THE DEBUTANTE'S DIARY

Seeking revenge for her father's 'accidental' death, a grieving conwoman must convince London's wealthy elite she is one of them in order to get closer to her target.

About

Written as an experiment in 30min dark comedy, this script is inspired by my time working in Knightsbridge and feeling that I would never fit in unless I pretended.

Teaser

INT. BOUTIQUE, HARRODS - DAY

We open on a paused moment ... A FROZEN TABLEAU inside a high-end fashion boutique.

Whilst Harrods' lounge-bar music quietly twinkles in the distance, an array of wealthy shoppers HALT AT A STANDSTILL:

-- A black AMEX card poised to pay without thought...

-- An IPHONE in the clutches of a SOCIALITE in a mirror...

-- The champagne FLUTE of a PEARL-NECKED LADY sat on a sofa, her hand mid gesture of 'begone peasant' to a SALES REP.

At the entrance to the boutique, a sign reads: TRADUIRE

With the scene still paused, our self-aware protagonist walks into the freeze frame:

-- ANNE (28), an imposter to this world of luxury, holds two takeaway Starbucks cups. Her smile is infectious, seductive... She's banking on us liking her.

She tucks her long blonde hair behind her ear and stares right down the lens as if we've asked her a question -

ANNE

(to camera)

When did it start?

She glances around. Her thick Northern accent is unmissable.

ANNE (CONT'D)

It was well before this day. But, when I sit and look back, it was

this day is when I felt - No, I knew shit was getting real.

She nudges her head towards a woman dripping in athleisure:

-- PORTIA MAISON (22), put together like only the rich can be: manicured nails, freshly-peeled skin & blowdried hair.

Portia stands frozen at the till, her white-tipped fingernail pointing in the face of a SALES ASSISTANT (40s, male).

Anne welcomes the camera to follow as she walks over to her.

ANNE (CONT'D)

Portia Maison - a very model of a modern major bitch.

She's a proper Chelsea girl - an old school, blueblooded bimbo.

Anne holds her hands up defensively.

ANNE (CONT'D)

She ain't a bad person. I didn't hate her. She was just part of my

plan, is all.

She listens to us... we're asking an unheard question again -

ANNE (CONT'D)

Uh huh. Absolutely it was a plan. I had a thought out, mapped

out, Kevin-McCallister-drawn-out-in-crayon plan. It was here, in

Harrods, when she first mentioned him -

Anne turns and the scene BURSTS INTO LIFE:

PORTIA MAISON

(to the Sales Assistant)

You. Are. Not. Listening!

Next to Portia, Anne waits, sipping her coffee - her posture's better, her mannerisms are slower, ethereal-like. She's acting with the grace of a finishing school graduate, an equal to Harrods' usual clientele.

PORTIA MAISON (CONT'D)

Traduire runs small. Everyone knows that.

The Sales Assistant smiles. He's taking it like a pro.

PORTIA MAISON (CONT'D)

When I told you I'm a 37, you should have given me a 36.5!

SALES ASSISTANT

I'm so sorry. I'll take care of it, Ma'am.

The Sales Assistant keeps his smile on as he slinks away.

Portia grabs her cup from Anne and sips some coffee.

PORTIA MAISON

(under her breath)

Fucking ma'am? God, I need Botox.

Anne nods, rolls her eyes in agreed frustration.

PORTIA MAISON (CONT'D)

Honestly, Anne. He should be bloody thankful. No-one even

wears Traduire anymore.

Now with a posh, upperclass London accent (with just a hint of sarcasm) -

ANNE

Agree. It feels personal - like he's purposely tried to offend by

giving you the size you said.

Portia nods, sips more coffee. If there's sarcasm detectable, she isn't picking it up.

ANNE (CONT'D)

You know what will help? Complaining some more. Try that.

PORTIA MAISON

I only still come here because Monsieur Traduire adored Daddy.

Anne gives pause... Her eyes blink a few times...

The space outside the boutique turns grey. SHOPPERS fade away in the distance... Anne's projection of her story slips as she tries to concentrate... She clears her throat -

ANNE

Your father?

PORTIA MAISON

Daddy met him on a plane once...

Portia sips her coffee, blissfully unaware of what's happening around her:

-- Dust and debris falls from the high ceilings as the walls shake... a layer of rubble coats the lush carpet... insignificant details in the scene simply crumble away.

Portia's voice floats in and out as she prattles on -

PORTIA MAISON (CONT'D)

... inspired him to improve his

prêt à porter collection...

Anne closes her eyes, tries to focus, tries to pull it back together.

OVER BLACK

A wailing, screeching SIREN!

NEWSREADER V/O

-- a loving father, husband --

-- found dead in his fifties --

-- brutally butchered by one --

ABSTRACT DARKNESS

Anne opens her eyes again... but it's just her and Portia standing at the counter. Only the duo matter right now. All else is dark nothingness.

Portia doesn't seem to mind. After all, she's just a character in Anne's version of events.

PORTIA MAISON

Daddy is always helping people like that.

Anne snaps her attention back to her.

ANNE

I'd love to meet him.

PORTIA MAISON

He's back soon for this family thing. You must come for dinner.

What's the worst that could happen?

Anne flicks her eyes down the lens.

As her unwilling confidant, she gives us a private smirk.

OVER BLACK

Heavy CLICKING of handcuffs as metal teeth lock into place.