Princess on the Brink (13 page)

ME, A PRINCESS???? YEAH, RIGHT.

A Screenplay by Mia Thermopolis

(first draft)

Scene 24

INT/NIGHT—A large, comfortably furnished rent-controlled apartment on New York City’s Fifth Avenue, off Union Square. A newly madeover MIA THERMOPOLIS has just entered through the front door. Her best friend, LILLY MOSCOVITZ, a slightly chubby, pug-faced girl, is staring at her incredulously.

LILLY

 

Oh my God, what happened to you?

 

MIA

 

(taking off her coat, trying to be casual)

Yeah, well, my grandmother made me go see this guy, Paolo, and he—

 

LILLY

 

(in state of shock)

Your hair is the same color as Lana Weinberger’s.

What’s on your FINGERS? Are those fake fingernails? Lana has those, too! Oh my God, Mia. You’re turning into Lana Weinberger!

 

MIA

 

(unable to take it anymore)

Lilly. Shut up.

 

MICHAEL

 

(appearing in the doorway with no shirt on) Whoa.

 

LILLY

 

WHAT? WHAT did you just say to me?

 

MIA

 

You know what, Lilly? I’m a PRINCESS. I’m the princess of Genovia. And I will ALWAYS be a princess, I can’t escape it, I can’t pretend like it didn’t happen. And as a princess, I will always value princesslike qualities in other people, such as honesty and self-respect and not Doing It with People You Don’t Even Love. Good-bye.

 

MICHAEL

 

Whoa.

 

MIA stomps from the room. LILLY and MICHAEL exchange stunned glances.

Except, of course, I know now that the whole time—maybe even way back when I was first finding out I’m a princess—Michael was sleeping with Judith Gershner.

And I didn’t know it.

Because he never told me.

HOW AM I GOING TO LIVE WITHOUT HIM?????

I have to be strong. I HAVE to. He LIED to me. He said maybe it was a good idea for us to TAKE A BREAK.

I can’t just let him get away with that.

Maybe writing some poetry will help.

 

You thought I gave you up for some

Foolish feminist morals.

You whose head ought to be wreathed

In silver-plated laurels?

For were you not a man?

Was your sex not the best?

Had you not a suit and tie,

Big feet and hairy chest?

Yet you opened up the cage

For my headstrong reckless flight

You thought I’d learn my lesson quick

And return to you contrite.

My freedom found, however,

I disappeared from view.

Maybe I’d catch no one nicer

But anyone’s better than you.

Oh, our love affair was tragic!

I wept with passionate strife.

Till you let me go, and I found out

I prefer the single life.

 

God, I wish that were all true.

Michael! My cherished preserver!

Dear Michael,

I just wanted to say—

Dear Michael,

Why did you have to—

Dear Michael,

WHY????

Michael! My hope! My love! My life!

I can’t believe Mom made me go to school today.

I told her my heart was broken. I told her I hadn’t slept A WINK ALL NIGHT LONG. I told her I can’t stop crying. I haven’t stopped crying since last night, practically. I had no idea human beings were even CAPABLE of producing so many tears.

It was like talking to a stone wall. Mom was all, “You broke up with Michael, Mia, not the other way around. No way are you going to wallow around in bed all day.”

It’s weird but…it’s almost like she’s on MICHAEL’S side, or something.

But that can’t be possible, right? I mean, she’s MY mom, not HIS.

Still. She even made ME call Lilly and tell her to find alternative transportation to school this morning. She refused to do it for me, even though I begged, because I was afraid Michael might see it was me on the caller ID, and pick up instead.

I feel bad leaving Lilly in the lurch without a ride, but NO WAY can I face Michael this morning. And I know he will TOTALLY be waiting in front of their building for me, because he left me an e-mail to that effect this morning, which said:

S
KINNER
B
X
: I still don’t understand what I did wrong. How is my having slept with someone before I even knew you liked me a crime? I don’t get it.

I guess I can see why you’re upset about the Japan thing, but I don’t know how many times I have to explain that one of the reasons I’m doing this is for US before it sinks in. Lilly said Boris said something about clarinetists at lunch the other day, so I guess that’s where that came from, but I still don’t understand it. But if you want to see other people while I’m gone, I guess I’m fine with that. Maybe it would even be a good thing.

Look, we have to talk, okay? I’ll be waiting with Lilly out front before school. Maybe we could grab a coffee?

I HAD to call Lilly (on her cell, so there was no chance of getting Michael by mistake) and was all, “Lilly? I can’t come pick you up today.”

“POG?” Lilly sounded suspicious. “Is that you?”

“Y-yes,” I said.

“Wait—are you CRYING?”

“Y-yes,” I said. Because I was.

“WHAT is going on?” Lilly wanted to know. “What did you do to my brother? I’ve never seen him like this. Did you really dump him? Because he says you did.”

“He—he—”

But it was hopeless. I couldn’t speak. I was crying too hard.

“Jesus, Mia,” Lilly said, actually seeming concerned about me for once in her life. “You sound even worse than he does. WHAT IS GOING ON?”

“I c-can’t talk right now,” I said. Because I literally
couldn’t talk
, I was crying so hard.

