Post by Samantha Pavak on Apr 8, 2015 20:04:05 GMT -5
INT. APARTMENT OF SAMANTHA PAVAK - HOLSTON, PENNSYLVANIA - EVENING
We are inside of the apartment of Wrestletown Director of Public Relations SAMANTHA PAVAK. What follows is a DISJOINTED MONTAGE SEQUENCE.
Samantha sits on the couch, a cigarette between her finders. There's something on her mind. She's all inside her head.
She reaches for the iPad on the coffee table in front of her. It is set to her Twitter page.
We see the cursor move across the screen to the SEARCH FIELD. We hear the sound of a click, followed by the sound of keys being punched.
Letter by letter, we see the words "GRACE TAYLOR" fill the search field. We hear another click, and then a picture fills the screen:
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Samantha puts the cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table, where it sits among a graveyard of cigarette butts that threaten to spill onto the table.
She begins to Tweet:
A harmless Tweet. Samantha sits back, still restless, she pulls her bangs away from her eyes, and stares at the screen.
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She Tweets again:
Again, harmless enough. Pushy? Perhaps. Or perhaps it's just aggressive recruiting.
Samantha grabs another cigarette from her pack, lights it up-- forget about the but left to die in the ash tray. She rises, and is pacing about.
She sits back down. Types another quick Tweet. This one is pure impulse:
Okay, now perhaps we're crossing a line. Too late. Samantha punches out the next one like she's on auto pilot.
And then,
Samantha comes up for air. She stares at the screen at the Tweets she has put out into the public domain.
It's that "oh shit" moment.
Samantha Pavak-- the Director of Public fucking Relations of a televised wrestling promotion-- jumps quickly back to the keyboard and Tweets as quickly as she can.
Well, it's out there. Damage control-- or at least as much damage control that she could muster on short notice.
Samantha sits back, waiting for the fallout. It doesn't take long.
Her phone rings. She picks it up. The photo on the face of the screen, assigned the identity of the incoming call, says it all:
Incoming: Dean Willard
Samantha closes her eyes.
FADE TO BLACK
We are inside of the apartment of Wrestletown Director of Public Relations SAMANTHA PAVAK. What follows is a DISJOINTED MONTAGE SEQUENCE.
Samantha sits on the couch, a cigarette between her finders. There's something on her mind. She's all inside her head.
She reaches for the iPad on the coffee table in front of her. It is set to her Twitter page.
We see the cursor move across the screen to the SEARCH FIELD. We hear the sound of a click, followed by the sound of keys being punched.
Letter by letter, we see the words "GRACE TAYLOR" fill the search field. We hear another click, and then a picture fills the screen:
Samantha puts the cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table, where it sits among a graveyard of cigarette butts that threaten to spill onto the table.
She begins to Tweet:
Samantha Pavak Samantha Pavak · Apr 7
@amazgracetaylor HI Grace, we don't know each other, but I wanted to talk to you about @wrestletown . We would love to have you on board.
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@amazgracetaylor HI Grace, we don't know each other, but I wanted to talk to you about @wrestletown . We would love to have you on board.
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A harmless Tweet. Samantha sits back, still restless, she pulls her bangs away from her eyes, and stares at the screen.
She Tweets again:
Samantha Pavak Samantha Pavak · Apr 7
@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown You'll find many familiar faces there. Your father is there, and he's worried sick about you.
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@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown You'll find many familiar faces there. Your father is there, and he's worried sick about you.
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Again, harmless enough. Pushy? Perhaps. Or perhaps it's just aggressive recruiting.
Samantha grabs another cigarette from her pack, lights it up-- forget about the but left to die in the ash tray. She rises, and is pacing about.
She sits back down. Types another quick Tweet. This one is pure impulse:
Samantha Pavak Samantha Pavak · Apr 7
@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown Also, @carterinholston is here. This is a chance for you to gain closure. Without closure you can go insane.
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@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown Also, @carterinholston is here. This is a chance for you to gain closure. Without closure you can go insane.
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Okay, now perhaps we're crossing a line. Too late. Samantha punches out the next one like she's on auto pilot.
Samantha Pavak Samantha Pavak · Apr 7
@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown @carterinholston Trust me, I know what it's like to have someone leave you, but he's resurfaced and I'm fine!
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@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown @carterinholston Trust me, I know what it's like to have someone leave you, but he's resurfaced and I'm fine!
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And then,
Samantha Pavak Samantha Pavak · Apr 7
@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown @carterinholston Really, I am. We don't know each other, but...
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@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown @carterinholston Really, I am. We don't know each other, but...
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Samantha comes up for air. She stares at the screen at the Tweets she has put out into the public domain.
It's that "oh shit" moment.
Samantha Pavak-- the Director of Public fucking Relations of a televised wrestling promotion-- jumps quickly back to the keyboard and Tweets as quickly as she can.
Samantha Pavak Samantha Pavak · Apr 7
@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown @carterinholston God, we don't even know each other. Forget this. Forget I wrote any of this. Best of luck!
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@amazgracetaylor @wrestletown @carterinholston God, we don't even know each other. Forget this. Forget I wrote any of this. Best of luck!
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Well, it's out there. Damage control-- or at least as much damage control that she could muster on short notice.
Samantha sits back, waiting for the fallout. It doesn't take long.
Her phone rings. She picks it up. The photo on the face of the screen, assigned the identity of the incoming call, says it all:
Incoming: Dean Willard
Samantha closes her eyes.
FADE TO BLACK
