A Midsummer Nightmare’s Daria

Daria and associated characters are ©2003 MTV Networks

Script excerpts from Dr. Strangelove, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: roger70129@aol.com

Synopsis: Quinn pulls a prank that causes Jake to think that Daria has taken up demon worship, so he takes Daria to a weekend father-daughter seminar to “bring her back to the light.” Add in a few former classmates, romance, and an unexpected twist—courtesy of Stephen King—and a very strange summer weekend gets underway in Lawndale.

Author’s Notes: Portions of this cartoon script (now rewritten) originally appeared on www.fanfiction.net in chapter form. The entire story was collected 7/1/02 and posted on the Internet. Extensive notes and corrections from Galen “Lawndale Stalker” Hardesty were received within a week after that, but I was burnt out and did not add in his fixes until now. Sorry for the delay!

The events herein take place about one or two months after the “Daria” TV movie, “Is It College Yet?” during Daria’s last summer at home before she heads off to college in Boston. When the characters speak of Boston Fine Arts College, Jane’s alma mater-to-be, they usually use the acronym (BFAC) as a word, pronouncing it as “bee fak.” Also, Andrea’s name is pronounced “ahn DRAY ah” by those who know her.

Certain scenes marked as “Daria’s Daydreams” are fantasy scenes that take place in Daria’s imagination or unconscious mind. Certain other scenes labeled “Andrea’s Memory” show events that Andrea recalls from earlier in her life.

Acknowledgements: My heartfelt gratitude goes out to beta-reader Robert Nowall, who offered life-saving advice on revising the entire story and taking out the bad parts. I am less of a bozo because of his superb work. Special thanks also to Mike Yamiolkoski, who beta-read several sections of this tale and straightened me out on the characters, making many suggestions that I stole on the spot. Thank you both, thank you, thank you, thank you! As noted above, Galen Hardesty later sent many pages of corrections and comments that have improved this story considerably. I must also credit the following persons, as I steal from only the best sources:

· Mike Yamiolkoski, from whose story “The Next Step” I unashamedly and without hesitation or moral qualm stole the idea for having Jane work as a window dresser at Cashman’s over her last summer before going to BFAC.

Kara Wild, who provided inspiration in her story, “That Thing You Say,” for Quinn’s screwing up of Jake’s platinum credit card while shopping; in her story, “Andrea Speaks!” for a tidbit about Andrea’s potential family life; and, in her story “Shipped Out!” for the bit about Daria’s class having to learn Othello from Mr. O’Neill at Lawndale High. Apologies also to Kara, as I promised I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Quinn, but—oh, well.
barmor9292 (alt.tv.daria) for the idea about Andrea doing a webcomic. Cool.
Galen Hardesty, who reminded me of a “medieval” comment that I added.
The wonderful fanfic authors who are (I pray) good sports about involuntarily contributing ideas from their “Daria” works to scene #52. Please don’t hurt me.

INT: Interior scene

EXT: Exterior scene

VO: Voice over (off screen)

* * * * *

THURSDAY EVENING

Part One: Children of the Lenses

(a.k.a., A Tale of Two Sisters, or, I Know What You Did This Summer)

* * * * *

1. EXT: FOGGY EVENING, AN OLD CEMETERY IN LAWNDALE

Low mist clings to the ground in the graveyard, the headstones and monuments peeking above the fog in the evening light. Daria Morgendorffer, wearing a black, full-length robe, walks silently between the rows of graves. Her head is bowed, and her hands, clasped before her, hold a white rose. She slows to a stop before one large headstone, on which can be seen the following inscription: Jane Lane / Death be not proud, though some have called thee / Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so . . . / Requiescat in pace.

Daria drops to her knees on the ground before the marker, wiping her eyes with one hand. With infinite care, she sets the white rose upright against the gravestone, then lowers her head in prayer, eyes closed.

Moments later, just to her right side, a skeletal hand rises from the misty ground. It reaches for Daria’s right knee and suddenly clamps down on it. Daria sits still for a moment more, then absently reaches over with her right hand and pats the skeletal hand in a familiar way. After a moment, she belches loudly.

DARIA: [eyes still closed] Excuse me. That was the orange soda speaking.

JANE: [VO, nearby] Thanks loads, Carrie.

