Midnight Snack and Other Fairy Tales (26 page)

JOY

Hello?

(listens)

Oh, hi! Listen, when are you—Oh. No, of course not—no, I’m fine. It’s OK. I went out and—sorry, sure, what time tomorrow?—Fine, I’ll see you then. Yeah. Bye.

She hangs up, DISAPPOINTED.

DORIS

He’s not coming back tonight?

JOY

He has to go to York for a sales meeting. He’ll stay there overnight and come back tomorrow.

DORIS

I’m so sorry. I know how it can be.

JOY

Does Mr. Lewisham have to travel much?

Nervously, Doris starts tidying behind the desk.

DORIS

Oh, no. He’s retired now, you know.

JOY

That must be nice for you, having him around all the time again.

DORIS

Yes, yes of course… it’s hard when they can’t be with you.

(musing, distant look)

Though it could be much worse —

JOY

(just being polite)

Oh? How?

DORIS

(snaps out of it, shocked)

Oh, goodness, excuse me, I’ve got to get the laundry ready…

She hurries off. Joy watches her go, bemused.

INT. ORMONDE HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT

Joy is in pajamas, in bed, pillows punched up behind her. The TV is on; she’s reading another guidebook. An Erickson commercial comes on.

COMMERCIAL ANNOUNCER

Only Erickson brings you so much computing power for your pound. With the world-beating speed of the new Arion ten-fifty processor —

Joy drops the book in exasperation and pitches a pillow at the screen.

JOY

Oh, go away!

She grabs the remote and channel-surfs rapidly through various unacceptable alternatives: news on CNN (all bad), a dull documentary on the BBC, something on ITV that’s dull, something on Carlton that’s dull…

JOY (CONT’D)

So much for the land of quality television.

(beat: unhappy)

Oh, Harry…

She chucks the remote onto the table and starts reading again, leaving the TV on.

INT. ORMONDE HOTEL ROOM—NIGHT

Joy is ASLEEP, propped against the pillows, book lying open on her lap. All lights are off except the one on the bedside table. The TV, still on, is showing yet another truly awful infomercial.

A hand reaches into shot and turns the TV off —

Joy WAKES WITH A START and sees George standing in the room…mostly. He’s leaning RIGHT THROUGH THE WALL to shut the TV off—and here he stands caught in the act, literally half-in and half-out of the room.

Joy SCREAMS and pulls the covers up around her in a slightly absurd protective gesture. George flinches, starts to retreat. But then Joy POINTS at him, terrified but now also indignant, like someone catching a pet doing something naughty.

JOY (CONT’D)

Don’t you dare move! You stay right where you are!

George does, looking both upset and bemused.

JOY (CONT’D)

What are you doing?

GEORGE

Turning off the TV. It wastes energy.

JOY

I mean what are you doing in my room?!

GEORGE

It’s a long story.

JOY

(beginning to get it)

You’re—you’re a ghost! You’re a real English ghost!

GEORGE

I don’t know if ghost is the word.

JOY

Will you please either come in all the way or get out?

(hurried beat)

Never mind “out”, just
get in here!

George steps all the way in, abashed.

JOY (CONT’D)

You really
are
a ghost! Oh my gosh —what do I —  Do you need me to do something so you can rest?

GEORGE

I
am
resting. Thirty years, I worked for Bletchley and Coone. You want punishment, try forty years of being a chartered accountant! Hardly any holidays! No pension plan!
Now
I finally get to relax, and it’s very nice, thank you.

JOY

But you’re
dead
.

GEORGE

It happens to the best of us.

JOY

But most dead people don’t—stay.

GEORGE

Some do. Hardly anybody notices.

JOY

I guess not. You don’t look transparent or anything.

(suspicious but interested)

What kind of ghost things can you do? Go invisible or something!

GEORGE

You mean turn myself off like a lightbulb? That’s just fairy tales. Some people see us. Some can’t until someone convinces them to. Some never can at all.

JOY

Are there a lot of you?

GEORGE

Here? Twenty rooms… eighteen “ghosts.”

