A Midsummer

Nightmare’s Daria

 

 

 

Text ©2008 The Angst Guy (theangstguy@yahoo.com)

Daria and associated characters are ©2008 MTV Networks

 

 

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com

 

Synopsis: Quinn pulls a prank that causes Jake to think that Daria has taken up demon worship, so he takes Daria to a weekend father-daughter seminar to “bring her back to the light.” Add in a few former classmates, romance, and an unexpected twist straight out of Stephen King’s world, and a very strange summer weekend gets underway in Lawndale.

 

Author’s Notes: Portions of this cartoon script (now rewritten) originally appeared on www.fanfiction.net in chapter form. The entire story was collected 7/1/02 and posted on the Internet. Extensive notes and corrections from Galen “Lawndale Stalker” Hardesty were received within a week after that, but I was burnt out and did not add in his fixes until now. Sorry for the delay!

       The events herein take place about one or two months after the Daria TV movie, Is It College Yet? during Daria’s last summer at home before she heads off to college in Boston. When the characters speak of Boston Fine Arts College, Jane’s alma mater-to-be, they usually use the acronym (BFAC) as a word, pronouncing it as “bee fak.” Also, Andrea’s name is pronounced “ahn DRAY ah” by those who know her.

       Certain scenes marked as “Daria’s Daydreams” are fantasy scenes that take place in Daria’s imagination or unconscious mind. Certain other scenes labeled “Andrea’s Memory” show events that Andrea recalls from earlier in her life.

       Script excerpts appear in this story, taken from Dr. Strangelove, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (©1964 Columbia Pictures). Lyrics from AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” also appear (©1979 J. Albert & Son (Pty) Ltd.)

 

Acknowledgements: My heartfelt gratitude goes out to beta-reader Robert Nowall, who offered life-saving advice on revising the entire story and taking out the bad parts. I am less of a bozo because of his superb work. Special thanks also to Mike Xeno, who beta-read several sections of this tale and straightened me out on the characters, making many suggestions that I stole on the spot. Thank you both, thank you, thank you, thank you! As noted above, Galen Hardesty later sent many pages of corrections and comments that have improved this story considerably. I must also credit the following persons, as I steal from only the best sources.

 

·         Mike Xeno, from whose story “The Next Step” I unashamedly and without hesitation or moral qualm stole the idea for having Jane work as a window dresser at Cashman’s over her last summer before going to BFAC.

·         Kara Wild, who provided inspiration in her story, “That Thing You Say,” for Quinn’s screwing up of Jake’s platinum credit card while shopping; in her story, “Andrea Speaks!” for a tidbit about Andrea’s potential family life; and, in her story “Shipped Out!” for the bit about Daria’s class having to learn Othello from Mr. O’Neill at Lawndale High. Apologies also to Kara, as I promised I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Quinn, but—oh, well.

·         barmor9292 (alt.tv.daria) for the idea about Andrea doing a webcomic. Cool.

·         Galen Hardesty, who reminded me of a “medieval” comment that I added.

·         The wonderful fanfic authors who are (I pray) good sports about involuntarily contributing ideas from their “Daria” works to scene #52. Please don’t hurt me.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

INT: Interior scene

EXT: Exterior scene

VO: Voice over (off screen)

 

 

 

* * *

 

THURSDAY EVENING

Part One: Children of the Lenses

(a.k.a., A Tale of Two Sisters, or, I Know What You Did This Summer)

 

 

1. EXT: FOGGY EVENING, AN OLD CEMETERY IN LAWNDALE

 

Low mist clings to the ground in the graveyard, the headstones and monuments peeking above the fog in the evening light. Daria Morgendorffer, wearing a black, full-length robe, walks silently between the rows of graves. Her head is bowed, and her hands, clasped before her, hold a white rose. She slows to a stop before one large headstone, on which can be seen the following inscription: Jane Lane / Death be not proud, though some have called thee / Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so . . . / Requiescat in pace.

 

Daria drops to her knees on the ground before the marker, wiping her eyes with one hand. With infinite care, she sets the white rose upright against the gravestone, then lowers her head in prayer, eyes closed.

 

Moments later, just to her right side, a skeletal hand rises from the misty ground. It reaches for Daria’s right knee and suddenly clamps down on it. Daria sits still for a moment more, then absently reaches over with her right hand and pats the skeletal hand in a familiar way. After a moment, she belches loudly.

 

DARIA: [eyes still closed] Excuse me. That was the orange soda speaking.

 

JANE: [VO, nearby] Thanks loads, Carrie.

 

We pull back and see more of the cemetery—and Jane Lane, stepping back from a video camera on a tripod, about twenty feet from Daria.

 

DARIA: [surprised whisper] Jane? Is that you? What’s it like on the other side?

 

JANE: [turns off camera] It’s sort of like Omaha, only less exciting. I’ll have to edit out that burp.

 

DARIA: [opens eyes] Maybe you can turn it into a wild scream of insane terror.

 

JANE: Not with that ho-hum look on your face. I’ll just end with a freeze-frame of you holding hands with the dead me. That was good enough.

 

Daria removes the skeletal hand from her knee, gets up, and brushes her robes off. Jane walks over to Daria, reaches down, and pulls a stone-colored plastic covering from the gravestone in front of Daria, revealing an entirely different name and legend underneath on the real headstone. Daria reaches down and picks up the skeletal hand, attached to a motor mechanism with a battery.

 

DARIA: Instead of burping, I should have had you pick my nose. [raises skeleton’s hand to her face]

 

JANE: [quickly takes skeletal hand from Daria] I’d rather not explain the boogers to the costume rental shop, thank you very much. They were paranoid enough about loaning this to me. Don’t want to endanger my second job, no matter how much I hate it. I need all the money I can get right now.

 

DARIA: You think this multimedia thing is going to wow them into letting you get into BFAC early? I’ve never heard of anyone being let into college a semester early at this late a date.

 

JANE: [putting skeletal hand in a small carrying case] It can’t hurt. Maybe someone will change colleges or move to Australia or something, and I’ll be next in line. I sure don’t want to hang around Lawndale any longer than I have to, and I’d rather get into classes this fall than wait until next spring. [straightens up] Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get lonely in Boston with no one to annoy you on the weekends.

 

DARIA: [takes off the robes, wears her usual green jacket and black skirt underneath] I can always call Quinn and put her on speakerphone.

 

JANE: Yeah, but that lacks a personal touch. Plus, there’s the phone bill.

 

DARIA: She could call me instead.

 

JANE: Your parents would strangle her when the bill arrived.

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Okay, so your point is . . .?

 

JANE: [sighs] C’mon. I need to get the camera back to the rental shop before it closes, then get the tape developed and digitized. This had better work. If I can’t convert this film to a digital file, my project is massively screwed.

 

 

 

2. EXT: AT THIS MOMENT, SECLUDED SPOT NEAR OLD CEMETERY

 

As Daria and Jane leave the cemetery, Quinn Morgendorffer lowers a camera with a telephoto lens, watching them go. She stands about a hundred yards from the other girls. Quinn looks as she always does, though a pair of stylish sunglasses is pushed up over her forehead. Her quizzical expression also reflects a bit of revulsion.

 

QUINN: [to herself] Jane must be making a horror movie. Eeewwww. Wouldn’t get me to run around in a cemetery, especially not wearing those dork-alert graduation robes with no trim or belt or necklaces or anything. Gold would have been nice with her autumn complexion. Maybe copper with some jade. [sniffs] If anyone saw me wearing that nerdy get-up, they’d think I was . . . I was . . . [long pause] Huh.

 

Deep in thought, Quinn watches Daria and Jane walk out of sight.

 

QUINN: [to herself] If she was me, and I was her . . . what would Daria do? [pause, frowns] If one of us felt the other really deserved it.

 

A wicked grin crosses Quinn’s lips. She quickly puts her camera into its shoulder-strap carrying case and walks back to her car, the Morgendorffer’s SUV, parked nearby.

 

QUINN: [cheery] Quickie Photo, here I come.

 

 

 

* * *

 

FRIDAY MORNING

Part Two: Saving Private Morgendorffer

(a.k.a.: Looking for Mister Good-dad, or, Something Quinn Did This Way Comes)

 

 

3. INT: EARLY MORNING, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

Jake and Helen Morgendorffer sit at the table, having breakfast before leaving for work. Jake reads his newspaper while Helen reads a thick legal brief. They are content in their separate worlds. Quinn (not a morning person, even in summer) walks into the kitchen in her bathrobe and bedclothes, a small packet in hand, and looks in the refrigerator.

 

JAKE: [brief look up from paper] ‘Morning, kiddo! TGIF! Get your nature photos developed from last night’s expedition?

 

QUINN: [head stuck in refrigerator] Landscaping photos, Daddy. My friends and I are discussing homes now, not so much actual people-fashions anymore. We have to open up new horizons and all that.

 

JAKE: [head in newspaper] Landscaping, good stuff. Garden gnomes, concrete deer, those wooden birds with the whirling wings that go in different directions—God knows how they managed to do that. Science! [shakes head at paper]

 

QUINN: Whatever. [exits refrigerator with several items in her arms, sets them on kitchen table] Is this the diet egg salad? Good. Anyway, I got pictures of something else. Something you won’t believe.

 

HELEN: [focused on legal brief] That’s wonderful, dear.

 

QUINN: [assembling her brunch] I saw Daria when I was out last night.

 

JAKE: [to newspaper] Um-hmm.

 

QUINN: She was in a graveyard.

 

HELEN: [underlines something in legal brief] That’s nice.

 

QUINN: She was wearing black robes and doing some kind of cult thing, I think. Sacrificing baby animals to demons or something. It was hard to tell.

 

JAKE: [turns page] Mmm-hmm.

 

QUINN: [opens packet, takes out several photos, tosses them on the table between her parents] There she is.

 

Quinn picks up her glass of milk and waits patiently. After a pause, Helen and Jake look up from their reading, eye the photos for a second, then go back to their reading with a smile. They do a panicked double take one-half second later. Both of them jump to their feet, banging into the table and upsetting their coffee and cereal, and they stare down at Quinn’s photos in undiluted horror. Quinn calmly puts her milk down on the table again.

 

BOTH HELEN AND JAKE: [shouting] Daria!

 

HELEN: Oh, my baby!

 

JAKE: Oh, my God!

 

With a bland look, Quinn spoons diet egg salad onto a slice of bread.

 

HELEN: [hysterical] This is all my fault! She’s probably cried out for help a thousand times, and I put her on call waiting!

 

JAKE: [looks up angrily, shakes fist at ceiling] This is all your fault, Dad! You robbed me of a happy childhood and destroyed my potential as a parent! I hope you’re happy, you rotten bastard!

 

QUINN: Hey, do we have any of those low-fat potato chips? You know, the ruffly ones?

 

JAKE: We have to do something before she starts mutilating horses and leaving little stick figures outside camping tents! But what, oh God, what?

 

HELEN: [hands pressed to the sides of her head] I should look in the phone book under “deprogrammers.” Maybe there’s one with weekend rates.

 

QUINN: [looks around kitchen] I was sure we had some low-fat chips around here. [gets up to look in cabinets]

 

JAKE: [looks down at newspaper he dropped on the table] Wait! Helen, look at this! A father-daughter togetherness seminar starts tonight at the Lawndale Plaza Hotel! The “Lawndale Princesses Weekend”! I still have a chance to bring Daria back into the light before she goes to college! Thank God! [shakes fist at ceiling] Screw you, old man! You’ll never ruin my kids the way you ruined me!

 

HELEN: [glancing at Quinn, loud whisper to Jake] Dear, maybe you should take Quinn, too, in case—

 

QUINN: [whirls, startled] No! Wait! Mom, Dad, I’m fine! Cemeteries are so yucky and gross, how could you think I’d go there? If Daria needs help, you should, like, focus your energies entirely on her, right?

 

JAKE: You’re right. Damn it! How could evil like this creep into our own home, right under our noses? What the hell’s the FBI doing all day, anyway? Where are my tax dollars going? Lousy federal government!

 

QUINN: [thoughtful] You know, of course, it will be like horribly lonely for me this weekend, with Daddy gone and Mom at work and Daria getting all that attention and everything, and probably dinners out, and like maybe souvenirs and clothes and magazines and—

 

HELEN: [hardly paying attention] Of course, dear. [reaches for pocketbook on the table]

 

JAKE: [still stunned] Certainly. [reaches into pocket for wallet]

 

QUINN: [voice quavering and faint] I just don’t want to feel like I’m second best and maybe have to go kill goats or wear black or whatever it is that depressed Satanists do to feel better, you know?

 

Helen and Jake blindly hand Quinn wads of cash. She takes it all and stuffs it in her bathrobe pockets.

 

QUINN: [joyful] Thank you! I knew you really cared! [goes back to looking in cabinets]

 

JAKE: [whispers] We’ll have to talk to Daria right away.

 

HELEN: [whispers] I think she’s still asleep!

 

JAKE: [louder] Or is she? She could be communing with infernal powers this very second! [shakes fist angrily at ceiling] You wouldn’t get me out of military school, but I’m pulling my daughter out of your dark academy of sin, Generalissimo Dad-zilla!

 

Helen and Jake rush from the kitchen. Alone, Quinn pulls a large sack of potato chips from the cabinet.

 

QUINN: Here we go. [reads lettering on bag closely] No-fat ruffly chips, with . . . ole . . . olestra. Yup. “No fat” is where it’s at.

 

Quinn returns to her seat and opens the bag.

 

QUINN: [pouring chips on her plate] This will settle accounts for the rude little tale that you wrote about me on the Internet. [takes bite of a chip, smiles in contentment] Dear sister of mine . . . you taught me so well.

 

 

4. INT: TWO MINUTES LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

A long shape about the size of a teenage girl lies under a sheet in Daria’s bed. Her room looks much as shown in The Daria Diaries, only with more stuff: a computer at a small work station and large book shelves (jammed with books) on the wall by her door (with a Kafka poster), and other items named below. A VCR unit rests under a television set on a mobile cart.

 

A knock is heard from the door. The lump under the sheets doesn’t move. The knock repeats and gets louder. No movement. The doorknob twists, but it is locked. After a moment, the doorknob rattles, the lock in the knob pops out, and the door opens quietly. Helen peeks in, pocketing a bent-up paperclip.

 

HELEN: [softly] Daria? Are you awake?

 

DARIA: [under sheet, muffled] No. [low voice] Forgot the deadbolt again. Damn it.

