FADE IN:                                        "JUICED"

INT.   WARING BLENDER 
Steel blades shine inside a huge industrial blender. Sharpened points 
shoot up from a sprocket mounted in the black plastic base. A sleek 
killer WARING, the machine fills up the screen. Ominous food processing 
speeds READ: ‘PUREE’; ‘LIQUIFY’; ‘PULVERIZE’; ‘ULTRA-PULVERIZE’; 
‘MURDERIZE’.

SOUND of a motor revving as...

Protein powder, muscle-builder mix, odd shaped vitamin pills, and 
frightened gummy bears are tossed in. A glob of blueberry yogurt, 
a gallon of milk is added, then pink sprinkles as this mulch fills 
up the gigantic glass pitcher. 

The powerful behemoth stands dormant for a half a second as the 
roaring wind-up continues.

A loud WHIRRING brings the beast to life. Heads rip off gummy bears. 
Whirling chunks blow around inside the gigantic pitcher. The dial is 
set on ‘MURDERIZE’.

Then the rotating blades send a heavy blue tidalwave barreling up to 
the tightly sealed lid; and WHAMMO -- a spurt of pulpy froth explodes 
all over the inside of a cramped concession booth.

INT.    MINI-MALL CONCESSION BOOTH      DAY

The splattered goop sends out a swath of light blue gunk that leaves 
a trail in its path: across the ‘MITZI’S MALT SHOPPE’ sign on the wall; 
on the items for sale in the display case; on cups and straws; even the 
three tables and chairs that ring the tiny booth. And, of course, on malt 
maven MITZI CULVER, 27, whose limp curls also get a bath.

Her clean pink tongue darts out tentatively, licks the mixture off her 
lips. This stuff is tasty as a Pepto Bismol cocktail. Mitzi’s face registers 
the ick factor.

                                MITZI
                You can look now, Nina. 

CLOSE ON:
A pair of clean hands clenched over a face.
The hands belong to Mitzi’s sometime friend NINA RAYE, 26, great hair but 
kind of fat, who was smart enough to stand far away from this experiment.

                                NINA
        Did it work?

                                MITZI
        Does it look like it worked?

Nina grabs a roll of paper towels and sponges Mitzi off.

                                NINA
        That’s a macho mixture for you,
        Mitzi. Isn’t that what you called it?
        Macho Macho Malt?
                                (beat)
        Like any red-blooded American male
        is going to line up for a ‘smoothie’?
        I don’t think so.
                                
                                MITZI
        They might.

                                NINA
        I’m going to laugh. Sorry, Mitz.
        I can’t help it.

                                MITZI
        Go ahead. Laugh. You haven’t had a
        date since 1989.

                                NINA
        Shut up. Just shut up. You have the
        same packets of condoms in your
        condom dish. From last year. Those
        things probably aren’t even good
        anymore. Let’s face it, Mitz.
        There’s no home remedy to trap a guy.

                                MITZI
        Trap a guy? This is to increase
        market share.

                                NINA
        But you don’t get there by blowing
        yogurt up his nose. Look at you.
                (examines malt mix)
        Did you put gummy bears in here?
        That’s disgusting.

They scrub faster as JOHNNY DELLUMS, 29, the creepy mall manager who’s 
also kind of cute, enters.

                                JOHNNY
        Is this the ESPN special,
        ‘Fat Chick Fights Funky Froth’?

                                NINA
        How imaginative.

                                MITZI
        What do you want, Johnny?

                                JOHNNY
        Official biz, ladies. Management.
        You don’t have enough foot traffic
        to justify these tables.

                                NINA
        She does too; I come here.

                                JOHNNY
        Look around, Mitzi...

A SECURITY GUARD waves a flag and lets a long line of CUSTOMERS in as a 
bell SOUNDS nine times. It’s a stream of Customers who conspicuously avoid 
Mitzi’s shop.

With people, the whole tableau of mall-dom comes into view. Dozens of tiny 
retail outlets specializing in earrings, large size clothing, mod shoes, 
an obscene card store, even a personalized matchbook palace called 
Los Matchbook.

Which is located right next to a balls-out kind of place called 
HEAD-BUTT & GRILL, where official NFL team jerseys or a bona fide athletic 
jacket is the dress code.

There’s also CHESTER’S CHEESE HAVEN, with a stocky but older-looking male 
MOUSE MASCOT who stands around and doles out skimpy samples from a heavy 
cheese board.

Up high on a scaffolding, there’s MILO, 30, an artsy hunk painter, who smokes 
a handrolled cigarette and seems disguntled as he stencils in a tacky mural.