JOY

My gosh. No wonder this place looks so…

GEORGE

“Dead?” Yes.

(beat)

I must say, you’re taking this very well.

Joy jumps up out of bed, throws a robe on over her pajamas.

JOY

No I am not!  As soon as I can get in touch with my husband —

GEORGE

(not provocative: just sad)

— and tell him that the hotel is haunted —

Joy stops and looks at him.

JOY

You said “eighteen ghosts”.

GEORGE

You and your husband are the only “live ones” at the moment, yes. Except for my wife.

JOY

Gunter…

GEORGE

Gunter’s been around this neighborhood since August 1940. The bomber he was flying crashed just a few streets from here.

Joy is flabbergasted. Then the reaction turns to anger.

JOY

You just get out of my room. And stay out of my way. I need to have a talk with your wife.

INT. ORMONDE HOTEL LOBBY DESK—NIGHT

Joy’s finger pressing down hard on the RING HERE FOR SERVICE bell, with the associated strident RINGING. After a few moments, Doris appears, looking sleepy and confused.

JOY

I want you to find me another place to stay. Right now.

DORIS

(not sure what’s wrong)

Why, if there’s something wrong, do let me —

JOY

I met your husband.

DORIS

(uneasy)

And…?

JOY

He’s
dead!
And so is everyone else here but us!

DORIS

Uh, yes.

JOY

And you let them stay here!

Doris comes out from behind the desk and starts unnecessarily “tidying” the front of the reception area. She’s becoming annoyed in a way she can’t usually allow to show.

DORIS

Well, of course I do! Everybody has to have somewhere to stay! Do you think I want them to have to live in the street in cardboard boxes, like homeless people?

JOY

Boxes is where they belong!

DORIS

Not if they’re not properly dead.

JOY

Well, why
aren’t
they?

DORIS

How should
I
know? Some people just don’t go…wherever dead people go. They wind up wandering around alone, hiding in shadows, lying in doorways, and people don’t even see them, the way they don’t “see” the homeless. It’s not right!

Finally Doris stops tidying and sits down on one of the chairs. She’s less vehement now, and sadder.

DORIS (CONT’D)

When George died after he retired, and he didn’t go on…we had to move out of the hotel we were running in the Midlands: the neighbors would have noticed. We came down here and started running this place… and we found so many others who hadn’t gone on, either. They had nowhere else. I had to give them somewhere to stay. Surely you understand!

Joy is caught between astonishment and growing pity, and the “common sense” reaction, which asserts itself —

JOY

I understand that I’m not staying another night in a shabby old hotel full of corpses!

DORIS

(indignant)

They’re not corpses! They’re very clean. It’s just hard to afford help to keep the place up.

JOY

I guess with all your rooms full of the undead all the time, you don’t get a lot of paying guests.

Doris gets twitchy again, GETS UP to straighten things on the reception desk.

DORIS

Well, no! And I can’t ask the others to pay. What have they got to pay with?
You
try keeping your bank account after you’re dead. Or your credit card.

JOY

No, I guess Visa might not understand.

Joy sits down where she was, makes a pretence of looking at one of the magazines on the nearby table while the dialogue continues… then tosses it away. Doris frowns and comes over to straighten up the pile again.

DORIS

And it’s not like they can just go out and get a job. Things are hard enough for live people these days.

JOY

Yes….

DORIS

They just need someone to take care of them, that’s all. Their families won’t do it. One little girl who got killed in the Blitz, she tried to go home and they
exorcised
her! Others… all the people they knew are dead, and gone on. They don’t know the way to wherever the next thing is. There’s nowhere else for them.

Joy gets up, hesitates, her face unrevealing. Doris studies the face, sees no sympathy there, turns away and goes back behind the desk.

DORIS (CONT’D)

I’ll call around and see what I can find for you.

Joy says nothing.

George comes out of the little office. Joy looks at him and Doris. Doris holds out a hand to him. George looks at her in some confusion. Wordlessly, Doris insists. George reaches out to her, as if to take her hand. His hand GOES THROUGH hers.