 

HELEN: [enters room with Jake right behind her, sweetly] How are you doing this morning?

 

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] Mom, I promise to e-mail a complete report to you in a couple hours. Can I get back to my research now?

 

Helen turns and motions to Jake to go around Daria’s room. He nods quickly and starting looking around, obviously searching for something, picking up things and sometimes stepping on or tripping over them.

 

Aside from furniture and padded walls, Daria’s room currently contains: realistic replicas of human bones and skulls on the center carpet; a large wall poster of a partially unearthed human skeleton; another large wall poster showing the different levels of Dante’s Inferno, showing graphic depictions of the sufferings of the damned, with many small yellow sticky-pad notes stuck all over it on which are written the names of many currently famous people; a microscope on the floor with slides labeled “E. coli” and “E. coli mutations w/ radiation”; videos with titles like Horrifying Spectacular Disasters Caught Live on Video: Volume XXIV, Cannibal Rituals Revealed! and Alien Autopsy: The Director’s Cut; a print-out of a friendly e-mail sent to Daria by Rhonda, an axe-murderess (who appears to know Daria quite well), writing from a place called Kinsington Prison; an incomplete short story entitled, “Why I’m Not Sorry That I Made the Sun Go Nova”; books with titles like When Bad Things Happen to People Who Deserve It, Barbaric Practices Everyone Can Enjoy, and A Layman’s Guide to Soviet Thermonuclear Weapons; and plastic models of a human heart, a B-2 Stealth bomber, and a Visible Woman with most of its internal organs scattered around its feet. A small plastic rat sits in the Visible Woman’s empty abdomen, peering out.

 

Jake sees all of the above but ignores it, instead looking for something else.

 

HELEN: [turns back to Daria, sweetly] What research are you doing?

 

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] Controlled nightmare generation. Oddly, it seems to be working even when I’m awake. Like now, for instance.

 

HELEN: [distracted] That’s wonderful. We’re very proud of you. [looks around room] Listen, your father and I have to hurry out to work in a few moments, but we want to tell you about a special event that’s going on tonight. You’re going away this fall, and, you know, we’re all going to miss you, even Quinn, I’m sure, but your father . . . he, um—

 

Helen breaks off, seeing Jake gesture wildly at her. He’s picked up a paperback book he found on the floor under a pile of Daria’s used clothing: Stephen King’s Needful Things. A library’s Dewey decimal tag is taped to the spine, but it falls off as Jake’s fingers bump against it. Helen looks horrified to see the book.

 

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] What are you guys doing?

 

HELEN: [hands covering mouth, her worst fears confirmed] Uh, eh, ah—

 

Jake quickly gives the Stephen King book to Helen, who hurries out of the room with it, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger.

 

JAKE: [forced joviality] Kiddo, you’re in luck tonight! We’re going to a once-in-a-lifetime event, just you and me!

 

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] Dad, I have plans tonight. Jane needs my help on—

 

JAKE: But this is just the two of us, kiddo! You and me! Daria and her dad! We’re going to a really great seminar over at the Lawndale Plaza Hotel—

 

Daria pulls the sheet back from her face. She has no glasses on, and her hair is a mess.

 

DARIA: [squinting at Jake] Dad, you didn’t join Amway, did you?

 

JAKE: [nervous laugh] Ha! Always the kidder! That’s why you’re such a great kid, you always—

 

DARIA: [flops back on bed, stares at ceiling] Oh, damn it—you did join Amway.

 

JAKE: [still nervous] Oh, no, I didn’t, don’t worry about that. Your old man is signing us both up for a weekend away at a father-daughter seminar right here in Lawndale! It’s the “Lawndale Princesses Weekend”! You and me, kiddo! Morgendorffer and Morgendorffer! We’re going to renew our family bonds, be one with the Force, turn aside the powers of darkness and evil—[coughs]—and have a wild time doing it! Whaddya say?

 

DARIA: [covers eyes with an arm] I’m sorry, I guess Amway wasn’t so bad. Do I have to sell stuff, too?

 

JAKE: Ha, ha! Great! I’ll close the office early, and we’ll head out to the hotel at five. Jake and his Lawndale Princess! I can’t wait! [hurries out, closing door behind him]

 

DARIA: [pause, to self] I know I have sinned, and I do regret it, except maybe for the fun parts, and anything involving Quinn, so that’s, what, about ninety percent of my sins—but as divine punishments go for the other ten percent, this one is really way out of—

 

JAKE: [opens door again, pokes head inside] My oldest Lawndale Princess, of course. You, I mean. Quinn would be my youngest Lawndale Princess. I wasn’t implying—

 

DARIA: [deadpan] I have to shower and change, Dad.

 

JAKE: [panicked] Bye! [shuts door]

 

Daria lies still for a few moments, groans, then rolls over and pulls the sheet over her head again.

 

 

5. EXT: A SHORT WHILE LATER, BACK YARD, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

Helen and Jake have set up the barbecue grill by the back door, and Jack is pouring lighter fluid over the Stephen King book. Helen holds a book of matches.

 

JAKE: [very stressed] I bet this is what turned her soul to demon worship! Damn Stephen King! Let’s see how a paperback about Satan working in small-town retail holds up against the fires of righteousness! [stops pouring lighter fluid, to Helen] Do you think we should we hire an exorcist?

 

HELEN: No time! [lights match, throws it on book, which burns merrily] Back to Hell!

 

JAKE: [looks up, shakes fist at the sky with grim delight] I win, Dad! Her soul is free! Go pedal your perverted papers in some other suburb!

 

 

6. INT: SAME MOMENT, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

Quinn looks out the window in disbelief, watching her mother and father burn a paperback book on the backyard grill. Helen and Jake jump up and down, arms raised, cheering as the book turns to ash.

 

QUINN: [low voice] I wish to God they’d never taken drugs in the Sixties.

 

With a sad sigh, she turns to go. Quinn is still in her bathrobe and nightclothes, and she holds the “No Fat” potato-chip bag she was eating from earlier. She shakes the bag, notices that it is empty, and drops it into the kitchen wastebasket. She then looks in the cabinet, gets another sack (sour cream and onion), and walks off elsewhere in the house.

 

 

7. INT: TWO HOURS LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

On one side of a split screen, Daria sits on her bed, talking on the phone. She’s dressed in her usual clothing, glasses on, drying her damp hair with a towel. On the other side of the screen, Jane sits in her room, phone on her shoulder, flipping through the pages of a manual: Advanced Photo/Video Digitization for Idiots.

 

DARIA: On top of all that, I can’t find this Stephen King book that’s due back at the library today. I thought I left it in my room, but it’s gone. That caps off my Friday, and it’s barely even started yet.

 

JANE: [looks up from manual] Well, there are worse things than being taken to an all-expenses-paid father-daughter togetherness weekend at a posh hotel.

 

DARIA: Name one.

 

JANE: [slow intake of breath] Not being taken.

 

DARIA: [pause] Oh.

 

JANE: You know what I would give to—oh, forget it. Sorry I said it. Listen, just go and be thankful your dad gives a damn. Some don’t. Good thing I’m not bitter.

 

DARIA: Maybe Trent could take you.

 

JANE: Nah, he’d never let me gray his hair. And I have to do window dressings at Cashman’s tonight and tomorrow night. And we don’t have any money left anyway. On top of that, I’m still having trouble with this stupid project. [flips book shut] I do wish you were here to help. I don’t know squat about computers, except that they’re all evil.

 

DARIA: Mind if I call now and then?

 

JANE: Call me whenever you want, as often as you want, as long as you want. I’ll need the breaks, along with any computer advice you can spare.

 

DARIA: Done. Good luck.

 

JANE: Yeah. I could use that.

 

DARIA: Bye.

 

JANE: Bye.

 

They hang up. The split screen turns into a single screen, showing Jane sitting at her desk. She puts an elbow on the computer workstation next to her and covers her face with that hand, looking tired and a little depressed.

 

JANE: [to self, glum] Father-daughter weekend. [sigh] Daria, you are so damn lucky.

 

 

8. INT: A SHORT WHILE LATER, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

Daria enters the kitchen to make breakfast for herself. She finds a note on the refrigerator: Daria—Do not eat the fat-free chips! There are only enough for me! Just eat the fat chips and other stuff. Thanks! Quinn.

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Always looking out for me.

 

Daria drops the note in the trashcan, then goes to the sink to get a glass of water. She looks out the window as she does, and frowns. She can see the grill out in the back yard, with a book-sized pile of black ash on it. She shrugs and looks in the refrigerator, pulling out the orange juice. The phone rings, and she picks it up while pouring herself a glass. The following conversation starts in three-way split-screen, between Daria in the kitchen, Quinn in her room upstairs (eating potato chips), and Helen at her legal office.

 

DARIA: Morgendorffers.

 

QUINN: I’ve got the phone! Hang up, Daria!

 

HELEN: Quinn, I called to talk to Daria. You hang up.

 

QUINN: Muuuh-ooom! I’m expecting a very important—

 

HELEN: Now.

 

QUINN: Oh, all right. Five minutes. [hangs up, disappears from split screen]

 

DARIA: [putting orange juice away] I think we’re alone now.

 

HELEN: Daria, listen. Your father’s picking you up at five tonight. You and he each have a small suitcase for the weekend, so pack light. No “Family Court” tonight, of course.

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Out of idle curiosity, am I being punished for something bad I did?

 

HELEN: [caught off guard] Ah, eh, no, dear, of course not. Whatever gave you that silly idea?

 

DARIA: You and Dad are sending me away without warning or explanation to a father-daughter bonding seminar designed to make me a better person—but Quinn’s not going with us.

 

HELEN: Oh, Daria, we’ve nothing to hide! We, uh, um, just thought it, uh, would be nice for you and your dad to, um, you know, get out and bond, and, uh, talk about, um, what you’ve been doing lately, where you’ve been, anything that you might want to tell us that could be important later in a legal, moral, or spiritual sense, before it gets into the newspapers and all over town, that sort of thing.

 

DARIA: I’m not having sex, Mom.

 

HELEN: [quickly] Oh, of course not! [laughs loudly in relief] What a ridiculous idea!

 

DARIA: [really stung] Thanks a lot. [pause until Helen stops laughing so hard] Spill it, Mom. What’s going on?

 

HELEN: [quickly] I’ll let Jake talk with you about that. It’s his weekend—his and yours, I mean. He can talk about it. I’m swamped here.

 

DARIA: Am I being sold to a child-labor factory in Asia? Or is Quinn being sold? I can handle it if it’s Quinn.

 

HELEN: [peeved] Daria, your sense of humor is almost demoni—[gasps]—I mean, it’s just awful. Behave yourself, do what you have to do to get ready for the weekend, and don’t, uh, do anything that, uh, the neighbors might take badly if they saw you do it in public.

 

DARIA: [looking out the window at the grill] Like animal sacrifices, you mean?

 

HELEN: [gasps] Daria! Please, no! Think of your family! Wait, I’ve got another call coming in.

 

Helen punches a button on her cell phone and vanishes from the split screen, leaving Daria only.

 

DARIA: Hey, before you go, have you seen my library book? It was Stephen King’s . . . hello? Mom?

 

With a sigh, Daria hangs up the phone.

 

DARIA: [to self] I’m going to write a book about this someday. Too bad that “Hell House” is already taken for a title.

 

 

9. INT: MID-AFTERNOON, JAKE’S CONSULTING BUSINESS OFFICE

 

Looking nervous, Jake uses his business phone at his desk. He holds the newspaper clipping about the father-daughter seminar. Beside him on the desk is a pad of paper and a pencil.

 

JAKE: [reading article aloud] “Every father should know the following things about his daughter. . . .” [anxious expression] I better get a professional opinion. [dials phone]

 

The phone call (to Jane) is shown in split screen. Jane is in her room at her family’s home, working on her desktop computer. The monitor shows a still frame from the video movie Jane shot of Daria the night before, with Daria kneeling on the grave in her black robes. The image, however, is reversed out like a photonegative. Jane still has the manual on her lap, with bookmarks stuck all through it.

 

JANE: [not looking away from the monitor] Trent? Trent! The phone! Oh, forget it.

 

She picks up the handset on the ringing phone beside her.

 

JANE: [to phone] Yo. Lanes.

 

JAKE: [shaky voice] Hi, Jake Morgendorffer. Is Jane Lane in, please?

 

JANE: [frowns at computer monitor, taps keys] Speaking. Hi, Mister Morgendorffer.

 

JAKE: Jane! Yeah, this is Daria’s dad. How’s it going?

 

JANE: [taps a few more keys] Okay, I guess. Computer troubles. What’s up?

 

JAKE: Great! Say, Jane, I’m taking Daria to a father-daughter seminar at the Lawndale Plaza Hotel this weekend, but not because there’s anything dreadfully wrong, you understand. It’s just that I want to talk with her about her life and the direction she’s going and the directions she should avoid, like turning to animal or human sacrifice or summoning demons or falling under the spell of unspeakable evil or—

 

JANE: [leans back in her seat, still looking at monitor] Everyone needs a hobby.

 

JAKE: A hobby? [panicked] Oh, my God! You’re saying she’s—oh! I get it! [forced laugh] Anyway, I was just thinking that it would be good to know a little more about her, and seeing as you’re Daria’s best friend, if not her only—

 

JANE: [looks away from monitor to random spot in her room] You know the rules. Maximum of three questions. No betrayals. Immunity from prosecution.

 

JAKE: Right! [pause] Eh, what—[consults list]—does your child—Daria, what does Daria think her strongest point is?

 

JANE: [frowns] Are you reading from something?

 

JAKE: [startled, drops list] What? Oh, no, of course not! Ha, ha! What a kidder! No, I—

 

JANE: What does she think her strongest point is? Her integrity.

 

JAKE: [confused] Her what? I thought it would be her intelligence. She’s smarter than I am! She can—

 

JANE: It wouldn’t mean anything without integrity. She really prides herself on that.

 

JAKE: [shrugs, writes this down on notepad] Her . . . do you spell that with an “e” or an “i” at the end?

 

JANE: I-n-t-e-g-r-i-t-y. Third question?

 

JAKE: Third? I’ve asked only one!

 

JANE: You also asked how to spell “integrity.”

 

JAKE: [panicked] I’ll pay! Jane, I swear! I need another question! Don’t make me beg!

 

JANE: Twenty bucks. I’ll be by this afternoon to collect.