We pull back and see more of the cemetery—and Jane Lane, stepping back from a video camera on a tripod, about twenty feet from Daria.

DARIA: [surprised whisper] Jane? Is that you? What’s it like on the other side?

JANE: [turns off camera] It’s sort of like Omaha, only less exciting. I’ll have to edit out that burp.

DARIA: [opens eyes] Maybe you can turn it into a wild scream of insane terror.

JANE: Not with that ho-hum look on your face. I’ll just end with a freeze-frame of you holding hands with the dead me. That was good enough.

Daria removes the skeletal hand from her knee, gets up, and brushes her robes off. Jane walks over to Daria, reaches down, and pulls a stone-colored plastic covering from the gravestone in front of Daria, revealing an entirely different name and legend underneath on the real headstone. Daria reaches down and picks up the skeletal hand, attached to a motor mechanism with a battery.

DARIA: Instead of burping, I should have had you pick my nose. [raises skeleton’s hand to her face]

JANE: [quickly takes skeletal hand from Daria] I’d rather not explain the boogers to the costume rental shop, thank you very much. They were paranoid enough about loaning this to me. Don’t want to endanger my second job, no matter how much I hate it. I need all the money I can get right now.

DARIA: You think this multimedia thing is going to wow them into letting you get into BFAC early? I’ve never heard of anyone being let into college a semester early at this late a date.

JANE: [putting skeletal hand in a small carrying case] It can’t hurt. Maybe someone will change colleges or move to Australia or something, and I’ll be next in line. I sure don’t want to hang around Lawndale any longer than I have to, and I’d rather get into classes this fall than wait until next spring. [straightens up] Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get lonely in Boston with no one to annoy you on the weekends.

DARIA: [takes off the robes, wears her usual green jacket and black skirt underneath] I can always call Quinn and put her on speakerphone.

JANE: Yeah, but that lacks a personal touch. Plus, there’s the phone bill.

DARIA: She could call me instead.

JANE: Your parents would strangle her when the bill arrived.

DARIA: [deadpan] Okay, so your point is . . .?

JANE: [sighs] C’mon. I need to get the camera back to the rental shop before it closes, then get the tape developed and digitized. This had better work. If I can’t convert this film to a digital file, my project is massively screwed.

2. EXT: AT THIS MOMENT, SECLUDED SPOT NEAR OLD CEMETERY

As Daria and Jane leave the cemetery, Quinn Morgendorffer lowers a camera with a telephoto lens, watching them go. She stands about a hundred yards from the other girls. Quinn looks as she always does, though a pair of stylish sunglasses is pushed up over her forehead. Her quizzical expression also reflects a bit of revulsion.

QUINN: [to herself] Jane must be making a horror movie. Eeewwww. Wouldn’t get me to run around in a cemetery, especially not wearing those dork-alert graduation robes with no trim or belt or necklaces or anything. Gold would have been nice with her autumn complexion. Maybe copper with some jade. [sniffs] If anyone saw me wearing that nerdy get-up, they’d think I was . . . I was . . . [long pause] Huh.

Deep in thought, Quinn watches Daria and Jane walk out of sight.

QUINN: [to herself] If she was me, and I was her . . . what would Daria do? [pause, frowns] If one of us felt the other really deserved it.

A wicked grin crosses Quinn’s lips. She quickly puts her camera into its shoulder-strap carrying case and walks back to her car, the Morgendorffer’s SUV, parked nearby.

QUINN: [cheery] Quickie Photo, here I come.

* * * * *

FRIDAY MORNING

Part Two: Saving Private Morgendorffer

(a.k.a.: Looking for Mister Good-dad, or, Something Quinn Did This Way Comes)

* * * * *

3. INT: EARLY MORNING, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

Jake and Helen Morgendorffer sit at the table, having breakfast before leaving for work. Jake reads his newspaper while Helen reads a thick legal brief. They are content in their separate worlds. Quinn (not a morning person, even in summer) walks into the kitchen in her bathrobe and bedclothes, a small packet in hand, and looks in the refrigerator.

JAKE: [brief look up from paper] ‘Morning, kiddo! TGIF! Get your nature photos developed from last night’s expedition?