Joy sees this. A moment’s beat as she registers the painful look that passes between Doris and George. This would seem to be an old story: they keep trying…but it never works.

GEORGE

(to Joy)

You see how it is. We can touch
things
. But not the living.

(to Doris: dull sorrow)

Not each other.

JOY

Oh… oh dear. I see.

DORIS

(to George)

Where’s the hotel list, love?

GEORGE

Second drawer down in the desk.

Doris gets up, goes back into the little room. George just looks at Joy:  then gets up and goes off toward the front door. Joy stands there a moment, stricken.

In the little office, Doris is dialing. She waits.

DORIS

Yes, reservations, please… thank you. Michael, this is —

From behind, Joy’s hand reaches to the phone and pushes the hang-up button.

JOY

No.

DORIS

But you said —

JOY

Forget what I said. I’m sorry.

DORIS

But don’t you want —

JOY

Probably I should get some sleep. So should you.

(beat)

Does he? Sleep?

DORIS

Oh yes. And he snores.

A slight smile—they really do like each other, these two women, despite the shocks of the moment.

Joy heads for the lift, passing George as she goes. A look between them: nervous, on both sides. But Joy likes him too.

JOY

I’ll leave the TV
off.

GEORGE

(for more than that)

Thank you.

Rubbing her head like a woman who has an Excedrin headache coming on, Joy gets into the lift and goes upstairs.

EXT. STREET OUTSIDE ORMONDE HOTEL—NIGHT

Joy at her window. She looks out: hers is the only light on. A detector van of the kind we saw earlier PULLS UP outside the hotel on the opposite side of the street, SHUTS OFF lights and engine. Joy shuts her curtains: her room lights GO OUT.

INT. DETECTOR VAN—NIGHT

Like something the CIA would love to be able to afford—crammed with high-tech monitoring devices, video and audio. Two men, FIRST TECH and SECOND TECH, are inside. They look rather blue-collar: the second one is reading the
News of the World
(the headline says DWARF RAPES NUN, FLEES IN UFO).

FIRST TECH

Mike was right. We’ve got a nice strong multiple reading in there.

SECOND TECH

How many?

FIRST TECH

At least ten. All self-aware and better than level six.

SECOND TECH

Right.

(peers at his buddy’s reading)

We’ll come back with a test matrix set for one. If the quality’s good we’ll bring another matrix tailored for twenty and make a clean sweep.

The First Tech adjusts one of the pieces of machinery:  it emits a soft HUM which we will hear again later under other circumstances. He adjusts it again, and the hum softens down.

FIRST TECH

Why not just sweep it now?

SECOND TECH

Without a quality assay? No way. Remember Geoff on the day shift?

FIRST TECH

Yeah.

SECOND TECH

He was surveying over by Bishopsgate —found three hundred residuals in a single batch. Geoff thought he was in for a fat productivity bonus, and grabbed the lot without assaying a sample first. When they were decanted, the whole load turned out to be leftover loonies from Bedlam. Didn’t even know they were dead. Useless.

FIRST TECH

Bloody hell. What happened to Geoff?

SECOND TECH

They reassigned him to Customer Service.

FIRST TECH

‘Strewth. Right, let’s wait till tomorrow.

They drive off.

INT. ORMONDE HOTEL BREAKFAST ROOM—MORNING

Joy eats her breakfast while reading the paper. George passes by her table, purposely “walking small” and trying not to be noticed.

JOY

George —

He pauses, tense.

GEORGE

Mrs. Collins?

JOY

Your people are
strange.

GEORGE

My people —

JOY

The English.

The tension lessens. Joy points at the paper with a piece of bacon she’s holding.

JOY (CONT’D)

This lord of yours says his estate is being ruined by UFOs leaving crop circles all over his fields. Lord —

(pronounces it as spelled)

Cholomondeley.

GEORGE

“Chumley.”

JOY

What?

GEORGE

It’s pronounced “Chumley”.

JOY

Where’d all the other letters go?

GEORGE

Maybe we lost them during rationing?

(smiles)