 

JAKE: Done! Yes! Okay, now, uh—[bends down to read list on the floor]—what does y—Daria want to be when she grows up?

 

JANE: [incredulous] She IS grown up!

 

JAKE: I mean, when she gets out of college! What does she want to do when she gets out of college? That kind of grown up!

 

JANE: Mmm, that’s hard to say, but she loves to write. Whatever else she does, she’ll probably be a writer, too. She’s very good at it.

 

JAKE: Writer. [pause to write this down] Okay, great. I thought that might be it. We’re getting somewhere. Thank God. No more animal sacrifi—[coughs to cover up] Yes, uh, my last question is—

 

JANE: [startled, frowns] What did you say about animal—

 

JAKE: [interrupts loudly, stooping to read list on floor again] What is Daria’s most cherished dream?

 

JANE: [hesitates] Her most cherished dream. Huh. Lately, she’s talked a lot about restarting the Inquisition under a new set of guidelines, but I’d have to say—

 

JAKE: Inquisition. Inquis—damn it, I’ll have to look that up.

 

JANE: No, don’t bother. Listen, she and I talk about this a lot. Daria wants everyone to be honest. A lot of things bug her, but what bugs her most is when people aren’t honest with themselves or with others. That drives her crazy.

 

JAKE: [look of disbelief] Are you sure? Being honest? Well, I guess I can see that. It does sound sort of strange—well, not really strange, like summoning the undead, but—anyway, I mean—

 

JANE: Look, you remember a few months ago when she crawled in that refrigerator carton and wouldn’t come out until you told her about the fight you and your wife had when Daria was little? The fight about why Daria was so different from other kids?

 

JAKE: [stunned] She told you about that?

 

JANE: Well, of course she did! I’m her best friend. That’s why you’re calling me to find out what’s she’s like instead of asking her yourself.

 

JAKE: [pause, chastened] Um, oh. Yeah.

 

JANE: Once you were honest with her about what really happened, she was fine, right? That’s all you had to do. If you lie to her or deny something really happened, she goes ballistic. She wants people to be honest. She’s smart enough to know when people are lying or covering up. Lots of things annoy her, but nothing burns her like dishonesty. It goes with that integrity thing.

 

JAKE: [silent for a moment] Um, okay. That was three. I’ll have the twenty ready when—

 

JANE: Wait a sec. Mister Morgendorffer, I’ll be honest with you, too. When we started this three-questions thing, I fully expected you’d ask me something like, oh, what’s Daria weigh, or what’s her favorite food, or something like that. Don’t take this the wrong way, but what you asked was really different. It showed me that you really care about her. It goes against all my principals, but forget about the twenty. Keep it. Spend it on Daria instead at the seminar this weekend. Do that, and we’ll be even.

 

JAKE: [face brightens, relieved] Uh, okay. I will. Thanks, Jane! You’ve been a big help!

 

JANE: Great. Now, I have a question for you. What’s all this stuff you were saying about animal sacrifices and summoning the undead and unspeakable—

 

JAKE: [panicked] Gottacallontheotherlinebye! [hangs up fast, vanishes from split screen]

 

JANE: [stares at handset in confusion] What the hell . . .?

 

 

 

* * *

 

FRIDAY EVENING

Part Three: Night of the Living Dad

(a.k.a.: My Dinner with Angry, or, The Good, the Bad, and the Upchuck)

 

 

10. INT: EARLY EVENING, LOBBY OF LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria and Jake come into the lobby through the revolving doors in front. Jake pulls two small wheeled suitcases behind him.

 

JAKE: [stops, happily looks around lobby for main desk] Nice place! Hey, kiddo, there’s a long line at the desk, so have a seat and I’ll get the room keys. Got us a two-bedroom suite with a kitchenette, two bathrooms, a full refrigerator, and TVs in every room!

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Cable or satellite?

 

JAKE: Satellite! Six thousand channels! Nothing but the best for my Lawndale Princess!

 

DARIA: [faint smile] Houston, we’re go for launch. [smile fades] They still could’ve picked a better name for this outing than the Princesses thing. Lawndale Bloodthirsty Medusas, maybe, or Lawndale Crazed Psycho Chicks, or—

 

JAKE: [nervous, starts to leave] Ah, sure, great ideas, kiddo! I better get those keys!

 

DARIA: No problem. I brought some light reading.

 

JAKE: Great! [heads off] Just hope they didn’t screw anything up and put us in a broom closet. Man, I hate these overgrown impersonal bureaucracies!

 

DARIA: [watches him go, softly] Which, of course, is why you choose to work with them for a living.

 

Daria shrugs and looks around the lobby. She notices that the main dining room for the hotel is actually a large section of the lobby, surrounded by planters and potted trees and shrubs. Her attention is caught by a sign that reads, “Weekender Special! Need a special getaway place for someone special? Ask about our Friday-Monday Weekender Rates!” In small print is: “Renter and all guests must be 18 or older. No refunds.”

 

DARIA: [to self] A no-tell hotel. Do tell. Anything for a buck these days.

 

Seeing nothing else of interest, Daria then takes a seat on a bench behind a row of decorative bushes and small trees. She is completely blocked from view to anyone coming in the hotel’s main doors. She pulls a paperback book (Best Short Slasher Fiction of the Twentieth Century) from an inside pocket in her jacket and begins to read.

 

Behind her, Jodie Landon comes in through the main revolving door. A moment later, “Mack” MacKenzie hurries across the lobby to greet her, wearing his school jacket.

 

MACK: Hey! Glad you could make it! [reaches out to hug her]

 

JODIE: [backpedals, holds up hand, face tense] Mack, wait a minute.

 

Daria hears their voices and puts her book aside, preparing to stand up and greet her friends.

 

MACK: I got the room. Just the two of us in our secret love nest.

 

Eyes wide, Daria immediately sits down again, scrunching up behind the shrubbery to avoid being seen.

 

JODIE: [soft but firm voice] Mack, listen to me. I came down here only to talk to you, nothing else. I’m not very good at saying things like this, so just listen to me. Okay?

 

MACK: What? Something come up? The room’s good for the weekend, no refunds, and we’ve had this planned for—

 

JODIE: Mack, nothing’s come up that hasn’t come up a hundred times already since graduation.

 

MACK: Jodie, what are you talking about? Look, we can talk up in—

 

JODIE: No. I can’t stay.

 

MACK: What?

 

JODIE: It’s over, Mack.

 

Daria listens, frozen in place.

 

MACK: Jodie, honey, please—

 

JODIE: Listen to me! You and I are friends. We’ve always been friends.

 

MACK: What? [loud whisper] We’ve been a lot more than friends!

 

JODIE: Mack, please. We’ve shared so much, but we always knew we were heading in different directions. Let me say this, please!

 

MACK: What are you talking about? We’re not going to be that far apart, Jodie. Vance University’s only a day’s drive from Turner U! We can still—

 

JODIE: It’s not that! [deep breath] I want to be free. I’m so confused lately about what I want in life. When we graduated, I thought I knew where I was going with everything, but I need some breathing space. I’ve been thinking about the two of us for weeks now, and we—we aren’t going down the same road, Mack. We’re not. [pause] I want to see what else life has for me. We have to go our separate ways. It’s going to happen when we got to college, and we may as well face it now. We never were meant for each other for the rest of our lives. [pause] Mack, it’s over.

 

MACK: [gasps] Jodie!

 

JODIE: We’ve talked about this a hundred times! You knew we weren’t going to be together forever! That was high school. This is life!

 

MACK: [agonized] Jodie . . . I love you.

 

Daria closes her eyes and grimaces in sympathetic pain.

 

MACK: After everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve done for you, please—

 

JODIE: [upset, voice breaking] I have to go. I’m sorry, but it’s over, Mack. I’ll always be your friend, but that’s . . . I have to go.

 

MACK: But you said you were so lucky to have—wait! Jodie!

 

JODIE: [leaving, verge of tears] Goodbye!

 

Jodie leaves quickly through the revolving door, wiping her eyes as she goes. Mack stands in the lobby in shock. He takes a few steps toward the door, looks out after Jodie, then steps back. His face is blank with disbelief. His hands fall to his sides. Dazed, he slowly turns and walks back across the lobby and out of sight.

 

Daria opens her eyes and sighs heavily, looking sad. She picks up her paperback but cannot get interested in it.

 

Behind her, Brittany Taylor comes through the revolving door. She wears the same yellow-and-blue outfit as always. She looks around the lobby for someone. Moments later, Kevin Thompson (still wearing his Lawndale High School football uniform) hurries across the lobby to her.

 

KEVIN: Hey, babe! Glad you could make it!

 

BRITTANY: [anxious, low voice] Kevvy, I don’t know if this is really a good idea.

 

Hearing their voices, Daria gets a severely pained look on her face. She tries to focus on her book, scrunching down in her seat.

 

KEVIN: I got a room for the two of us, babe. It’ll be just like the old days.

 

BRITTANY: Wow, like, we never did it in a hotel. Under the bleachers, in your car, in the locker room, in the janitor’s room, in every closet in your house and every park in town, yeah, but never in a hotel. Not a nice hotel like this one, anyway. Probably no crawly things in the sheets here.

 

KEVIN: [wicked leer] Except for me, of course!

 

BRITTANY: Wait. Kevvy, listen to me.

 

KEVIN: We can talk later. Let’s let looove talk now. Let’s put Mister Gopher back inside his happy burrow!

 

Daria flinches and scrunches down in her seat even further, the paperback pressed right up to her face.

 

BRITTANY: [upset] Kevin, that’s just rude! Please listen to me! Something about this isn’t right. We have to think about our futures, you know?

 

KEVIN: Hey, I am thinking about our future. It’s on the fifth floor in room five thirteen.

 

BRITTANY: I mean our big futures! Like, you remember in class when they talked about that philosophy stuff, and it, like, made my head hurt so much I had to take my PMS pills? That kind of future, Kevvy.

 

KEVIN: Baby, look, it wasn’t my fault I didn’t graduate. It’s the stupid teachers. They’re jealous of me. They’re jealous of my athletic prow—prown—’cause I can throw a football, and they suck at it. They’re jealous because I’ve got you!

 

BRITTANY: But Kevvy, I’m going away to Great Prairie State in a couple months, and that’s a long way from here, even though on the map it isn’t that far, only four inches, maybe. We’ll be apart for weeks and weeks. [leans forward, low voice] Things can happen, you know?

 

KEVIN: [low, husky whisper] I’ve got four inches that’ll take you all the way to paradise, babe.

 

Daria instantly puts her book aside and clamps both hands tightly over her ears, eyes shut and teeth clenched.

 

BRITTANY: [looks around, whispers] Shhh! Not here, Kevvy!

 

KEVIN: Please, baby. Look, we can have dinner or something first and talk about it. They’ve got burgers and fries here on the kids’ menu.

 

BRITTANY: [groans, weakening] Any pizza?

 

KEVIN: [grins in triumph] Bitchin’ pizza. Cheese, I think.

 

BRITTANY: [sighs] Well, maybe a little pizza would be okay. So we can talk. We gotta talk, Kevvy.

 

KEVIN: [relieved] Great, baby! Then maybe for dessert we can have some of that great Brittany pie!

 

BRITTANY: Kevin! [smacks him on the arm]

 

Kevin and Brittany leave. After a few moments, Daria removes one hand, hears nothing more, and sits up again, opening her eyes and sighing deeply. She sits for a moment, appearing exhausted, then reaches over and picks up her book. She forces herself to read it, frowning hard.

 

Behind her, Andrea of the unknown last name (in her usual Goth outfit) comes through the revolving doors. Hurrying across the lobby, Charles Ruttheimer III (Upchuck) comes up to greet her, in his usual school outfit.

 

UPCHUCK: [in peak form, takes Andrea in his arms] Ah, my vampiric vixen, my queen of darkness, my Hoth-eyed beauty!

 

Daria jumps, startled to hear Upchuck right behind her. Upchuck and Andrea kiss passionately until Andrea pulls back.

 

ANDREA: [pointing to her eye makeup] Horus. This is the Eye of Horus.

 

UPCHUCK: Of course it is, my coal-haired queen of the night! Glad you could make it! A grand suite waits us, my divine angel, my perfect partner, my dark dominatrix! Oh, Andrea! Grrrrrr! [buries face in Andrea’s shoulder, kissing her neck with great passion]

 

Daria drops her book on the floor. She sags in her seat, head falling back, and stares at the lobby ceiling in disbelief.

 

ANDREA: [hugs him, but distracted] Charles, listen. I think we should—

 

UPCHUCK: [husky whisper, kissing Andrea’s neck, cheek, hair, and ear] I’ve waited endless eons for us to share this night of madness together. Everything is in readiness for our journey into the Stygian heart of passion, the silken touch of your mortal flesh against mine, together . . . as . . . one.

 

Daria shivers in revulsion and wraps her arms around her middle. She bends forward at the waist, head down between her spread knees, as if seconds from being violently ill.

 

ANDREA: Charles . . . we need to talk, okay?

 

UPCHUCK: Not now, my mistress of the sacred and profane arts! We have forever, the rest of our lives to talk. [lowers voice] Now is the time for mighty deeds, not weakling words. The scent of you has aroused me, and I must take you away from this mundane, lifeless world and lose myself in your glory and splendor, or else perish, fade into oblivion, and be no more. Grrrrrr! [buries his face in her neck again]

 

Still bent over, Daria grabs handfuls of her hair with both hands and pulls as hard as she can, unable to tune out the conversation.

 

ANDREA: [sighs, yields] Okay, okay. You win, Romeo. You’ve got me.

 

UPCHUCK: [husky whisper] No, my precious one, my midnight delight. You . . . have got . . . me!

 

Upchuck and Andrea leave, walking across the lobby together toward the elevators. Daria remains bent over, her hands gripping her hair.

 

DARIA: [very tense, low voice] If Tom comes in that door, so help me God, I swear I’m going to—

 

Behind her, Jake Morgendorffer comes back from the main desk with their suitcases, looking around anxiously.

 

JAKE: [turning in place] Daria?

 

DARIA: [jumps to her feet, turns, and yells, arms waving desperately] Dad!