QUINN: [head stuck in refrigerator] Landscaping photos, Daddy. My friends and I are discussing homes now, not so much actual people-fashions anymore. We have to open up new horizons and all that.

JAKE: [head in newspaper] Landscaping, good stuff. Garden gnomes, concrete deer, those wooden birds with the whirling wings that go in different directions—God knows how they managed to do that. Science! [shakes head at paper]

QUINN: Whatever. [exits refrigerator with several items in her arms, sets them on kitchen table] Is this the diet egg salad? Good. Anyway, I got pictures of something else. Something you won’t believe.

HELEN: [focused on legal brief] That’s wonderful, dear.

QUINN: [assembling her brunch] I saw Daria when I was out last night.

JAKE: [to newspaper] Um-hmm.

QUINN: She was in a graveyard.

HELEN: [underlines something in legal brief] That’s nice.

QUINN: She was wearing black robes and doing some kind of cult thing, I think. Sacrificing baby animals to demons or something. It was hard to tell.

JAKE: [turns page] Mmm-hmm.

QUINN: [opens packet, takes out several photos, tosses them on the table between her parents] There she is.

Quinn picks up her glass of milk and waits patiently. After a pause, Helen and Jake look up from their reading, eye the photos for a second, then go back to their reading with a smile. They do a panicked double take one-half second later. Both of them jump to their feet, banging into the table and upsetting their coffee and cereal, and they stare down at Quinn’s photos in undiluted horror. Quinn calmly puts her milk down on the table again.

BOTH HELEN AND JAKE: [shouting] Daria!

HELEN: Oh, my baby!

JAKE: Oh, my God!

With a bland look, Quinn spoons diet egg salad onto a slice of bread.

HELEN: [hysterical] This is all my fault! She’s probably cried out for help a thousand times, and I put her on call waiting!

JAKE: [looks up angrily, shakes fist at ceiling] This is all your fault, Dad! You robbed me of a happy childhood and destroyed my potential as a parent! I hope you’re happy, you rotten bastard!

QUINN: Hey, do we have any of those low-fat potato chips? You know, the ruffly ones?

JAKE: We have to do something before she starts mutilating horses and leaving little stick figures outside camping tents! But what, oh God, what?

HELEN: [hands pressed to the sides of her head] I should look in the phone book under “deprogrammers.” Maybe there’s one with weekend rates.

QUINN: [looks around kitchen] I was sure we had some low-fat chips around here. [gets up to look in cabinets]

JAKE: [looks down at newspaper he dropped on the table] Wait! Helen, look at this! A father-daughter togetherness seminar starts tonight at the Lawndale Plaza Hotel! The “Lawndale Princesses Weekend”! I still have a chance to bring Daria back into the light before she goes to college! Thank God! [shakes fist at ceiling] Screw you, old man! You’ll never ruin my kids the way you ruined me!

HELEN: [glancing at Quinn, loud whisper to Jake] Dear, maybe you should take Quinn, too, in case—

QUINN: [whirls, startled] No! Wait! Mom, Dad, I’m fine! Cemeteries are so yucky and gross, how could you think I’d go there? If Daria needs help, you should, like, focus your energies entirely on her, right?

JAKE: You’re right. Damn it! How could evil like this creep into our own home, right under our noses? What the hell’s the FBI doing all day, anyway? Where are my tax dollars going? Lousy federal government!

QUINN: [thoughtful] You know, of course, it will be like horribly lonely for me this weekend, with Daddy gone and Mom at work and Daria getting all that attention and everything, and probably dinners out, and like maybe souvenirs and clothes and magazines and—

HELEN: [hardly paying attention] Of course, dear. [reaches for pocketbook on the table]

JAKE: [still stunned] Certainly. [reaches into pocket for wallet]

QUINN: [voice quavering and faint] I just don’t want to feel like I’m second best and maybe have to go kill goats or wear black or whatever it is that depressed Satanists do to feel better, you know?

Helen and Jake blindly hand Quinn wads of cash. She takes it all and stuffs it in her bathrobe pockets.

QUINN: [joyful] Thank you! I knew you really cared! [goes back to looking in cabinets]

JAKE: [whispers] We’ll have to talk to Daria right away.

HELEN: [whispers] I think she’s still asleep!

