burger glistens.
Gary inspects with diligence and snobbery, hmph'ing and
tsk'ing layer by layer.
At last, he grasps it in his hands, hefts it, and brings it
to his gaping mouth for a big ol' bite.
Gary chews. Amber smirks.
Suddenly, Gary's eyes widen--all at once, he feels love,
pain, joy, sorrow, beauty--the burger is religious.
He devours it, tears in his eyes.
Amber stares, confused. Gary catches his breath, staring
daggers.
GARY
I've been coming to this diner
since before you were born. And
that. Amber, that. No one has ever
made a Hebe like that before. The
best fucking burger I've had in my
entire life.
 4.

A moment. Amber looks to the clock: 12:11.

AMBER
Listen, uh--
GARY
Gary.
AMBER
Gary. Sure. We're clos--
Gary SLAMS his wallet on the table. He raises an eyebrow.
AMBER (CONT'D)
--sed.
GARY
Another. The same way. Exactly.

5 INT. KITCHEN
The same MONTAGE, though faster--buns, patties, mushroom,
pickles, onions, aioli--
She stands over the buns, conflicted. Looks around. Breathes.
 
HOCH--

6 INT. BAR
Gary eats; he vibrates with pleasure, wiping his mouth with a
napkin.
AMBER
This was all off the clock so I'm
charging you double.
GARY
Charge me whatever you want.
There's something special about
you, Amber. I can taste it.
Gourmand. You're familiar.
AMBER
(lights up)
The restaurant downtown? It's
incredible, I've dreamed about
working there, I used to--oh. Gary.
(a moment)
Gary Seymour. From Ultrachef.
Ohmygod I'm so embarrassed, I just
didn't recognize you, back then you
weren't as--
 5.

GARY
Old and fat.
AMBER
No-no-no-no-no! That's not what I
meant, I'm such an idiot--
GARY
Not if you can cook like that.
(pause)
The CIA churns out hundreds of
melons that couldn't chop parsley
if their life depended on it. We've
gone through three this year.
Gourmand could use a commis chef.
AMBER
Um. I don't want to overstep, but
is there a way I could interview?
Gary chuckles and gestures around. This is it.
GARY
Our menu--it's a different
universe. Refined. Full courses.
European classics. I'd need to know
what else you're capable of.
Amber swallows. He's hungry.

7 INT. KITCHEN
Amber stands in front of the griddle, arms crossed, fingers
drumming on her bicep.
ACHOO! She sneezes into her hands. Yuck.
She contemplates them--first face down, then face up,
slathered in snot. An idea.
MONTAGE:
Three eggs cracked into a bowl.
Salt! Pepper! Splash of milk!
Vigorous whisking.
A skillet slammed on a burner.
Gas on.
Butter in the pan, melting.
Whoosh--eggs in. Whisked around. They curdle.
 6.

From her nose, she rockets a few VISCOUS BOOGERS into the
mixture.
She gently coaxes the eggs around themselves, a French
Omelette forming. Soft. Buttery.
She slides it onto a plate.
Chives, lightly sprinkled.

8 INT. BAR
Gary devours the omelette.
He bangs his fork on the table, demanding.

9 INT. KITCHEN
Amber wriggles a Q-tip deep inside her ear.
She spreads the q-tipped earwax on some pated-crostini.

10 INT. BAR
Amber sets a charcuterie board down; Gary assembles the
perfect bite.
Above Gary, dangling the cracker over his mouth like
Dionysus.

11 INT. KITCHEN
Amber, in a tree pose of sorts, takes a cheese grater to the
bottom of her foot. She grates and grimaces; her skin flakes
sprinkle down like Parmesan cheese on top of a Fettuccine
Alfredo.

12 INT. BAR
Gary's mouth, slurping.

13 INT. DINER - OUTSIDE STAFF BATHROOM

We hear Amber peeing into some metal-sounding receptacle.

14 INT. BAR
Gary slurps up some French Onion Soup. She's disgusted.
 7.

15 INT. KITCHEN
A ramekin, placed in the oven.
END MONTAGE.

16 INT. BAR
Gary consumes the last forkful of a chocolate lava cake,
Bruce Bogtrotter style.
He sensually pulls his fork out of his mouth. Mmm-mmm.
GARY
Okay. You can cook.
AMBER
You can eat.
GARY
Where do you source your
ingredients?
AMBER
They're local.
Amber looks to the clock: 1:46.
AMBER (CONT'D)
When can I start?
GARY
Let's get one thing perfectly
clear. You don't belong here, in
the dregs. And I can fish you out.
His demeanor shifts. Intense. Focused. She leans in.
GARY (CONT'D)
I'm a growing boy. Protein. A nice
steak should do it. Medium-rare.
She turns away; he grabs her shoulder.
GARY (CONT'D)
(deliciously)
With a bordelaise.