 

JAKE: [extreme startle reaction] Aaaugh! [backs up and falls over his own suitcase]

 

 

11. INT: AN HOUR LATER, SEMINAR ROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

A large crowd of fathers and daughters are present in a large meeting room in the hotel, seated and facing a speaker at a podium. Most daughters are considerably younger than Daria, who is probably the oldest daughter present; Daria notices all the elementary-school girls and sighs. Vases of pink roses and bright flowers are everywhere along the sides of the room. Some of the older girls’ faces in the room are familiar—Sandi, Stacy, Tiffany, etc. Certain faces are not present (Jane, Quinn, Andrea, Brittany, Jodie).

 

Sandi Griffin and her father sit immediately behind Daria and Jake, near the back of the room. (Stacy, Tiffany, and their fathers are close by.) Sandi leans forward and taps Daria on the shoulder.

 

SANDI: [whispers] Where’s Quinn?

 

DARIA: [looks back, whispers] Probably shopping.

 

SANDI: [irritated whisper] How’d SHE get out of this?

 

SANDI’S FATHER (TOM GRIFFIN): Shhh. He’s about to start, sweetie!

 

Sandi subsides with a dark look on her face, frowning at the speaker, a cheery bearded guy—the sort that’s probably a wonderful dad in the best Walt Disney mold.

 

SANDI: [mumbles under her breath] Lucky little bitch.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): Good evening, and welcome to, “Our Daughters, Our Future: The Lawndale Princesses Weekend”! I’m Bob Bobinnelong, and we’re here to celebrate the bond between father and daughter, to strength those ties that will propel the next generation of women into the vast gulf of tomorrow with a fearless, confident leap!

 

DARIA: [murmurs to self, deadpan] With or without the bungee cord?

 

SPEAKER (BOB): In your program packets, you will find a questionnaire designed to help you fathers learn just how good—or dreadful—a father you really are! A similar questionnaire for you daughters will help you determine just how badly your dad has screwed up your life! Ha, ha! [no one in the audience laughs, but the speaker doesn’t notice] Remember, there’s almost always room for improvement, and it’s almost never too late to make things better, or so we hope!

 

Jake, now looking quite anxious, goes through his program packet until he finds the questionnaires; he hands the one labeled “Daughters” to Daria. Daria glances at hers and puts it facedown in her lap. Jake, however, begins to carefully read through his questionnaire while the speaker drones on in the background about the importance of fathers in their children’s lives. Jake gets a pen out of his shirt pocket and begins to answer the questions, using the packet to support the questionnaire.

 

DARIA: [bored already, whispers] Dad, is there a schedule of events for this train wreck?

 

JAKE: [whispers] Just a minute, kiddo. [finds schedule sheet in packet, hands it to Daria] Here you go.

 

DARIA: [whispers] Thanks. I think.

 

Daria scans the sheet. On the schedule for Saturday morning, Daria sees, “The Wonderful Miracle of Your Mysterious and Beautiful Womanly Body” at 9 a.m., the first seminar of three for daughters only. Following that is lunch, then at two-hour intervals are, “Am I Really Going to Marry Someone Like My Dad, and If So, Should I Just End It All Now?” (1 p.m.) and “Just How the Hell Am I Supposed to Cope Once I Realize That I’ve Turned Into My Mother?” (3 p.m.).

 

DARIA: [tone of dread] Uh-oh.

 

Daria continues reading the schedule. Concluding on Saturday evening is “Don’t Worry, Your Life Will Probably Be Just Fine Despite Everything You Might Have Heard Here,” for both fathers and daughters, followed by dinner and a dance. A Sunday morning breakfast concludes the weekend, with an awards ceremony for an as-yet unidentified father-daughter team “to be chosen during the weekend.”

 

DARIA: [murmurs to self] I’m sorry now that I didn’t take up hard drinking in fourth grade, as I’d planned.

 

JAKE: [reading questionnaire, whispers] Daria?

 

DARIA: [whispers] Wait, I’ll get her. [pause] What?

 

JAKE: [whispers] A lot of these questions want to know if I’ve ever asked you about your weight, or tried to make you diet, or things like that. Was I supposed to do that?

 

DARIA: [whispers] No.

 

JAKE: Oh. [pause, whispers] Was that good or bad that I didn’t?

 

DARIA: [whispers] Good. Fathers aren’t supposed to do that.

 

JAKE: [relieved] Thank God. [fills in some answers, whispers] This one. I think I know the names of every one of your friends. [pause] That’s Jane, right?

 

DARIA: [whispers] Yes.

 

JAKE: [whispers] Okay. [fills in answer, peers at next one, to self] Oh, this is good. I do make dinner as often as Helen. You’re on a roll, Jakey!

 

Daria makes a face at the unpleasant memory of her father’s many failed attempts to make dinner, but says nothing.

 

JAKE: [whispers] Oh, and the next one’s good, too. I do tell you stories about my youth. [frowns, voice getting louder] All the miserable, rotten things that my no-good jerk of a father did to me, sending me off to military school at the age of—

 

SEVERAL PEOPLE NEARBY: [to Jake] Shhh!

 

JAKE: [winces] Oops! [looks at questionnaire, recovers, whispers to Daria] Do you and I share any physical or athletic activities together?

 

DARIA: [whispers] Television.

 

JAKE: [whispers] Yeah, that’s right. [writes this down] Do you or did you ever talk with your daughter about menst—[stops instantly, turns bright red with embarrassment]

 

DARIA: [pause, deadpan] Menstruation?

 

Jake looks mortified and begins to sweat.

 

DARIA: [whispers] You bought me that book on it. Put down yes.

 

Jake does so, still looking mortally embarrassed. He reads the next question silently—but when he does, he looks horrified beyond words. The question is: “Do you ever view pornographic materials?” Daria notices her father’s silence and glances over at his questionnaire.

 

DARIA: [loud whisper] Put no. Those videos that Mom gets for the two of you don’t count.

 

JAKE: [squeaks] Eeep!

 

Too ashamed to continue, Jake hides his face behind his questionnaire. Daria looks toward the front of the room—and smiles.

 

 

12. INT: ABOUT THIS TIME, QUINN’S BEDROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

Fully dressed now in her usual outfit, Quinn lies face down on her made-up bed, kicking her legs slowly in the air. She appears to be waiting for someone to speak on her phone. Her upper body is propped up on her elbows. An open sack of barbecue-flavored fat-free chips rests on the floor beside her bed. Several open books on interior decorating lie on the bed next to her, with a large pad of graph paper and three pencils. Her room otherwise looks as it does in The Daria Diaries, with all her stuffed animals on her bed pillows, stacked up as if part of a circus human-pyramid act.

 

QUINN: [to phone, now animated] Oh, hi! My name’s Quinn Morgendorffer, and I want to get some ideas from your company about renovating an upstairs bedroom. It’s my sister’s room—I mean, it is now, but she’s going to college this fall, so then it’s free. Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll miss her, sort of, but what I wanted to do was, like, convert her bedroom into a party room, so my friends and I can use it. We need to take down all the padding on the walls, get the bars out of the windows, all that. What? No, really. I’m not kidding. The family before us had some crazy person in there, and she—my sister—she took the room as it was. Uh-huh. Yeah, that was pretty crazy, too, but hey, she was happy, I guess. Uh-huh. Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter if she does, because she’ll be gone. Why ask? Uh-huh. Oh, my mom’s already thinking of things to do with it. She—

 

Quinn breaks off, rolling on her back to look up at her bed’s canopy. Her free hand reaches down to her bare midriff and presses lightly on her abdomen, just below her stomach. When she rolls on her back, she comes to rest almost on the edge of her bed.

 

QUINN: [to phone] Excuse me, I missed that. What? Oh, nothing, just a cramp. [short laugh] Yeah, probably. It’s gone now. What was I saying? [removes hand from abdomen to play with her hair] Oh, my mom. Yeah, my mom’s thinking about turning it into a guest bedroom, but that’s sooo common, you know? Like, I can’t come up with anything better than that, right. I’d ask my friends, but they’re all off at some dumb meeting. Uh-huh. Okay, what I need is, like, a list of things you can put into a party room, all the good stuff. Yeah, like that. Exactly. Our TVs are so small, they are just ridiculous.

 

Quinn’s free hand reaches down along the side of her bed, searching for the sack of barbecue-flavored chips. Finding nothing, she stretches harder in every direction to find it, scooting herself ever closer to the edge of the bed.

 

QUINN: [to phone] What? You’re kidding! Oh, yeah! That would be sooo cool! A kitchenette and wet bar! No alcohol, of course, but we could—oh, no, it’s not that, but yeah, I am too young, but it’s fattening, you know? Like I really need to bloat out like one of those fish with the pointy things all over it. Yeah, exactly!

 

Not paying attention to anything but the phone, Quinn makes a last effort to reach the chips, rolling halfway over toward the edge of the bed—on which she already rests.

 

QUINN: [to phone] Like, I should ruin my perfect body just for the sake of a—Waaaaahhh!

 

Quinn falls out of bed directly onto the sack of chips. The bed covering goes with her, dragging along all her books and papers and pencils, her pillows, all the stuffed animals, and the phone base and phone cord. The phone base makes a noise like cross between a bang and a ring when it hits her on the head, then hits the floor.

 

QUINN: [loudly] Ow! Damn it!

 

 

13. INT: AN HOUR LATER, WOMEN’S RESTROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria stands in a toilet stall, arranging her clothing, ready to leave. Outside her stall, Brittany storms into the restroom, her face red. She marches over to a sink and turns the faucet on, splashing water in her face. Someone knocks loudly on the restroom door.

 

BRITTANY: [shouts] Go away, Kevin!

 

As Daria reaches for the lock on her stall door, she hears the above and freezes in surprise. The door to the restroom opens quickly and Kevin barrels in, also red-faced.

 

BRITTANY: Kevin, get out! This is the girl’s room! People are peeing in here!

 

KEVIN: [oblivious] Babe, listen, you can’t be serious about—

 

BRITTANY: [flings water at him from her sink] Get out! I meant what I said! We’re through!

 

KEVIN: [shielding face] Brittany, baby, please! We can’t end like this!

 

Daria groans softly, leaning against one wall of her restroom stall with her eyes closed. She’s trapped and knows it. Brittany stops flinging water at Kevin.

 

BRITTANY: Kevin, we not only can end like this, but we can end like this! [pause] I mean, we just did end like this! All you brought me down here for was to go up to your room and bang me on the bed! You haven’t heard anything I’ve said all night! I’ve talked to you until I’m as blue as Lawndale’s school colors, the blue part, but you don’t get it!

 

KEVIN: Damn it, Brittany, this just isn’t right!

 

BRITTANY: What’s not right? That you didn’t graduate? That I did, and I’m out of this damn dumb-ass town come August? What part of “You don’t get it” are you not getting? [pause] I think I said that right.

 

KEVIN: [leans against a sink and wipes his face with one hand] Okay, hold on. Wait. [sighs, swallows] Okay, I’m sorry. I—I just lost it. I’m sorry I threw my soup. I’m sorry I jumped on the table. And I’m sorry about that lady’s damn little dog.

 

BRITTANY: [glowers at Kevin] That was mean.

 

KEVIN: They’ll find him eventually. He was an ugly little fur ball, but I’m sorry about it anyway. I’m sorry, okay?

 

BRITTANY: [wit’s end] Kevin, don’t you see at all what I’ve been saying? Don’t you get it? Please tell me you get it.

 

Kevin is silent for several moments.

 

KEVIN: [tired voice] I get it. [softer voice] I get it.

 

BRITTANY: Okay. [pause] What exactly do you get?

 

KEVIN: [low voice] We’re . . . over. We’re through.

 

BRITTANY: [nods in relief] You got it. Finally.

 

Kevin is silent again, but appears to be thinking hard.

 

KEVIN: Well, I tell you what. I’m staying over anyway. I can’t get a refund on the room, ‘cause it was a special deal, so I’ve got it until Monday morning. May as well stick around and play with the Nintendo. Refrigerator’s stocked, too. Nothing else to do.

 

BRITTANY: Okay. Well, I’m going home.

 

KEVIN: [quiet voice] I want to make it up to you.

 

BRITTANY: Make it up? How?

 

KEVIN: [hesitates] I want to show you I’m okay about it. That it’s okay, everything’s all right.

 

BRITTANY: How?

 

KEVIN: [sighs] Please have dinner with me tomorrow night. Here. That’s all I’m asking.

 

BRITTANY: [pause] All? Are you sure?

 

KEVIN: I swear, babe. Brittany, I mean—Brittany. Sorry.

 

BRITTANY: [pause] Dinner, and that’s all. You’re not going to lose it again, right?

 

KEVIN: I swear. I’ll be all right.

 

BRITTANY: [points finger at Kevin] Hands to yourself, too. No grabbing my butt anymore when I try to sit down.

 

KEVIN: No. None of that. Just dinner.

 

BRITTANY: [pause, softer voice] Okay. I’ll have the cheese pizza again. It was good. Diet soda, too, same as tonight. Maybe dessert, if you don’t jump on the table.

 

KEVIN: Okay. Done. Promise.

 

BRITTANY: Okay. Now, get out. I have to pee.

 

KEVIN: [nods] Right. [leaves for the door] I’ll be upstairs.

 

BRITTANY: I’m going home. [pause] See you tomorrow night, then.

 

KEVIN: Okay. [leaves]

 

Brittany grips the sides of the sink with both hands and leans on it, breathing heavily.

 

BRITTANY: [after a pause] Stupid jerk. I should’ve . . . [voice dies away]

 

Brittany sniffs, washes her face off, dries off with a paper towel, and walks into another stall, shutting the door. Relieved, Daria swiftly leaves her own stall, washes her hands in seconds, and hurries out of the restroom. She hesitates at the door in case she runs into Kevin outside, but Kevin—thankfully—is nowhere to be seen.

 

 

14. INT: EARLY EVENING, DINING ROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria and her father sit together at a table for two with a lavish display of beautiful flowers on one side. The buffet line is in the distance behind them. A large, decorative potted bush sits immediately behind Daria’s chair, blocking her view of the table behind her. Jake has a huge steak with fries, and Daria has an artichoke focaccia, something that looks like an upscale pizza with colorful vegetables on it, plus a side order of cheese fries. She cuts into her pizza as Jake cuts into his steak.

 

JAKE: [happily] Steak, by God! Good old American steak! Give me a dead, bloody animal carcass on a plate with a barrel of ketchup any day! How’s your pizza?

 

On the verge of putting a forkful of pizza in her mouth, Daria winces and puts her food down again. She carefully avoids looking at her father’s dinner as he empties a bottle of ketchup over everything on his plate.