Johnny continues to lecture Mitzi as the mall universe unfolds.

                                JOHNNY (CONT’D)
        Not a single person walking in
        here is saying to himself: ‘I’m going
        to kill if I don’t get a malt.’
        What the hell is a malt? Sounds like...
        What’s that word when hair falls
        off a dog?

                                NINA
        That’s called ‘motling’, you idiot.

                                MITZI
        It’s a slow day, Johnny.

                                JOHNNY
        Every day’s a slow day for you,
        Mitz. Face it. Maybe you should
        scale back. A pushcart?

                                NINA
        A pushcart? Thank you, Mr. Demeaning.
        Like Mitzi is going to wheel
        around the Waring on one of those.                              

                                MITZI
        So you’re going to kick me out?

                                JOHNNY
        Not me. Management.

                                MITZI
        Give it another month.

                                JOHNNY
        Hey, your blender threw up.

                                MITZI
        I’m working on a new recipe.

He wipes a finger down her arm, samples the malt.

                                JOHNNY
                                (spits it out)
        For wallpaper paste?

                                MITZI
        Something that will appeal to
        more people.

                                JOHNNY
        You mean guys? Nobody buys this
        stuff except chicks on diets.

                                NINA
        Personally, I will never go on a
        diet. Being fat is like being bald.
        Men should go bald. And stay there.
        Women who are fat should stay fat.

                                JOHNNY
                                (to Mitzi)
        So you’re working on a fat drink?

                                MITZI
        For bodybuilders.

                                NINA
        A ‘smoothie’.

                                JOHNNY
        What kind of people are you trying
        to appeal to?

A CUSTOMER enters; Mitzi makes a malt.

Nina pulls Johnny aside.

                                NINA
        Don’t shut us down.

                                JOHNNY
        It’s them. Not me.

                                NINA
        Let’s deal.

                                JOHNNY
        With what?

                                NINA
        What will another month cost?

                                JOHNNY
        You would put up your own money
        to save her?

                                NINA
        I would. If I had any. How
        about my earrings? They’re gold.

                                JOHNNY
        How about this: you get me a date
        with Mitzi; I give you 30 days.

                                NINA
        What if the date sucks?

                                JOHNNY
                                (wryly)
        Sucks?

                                NINA
        Not like that! All I’m saying is
        I’ll have to trick Mitzi into it,
        and she’ll be pissed off.

                                JOHNNY
        Most girls I go out with are pissed
        off anyway.

                                NINA
        Figures.

The Customer exits; Mitzi cleans herself off.

                                MITZI
        I need more time, that’s all.

                                JOHNNY
        Thirty days, Mitzi. But it just
        prolongs the inevitable.

                                MITZI
        I don’t like ultimatums.
                                
He exits.

                                                                                                CUT TO:

INT.    MITZI’S MALT SHOPPE     LATER

Unused glasses and clean tables show this has been a red-letter slow day. 
Mitzi presses on the buttons of the huge blender just to make sure the motor 
still works. It HUMS.

Mitzi and Nina slump over the counter on their elbows.

                                MITZI
        Notice how you can never tell if
        it’s day or night in here.

                                NINA
        It’s still day. A very slow day.
        You’re going to have to ask your
        mother for money.

Passing customers totally ignore them. Mitzi fiddles with the blender, 
which is now mysteriously jammed.

                                MITZI
        Over my dead body. We need a
        gimmick.

                                NINA
        I could take off my clothes.

                                MITZI
        You wouldn’t though.

                                NINA
        Can I make a horrible confession?
        I filled out a job application at
        Chester’s Cheese Haven.

                                MITZI
        You ready to quit?

                                NINA
        We’re broke, Mitz.

                                MITZI
        You don’t know anything about
        cheese. What could you possibly
        do there?

                                NINA
        The mascot job. You get commission.
        They ask you to wear a Wonderbra.
        A mouse costume. With cleavage.

                                MITZI
        Don’t resort to rodent imagery.
        I’ll ask my mother for money.
        Happy?
 
INT.    LOS ANGELES TAXICAB     DAY

Shapely gloved hands dust off the spotless vinyl cabseat; a chic upholstered 
tush glides onto the naugahyde.

The surgically enhanced derrier belongs to Mitzi’s mother WILHEMINA CULVER, 
50something, who was over-the-hill sexy even before the surgery.

She carefully rearranges a perfect, though out-of-date coil of dyed gold hair.

Her clothes are impeccable, Chanel.

She has an ultra-tiny handbag on her lap; but the scowl on her face says it 
all as she picks a fight with the easygoing CABDRIVER.

