Steve-o Bueller's Day Off...
It's a dark, dreary sick room. Shades drawn, floor strewn with used tissues, nightstand a still-life of over the counter remedies. EMAN is laying in bed. We don't see his face, only a silhouette with a thermometer sticking out his mouth. U2's SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY is playing. He's mumbling random words.
The phone rings. His hand reaches back and hits the speaker phone button.
Eman! What's happening?
How do you feel?
Is your mother in the room?
EMAN takes the thermometer out of his mouth.
She's not home. Where are you?
24 INT. STEVE'S FAMILY ROOM. STEVE 24
Steve is sprawled out in the chair.
We're heading down to Crawford. Get
dressed and come over.
I can't. I'm sick.
It's all in your head. Come on over.
25 INT. EMAN'S ROOM 25
I feel like complete shit, Steve. I can't go anywhere.
I'm sorry to hear that. Now, come on over and pick me up. We've got a three-hour drive down to the loony peacenik show!
Steve disconnects. EMAN slowly hangs up the phone.
The phone rings again. EMAN hits the speaker button.
You're not dying. You just can't think of anything good to do.
26 INT. STEVE'S FAMILY ROOM 26
Steve hangs up.
If anybody needs a day off, it's EMAN. He has alot of things to sort out before he makes partner. He can't be wound this tight and get promoted. His partners'll kill him. I've come close myself. But I like him. He's a little easier to take when you know why he's like he is. The boy cannot relax. Pardon by French but EMAN is so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you'd have a diamond.
And EMAN would worry that he'd owe taxes on it.