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Uh, I think I’ll just look at it for a little longer and savor the moment.

 

JAKE: This is living, kiddo. I tell you, I remember back when I was a kid, with that miserable, no-good, lousy father of mine trying to make me eat broccoli, and—

 

DARIA: Dad? Dad, listen. [waits until Jake looks at her] Dad, let’s not talk about Grandpa, okay? Please? [pause] This is our night out. You. Me. Us.

 

JAKE: [blinks, surprised] Well, sure. Okay. [pause] I was going to say—[glances anxiously at Daria]—that I used to have to eat all these vegetables, and now I’m an adult and I don’t have to, and that’s great!

 

DARIA: Ah. Well, I don’t like some vegetables, either, but they are good for you. You should eat them more often, especially considering your heart condition.

 

Jake is about to dig into his fries, but he stops dead when Daria says “heart condition.” Swallowing, he looks at his steak, then puts down his fork and knife.

 

JAKE: I, uh, think I’ll just, um, look at my food for a minute, too. Just a pause to reflect, of course. [coughs] You know, maybe I should get a replacement. That steak’s sort of tough, really, and the fries aren’t—

 

DARIA: [pushes her plate toward Jake] Try this. It’s a focaccia, sort of like a pizza. Even the vegetables are tasty, and the cheese is low fat—I asked.

 

JAKE: [hesitates, then picks up a fork and takes a small bite of her dish] Oh. [brightens] Hey, that’s good! [looks around] Know what? I’m gonna get one of those! Be right back!

 

Jake gets up and hurries back to the serving line. Daria looks at his steak and fries, looks back at her father, then quietly reaches over with her fork and eats most of his fries in a few seconds. She puts the rest in with her cheese fries and mixes them up. A waiter comes by, and Daria hands the ketchup-soaked steak to him to take away. As she hands off the steak, Daria hears someone talking on a cell phone nearby, hidden by the large potted bush behind her chair. The audience view shifts between Mack (on the cell phone, walking behind Daria to stop by the bush) and Daria (at her table, unseen).

 

MACK: [to cell phone] Are you sure? I just wanted to see if she’d talk with me for a few minutes. . . . Oh. Oh. I didn’t . . . I see. Yes, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know. . . . So, she doesn’t want to . . . oh, okay. No, that’s fine. I won’t call back. I’m sorry if I bothered you. Yes. No, that’s all right. Okay. Good night, Mrs. Landon.

 

Mack slowly closes his cell phone and stands in silence, still dazed from the unexpected turn of events. Daria, unseen, picks at her pizza, losing her appetite. After a moment, Mack lifts his cell phone, opens it, and thumbs a speed-dial number.

 

MACK: [tries to sound cheery, to phone] Hey, this is Mack. Is Rick there? Yeah, sure, thanks. . . . Rick, ‘sup? Yeah, nothing here. Listen, you want to get out for a while tonight? I’m down at the . . . oh. [short, embarrassed laugh] Okay. . . . Oh. Um, well, maybe next weekend, then. Sure. Hi to Sherry. Yeah. Later.

 

Mack shuts his cell phone and rubs his face, depressed and alone. He raises the phone and speed-dials one more number.

 

MACK: [waiting for phone pickup] C’mon, Jimmy. C’mon, pick it up. C’mon . . . [sighs, tries to sound cheery but fails] Yeah, hi, Jim, this is Mack. When you get in, if you want to get out for a while tonight, call me on my cell phone. I’m down at the Plaza Hotel. Nothing’s going on, and maybe we can hang out for a while. It’s Friday, nothing to do here. Call me. Thanks. Bye.

 

Mack shuts his phone and drops it into a pants pockets. He slowly moves off, hands thrust into his pockets, head down.

 

Daria stares at her pizza. After a few moments, she rouses herself and checks on her dad, who has gotten his own focaccia and is returning to their table. Daria forces herself to start eating again. Beaming, Jack starts to sit down, but he first looks around in confusion for his steak. He shrugs and sits down anyway. They talk as they eat.

 

JAKE: Heh. First time I’ve ever given up a steak. Must be getting old.

 

DARIA: Old in human years or dog years?

 

JAKE: Just old. Wait till you hit fifty. Everything hurts, everything’s running down. Not like when I was a kid, sent away to military school by that—[stops, glances anxiously at Daria]—um, where I had to do pushups all day. Boy! I ached all over, but I was in good condition. At least I had that. Best shape I was ever in.

 

DARIA: You should exercise more. Go power walking with Mom.

 

JAKE: Huh? [makes awful face] Oh, that looks so weird. People would drive up on the sidewalk to run over me if they saw me. Don’t think I could keep up with Helen now, anyway.

 

DARIA: You need to do something to improve your cardiovascular health.

 

JAKE: Cardio—[smiles]—you sound like my doctor. [pause] You always were a smart kid. Always knew your own mind. Still do.

 

DARIA: [looks as if she doesn’t exactly agree with that last statement] Mmm.

 

JAKE: [remembering] You were something. Reading the newspaper and looking at my business books, and that time in sixth grade when you helped me with the taxes. I couldn’t get that one part straight, about the withholding, but you sorted it out for me just in time. [recalls something] Oh, and your writing! That’s wonderful! I’ve always been proud of that.

 

DARIA: [looks up, mildly surprised] I thought that reading my writing made you nervous.

 

JAKE: [increasingly uncomfortable] Oh, no . . . just the parts about the, uh, tortures and vampires and things blowing up and, uh—oh, what’s this? [points to a vegetable on his pizza]

 

DARIA: Artichoke.

 

JAKE: Ah, of course. Didn’t recognize it.

 

DARIA: Yes, they look different from French fries.

 

Jake nods, missing her gentle sarcasm. They eat quietly for a few moments.

 

JAKE: [hesitant, nervous] Daria . . . do you think I know you?

 

Daria is taken aback. This was clearly not a question she imagined he would ask.

 

DARIA: Do you know me?

 

JAKE: Well, do you think I know you?

 

DARIA: Do I know if you know me, or do you know if I know that you know me?

 

JAKE: [confused] Let’s start over again. Um . . .

 

DARIA: [slight frown] I’m not sure if you do.

 

JAKE: [pained] Oh. I was reading that questionnaire and I got to thinking, there are times I know you, and times when, um, I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s part of having a teenager. Everything’s changing, you’re trying new things, nothing seems to go right, you want everyone to stay out of your closet where you hide your Playboys. [hesitates] I guess . . . I don’t want to be for you like my father was for me.

 

DARIA: [sighs] Dad, I think you’ve been spared that one humiliation. [pause] Although there were a few moments this morning after you woke me up that I—

 

JAKE: You think I know you, then?

 

DARIA: [pause as she thinks] Okay, why don’t you tell me who I am, and we’ll see.

 

JAKE: You’re Daria!

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Very good. You get a cookie. I meant, what kind of person I am.

 

JAKE: Oh. [sighs] Well, um . . . [long pause, half smile] Heh. I was thinking about that box.

 

DARIA: Box? What—oh.

 

JAKE: The refrigerator box you hid in, because—[looks embarrassed]—it brought back memories of your mother and I having that fight when you were small, back in Highland.

 

DARIA: [getting tense] We’re not going to have an instant replay of all that, are we?

 

JAKE: No, no. It’s just that, um, I was thinking about that box earlier today, and it, um, reminded me of what kind of person you are.

 

DARIA: [raises an eyebrow] I’m . . . the sort who hides in boxes?

 

JAKE: [misses joke] Not necessarily. I was actually thinking about what I saw in you, when you were little. [pause] Having you was a big responsibility. It was hard sometimes.

 

DARIA: [irked] What, Quinn was easier?

 

JAKE: Quinn’s different. Easier in some ways. Your intelligence made everything complicated. My God, your test scores. I told your mother that we were the parents of Supergirl. You understood so many things, you saw things others couldn’t see, and you had your own mind. If other kids didn’t treat you right, you didn’t see any need to get along with them. You had your principles. You knew right from wrong, except maybe where Quinn was involved. [remembers something] Integrity. I happened to look that up earlier today. You had integrity when you were six years old.

 

Startled, Daria stops eating and stares at her father. Jake looks down at the table as he talks, remembering.

 

JAKE: The integrity part, I liked a lot. I loved you because you stood up for yourself. You were the kind of kid I wished I’d been when I was small. But it’s been hard for you, too. I had it hard when I was a kid, but I gave in all the time. I couldn’t fight my dad. [raises hand to stop Daria’s protest] No, it’s okay. I won’t go on about it, but it’s true. I couldn’t fight him. I gave in. I didn’t have the willpower you have. I couldn’t stand life being so hard all the time. [pause] I can’t imagine how much crap you’ve put up with all these years, just to stay the kind of person you are now. [smiles faintly] You’re stubborn, like your mother. Comes in handy. Wins arguments, gets your way, but . . . it’s hard.

 

Jake puts his elbows on the table, hands in front of his face wringing together slowly.

 

JAKE: When I realized that you, at age six, knew exactly what you were doing, that you had the determination to not fit in, to be yourself, I knew then you were going to be just like you are now. I admired and loved you for it. I still do. It worries me that you never bend, but when I think about it . . . it cheers me up. It gets me through my day, knowing that you did me one better.

 

Daria looks stunned. She obviously never expected this.

 

JAKE: I wish you were happier, though. Quinn’s basically happy. Nothing much fazes her. You’re so different, the two of you.

 

DARIA: [looks down, low voice] Misery chick.

 

JAKE: What?

 

DARIA: [depressed and touchy] Nothing.

 

JAKE: I think it comes with the territory.

 

DARIA: [looks up, angry] What are you talking about?

 

JAKE: [tolerant smile] Did you think it was going to be easy to be you? To stick with your principles when so many other people don’t?

 

DARIA: I . . . [frowns]

 

JAKE: You’re smarter than anyone else in our entire family, your mother’s side or mine. You see things no one else does. You know when people are lying. Jane said tha—[coughs, realizes he said something he didn’t want to]

 

DARIA: [surprised] Jane said that?

 

JAKE: [gestures, acting casual] Sure. I talk to her sometimes, you know. Not much, but once in a while, when she’s around. [quickly] But it’s true, I think. You do know when people aren’t honest with you.

 

Daria says nothing, looking at her father reflectively.

 

JAKE: I’m . . . I’m not always honest when I should be. I learned to hide a lot of stuff when I was a kid. My father and all that. I shouldn’t do it anymore, but old habits . . . anyway, I’m sorry when I’m not honest with you. [smiles] And you’re not always . . . well, you are honest, but your sense of humor is sort of, um . . .

 

DARIA: [touchy] Sarcastic? Scornful? Mocking?

 

JAKE: Mmm—no, I’d say ironic.

 

DARIA: Is that the marketing talking, or you?

 

JAKE: Me. Just me. I can’t always tell when you’re having fun, messing with my head. I get too tense, don’t take time to think things out. Comes with being an adult. [grimaces]

 

Daria stares at her father, her expression unreadable.

 

DARIA: [slowly] Do you think I’m ever going to be happy?

 

JAKE: [pause to consider this] I don’t think that’s so important.

 

DARIA: [blinks, then leans forward] Why?

 

JAKE: [soft voice] All I care about is that you stay true to you. Sometimes it’s not the goal. It’s how you get there. Happy, sad, doesn’t matter. It’s how you get there.

 

DARIA: [stares at Jake, amazed] How is it that we never have talks like this at home?

 

JAKE: [pause, slowly] Um, my fault, I think. Get distracted. [looks sad] I’m sorry about that. I wish we had done more together. It’s too easy for me to lose track of things. Wish I’d done better.

 

Silence falls again. Soon, Jake picks up his fork.

 

JAKE: [coughs] This is pretty good stuff, this . . . whatever you called it, the pizza. You were right. Better for me than the steak. [softly] Damn it. [smiles anxiously at Daria]

 

Daria raises her glasses, rubs at her eyes, then picks at her pizza.

 

DARIA: [voice rough] Focaccia. [pause] It’s a little cold now.

 

JAKE: [taking a bite] Still pretty good.

 

They eat quietly and listen to the music in the background.

 

DARIA: [clears throat, gestures at ceiling] Mozart. That’s Mozart. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. That’s the name of the music we’re hearing.

 

JAKE: Ah. I can’t tell those old piano guys apart. They all sound alike, sometimes. [pauses, readying self to ask the big question, fake nonchalance] Um, I wanted to ask you something, a little thing. [pause] Uh, what were you up to on, uh, Thursday night? When you were out?

 

DARIA: Oh. I was out with Jane. She was shooting a video for a project.

 

JAKE: [startled, stares at Daria] A video? Like, a movie?

 

DARIA: Yeah. It was weird, but fun. We shot it in a cemetery. Jane had me dress up in black robes, do some stuff.

 

JAKE: [the light dawning] Oh, then you were making a movie, and—

 

DARIA: It’s for her college admissions, to BFAC. Boston Fine Arts College, I mean. She’s trying to get them to let her in this fall instead of waiting for the start of the spring semester. She thinks the video might sway someone. It might work. Beats me.

 

It is Jake’s turn to look amazed. After a moment, he starts to laugh, shaking his head.

 

JAKE: That Quinn!

 

DARIA: [looks up] What?

 

JAKE: [smiling to himself, waves it off] Nothing. Forget it. Just you and me.

 

Daria nods, but something else is clearly on her mind.

 

DARIA: Dad, it’s my turn to ask you one little thing.

 

JAKE: Sure.

 

DARIA: Why did you really want me to come to this seminar with you? I mean, what sparked this?

 

JAKE: [hesitates, nervous] Well, with you going away this fall, I was already starting to miss you, and I got kind of anxious about it, and then I, uh, saw this article in the paper this morning about the seminar, and I thought, um, well, you’re going off and we haven’t really, you know, um—[drops the pretense]—oh, all right. You want honesty. [chuckles to himself, embarrassed] I thought I was saving you from signing a pact with the Devil.

 

Daria freezes, a forkful of her food halfway to her open mouth. Her gaze swivels slowly until she stares at her father with a thunderstruck expression.

 

JAKE: [shakes head, still smiling] Boy, was I way off. Too much work stress. [goes back to cutting pizza] I was a dumb old dad.

 

The look of astonishment on Daria’s face can hardly be described.

 

DARIA: [faintly] You thought what?