JAKE: [louder] Or is she? She could be communing with infernal powers this very second! [shakes fist angrily at ceiling] You wouldn’t get me out of military school, but I’m pulling my daughter out of your dark academy of sin, Generalissimo Dad-zilla!

Helen and Jake rush from the kitchen. Alone, Quinn pulls a large sack of potato chips from the cabinet.

QUINN: Here we go. [reads lettering on bag closely] No-fat ruffly chips, with . . . ole . . . olestra. Yup. “No fat” is where it’s at.

Quinn returns to her seat and opens the bag.

QUINN: [pouring chips on her plate] This will settle accounts for the rude little tale that you wrote about me on the Internet. [takes bite of a chip, smiles in contentment] Dear sister of mine . . . you taught me so well.

4. INT: TWO MINUTES LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

A long shape about the size of a teenage girl lies under a sheet in Daria’s bed. Her room looks much as shown in The Daria Diaries, only with more stuff: a computer at a small work station and large book shelves (jammed with books) on the wall by her door (with a Kafka poster), and other items named below. A VCR unit rests under a television set on a mobile cart.

A knock is heard from the door. The lump under the sheets doesn’t move. The knock repeats and gets louder. No movement. The doorknob twists, but it is locked. After a moment, the doorknob rattles, the lock in the knob pops out, and the door opens quietly. Helen peeks in, pocketing a bent-up paperclip.

HELEN: [softly] Daria? Are you awake?

DARIA: [under sheet, muffled] No. [low voice] Forgot the deadbolt again. Damn it.

HELEN: [enters room with Jake right behind her, sweetly] How are you doing this morning?

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] Mom, I promise to e-mail a complete report to you in a couple hours. Can I get back to my research now?

Helen turns and motions to Jake to go around Daria’s room. He nods quickly and starting looking around, obviously searching for something, picking up things and sometimes stepping on or tripping over them.

Aside from furniture and padded walls, Daria’s room currently contains: realistic replicas of human bones and skulls on the center carpet; a large wall poster of a partially unearthed human skeleton; another large wall poster showing the different levels of Dante’s Inferno, showing graphic depictions of the sufferings of the damned, with many small yellow sticky-pad notes stuck all over it on which are written the names of many currently famous people; a microscope on the floor with slides labeled “E. coli” and “E. coli mutations w/ radiation”; videos with titles like Horrifying Spectacular Disasters Caught Live on Video: Volume XXIV, Cannibal Rituals Revealed! and Alien Autopsy: The Director’s Cut; a print-out of a friendly e-mail sent to Daria by Rhonda, an axe-murderess (who appears to know Daria quite well), writing from a place called Kinsington Prison; an incomplete short story entitled, “Why I’m Not Sorry That I Made the Sun Go Nova”; books with titles like When Bad Things Happen to People Who Deserve It, Barbaric Practices Everyone Can Enjoy, and A Layman’s Guide to Soviet Thermonuclear Weapons; and plastic models of a human heart, a B-2 Stealth bomber, and a Visible Woman with most of its internal organs scattered around its feet. A small plastic rat sits in the Visible Woman’s empty abdomen, peering out.

Jake sees all of the above but ignores it, instead looking for something else.

HELEN: [turns back to Daria, sweetly] What research are you doing?

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] Controlled nightmare generation. Oddly, it seems to be working even when I’m awake. Like now, for instance.

HELEN: [distracted] That’s wonderful. We’re very proud of you. [looks around room] Listen, your father and I have to hurry out to work in a few moments, but we want to tell you about a special event that’s going on tonight. You’re going away this fall, and, you know, we’re all going to miss you, even Quinn, I’m sure, but your father . . . he, um—

Helen breaks off, seeing Jake gesture wildly at her. He’s picked up a paperback book he found on the floor under a pile of Daria’s used clothing: Stephen King’s Needful Things. A library’s Dewey decimal tag is taped to the spine, but it falls off as Jake’s fingers bump against it. Helen looks horrified to see the book.

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] What are you guys doing?

HELEN: [hands covering mouth, her worst fears confirmed] Uh, eh, ah—

Jake quickly gives the Stephen King book to Helen, who hurries out of the room with it, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger.

JAKE: [forced joviality] Kiddo, you’re in luck tonight! We’re going to a once-in-a-lifetime event, just you and me!