17 INT. KITCHEN
A filet, sizzling in a pan with aromatics.
 8.

18 INT. STAFF BATHROOM

Amber glares at her reflection, eyes straining.
She coaxes some tears out, collecting them with a teaspoon.

19 INT. BAR
Gary waits, impatiently.
He turns and sniffs.

20 INT. KITCHEN - DREAM-STATE

Amber enters, tablespoon in hand.
She takes the steak out and onto a cutting board.
In goes shallots, butter, stock, balsamic vinegar.
The forehead-sweat towelette, wrung out into the pan.
She throws the tear-spoon in and tilts it away--FLAMBE!
Flames of pride in her eyes.
After some mixing, with a steak knife, she PRICKS the tip of
her LEFT INDEX FINGER.
AMBER
Ts-ah-
BLOOD DRIPS into the pan. A lot. It sizzles.
A plate, wiped clean.
Steak fries pulled out of the deep fryer, sparkling.
Steak, sliced on the plate. Sauce drizzled over--a luscious
sheen.
Fries, sculpted to the side.
She takes a moment. A bit woozy.
She looks at the fries. She extends her index finger and
places it next to them. Hm.
On a cutting board, she teeter-totters a knife over her
finger.
Is she--?
 9.

GARY (O.S.)
So this is how the sausage gets
made.

21 INT. KITCHEN - REALITY

Amber gasps and throws the knife aside--she spins to the door
and sees Gary, fork and knife in hand.
He lumbers over to her. Their faces are inches away.
He looks down at the plate: a gorgeous display.
GARY
Presentation is a bit simple.
Still. All about the taste.
Gary forks a piece, inspects it, sniffs it, and daintily
brings it to his mouth.
Almost instantly:
GARY (CONT'D)
Oh my--
His knees buckle, barely supporting himself on the bench.
GARY (CONT'D)
(slamming with each)
Yes! Yes, yes, YES!
(squirming with pleasure)
GUUUAAAHHH!
Amber stares on, bemused and horrified.
GARY (CONT'D)
You, young lady. You are delicious.
AMBER
When--when can I start?
Gary prepares another forkful and holds it before her face.
GARY
Beep beep. Airplane.
Amber shakes her head.
GARY (CONT'D)
Amber. You're new. You're exciting.
You're full of flavor. You're
what's next in food.
He forces the piece into her mouth; she immediately spits it
out, slapping the fork aside. She doubles over, retching.
 10.

AMBER
You're disgusting!
Gary turns away.
GARY
It's a shame. You'd pair nicely
with our menu.
AMBER
Get the fuck out of here.
He grabs a napkin from a laundry bin.
GARY
I suppose if you won't share your
gift...
Amber looks at Gary; he floofs the napkin. He's toying with
his prey, but Amber senses this. She grabs the GRILL SCRAPER.
GARY (CONT'D)
...let someone with a finer palate
appreciate it.
He tucks the napkin into his collar: sinister, still hungry.
AMBER
Bite me.
Gary smiles. He spins around.
He lurches forward onto her. He goes in for a bite, but AMBER
SLICES HIS THROAT!
Blood and grease ooze from his neck; he stares, lost.
He collapses. She breathes.
She looks to her left; remnants of food caked on the grill.
She goes to the flat top, puts her earbuds back in, and
starts scraping the residue.
Amber takes out her phone and resumes the interview; we
recognize the Male Voice from before as Gary's.
PIERRE (V.O.)
What advice do you have for young,
aspiring chefs?
GARY (V.O.)
Hah, right. I always get this
question. And I won't sugarcoat it.
The road ahead is hard. You will
struggle.
(MORE)
 11.
GARY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
You will miss out on a normal life.
You will need to seal your bleeding
finger with super glue to finish
the next three hours of dinner
service. And you will cook like
your life depends on it, because,
for you, it does. But we don't just
serve food. We serve memories. We
serve feelings. The old guard,
people like me, we had our chance.
We're not looking for fancy
techniques or the most expensive
ingredients.
We're looking for you.
(pause)
I want to see you on that plate.
She YANKS the earbuds out.
Overhead fluorescent lights buzz, fridges hum. Empty.
BLACK.
TITLE OVER: EAT ME