 

JAKE: Oh, it was silly. I thought you were out in that cemetery Thursday night doing some kind of demon worship. [puts forkful of food in mouth, shakes head in amusement]

 

DARIA: [drops her fork and knife] You saw me there?

 

JAKE: Hmm? Me? Oh, no. Quinn did.

 

DARIA: Quinn. [pause, then the light dawns over her face] Oooooohhh, Quinn saw me. [further realization sets in] Oooooohhh-kaaaaaaaay.

 

JAKE: [chews in an animated way] Yeah. [swallows] Your mother and I would never have believed all that stuff she said about you killing little animals for Satan, but she had the photographs. Kind of threw me to see you with that skeleton hand. [chuckles to self] It was fake, right? Thought so. Ha! Pretty funny, looking back at it now.

 

DARIA: [flat voice] Photographs. Yes, very funny. [pause] I was with Jane at the cemetery.

 

JAKE: Yeah, you told me. Was she doing something like The Night of the Living Dead, that kind of thing? I always wanted to make a horror movie when I was a kid. Getting into movies could be a great career for you. [frowns] As long as you can keep writing while you’re making the movies, of course. And if you can keep your integrity, too. You know, Hollywood’s not the best place to—

 

DARIA: [tense voice] Did Quinn’s photos show Jane with me?

 

JAKE: [shakes head, missing her tone] Nope. None of them did. Maybe Quinn couldn’t see her. Quinn was out shooting landscaping pictures for her friends, something like that. Must have spotted you and gotten the wrong idea. [cuts into his pizza]

 

DARIA: [dangerous tone in her voice] Jane was just a few feet away from me with a video camera.

 

JAKE: Hmmm. [shrugs] You can ask Quinn about it when you get home. Probably just a big mistake. Came out well, though. [looks at Daria and smiles warmly] Daria, I’m really glad I’m here with you. I wouldn’t miss this weekend for the world.

 

Daria looks at Jake, and her face softens. She smiles for real, though it’s a small smile.

 

DARIA: Thanks, Dad. [pause, looks down, very softly] I love you.

 

JAKE: [stares at Daria, clearly can’t believe he heard that, soft voice] I—I love you, too, kiddo.

 

Jake goes on eating, though his face quickly gets red and his eyes tear up. He dabs at his eyes with his napkin, pretending to wipe his mouth, then goes on with his meal, smiling in a goofy way, his eyes puffy and red.

 

Daria, however, is lost in thought. Her gaze drifts off into space. Her smile is gone.

 

DARIA: [softly, to self] I should make up a special dish for Quinn when I get home. [pause, very soft voice] Something that I can serve cold.

 

Jake nods absently, concentrating on his pizza with a happy look.

 

JAKE: Great music. Mozart, you say?

 

 

15. INT: ABOUT THIS TIME, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

The kitchen windows are dark. Quinn sits at the kitchen table with a meal she’s made for herself. A CD player and television set make noise in the living room, and most of the house lights appear to be on as well. In a trash can in the kitchen can be seen a number of large, empty potato-chip bags (regular flavor, barbecue, hot and spicy, sour cream and onion.). All of them are labeled “Fat Free!” or “No Fat!” At the table, Quinn picks up a note from her mother: Quinn, I will be home at 10, don’t wait dinner on me, love you, Mom. Quinn shrugs and contently eats her meal, bobbing her head to the CD player’s boy-band music. Her plate contains a lot of potato chips.

 

While she eats, Quinn suddenly gets a strange look on her face. She drops one hand to her stomach and presses into her abdomen slightly, wincing as she does. She’s having abdominal cramps. The cramps fade in a few moments, and she goes back to her dinner, though eating slowly now.

 

A few moments later, Quinn picks up the nearly empty bag of honey mustard-flavored potato chips on the table beside her, and she starts to read it out of boredom. She scans the front, then flips the bag over in her hand and reads the back. She holds the bag close to her face, as the print is so small. While she reads, she winces again, gritting her teeth. Her free hand goes to her abdomen once more, holding it.

 

Suddenly, Quinn frowns at the bag. She holds the bag right up to her eyes and squints at the tiny print, reading it aloud.

 

QUINN: [voice rising in horror] “Warning: Olestra may cause abdominal cramping, diarrhea, and loose—” Eeeewwwwwwww!!!

 

Quinn abruptly doubles over, in great distress. She’s clearly in agony.

 

QUINN: [gasping] Oh, shit!

 

Quinn manages to get out of her chair and stagger out of the kitchen. Even over the TV set and CD player, the slam of the bathroom door moments later can be heard, followed a few moments later by:

 

QUINN: [VO] EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

16. INT: LATER THAT NIGHT, CORRIDOR FROM DINING AREA TO BACK PARKING LOT, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria and Jake have finished dinner and are exploring the lobby around the dining room. Jake looks to one side as they pass the entrance to a small bar in the hotel. He stops short.

 

JAKE: [pointing] Hey, a couple of clients of mine are there! Edgar and Ray! Wow, what are the chances of that?

 

DARIA: [tolerantly pats Jake on the back] Go have some fun, big guy.

 

JAKE: [hesitates] Is that okay with you? I mean, if I go have a beer or—

 

DARIA: [parental tone] Go for it. Be back in the room by midnight, though. I don’t want to have to run around looking for you.

 

JAKE: [puppy-like excitement] Sure thing! Thanks, kiddo!

 

DARIA: [smiles] No problem, Dad.

 

Jake rushes into the bar, waving a hand at two guys in business suits sitting near the back.

 

DARIA: [soft voice] Parents. What gets into them?

 

Daria then sees a sign with an arrow pointing further down the hall: Video Arcade Room. She reaches up and tugs on one pocket on her jacket, which makes a jingling noise from the change within it. Her smile broadens, and she sets off in that direction.

 

 

17. INT: MOMENTS LATER, VIDEO ARCADE ROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

The hotel’s videogames room appears deserted; the windows to the outside reveal it is nighttime. However, someone is present and playing a game in a corner of the room, hidden by the other machines. The person sounds like he or she is chewing gum with an open mouth.

 

Visible through the room’s glass walls, Daria wanders up to the door, pushing it open to enter from the corridor. She glances toward the rear of the room where the gum-chewing gamer is playing, then shrugs, unconcerned. She looks around and eyes one machine in particular (“Nuclear Ninja Nightmare”), then drops two quarters in it, starting play with an expressionless face. In the game, a first-person shooter, she “holds” an oversized, futuristic Gatling gun. The game starts with her appearing to stand in front of a wooden door, as shown on the video monitor. Suddenly, the door seems to become real, and—

 

 

18. ### DARIA’S DAYDREAM ###

INT: QUINN’S BEDROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

The door to Quinn’s bedroom is kicked open so hard that it is torn from its hinges, falling into the room with a tremendous crash. Quinn, on her bed and talking on the telephone, looks up in shock. Carrying a gigantic, futuristic Gatling gun under her right arm and bracing it with her left hand, Daria steps into the doorway.

 

QUINN: [to phone in normal voice] Sandi, can I put you on hold? Thanks. [drops phone, shrieks in terror] Daria!

 

DARIA: [pumping a charging mechanism on the gun with her left hand, like pumping a shotgun] Bad sisters check in, but they don’t check out.

 

QUINN: [screaming/pleading] It was a joke! I didn’t mean it! I ate a Twinkie, and I don’t know what came over me!

 

DARIA: [raises the Gatling gun] Tell it to Elvis.

 

Daria opens fire, the Gatling gun spitting flame and bullets from its many barrels in a fantastic crescendo of ear-shattering sound—but Angel Daria suddenly appears, standing in front of (and blocking most of) the scene of Daria’s violent revenge, which now looking like it’s taking place on a videogame screen behind the angel.

 

ANGEL DARIA: [waving arms, shrieking at viewer (Daria)] No! Stop it! You can’t do this, Daria!

 

Devil Daria walks on from one side and gives Angel Daria a shove.

 

DEVIL DARIA: Why not?

 

ANGEL DARIA: [off guard] Why? Because . . . um . . . wait, give me a minute. I’ll think of a reason. Uh—

 

DEVIL DARIA: So, Quinn wanted Dad and Mom to think you were into devil worship, eh? [thoroughly wicked grin] This is way too easy.

 

ANGEL DARIA: [recovering, holding up an index finger] Okay, first—if you want to go on to college, you can’t break any more than two or three laws, none of them a felony.

 

DEVIL DARIA: Screw the law. Nuke her till she glows, then find her in the dark and nuke her again.

 

ANGEL DARIA: [holds up another finger] Two, you have to consider the possibility that there’s an afterlife and a final judgment.

 

DEVIL DARIA: [disdainfully] For Quinn? Judgment Day’s here. What comes after that is her problem.

 

ANGEL DARIA: [another finger up] Okay, three: You might have to share a cell in prison with an insane axe murderess for the rest of your life.

 

DEVIL DARIA: Better that than sharing this planet with Quinn. Maybe the axe murderess will have some funny stories. Rhonda sure does.

 

ANGEL DARIA: [another finger] Four: You won’t be allowed to take any of your books to prison with you!

 

DEVIL DARIA: [hesitates, considering this, then stamps her foot] Damn it!

 

ANGEL DARIA: [equally unhappy] It sucks, I know.

 

DEVIL DARIA: [grumbles] You could still put blue dye in her body lotion, or shave her head while she’s asleep, or set her bed on fire. [grimaces] When she’s not in it, I mean.

 

ANGEL DARIA: [brightens, relieved] There you go! That’s the spirit!

 

 

19. INT: MOMENTS LATER, VIDEO ARCADE ROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

About this point, the other gamer in the room stops playing and sighs loudly. While Daria plays (minus her spiritual advisors), soft footsteps are heard off-screen.

 

ANDREA: [VO] Do you have some extra quarters for a fist full of—

 

Andrea, chewing gum and in her usual Goth clothing, walks around the side of the video game Daria is playing. Completely surprised, Andrea and Daria stare at each other for a few seconds. Andrea holds two dollar bills in one hand (with the fishnet glove), and a perfect black rose in the other. Daria lets her game run out but doesn’t notice.

 

ANDREA: —Darias? [tucks gum in her cheek]

 

DARIA: [recovering] Um, yeah, I’ve got a bunch of change. No problem. [reaches in her pocket]

 

ANDREA: [also recovering] Thanks. [holds bills out to Daria, low voice] You here for that conference, the daughter thing?

 

DARIA: [nods, counts out eight quarters, they trade money] Yeah. Are you . . . here for that, too?

 

ANDREA: No. My dad’s out of town. [hesitates] I’m . . . here for something else.

 

DARIA: [looks at the black rose] That’s beautiful.

 

ANDREA: [looks at her rose] Yeah. It . . .

 

Two seconds pass. Andrea makes a decision.

 

ANDREA: [soft voice] Charles gave it to me.

 

DARIA: [nods, half expected this] As in, Charles Ruttheimer the Third.

 

ANDREA: [tense] Yeah. [hesitates] I thought you were going to call him Up—

 

DARIA: [quickly, shakes head] No.

 

ANDREA: [relieved, looks at rose] You must think I’m really weird.

 

DARIA: You haven’t seen my life yet.

 

ANDREA: [faint smile, looks at Daria] I . . . owe you an apology, you and Jane. That time you were over at PayDay, I wasn’t having the best day ever.

 

DARIA: [shrugs] It’s forgotten. If I worked retail, I’d be on death row by now.

 

ANDREA: The work’s not so bad. A little boring, maybe. The money’s okay.

 

DARIA: [looks around] Is uh—[stops herself from saying “Upchuck”]—Charles around?

 

ANDREA: No. He’s . . . [looks at rose, takes a deep breath] He’s back in our room. Asleep. [pause] We’re staying over for the weekend.

 

DARIA: [absorbs this, soft voice] I won’t tell anyone.

 

ANDREA: [relieved] Thanks. My parents would . . . [shakes head, shrug] I wouldn’t care if Jane knew. She’s okay. I know how you two are.

 

DARIA: [pause, impulsively asks] Are you happy?

 

Daria looks very surprised as the words leave her mouth, as if she cannot believe she asked that question.

 

ANDREA: [gives Daria a strange look] Am I happy? [nods, looks down at rose] You want to hear something really crazy? Yeah, I am. He’s so . . . [smiles] He makes me laugh. He’s so wild, and he can be so funny. And he treats me like I’m a queen or a goddess or something. No one ever—

 

Andrea breaks off and lifts the rose to her nose, sniffing it. When she looks at Daria again, her eyes are very bright.

 

ANDREA: I can’t believe it. This is all so crazy. He’s so nice to me. I never expected that . . . [voice fades out]

 

DARIA: Uh . . . go with it, then.

 

ANDREA: Yeah. I will. [pause] We are.

 

DARIA: It’s okay.

 

ANDREA: [looks at the quarters in her hand, puts them in a pocket] I’m going back up. I just needed to get out a little.

 

DARIA: I’ll be around all weekend, too, with my dad.

 

ANDREA: [nods, smiling] See you around, then.

 

DARIA: Sure.

 

Andrea leaves the game room, sniffing her black rose. Daria watches her go with a stunned expression.

 

DARIA: [low voice] I wonder if this is one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

 

 

 

* * *

 

SATURDAY MORNING

Part Four: Misery Chic

(a.k.a.: Goth Like Me, or, The Voyage of the Andrea-Daria)

 

 

20. INT: EARLY MORNING, UPSTAIRS HALLWAY OUTSIDE QUINN AND DARIA’S BATHROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

We look at the (closed) bathroom door for a few moments. The sound of gentle snoring comes from behind the door. Nothing stirs otherwise.

 

HELEN: [VO, downstairs] Quinn? Where are you? Quinn?

 

We now hear footsteps coming up the stairs, as well as the gentle snoring. After a moment, Helen Morgendorffer appears. She’s apparently been up for a while. She is dressed in her nightgown and wears fuzzy slippers on her feet.

 

HELEN: [walks past bathroom door, heading for Quinn’s bedroom] Quinn? You left food out last night on the kitchen table. I had to throw it out. Quinn? Where are you?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, very sleepy] Mom?

 

HELEN: [reappears, stops in front of bathroom door] Quinn? Are you in there?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, very sleepy] Yeah.

 

HELEN: You know you left the TV and your CD player on, and I turned them off when I got in last night. I’m sorry I was late. I got in at midnight. The meeting went on and on.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, very sleepy] Wah time zit?

 

HELEN: How long have you been in there?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, sleepy] Wah time zit now?