“Fine,” Lilly said. “But, Mia…seriously, I don’t know what this is about, but you’re breaking his heart. The only reason I’m not coming over there and kicking your ass for it is because I can tell your heart isn’t doing so well, either. But seriously, you
have
to talk to him. Just
talk
to him. I’m sure whatever it is, you two can work it out, if you just TALK. Okay?”

I couldn’t reply, though. I was crying too hard.

If I could have said something, though, I’d have said, “It’s too late, Lilly. There’s nothing left to say.”

Because there isn’t.

I miss him so much. And he hasn’t even left yet.

ME, A PRINCESS???? YEAH, RIGHT.

A Screenplay by Mia Thermopolis

(second draft)

Scene 12

INT/DAY—The Palm Court at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. A flat-chested girl with upside-down-yield-sign-shaped hair (14-year-old MIA THERMOPOLIS) is sitting at an ornately set table across from a bald man (her father, PRINCE PHILLIPE). We can tell by MIA’s expression that her father is telling her something upsetting.

PRINCE PHILLIPE

 

You’re not Mia Thermopolis anymore, honey.

 

MIA

 

(blinking with astonishment)

 

 

I’m not? Then who am I?

 

PRINCE PHILLIPE

 

You’re Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, Princess of Genovia.

 

MIA

 

(getting up from the table, pulling an Uzi from her backpack)

Dad, look out!

 

NINJAS descend from the ceiling on ropes. MIA kicks over the table, sending the tea things flying. Then she strafes the room with bullets from her Uzi. TOURISTS and WAITERS dive for cover. Her dad, terrified, ducks behind a potted plant. MIA throws down the Uzi, which has jammed, and kickboxes the NINJAS, dispatching them one by one, à la River in the movie SERENITY.

Finally, the room is still, all NINJAS unconscious. One by one, the TOURISTS and WAITERS climb to their feet. One of them begins to clap, slowly. He is joined by everyone else. Soon, MIA is receiving a standing ovation for her bravery.

MIA walks up to PHILLIPE and sticks out her right hand to help him to his feet. He hesitantly takes it. She pulls him up.

PRINCE PHILLIPE

 

(gratefully)

Mia—where did you learn to—

 

MIA

 

(matter-of-factly)

I’ve been working as a highly trained demon-killer for the Vatican for years, Dad. Didn’t you know?

 

PRINCE PHILLIPE

 

I didn’t know. I was wrong about you, Mia. You’re not just a princess.

 

MIA

 

No, Dad. No, I’m not.

 

F

Mia, while this is highly imaginative, in no way does it satisfy the assignment, which was to describe a beloved pet.

—C. Martinez

Are you okay?

I guess so, Tina. Thanks.

You look kind of…pale. And your eyes are red.

Yeah. Well. I didn’t get much sleep last night.

Have you spoken to him yet? Michael, I mean?

No. Not in person.

Hasn’t he called? Or texted?

Well, yes. But I haven’t written back. How can I, Tina? What is there to SAY?

True. But if he apologized, wouldn’t you forgive him?

He’s not going to apologize, Tina. He doesn’t think he did anything wrong!!!

But this can’t be IT. I mean, it can’t be OVER between you two. You love each other too much!!!!!

Michael himself said—in one of the e-mails he sent—that maybe it’s better this way. You know, that we see other people while he’s gone.

HE SAID THAT????

Well, he didn’t say HE was going to see other people, but that it was okay with him if I wanted to.

Wait—he really SAID that?

Yes. He did. Well, he said he guessed it HAD to be okay.

Oh, Mia! I don’t know how to say this but—do you think maybe
Your Precious Gift
is wrong? Because in my favorite romance novels—
The Sheik and the Virgin Secretary
and
The Sheik and the Princess Bride
—none of the sheiks were virgins, and it all turned out okay for them and THEIR girlfriends.

I didn’t want to write what I wrote next. Really. It HURT me to say it. But someone HAD to. Because Tina just can’t live in Tinaland for the rest of her life. She just can’t.

Tina. Those are BOOKS.

But Tina wasn’t backing down.

Your Precious Gift
is a BOOK. How come it’s right, and not the sheik books?

Tina. None of the sheiks in those books Did It with
Judith Gershner and then LIED about it, okay? None of the sheiks in those books invented a robotic surgical arm and are leaving for Japan for a year. Or more. And if they were, they’d take their virgin secretary princess bride WITH THEM.

I know. I just think maybe you should give Michael another chance.

How can I do that? Every time I think about him now, all I can picture in my head is Judith Gershner with her tongue in his mouth. And that is the LEAST disgusting thing I picture the two of them doing.

Yes. I felt that way when I found out about Lilly and Boris. But it goes away after a while, Mia. Really. In a few days you won’t see Judith Gershner in your head anymore when you think about Michael.

Thanks, Tina. I see what you’re saying. I really do. But the problem is, in a few days—no, in a few HOURS—Michael will be gone. Possibly forever!

Mia! Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry!

It’s not you, Tina. It’s me. I just—I just—

Mia, it’s okay. You don’t have to write another word. I’ll shut up now.

God. How can it have come to this—me sitting in English class, CRYING???

In a way I wish Michael WAS a sheik, and I was his virgin secretary or princess bride. I know it’s not very feminist of me to think that.

But if he whisked me off to his tent in the desert instead of moving to Japan, at least I’d know he really cared.