Poe- Where is the boy, Jude?

Jude- I can’t tell you.

Jude begins to laugh. Molly chews a thumbnail, worried. As Poe exits the room, Miller opens his eyes and draws a finger across his throat.

Cut to black-and-white overhead surveillance cameras and follow Poe as he searches the house. He moves from one room to the next but finds nothing. In the basement, he comes upon Jeremy and Huck, who are surrounded by an array of sound and video equipment. The three of them stare at one another.

Huck- You. You fucked up my boom mike.

Poe- Unreal. This is unreal.

He stalks around the room and comes upon a large box marked props. He throws open the box and methodically digs through it, tossing aside cell phones and wristwatches and eyeglasses and a prosthetic arm until he finds what he’s looking for: A small snub-nosed pistol, a.32.

Jeremy- You’re wasting your time, man. Blanks in it.

Poe- I don’t want to kill anyone, yet.

He glances up, suddenly aware of the tiny camera in the corner. He gets up and stares into the lens, then wearily smashes it with the pistol. The picture goes to snow for a moment.

Fade to interior, living room. Day.

Miller sits on the sofa with Jude. Their heads are bent together, as if sharing a secret. Jude smokes a cigarette, reading from a page of the script. Miller has a red pencil in his mouth. There are more pages of script on coffee table and floor. Molly paces around the room, turning now and then to glare at the camera.

Molly- Does the camera have to be on for this?

Miller- The making of the film and the film itself will overlap and become one.

Molly- It’s self-indulgence. It’s bullshit.

Miller- Maybe. But I think the making of the film might ultimately be more interesting than the film itself. And more frightening.

Jude- What’s with this scene between me and Poe?

Miller- Which scene?

Jude- This sex scene on page 36. It says here that I make his nose bleed without touching him.

M i l l e r -

Yeah. I’m thinking you have telekinetic powers, or something. I haven’t sorted that out, yet.

Molly- What sex scene?

Jude- Don’t tell me you’re jealous.

Enter Poe, holding the gun. He looks at Molly, then down at the child’s footprints. He bends to touch the paint and his finger comes away red. He shakes his head, disgusted. He kicks the glass coffee table sideways with his boot. The loose pages of script fly into the air. Poe points the gun at Miller.

Miller- Improv. I love it.

Poe- This is going to hurt, I’m afraid.

Miller- Please…you must be joking.

Poe- Where is the boy?

Miller- The boy?

Poe- Don’t do that. Don’t fucking echo me.

Miller- The script does mention a boy. But I haven’t decided what to do with him. Child actors can be such a nightmare.

Poe- I saw Jude bring the boy in here.

Jude- He’s imagining things.

Molly- What about these footprints?

Poe stares directly at the camera again.

Miller- I wish you wouldn’t do that. I hate it when actors address the camera.

Poe- What are you afraid of?

Miller doesn’t answer and without warning, Poe swings around and fires the gun at him. The shot is loud, deafening. Everyone jumps.

Miller- Missed. He missed me, by god.

Poe- I missed on purpose. For effect.

Molly- What about these footprints?

Jude- I can’t stand the smell of this fucking place. Did you ever notice how every family has its own terrible smell?

Pan to Molly, who stands on far side of the room, in the puddle of red paint. She has removed her cowboy boots and her feet are smeared red. Now she unbuttons her sundress as Jude reads aloud from the script.

Jude- The smell of furniture polish and dead flowers, the smell of shampoo and dirty boots. The smell of ashtrays and garlic and spilled gin.

Molly steps out of her dress and throws it aside. The dress flutters toward Poe, who catches it. His face is blank. Molly stands in red paint, wearing white underpants and bra. The camera moves closer and closer.

Jude- Every family has its own smell and if you’re not careful that smell will attach itself to you, it will sink into your skin and wipe out your own smell. It will become your smell. And ever after you will smell like a family.

Molly sits down on the chrome loveseat and buries her face in her hands. Poe goes to her. He stands over her but does not touch her.

Miller- Beautiful. Print it.

twenty-three.

I SIT DOWN ON THE CHROME LOVESEAT beside Molly, who wears just a thin white bra and panties. Her feet are stained, red. I have a gun in one hand and her crumpled sundress in the other. I offer the dress to her and she takes it, holding it in both hands as if she doesn’t quite recognize it. I look around the room and Jude is at the bar, mixing drinks. Her hair falls shadowy around her face. The muscles jump in her brown arms and I can see that she’s glowing.

Jude loves this shit.

Miller is bent over the coffee table, making notes on the script. I look over his shoulder and my eye catches on a random line of dialogue, attributed to me: Who is the shadow that walks beside you? It sounds like something I might say when drunk. It seems like this should disturb me but I don’t much care. Daphne has opened a window and now sits on the ledge, smoking a joint.

Will somebody please tell me what’s happening?

Miller peers at me, confused. Jude brings me a margarita on the rocks.

I would like some of that weed, says Molly.

You might want to get dressed, says Jude.

Oh, says Molly. You’re right.

When did you change the furniture? I say.

Molly touches my thigh. While we were out, this morning.

Do you like it? says Miller. I think it makes for a nice set.

Molly gets up and pulls her dress over her head and buttons it slowly, her bra and panties exposed in flashes. The monologue, I think. She got a charge out of Jude’s psycho monologue. Molly reaches back and pulls her ponytail apart, shakes her hair as if wet. She glides across the room and takes the joint from Daphne. They whisper to each other briefly, like two thieves. Daphne yawns and stretches lazily and announces that she wants to take a dinner break.

Okay, says Miller. But don’t be long. We’ll be shooting tonight.

Daphne nods. Do you mind if I take one of the cars?

Take the Mustang, says Molly. The keys are in the kitchen.

Daphne exits, pausing to pluck a dead yellow flower from a vase.

I take it you know her, I say.

Molly nods. Daphne goes to school with me.

I can’t trust you, can I?

Why do you say that?

Did you fake that seizure today?

No, she says. No.

Please, I say. Button your fucking dress.

Molly looks at me, hurt.

I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, I say.

This is breaking my heart, says Jude.

You love this, I say. Don’t you.

What do you mean?

I mean you’re a compulsive liar.

Everybody shut the fuck up, says Miller. We need to talk.

The whine of a power saw from downstairs.

Hammering, grinding. I wonder what the hell Huck and Jeremy are up to. Molly comes over and hands me the joint. I take a long, grateful drag. I stare at Jude, who lounges on the edge of the couch, stroking herself like she wants to fuck somebody.

The boy, I say. I want to know about the boy.

You’re wondering how he will fare in the film, says Miller.

Exactly.

The fundamentals of The Velvet are simple, he says. One of us in this room will die. That has not changed. But relationships can be tedious, I think. This is not a comedy, after all. It’s a postmodern horror. And so now we are making a film about four people who have kidnapped a small boy to finance an independent film about four people who have kidnapped a small boy. Or something like that. The boy will be the focal point of the conflict between these four characters. The sexual relationships will be secondary.