 

HELEN: Six-thirty in the morning.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, less sleepy] Uh . . . six . . . I was in the bathroom downstairs for, uh, ‘bout two hours, so that plus this, uh, oh, uh, I think ‘bout ten hours and twenty minutes, something like—

 

HELEN: [pause, startled, shouts] You’ve been in there ten hours?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Mom, don’t yell! I had to go and I don’t feel so good, okay?

 

HELEN: [still shouting] You’ve been in there all night? Are you sick?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, very cross] Muuuh-ooom, don’t yell! I can’t leave! When I don’t have to go, I have to shower, and then I have to go again, and then I have to shower, and I’m stuck here, okay?

 

HELEN: [firmly] Okay, Quinn, let me in there.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] What? Mom, you don’t want to do that! No way!

 

HELEN: Quinn Morgendorffer, I said open the door and let me in!

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, panicking] No! Mom, stay out!

 

HELEN: Quinn, stop that. If you’re sick, I want to come in there, right now.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Muuuh-ooom, go away!

 

HELEN: [firmly] That’s enough, young lady!

 

Helen reaches in a pocket of her nightgown and pulls out a paperclip, which she bends out of shape into a lockpicking tool.

 

HELEN: [working on knob lock] I’m coming in there, like any good mother would, and we’ll get to the bottom of this.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Nooo!!!

 

The lock pops open. Helen opens the door—and almost instantly backs out again, waving one hand wildly in front of her face with the other hand covering her mouth and nose.

 

HELEN: [coughing] Oh . . . Quinn!

 

QUINN: [VO, scream] Muuuh-ooom!!!

 

Helen reaches into the bathroom once more, eyes shut and holding her breath, and turns on the ceiling fan. She shuts the door and quickly leaves, heading for the stairs down to the first floor.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Damn it, Mom!

 

HELEN: [VO, going downstairs, coughing hard] I’ll get . . . some air . . . air freshener . . . or something!

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Mom? You still out there? [pause] Mom, can you get me something to read?

 

 

21. INT: ABOUT 8:15 A.M., JANE’S ROOM, LANE HOME

 

Jane sits cross-legged on the floor of her room, looking down at a small book. A portable phone handset is pressed between her right shoulder and ear. She points to a passage in the book with one finger, reading it. Behind her, Trent, Jesse, Nick, and Max (all the members of the Mystik Spiral band) are crowded around Jane’s computer on her desk. The monitor is turned away from the viewer, but it is visible to the sleepy-eyed band members. Sitting at the computer desk, pecking at the keys and frowning a lot, is Artie, the alien-obsessed pizza guy. He wears the outfit of a Pizza Forest employee.

 

JANE: [to phone] I dunno. The Book of Revelation is so hard to figure out. Upchuck could be a plague, or he could be one of the beasts. It still looks suspicious. I should pick a religion soon.

 

DARIA: [VO, on phone] Is that your Bible?

 

JANE: [lets book fall shut] No, it was Summer’s. She dated some born-again guy in high school. He dumped her for a biker chick and went to Vegas.

 

DARIA: [VO, on phone] I promised Andrea we’d keep this news about . . . Charles . . . just between you and me.

 

JANE: No problem here. I think some people saw them at Jodie’s party, but I won’t add to the problem. [turns around to look at crowd at her computer] My room’s as crowded as the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise, but it’s an emergency. I had to call in a computer expert. Um, I think he’s a computer expert. Anyway, he and Trent and the guys are trying to help me recover that stupid video file.

 

DARIA: [VO, on phone] The one you shot of me? What happened?

 

JANE: Oh, I renamed it last night and now I can’t find it. I don’t have any copies, and I dumped the original movie. That was stupid. Wait a sec. [holds handset aside but uncovered, calls to Artie] Any luck?

 

ARTIE: [frown deepens] I’m getting an error message here, but it doesn’t make any sense. This computer’s not as advanced as the one I use at home to track alien abductions. When did you last run an error scan on the hard drive?

 

JANE: [blank look] Run what?

 

ARTIE: [sighs] Never mind. [taps keys, shakes head slowly] I don’t get this. Okay, let’s look at the directory here. [taps keys, pause, everyone crowds in closer to read the screen]

 

TRENT: [pointing to monitor screen] Would that be it?

 

ARTIE: [to Jane] Did you name the file “goth daria asterisk ay vee eye”?

 

JANE: [face brightens] Yeah! That’s it! Thanks! [to phone] Sorry. They found the file.

 

ARTIE: I don’t think you can use asterisks when you name files. Maybe that’s why you lost it.

 

TRENT: [to Artie] You gonna put a dot there instead of the little star?

 

JANE: [shrugs, continues talking to Daria] Well, keep me posted on that. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of hope for the future of the situation you describe, if you get my drift.

 

 

22. INT: MOMENTS LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria sits on her hotel bed, wearing a long green nightshirt with a picture of a bowler-hat-wearing businessman with a green apple for a face (from a René Margritte painting). Her hair is mussed, but her glasses are on. The nice but bland room décor is typical of upscale hotels. In the background, the oversized TV in her room shows an episode of “Sick, Sad World” (volume turned down) that appears to be making a connection between President Richard Nixon, the Martian death machines from the 1953 movie, The War of the Worlds, and the cartoon character Spongebob Squarepants.

 

DARIA: I know. I’m going to run into Upchuck sometime today, and he’s going to hit on me like he does every time he’s seen me before, like he does with other girl in the world, and then—

 

JANE: [VO, on phone] —you’re going to hit on him.

 

DARIA: He’ll be lucky if they can find organ donors fast enough.

 

JANE: [VO, on phone] You go, girl. Make me proud. If you think about it, leave a little piece for me to step on.

 

DARIA: If I have to do hard time, please bring some of my books when you visit. And bring Quinn’s head, too. Wait, never mind—I’ll take care of that myself.

 

JANE: [VO, on phone] Why? What happened now?

 

DARIA: Quinn was watching us when you took that video Thursday evening. She took some pictures of her own, and she showed them to Mom and Dad and told them that I was in league with Satan. I must have looked the part. That’s why Dad decided to take me to this seminar for the weekend, to save me from eternal damnation.

 

 

23. INT: MOMENTS LATER, JANE’S ROOM, LANE HOME

 

Same scene as earlier. Artie is typing very fast on the keyboard. The Mystik Spiral band members watch, intrigued.

 

JANE: [astonished look on her face] Oh, then that’s why . . . forget it. Never mind.

 

DARIA: [VO, on phone] I know. Dad called you to find out what I was like these days.

 

JANE: Well, yeah, but don’t get it wrong. He really sounded like he cared about you.

 

DARIA: [VO, on phone] I know. He does. That’s okay.

 

JANE: But this does explain why your dad thought you were into demon worship and animal sacrifice.

 

Artie and the Mystik Spiral band members look up from the computer monitor, staring at Jane after this last remark. They look at each other with puzzled expressions, then shrug and go back to looking at the monitor.

 

 

24. INT: MOMENTS LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

On the TV in the background, a black-and-white still photo is shown that appears to be of President Nixon shaking hands with an alien that looks remarkably like Spongebob Squarepants. The volume is still down.

 

DARIA: [through clenched teeth] Yessss, only now I’m thinking of another kind of sacrifice. Perhaps a close family member. I can’t name names over an unscrambled phone line, you understand.

 

 

25. INT: MOMENTS LATER, JANE’S ROOM, LANE HOME

 

The guys at the computer are silent, intently watching something on the monitor. They ignore Jane.

 

JANE: Whatever you do, first make sure that you set aside all the books you want me to bring on visitation day, and any extra underwear. What kind of food do they serve in prison?

 

TRENT: [pointing to monitor] What’s it doing?

 

ARTIE: It’s supposed to be running the file as a . . . [voice dies, eyes bug out at monitor] Whoa.

 

All the guys watching the monitor look startled. Their mouths fall open.

 

TRENT: [staring at monitor, whispers] Ho-lee shit.

 

ARTIE: [hitting Control-Alt-Delete keys very fast, holding them down] Abort!

 

JANE: [turns around, apprehensive, to phone] Daria, hold on.

 

ARTIE: [banging C-A-D keys again and again] Abort, abort, abort!

 

Jane jumps up from the floor and runs to the computer, pushing her way in to see the screen. She holds the phone handset at her chest, but she doesn’t cover the mouthpiece.

 

JANE: [panicked] What the hell is that? [to Artie] What did you do?

 

ARTIE: [still banging keys] Malfunction in the hard drive!

 

TRENT: [in awe] Is that a virus? [recoils] Holy shit! Look—

 

JESSE: [staring wide-eyed at monitor] Oh, my God—it’s full of stars!

 

JANE: [shouts] What’s it doing to my file?

 

Everyone stares at the monitor screen (which is doing something new), but they back up slightly.

 

NICK: [first to recover, high and loud] Terminate, dudes!

 

TRENT: [shouts] Is this online? Are you online?

 

ARTIE: [bangs keys one last time] Negative! Abort system not responding!

 

JANE: [more panicked, hitting C-A-D keys—and more] Jesus, stop it!

 

JESSE: [backing away from the computer in fear] Oh, man, that’s just wrong!

 

TRENT: [to Max, who is closest to the power outlets] The plug! Pull the plug!

 

JANE: [near shriek] Something’s burning! I smell it!

 

ARTIE: [repeatedly hitting power button on computer] Controls not responding!

 

JANE: [shriek] Shut it down!

 

Blue flames burst from both the central processing unit and the back of the monitor. Everyone leaps away from the computer in fright.

 

ARTIE, JESSE, NICK, MAX AT THE SAME TIME: [chaotic yells, scrambling away] Fire! It’s on fire! Mayday! Mayday! Hull breech! Abandon ship!

 

TRENT: [to Max] Pull the goddamn plug!

 

JANE: [enraged scream] My file! You miserable son of a bitch computer, I’m going to—

 

At this moment, Max simultaneously pulls out both the plug to the computer and the phone jack to the portable phone base.

 

 

26. INT: MOMENTS LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

On the TV in the background, a grainy home movie shows President Nixon boarding a gigantic Martian death machine on the White House lawn, immediately after his resignation from office in 1974.

 

DARIA: [eyes wide, small voice] Hello? Jane? Hello? Enterprise, come in, over.

 

After a moment, the phone handset clicks and a buzzing dial tone comes on. Daria slowly hangs up the phone and stares sadly into space.

 

DARIA: Poor Enterprise. I guess they shouldn’t have boldly gone there.

 

 

27. INT: ABOUT 8:40 A.M., DINING ROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria and Jake sit at another table in the hotel dining room, having a fairly normal breakfast. Around them are other father-daughter groups. Most of the daughters are quite young and appear annoyed at having to get up so early on a Saturday. Jake is looking over the schedule of events as he eats.

 

JAKE: Should be an interesting day. You’ve got . . . [turns red] . . . a class at nine—

 

DARIA: [deadpan] On the alleged miracle of my womanly body.

 

JAKE: [coughs, embarrassed] And I’ve a seminar on why I’m here!

 

DARIA: You’ve forgotten already?

 

JAKE: [puts schedule aside] Ha! No, of course not. We had that . . . misunderstanding about . . . you know.

 

DARIA: [deadpan] Dad, trust me on this one point. I would never bring Satanism into our home. I want to keep my religious life and family life separate.

 

JAKE: [relieved] Great, that’s what I—[does double take, gasps]—Daria!

 

DARIA: [stares at him, annoyed] Daaad.

 

JAKE: [pause, then chuckles anxiously] Oh, right! Ha, ha! Always the kidder! I love that about you! [chuckle ends in nervous cough]

 

DARIA: Look, when Mom was showing me how to drive a year ago, I almost ran over a dog. He was okay, but I felt horrible about it. No matter what you think is going on with me, I would never hurt anyone. Ever.

 

JAKE: That’s great!

 

DARIA: Knowingly.

 

JAKE: Wonderful.

 

DARIA: [becoming reflective] If they didn’t really deserve it.

 

JAKE: [looking anxious] Good.

 

DARIA: And if there were a reasonable chance I’d be caught.

 

JAKE: [very anxious, points to his plate] Say, kiddo, want to try this breakfast burrito? It’s got low-fat cheese, low-fat bacon, low-fat eggs, low-fat—

 

DARIA: And the victim wasn’t on my short list of targets of opportunity.

 

JAKE: [extremely anxious] Maybe I should get another one. [gets up from chair]

 

DARIA: And I wasn’t going to splatter my outfit with his—

 

Daria stops. Jake has run off.

 

DARIA: [glum, to self] I shouldn’t have done that. He didn’t deserve it. I’m a bitch. And for once I’m sorry about it. [pause] I’m glad no one heard me say that.

 

Jake reappears, holding an extra plate with a fresh “breakfast burrito.”

 

JAKE: [forced cheeriness] Here you go, kiddo! Try this! You’ll like it!

 

DARIA: Thanks, Dad. [pause] Um, sorry about being a little too open there.

 

JAKE: Ha, ha! No problem-o. We all make mistakes.

 

DARIA: [nods, tries burrito, shrugs] There was something else I wanted to ask you. [sees anxious look on Jake’s face] Not about hurting anyone, I mean.

 

JAKE: [relieved] Oh! Sure, go ahead and shoot!

 

DARIA: Yesterday morning, I was looking for a library book that was due before six last night. It was Needful Things, by Stephen Ki—Dad? Are you all right?

 

Jake chokes for a moment on a mouthful of his burrito.

 

JAKE: [gasps] Fine! I’m fine!

 

DARIA: [pats Jake on the back] Okay, there you go. All better.

 

JAKE: [clears throat, gets control of self, squeaky voice] A library book?

 

DARIA: Yeah. Stephen King. I finished it, but it’s gone missing, and now it’s overdue on my card. If you remember seeing it, let me know so I can take it back.

 

JAKE: [waves a hand as if waving the problem away] Sure, I’ll, uh, take care of it. If I see the book, that is. Not to worry, kiddo.

 

DARIA: Okay. Thanks, Dad.

 

JAKE: Hey, anything for my Lawndale Princess!

 

DARIA: [groans, soft voice] There has to be a better name for this seminar. Lawndale Hell Queens. Lawndale Badass Bitches. Lawndale—

 

JAKE: [quickly checks watch] Whoa! We’d best get underway, kiddo! Those seminars won’t wait for us!