DARIA: [under the sheet, muffled] Dad, I have plans tonight. Jane needs my help on—

JAKE: But this is just the two of us, kiddo! You and me! Daria and her dad! We’re going to a really great seminar over at the Lawndale Plaza Hotel—

Daria pulls the sheet back from her face. She has no glasses on, and her hair is a mess.

DARIA: [squinting at Jake] Dad, you didn’t join Amway, did you?

JAKE: [nervous laugh] Ha! Always the kidder! That’s why you’re such a great kid, you always—

DARIA: [flops back on bed, stares at ceiling] Oh, damn it—you did join Amway.

JAKE: [still nervous] Oh, no, I didn’t, don’t worry about that. Your old man is signing us both up for a weekend away at a father-daughter seminar right here in Lawndale! It’s the “Lawndale Princesses Weekend”! You and me, kiddo! Morgendorffer and Morgendorffer! We’re going to renew our family bonds, be one with the Force, turn aside the powers of darkness and evil—[coughs]—and have a wild time doing it! Whaddya say?

DARIA: [covers eyes with an arm] I’m sorry, I guess Amway wasn’t so bad. Do I have to sell stuff, too?

JAKE: Ha, ha! Great! I’ll close the office early, and we’ll head out to the hotel at five. Jake and his Lawndale Princess! I can’t wait! [hurries out, closing door behind him]

DARIA: [pause, to self] I know I have sinned, and I do regret it, except maybe for the fun parts, and anything involving Quinn, so that’s, what, about ninety percent of my sins—but as divine punishments go for the other ten percent, this one is really way out of—

JAKE: [opens door again, pokes head inside] My oldest Lawndale Princess, of course. You, I mean. Quinn would be my youngest Lawndale Princess. I wasn’t implying—

DARIA: [deadpan] I have to shower and change, Dad.

JAKE: [panicked] Bye! [shuts door]

Daria lies still for a few moments, groans, then rolls over and pulls the sheet over her head again.

5. EXT: A SHORT WHILE LATER, BACK YARD, MORGENDORFFER HOME

Helen and Jake have set up the barbecue grill by the back door, and Jack is pouring lighter fluid over the Stephen King book. Helen holds a book of matches.

JAKE: [very stressed] I bet this is what turned her soul to demon worship! Damn Stephen King! Let’s see how a paperback about Satan working in small-town retail holds up against the fires of righteousness! [stops pouring lighter fluid, to Helen] Do you think we should we hire an exorcist?

HELEN: No time! [lights match, throws it on book, which burns merrily] Back to Hell!

JAKE: [looks up, shakes fist at the sky with grim delight] I win, Dad! Her soul is free! Go pedal your perverted papers in some other suburb!

6. INT: SAME MOMENT, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

Quinn looks out the window in disbelief, watching her mother and father burn a paperback book on the backyard grill. Helen and Jake jump up and down, arms raised, cheering as the book turns to ash.

QUINN: [low voice] I wish to God they’d never taken drugs in the Sixties.

With a sad sigh, she turns to go. Quinn is still in her bathrobe and nightclothes, and she holds the “No Fat” potato-chip bag she was eating from earlier. She shakes the bag, notices that it is empty, and drops it into the kitchen wastebasket. She then looks in the cabinet, gets another sack (sour cream and onion), and walks off elsewhere in the house.

7. INT: TWO HOURS LATER, DARIA’S BEDROOM, MORGENDORFFER HOME

On one side of a split screen, Daria sits on her bed, talking on the phone. She’s dressed in her usual clothing, glasses on, drying her damp hair with a towel. On the other side of the screen, Jane sits in her room, phone on her shoulder, flipping through the pages of a manual: Advanced Photo/Video Digitization for Idiots.

DARIA: On top of all that, I can’t find this Stephen King book that’s due back at the library today. I thought I left it in my room, but it’s gone. That caps off my Friday, and it’s barely even started yet.

JANE: [looks up from manual] Well, there are worse things than being taken to an all-expenses-paid father-daughter togetherness weekend at a posh hotel.

DARIA: Name one.

JANE: [slow intake of breath] Not being taken.

DARIA: [pause] Oh.

JANE: You know what I would give to—oh, forget it. Sorry I said it. Listen, just go and be thankful your dad gives a damn. Some don’t. Good thing I’m not bitter.

