A Treatment

Synopsis:

A man meets a very beautiful woman
who is initially attracted to him,
but then blows hot and cold
when she realizes that he doesn't meet
her idiosyncratic boyfriend requirements.

He spends a night in bed with her
but does not initiate sex
due to the confusing mixed messages he's receiving.

He continues to see her because
he is mesmerized by her physical beauty,
even though he is repulsed
by some of her personal qualities,
specifically, her unapologetic racism
and her blatant vanity.

She has secrets she will not reveal to him,
and he suspects she is taking medication
to treat a psychiatric disorder.
He stops calling her after a thinly-veiled attempt
at using him to make another man jealous.

Cast:

Man: Thin artistic type, average height,
long, thick, wavy dark hair,
reasonably attractive but generally unaware of this fact
due to low self-esteem,
often compared to popular new age musician.

Woman: Blonde, petite, gorgeous model-calibre face,
sexy, voluptuous, hourglass figure,
hot stuff and she knows it,
often compared to various actresses
and soft-core porn stars.

Scene one:

Upscale coffee shop in metropolitan area.
The two characters are seated at a table facing each other.
Their body language makes it clear that they are on a date
and finding each other mutually appealing.

Woman: (smiling broadly, obviously enjoying the man's attention) What?

Man: (also smiling) I'm just looking at your face
and trying to figure out your ethnic background.
It's kind of a hobby of mine.

Woman: (pleased) Oh...okay. Well? What's your guess?

Man: Something eastern European? It's your cheekbones...

Woman: (moderately impressed) That's pretty good.
Actually, my mother is Czechoslovakian and my father was Italian.

Man: (slightly puzzled) Was?

Woman: (still upbeat) Yes. He died when I was sixteen.

Man: (somber) Oh... I'm sorry.

Woman: (quickly changing the subject) I'm surprised you didn't get
the Italian part. You're Italian, aren't you?

Man: (slightly amused) No...I get that a lot actually, but I'm Jewish,
not Italian.

Woman: (obviously disappointed) Oh...

Man: (puzzled) What's the matter?

Woman: I thought you were a greaseball. I usually only date Italians.

Man: (trying to hide his disbelief, as much at her declaration
as at her use of the word "greaseball")
So... does this mean you can't go out with me?

Woman: (hesitantly) Well, nooooo... I guess it will be alright...

She looks down at her lap.
Cut to crestfallen look of dismay on man's face.

Scene two:

Bedroom of a small house in a suburban area.
A bit shabby and unkempt, as if the owner of the house
spends very little time there.
The woman is dressed in heavy gray sweatpants and sweatshirt.
The man is in his street clothes.

Woman: (slightly nervous, mock scolding tone, as if to a child)
You can sleep in my bed with me, but no funny stuff...okay?

Man: (happy just to be in physical contact with her) Okay.

The woman gets into bed and pulls the covers over herself.
The man removes his jeans and gets in with her.
She snuggles her body next to his and puts her arms around him,
which takes him by surprise.
He turns his head to face her and they kiss,
slowly at first and then building to a crescendo of passion.
This lasts for a good fifteen minutes.
They stop kissing and lay completely still.
Neither one makes a move towards the other.
In the distance, a dog barks.
The camera shifts to a bird's-eye view of the bed,
the man with a distressed look on his face,
staring at the ceiling, as the woman falls asleep,
still curled into his body.

Scene three:

A small middle eastern restaurant decorated with tapestries.
The man and woman sit facing each other at a wooden table,
their faces illuminated by the skylight above them.
The mood is strained, less carefree and romantic than in scene one.
These are two people who harbor deep ambivalence towards one another,
although there is still sexual tension between them.

Woman: (very animated) ...so I ended up paying this fortune teller
over five hundred dollars to perform spells to bring my boyfriend back,
and none of them worked!

Man: (trying to be tactful, not believing
how stupid and gullible she is) ...Wow...

Woman: (sheepishly) Yeah...I know...

Man: (diplomatically) Do you think all of that could have had
anything to do with your father dying?
Like, trying to get your boyfriend back with magic
was kind of like trying to bring your father back on some level?

Woman: (slightly irritated) Ummm...yeah. I guess that sort of makes sense.
(abruptly changing subject) Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.

Man (warily) Okay...

Woman: (blurting everything out rapidly)
My band has a gig in New York this weekend,
and I didn't tell you about this before,
but the lead guitarist, the guy whose picture I showed you?
Well, he's kind of got a thing for me,
so I was wondering if you could come with me.

Man: (half sarcastically) What? You mean as your date?

Woman: (somewhat embarrassed) Yeah, something like that.

Man: (after long pause) Are you driving?

Woman: Yes.

Man: (reproachfully, trying to find an excuse to decline)
You don't even have seat belts in that car.

Woman: (defensively) I know. I don't believe in them.

Man: (noncommittally, again after long pause)
I'll have to get back to you about that...

The scene ends with the two characters looking away from each other,
frowning slightly, each lost in their own thoughts.

Epilogue:

As the credits roll, we see the man's hands in close-up,
opening his address book to the woman's phone number.
He hesitates, then tears out the page and crumples it into a ball.
In the final shot, we see the crumpled phone number
dropping into a waste basket where the man has tossed it.

Fade to black.

David Aronson
April, 2006