                                WILHEMINA
        Would you like to see a picture
        of my baby?

She hands him a photo.
         
It’s Mitzi in a graduation cap and gown.

                                WILHEMINA (CONT’D)
        A double major. Yale. American
        Studies and Parent Bashing.
        Thirty-five thousand dollars later,
        guess what she’s doing? Guess.

                                CABDRIVER
        Therapy eight times a week?

                                WILHEMINA
        Worse.

                                CABDRIVER
        Hard time in the clink?
        Ladies SuperMax?

The cab stops in the alley behind the mall; a $20 bill changes hands.

                                WILHEMINA
                                (exits cab)
        Retail. A concession stand. Most
        girls her age have husbands; she
        has a booth.

                                CABDRIVER
        Is she happy?

                                WILHEMINA
        Don’t give me that crap! No mother
        wants their kid to be ‘happy’.

She slams the door; slips into the mall’s back entrance.

INT.    MITZI’S MALT SHOPPE

She and Nina putter around. MILO, the mural painter is their only customer.

Mitzi hands him some of the blue goop in a glass. He stares for a moment, 
but decides to pay anyway.

                                MITZI
                                (shooes money)
        It’s free today. An experiment.

                                NINA
        Free? Are you crazy?    

                                MITZI
        I’m going to ask for a lot of
        money.

                                NINA
        How much is a lot?

                                MITZI
        You’ll see.
                                (to Milo)
        Great mural.

                                MILO
        My own Sistine Chapel. By the
        numbers.

                                NINA
        Our only regular.

                                MILO
        I’ve never considered myself
        a regular guy.

                                NINA
        Blame that on the malt.

                                MITZI
                                (to Milo)
        This is Nina.

                                MILO
        Name’s Milo. As in ‘Venus di
        Milo’. My mother wanted to make
        sure I was doomed to be an artist.

Milo crosses to the patio; spreads out at one of the tables and reads 
ART IN AMERICA.

He can barely suck down the blue stuff.

                                MITZI
        Don’t think he likes the new
        flavor.

                                NINA
        He could paint me anytime.

                                MITZI
        Cute, but angry. The last thing you
        need is an angry guy on your hands.

                                NINA
        Who knows? Maybe he could integrate
        into society. A little psychological
        counseling?

Wilhemina clutches her tiny bag close to her heart.

She’s lost; out of place; buffetted by mall rats and strollers.

                                NINA (CONT’D)
                                (spots Mitzi’s mother)
        Is that her?

                                MITZI
        Surgery works.

                                NINA
        She looks our age.

                                MITZI
        Only better looking. Don’t rub
        it in.

                                NINA
        With that attitude, she’ll cut
        you out of her will again.

                                MITZI
        MA! Hey, Mom. Over here.

Wilhemina freezes; storms over.

                                WILHEMINA
        Don’t ever call me ‘Mom’.
        Not in public.

Wilhemina gingerly installs herself on a stool at the counter. Nina tries 
to be invisible.

                                WILHEMINA (CONT’D)
        I had to take a cab.

                                MITZI
        Mom, meet Nina.

                                NINA
        Charmed.

                                WILHEMINA
        I hope you didn’t invite me here
        to ask me for money, because, you
        know, we’ve been through this before.

                                MITZI
        I just wanted you to see the place,
        Mom... I mean, Wilhemina.

                                WILHEMINA
        For thirty-five thousand dollars
        you could at least have found a
        boyfriend at Yale.      

                                MITZI
        For three thousand dollars, I’ll
        stay in business and out of your
        hair.

                                WILHEMINA
        What did I just say?

                                MITZI
        Come on, Mom. Enough to pay for
        some new decorations. Advertising.

                                WILHEMINA
        I will not give you another dime,
        Matilde. Absolutely not.

                                NINA
        Matilde?

                                MITZI
        It’s Mitzi, Mom. Nobody calls me
        Matilde.

                                NINA
        She’s going to have to rent a
        pushcart, Mrs. Culver.

                                WILHEMINA
        She should quit all this. Avoid
        the humiliation.

                                MITZI
        You’ve never had a real job in
        your life, Wilhemina.

                                WILHEMINA
        Real women don’t make money;
        they marry it.
        
                                NINA
        Not since 1959. Mrs. Culver.

In full mouse mascot gear, BOB DODGE, 51, a former marine sargeant now 
mascot for Chester’s Cheese Haven enters.

                                WILHEMINA
        You’ve got mice.

This breaks the tension.

                                BOB
        Let’s see. I’ll have a large
        Mango-Banana-Choco Malt.