DARIA: Maybe Trent could take you.

JANE: Nah, he’d never let me gray his hair. And I have to do window dressings at Cashman’s tonight and tomorrow night. And we don’t have any money left anyway. On top of that, I’m still having trouble with this stupid project. [flips book shut] I do wish you were here to help. I don’t know squat about computers, except that they’re all evil.

DARIA: Mind if I call now and then?

JANE: Call me whenever you want, as often as you want, as long as you want. I’ll need the breaks, along with any computer advice you can spare.

DARIA: Done. Good luck.

JANE: Yeah. I could use that.

DARIA: Bye.

JANE: Bye.

They hang up. The split screen turns into a single screen, showing Jane sitting at her desk. She puts an elbow on the computer workstation next to her and covers her face with that hand, looking tired and a little depressed.

JANE: [to self, glum] Father-daughter weekend. [sigh] Daria, you are so damn lucky.

8. INT: A SHORT WHILE LATER, KITCHEN, MORGENDORFFER HOME

Daria enters the kitchen to make breakfast for herself. She finds a note on the refrigerator: Daria—Do not eat the fat-free chips! There are only enough for me! Just eat the fat chips and other stuff. Thanks! Quinn.

DARIA: [deadpan] Always looking out for me.

Daria drops the note in the trashcan, then goes to the sink to get a glass of water. She looks out the window as she does, and frowns. She can see the grill out in the back yard, with a book-sized pile of black ash on it. She shrugs and looks in the refrigerator, pulling out the orange juice. The phone rings, and she picks it up while pouring herself a glass. The following conversation starts in three-way split-screen, between Daria in the kitchen, Quinn in her room upstairs (eating potato chips), and Helen at her legal office.

DARIA: Morgendorffers.

QUINN: I’ve got the phone! Hang up, Daria!

HELEN: Quinn, I called to talk to Daria. You hang up.

QUINN: Muuuh-ooom! I’m expecting a very important—

HELEN: Now.

QUINN: Oh, all right. Five minutes. [hangs up, disappears from split screen]

DARIA: [putting orange juice away] I think we’re alone now.

HELEN: Daria, listen. Your father’s picking you up at five tonight. You and he each have a small suitcase for the weekend, so pack light. No “Family Court” tonight, of course.

DARIA: [deadpan] Out of idle curiosity, am I being punished for something bad I did?

HELEN: [caught off guard] Ah, eh, no, dear, of course not. Whatever gave you that silly idea?

DARIA: You and Dad are sending me away without warning or explanation to a father-daughter bonding seminar designed to make me a better person—but Quinn’s not going with us.

HELEN: Oh, Daria, we’ve nothing to hide! We, uh, um, just thought it, uh, would be nice for you and your dad to, um, you know, get out and bond, and, uh, talk about, um, what you’ve been doing lately, where you’ve been, anything that you might want to tell us that could be important later in a legal, moral, or spiritual sense, before it gets into the newspapers and all over town, that sort of thing.

DARIA: I’m not having sex, Mom.

HELEN: [quickly] Oh, of course not! [laughs loudly in relief] What a ridiculous idea!

DARIA: [really stung] Thanks a lot. [pause until Helen stops laughing so hard] Spill it, Mom. What’s going on?

HELEN: [quickly] I’ll let Jake talk with you about that. It’s his weekend—his and yours, I mean. He can talk about it. I’m swamped here.

DARIA: Am I being sold to a child-labor factory in Asia? Or is Quinn being sold? I can handle it if it’s Quinn.

HELEN: [peeved] Daria, your sense of humor is almost demoni—[gasps]—I mean, it’s just awful. Behave yourself, do what you have to do to get ready for the weekend, and don’t, uh, do anything that, uh, the neighbors might take badly if they saw you do it in public.

DARIA: [looking out the window at the grill] Like animal sacrifices, you mean?

HELEN: [gasps] Daria! Please, no! Think of your family! Wait, I’ve got another call coming in.

Helen punches a button on her cell phone and vanishes from the split screen, leaving Daria only.

DARIA: Hey, before you go, have you seen my library book? It was Stephen King’s . . . hello? Mom?

With a sigh, Daria hangs up the phone.

