Scene 1.11 - The Vomitorium
EST: INT. Bunny’s Penthouse - Late Morning.
(BETTY suddenly drops the knife. It has been bloodied. Everyone is frozen, transfixed and horrified.)
BETTY
Bunny, I don't know what came over me. It just happened.
BUNNY
You cut me!
(A big blood stain across the satin dress, neatly sliced across, like an off-center Caesarean Section. A deep cut.)
BETTY
I'm so sorry.
(BUNNY calmly walks over to the kitchenette, retreives a sewing kit, soaks a rag with an upturned bottle of strong liquor, wipes the blood away and begins giving herself stitches, unseen by the camera, while the other women look on, completely mortified. She lights a cigarette and sterilizes the needle with her butane lighter. The lighter clacks shut and she gasps. She doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite. Almost jovial.)
BUNNY
Well, if the gown wasn't ruined before, it sure is now. (Rips open dress.) I'll never get the blood out of the carpet. (Threads needle with a thick, plastic-looking thread and begins:) Oh, this is gonna leave a nasty scar. So much for wearing my bikini for the rest of the summer, huh? Ha-ha! (The abdominal flex caused from her small chuckle makes a piece of her gut protrude.) What's this puffy thing that keeps popping out? Oh, that must be my small-intestine. Wow! (She dips a finger into a shot glass and pokes the protrusion gently, nudging it back inside.) It's so pink! It was always so like colored yellow in the books. Good thing you missed cutting that, huh? Sure be a mess then... Buffy, can you be a doll and pinch this like this while I do a cross stitch on this other little flap of skin?
BUFFY
I think I'm gonna puke.
(BESSIE and BOBBIE beat BUFFY to the sink and both begin vomiting. The other girls exit toward the bathroom, a window, anyplace they can vomit while BUNNY continues her monologue.)
BUNNY (Cont'd)
I really can't believe you stabbed me, Betty. We're like, best friends! So I slept with your boyfriend; I mean, like, who hasn't? After all, it is the age of Aquarius and that's supposed to mean free love, right? No reason to gut me like a trout on my birthday. I mean, if you weren't such a good best friend who made me such a cool, macrame, hookah coaster, I'd really hold this against you and maybe want to get even. But I'm through fighting. With any of you. It's my birthday and I don't want to ruin it by being petty. All the fight in me seems to have gone. I feel too nauseous for anything but maybe a stiff drink. Well, I'm at least glad you cut me with a clean knife. Now what can I use as a compress to stop all this bleeding? The carpet's soaked; that will never come out. Oh, I know! A pad! I'll just have to run up to the upstairs bathroom to get it. Don't nobody go innywhere. And could you be a doll, Betty, and make me a vodka on the rocks with a twist of lemon when you're done with your... Technicolor yawn? Hmmm. I think while I'm up there, I may have to upchuck today's breakfast myself. My stomach is just not acting right today. Maybe it was the bacon. Pork Bellies are down. ...What's come over me?
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