Don't Be an Ironing Board

INT. UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT - COLOUR SEQUENCE.

Unaware of what’s happening downstairs, the Tish hurries down an upstairs corridor. Then she stops short. At the end of the hall are three doors. Their blank surfaces stare mockingly back at her, giving nothing away. Not again. It’s like some demented game show. The relative refuge of the bathroom is behind one of them.

TISH

(under her breath)

Eeny-meany-miney-mo...

She impulsively chooses one and pushes it open. Her eyes slowly adjust. It’s like a modern-day Aladdin’s Cave in there. A plethora of screens bathe the space in a pale blue light. Power buttons on various devices wink at us like jewels.

Nothing moves. Like a punctured balloon, Tish lets out breath she didn’t know she was holding. THEN like a bastardized ECHO

The pppppppft of a spray-paint can.

Tish freezes.

Spinning around, Tish notices Mr. Addelsom’s teenage step-daughter spray-painting a design on a sheet spread out on the floor. She puts on the finishing touches and straightens up. She runs her free hand through her hair and it stands up at odd angles. Then snaps the cap back on to the can and then rests her hands on her thighs, peering through the gloom at her visitor. A delicate looking tattoo of a paintbrush curls around her wrist like a bracelet. Tish starts to back out of the room, quietly closing the door. But...

MADDY

Have a seat. You can just push stuff off the bed.

Caught off guard she stammers, forgetting the accent.

TISH

The b-bathroom. I was just l-looking/

MADDY

(saving her work)

/No you weren’t.

TISH

(eyeing her curiously)

No. I w-wasn’t.

MADDY

You were hiding from his Royal Hand-ness. Mister touchy-feels.

(looks Tish up and down)

You’re just his type too.

Tish hesitates.

MADDY CONT’D

I’m serious. He’s ‘consulting’ with his gallery yes-men isn’t he? Pull up a pew. You can wait him out.

(gesturing to the computer)

I’m almost done here anyway.

Tish clears a spot on the pile of clothes she hopes is a bed and sits down awkwardly. She watches her host putting things back in some order that must make sense to her.

TISH

What do you m-mean - what do you mean, "just his t-type"?

MADDY

Y’know, feminine. Well put together. Easy to manipulate.

(sudden aware of what she said)

No offence...

TISH

(ironically)

None t-taken.

MADDY

I mean, that’s just the vibe you give off. Am I way off base?

Tish looks around the messy room. In the dim light she can make out homemade canvases and graffiti illustration print-outs on almost every available surface.

TISH

(indicating the illustrations)

Yours?

MADDY

(sardonically)

For what it's worth...

TISH

(admires Maddy's work.)

These are good. Good sense of c-colour.

MADDY

(shrugs)

Thanks. My step dad doesn’t think what I do is ‘real art’ .

TISH

What'dyou m-mean?

MADDY

He wants me to work towards getting a ‘real job’.

TISH

(makes a face)

Don't hurry.

MADDY senses that she’s hit a nerve, and is immediately intrigued.

MADDY

Buuuutt….a ‘real’ job gives you security for the future…

TISH

So does p-prison.

MADDY

You can get benefits, social security, insurance…I mean, you can build a bank account…that’s what we’re told, right? Work towards something of ‘value’…

TISH picks up a napkin.

TISH

Garbage.

The napkin is slightly crumpled. The name of a bistro is scrawled at the bottom. In the middle, MADDY has drawn some sketches for a new graffiti artwork. Tish inspects it.

TISH

You know how the saying goes: ‘An ironing b-board is just a surfboard that gave up on its dreams.’

(Looking up at Maddy)

‘Don’t be an ironing board’.

MADDY breaks into a grin.

MADDY

(She holds out her hand.)

Well, hello there. I’m Maddy Addelsom. Glad you could make it.

TISH reaches out for Maddy’s hand, but just as she’s about the shake it, Maddy takes it back and in a sweeping, stylized movement, she runs it through her hair.

MADDY

(grinning)

Too slow…