 

 

28. INT: 9:00 A.M., CORRIDOR OUTSIDE SEMINAR ROOMS, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria holds her schedule of events for the weekend, looking from it to the room number of the nearest seminar room. Nodding (having found the room where her first seminar is to be held), she walks to the open doors of the room and looks inside. What she sees stops her dead. The room is filled with adolescent, elementary-school-age girls, giggling and talking nervously as they swing their feet from their chair seats. A smiling woman in a pink dress with a microphone waits at the front of the room, checking her watch and preparing to start her lecture. A huge poster on an oversized easel rests beside the speaker, announcing the seminar as: “The Wonderful Miracle of Your Mysterious and Beautiful Womanly Body.” A movie screen is set up behind the speaker. Flowers in vases line the wall behind the speaker and movie screen.

 

SPEAKER (MISS ROSS): [holds up microphone] Are we ready to begin? Good! My name is Miss Ross, and this morning we’re going to talk about an extra-wonderful and exciting part of your body where miracles take place! You know what it is? [no one answers] Yes, it’s your vagina!

 

Daria stares at the scene for one second longer, then slowly folds up her schedule of events. Betraying no expression, she turns and wanders off down the hall the way she came. She does not look back.

 

 

29. INT: ABOUT THIS TIME, INSIDE ANOTHER SEMINAR ROOM, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Jake Morgendorffer sits near the front of a room filled with very bored or very annoyed fathers. The speaker—the cheerful, bearded guy from the seminar introduction—checks his microphone and begins.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): Hello! Welcome to your first seminar for fathers, which we call, “What the Hell Am I Doing Here, Anyway?” I’m Bob Bobinnelong, and we’re going to answer that question in some detail. First, though, I want to hear from those of you in the audience. What brought you here to this father-daughter weekend?

 

The men in the audience look uncomfortable. Finally, one guy in the front row sighs.

 

FIRST FATHER (STACY ROWE’S DAD): My wife made me come here.

 

Many men in the audience nod in grumpy agreement.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): Okay, how about someone else?

 

A brief pause, then:

 

SECOND FATHER: My daughter’s parole officer recommended it.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): Good, good. Anyone else? Anyone have any other reason for being here?

 

THIRD FATHER (TIFFANY BLUM-DECKLER’S DAD): Golf course was closed.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): What course? Lawndale Country Club?

 

THIRD FATHER (TIFFANY BLUM-DECKLER’S DAD): Yeah.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): Wasn’t the Carter County course open?

 

THIRD SPEAKER (TIFFANY BLUM-DECKLER’S DAD): [sigh] My wife’s there.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): [shakes head in sympathy] Tough break. Anyone else?

 

Jake, shyly, raises his hand.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): [pointing to Jake] You, sir?

 

JAKE: [looks embarrassed and self-conscious] Well, the whole thing started for me when I thought my daughter was into animal sacrifice and Satan worship after reading a Stephen King book, so I signed us up to save her immortal soul. [chuckles]

 

One can hear a molecule drop in the silence that follows this announcement. Everyone stares at Jake with looks ranging from nervous disbelief to pure horror.

 

JAKE: [shakes head, still smiling to himself] After all that, it turned out she went to the graveyard wearing black robes and holding with those human arm bones for something entirely different. [laughs] Just call me stupid.

 

The shocked silence grows deeper

 

SPEAKER (BOB): [visibly shaken] You, uh, you, uh, you’re the, your daughter is the—

 

JAKE: Daria Morgendorffer. Brown hair, glasses, green jacket.

 

FOURTH FATHER (TOM GRIFFIN): [behind him] Quinn’s sister?

 

JAKE: Yep. [sighs happily] Great kids. They love their mischief, but they’re both great.

 

Silence for a few seconds more.

 

SPEAKER (BOB): [unable to tear eyes from Jake] Uh, okay, we’ll, uh, get back to that a little later. Uh, I was, uh, going to talk a little bit about, uh, why we’re here. [looks around the room, anxiously] Does anyone else know why we’re here? I think that was my question. Was that my question, or was it something else?

 

 

30. INT: MID-MORNING, UPSTAIRS HALLWAY OUTSIDE QUINN AND DARIA’S BATHROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

 

We look at the (closed) door to the bathroom, with boy-band music playing on the other side from a boom box, almost drowning out the sound of the ceiling fan. The sound of footsteps coming upstairs is now heard, with Helen’s voice growing louder, talking on her cell phone.

 

HELEN: [VO, on stairs, angry, to phone] Okay, get me your supervisor, then. I want to talk with someone about your damn potato chips!

 

Helen appears and walks over to the bathroom door. She wears a jogging sweatshirt and sweat pants, with fuzzy slippers still on her feet. She has her cell phone in her right hand, and about a dozen girl-teen, fashion, and interior-design magazines in her left hand. As she talks, she crouches down by the bathroom door and begins stuffing the magazines, one at a time, under the bathroom door.

 

HELEN: [crouching, giving Quinn some magazines] Hello? To whom am I speaking? This is Helen Morgendorffer, an attorney and a very dissatisfied customer, and I have a bone to pick with you about your potato chips, the fat-free ones with olestra. What makes you think you can get away with putting the warning labels on your chip bags in such tiny print, and on the back, no less? Shouldn’t the warning be on the front in red, inch-high, boldfaced letters? And shouldn’t you have some kind of warning about how many chips maximum you’re supposed to eat to avoid the, the, the, you know, the goddamn aftereffects? [stops shoving magazines under the door] No, it’s not me. My daughter ate five bags of your chips yesterday, and she’s locked herself in her bathroom for almost half a day now! She’s been on the toilet so long that her butt’s gone numb!

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Muuuh-ooom! Don’t tell them that!

 

HELEN: [to phone] How long is this supposed to last? [pause] Five bags. I told you that already. [pause, then shouts] What? How long? [pause] You’re kidding me!

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] How long?

 

HELEN: [enraged, to phone] Has anyone ever sued you before about this?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Mom? What’d they say? [boy-band music stops] How long?

 

HELEN: [enraged, to phone] The government? The government said it was okay? What the hell do they know? What did you pay them to say that?

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Muuuh-ooom! How long am I going to be in here?

 

HELEN: [stands up, furious, to phone] Oh, really? You don’t say! Well, buster, it’s my daughter, and I’m looking out for her, and maybe I feel differently!

 

Helen stamps off, leaving most of the stack of Quinn’s magazines outside her bathroom door. As Helen continues her argument by cell phone, she heads downstairs.

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom] Come back! Muuuh-ooom! Where are you going?

 

HELEN: [VO, going downstairs, to phone] You wait one minute while I pull a few case files that you might not have heard of, seeing as how you’ve been too busy swimming around in your gold-plated swimming pool that your dirty olestra dollars have bought you, or maybe . . . [voice fades out]

 

QUINN: [VO, in bathroom, really yells] Muuuh-ooom! [pause, no response] Shit! [pause, deadpan] Oh, that was funny, Quinn. Right. Good one.

 

After a few moments, the boy-band music is turned back on at a lower volume, and we hear the sound of magazine pages rustling.

 

 

31. INT: ABOUT 9:20 A.M., SATURDAY MORNING, BOOK AND GIFT SHOP, LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Cutting her seminars for the day, Daria browses a gift shop in the Lawndale Plaza Hotel. Passing a display of personalized coffee mugs stacked on a series of shelves, she pauses before the mugs labeled “Tom.” After a moment, she reaches over and carefully turns the foremost mug around so that the name faces away from her, and the blank side of the mug faces out. She moves on, stopping occasionally before other personalized-item displays to hide those items with Tom’s name, or otherwise adjust them so that the name cannot be seen. Daria does this without any particular facial expression, as if it were part of her regular job.

 

Reaching the paperback and magazine section of the shop, she scans book covers until she spots a section devoted to paperback copies of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books. Daria stops before this section and sighs, face impassive.

 

DARIA: [thinking aloud, whispers] Hurry up and write than damn fifth book, okay? It’s been a year now, and it’s killing me. Jeez, call me and I’ll write it. Half of one percent of the take, that’s all I ask. Is that too much?

 

ANDREA: [VO, behind Daria] Sounds fair to me. You actually read Harry Potter?

 

Daria turns, eyebrows raised. Andrea, looking much as she did yesterday, walked into the shop while Daria was browsing. Andrea’s t-shirt has “Doom” printed across the front in silvery Gothic letters, advertising the computer game.

 

DARIA: [colors slightly] A secret vice. It’s like popcorn for your brain. You doing okay?

 

ANDREA: Yeah. [low voice] Charles had to run some errands for his dad. Called him on his cell phone this morning. [snorts gently, face colors, looks down] Parents have no sense of timing. What’s up with you?

 

DARIA: Nothing. It was either this or go to a seminar to discover the miracle of my vagina.

 

ANDREA: [shivers] Ugh. So . . . [hesitates] . . . are you free for a while?

 

DARIA: More or less all day. I have a late seminar and dinner with my dad this evening.

 

ANDREA: [still hesitant] Go for a walk? Can you leave the hotel?

 

DARIA: Uh, sure. [looks around the store] Anywhere’s fine with me.

 

ANDREA: Let’s get some air.

 

 

32. EXT: MOMENTS LATER, SIDEWALK OUTSIDE LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

 

Daria and Andrea walk outside the hotel and stroll down the street through one of Lawndale’s shopping districts. The weather is pleasant and sunny.

 

DARIA: I think, in the two and a half years I’ve been in Lawndale, you and I haven’t traded enough words to make up the Gettysburg Address.

 

ANDREA: Yeah. [pause] I didn’t talk much for a long time. People used to piss me off pretty bad. I had some troubles.

 

DARIA: I haven’t really tried to get you to talk, either.

 

ANDREA: [hesitates] Until lately, I doubt it would’ve done much good. To tell the truth, I was sort of afraid you would say something to me. I dunno. I kinda looked forward to it, but I kinda dreaded it. Mostly dreaded it.

 

Daria turns to look directly at Andrea as they walk.

 

ANDREA: [still hesitant] You’re perceptive, you know. Sorry, I had to say that, but it’s true. You see stuff. I wasn’t too sure I wanted to hear what you saw in me. I get enough of . . . never mind. Sorry.

 

DARIA: [shrugs] I wasn’t too sure I wanted to hear what you saw in me, either. [pause] I liked your poem, though. The one you read at the café, about the sack of rotting flesh, or something like that, in tenth grade.

 

ANDREA: [smiles] Yeah. I liked that one. I wrote it because I was so pissed off. Everyone seemed so fake to me, empty shells, meat puppets. I wrote a lot of crap like that for a while.

 

DARIA: You did the little cartoons in the senior yearbook, right?

 

ANDREA: Yeah. Ted DeWitt-Clinton was after me to do them ever since he saw me scribbling in my notebook in some class. I’ve tried doing comics, but most of what I do looks stupid. Grew out of it, I guess. Some of it.

 

DARIA: I burned some of my poems and stories once. They pissed me off, too.

 

ANDREA: [looks at Daria with a touch of understanding] You gotta do that. Burn the deadwood.

 

DARIA: What haven’t you burned?

 

ANDREA: [looks away] Not much. I burned out last year, burned myself out. I wasn’t interested in much. I’m still not.

 

They walk in silence for a bit.

 

ANDREA: So, where’s Tom these days?

 

DARIA: Dunno. We broke up. I broke us up.

 

ANDREA: Oh. Sorry.

 

DARIA: I’m not. It wasn’t there. Burn the deadwood.

 

ANDREA: [snorts, suppressing a laugh] Well, at least you know something about me that almost no one else does. [struggles to hide anxiety] You could milk a lot of cash out of me for that. My parents would blow like Mount St. Helens if they knew about Charles.

 

DARIA: Wouldn’t they like him?

 

ANDREA: [pained look] It’s not that. It’s the sex thing. They’d go nuclear. Maybe throw me out. [pause] Might not be so bad. It’s gonna happen anyway, come August.

 

DARIA: Where are you going?

 

ANDREA: I wanted Southern Cal, but I got Denver. Graphic arts. Not so bad, I guess. It’s supposed to be good there. You?

 

DARIA: Boston, Raft College. [pause] And Charles?

 

Andrea’s face works briefly, then she shrugs.

 

ANDREA: So, like, I hear you write a lot. What’ve you been writing lately?

 

DARIA: Um . . . I’m trying some spy fiction.

 

ANDREA: Melody Powers. Loved your reading at the café, too. That was good stuff. Better than anything of mine.

 

DARIA: You write stuff besides poetry?

 

ANDREA: [hesitates] Sort of. I try to draw now and then. I like the comic form. It’s hard to come up with plots of my own. I throw a lot of it out. Some, though, I . . . [voice fades out, shrugs again]

 

Daria gives Andrea a peculiar, thoughtful look.

 

ANDREA: What else have you written? Really. I want to hear about it.

 

DARIA: Uh . . . [rubs her face] I, uh . . .

 

ANDREA: Erotica.

 

DARIA: No, not really.

 

ANDREA: Not really? [looks at Daria] How can it “not really” be erotica?

 

DARIA: [shrugs, looks away] Forget it.

 

ANDREA: [looks at Daria closely, smiles hesitantly] You’re turning red. You’re blocking. You’re writing something like erotica but not erotica? Maybe the instruction booklets for condom packages?

 

DARIA: It’s not—I don’t do that.

 

ANDREA: [smile getting broader] You’re writing for the CIA? How to make love to enemy agents?

 

DARIA: [groans] No.

 

ANDREA: Rap lyrics. You work with Snoop Doggie Dog.

 

DARIA: No.

 

ANDREA: Oh! I get it! You do political speeches. Are you George Bush’s speechwriter, or Al Gore’s?

 

DARIA: [looks offended] Hey!

 

ANDREA: I’m going to keep guessing until you come clean. You write for “The Simpsons”?

 

DARIA: [gives up] Okay, okay. All right. [pause, low whisper] I write fanfic.

 

Andrea stops dead in the street, mouth open, staring at Daria. Daria takes two more steps, then stops and looks back.

 

DARIA: What?

 

ANDREA: Oh, man.

 

DARIA: Hey, it’s not like I killed someone, okay?

 

ANDREA: [holds up both hands] Wait. Don’t tell me what kind of fanfic you write, because I know you’re going to say, “Kirk-Spock” or “Starsky and Hutch,” and I am going to scream and scream and scream.

 

DARIA: [incredulous look] Oh, jeez! No! Do I look like I write slash fanfic?