DARIA: [to self] I’m going to write a book about this someday. Too bad that “Hell House” is already taken for a title.

9. INT: MID-AFTERNOON, JAKE’S CONSULTING BUSINESS OFFICE

Looking nervous, Jake uses his business phone at his desk. He holds the newspaper clipping about the father-daughter seminar. Beside him on the desk is a pad of paper and a pencil.

JAKE: [reading article aloud] “Every father should know the following things about his daughter. . . .” [anxious expression] I better get a professional opinion. [dials phone]

The phone call (to Jane) is shown in split screen. Jane is in her room at her family’s home, working on her desktop computer. The monitor shows a still frame from the video movie Jane shot of Daria the night before, with Daria kneeling on the grave in her black robes. The image, however, is reversed out like a photonegative. Jane still has the manual on her lap, with bookmarks stuck all through it.

JANE: [not looking away from the monitor] Trent? Trent! The phone! Oh, forget it.

She picks up the handset on the ringing phone beside her.

JANE: [to phone] Yo. Lanes.

JAKE: [shaky voice] Hi, Jake Morgendorffer. Is Jane Lane in, please?

JANE: [frowns at computer monitor, taps keys] Speaking. Hi, Mister Morgendorffer.

JAKE: Jane! Yeah, this is Daria’s dad. How’s it going?

JANE: [taps a few more keys] Okay, I guess. Computer troubles. What’s up?

JAKE: Great! Say, Jane, I’m taking Daria to a father-daughter seminar at the Lawndale Plaza Hotel this weekend, but not because there’s anything dreadfully wrong, you understand. It’s just that I want to talk with her about her life and the direction she’s going and the directions she should avoid, like turning to animal or human sacrifice or summoning demons or falling under the spell of unspeakable evil or—

JANE: [leans back in her seat, still looking at monitor] Everyone needs a hobby.

JAKE: A hobby? [panicked] Oh, my God! You’re saying she’s—oh! I get it! [forced laugh] Anyway, I was just thinking that it would be good to know a little more about her, and seeing as you’re Daria’s best friend, if not her only—

JANE: [looks away from monitor to random spot in her room] You know the rules. Maximum of three questions. No betrayals. Immunity from prosecution.

JAKE: Right! [pause] Eh, what—[consults list]—does your child—Daria, what does Daria think her strongest point is?

JANE: [frowns] Are you reading from something?

JAKE: [startled, drops list] What? Oh, no, of course not! Ha, ha! What a kidder! No, I—

JANE: What does she think her strongest point is? Her integrity.

JAKE: [confused] Her what? I thought it would be her intelligence. She’s smarter than I am! She can—

JANE: It wouldn’t mean anything without integrity. She really prides herself on that.

JAKE: [shrugs, writes this down on notepad] Her . . . do you spell that with an “e” or an “i” at the end?

JANE: I-n-t-e-g-r-i-t-y. Third question?

JAKE: Third? I’ve asked only one!

JANE: You also asked how to spell “integrity.”

JAKE: [panicked] I’ll pay! Jane, I swear! I need another question! Don’t make me beg!

JANE: Twenty bucks. I’ll be by this afternoon to collect.

JAKE: Done! Yes! Okay, now, uh—[bends down to read list on the floor]—what does y—Daria want to be when she grows up?

JANE: [incredulous] She IS grown up!

JAKE: I mean, when she gets out of college! What does she want to do when she gets out of college? That kind of grown up!

JANE: Mmm, that’s hard to say, but she loves to write. Whatever else she does, she’ll probably be a writer, too. She’s very good at it.

JAKE: Writer. [pause to write this down] Okay, great. I thought that might be it. We’re getting somewhere. Thank God. No more animal sacrifi—[coughs to cover up] Yes, uh, my last question is—

JANE: [startled, frowns] What did you say about animal—

JAKE: [interrupts loudly, stooping to read list on floor again] What is Daria’s most cherished dream?

JANE: [hesitates] Her most cherished dream. Huh. Lately, she’s talked a lot about restarting the Inquisition under a new set of guidelines, but I’d have to say—

JAKE: Inquisition. Inquis—damn it, I’ll have to look that up.

JANE: No, don’t bother. Listen, she and I talk about this a lot. Daria wants everyone to be honest. A lot of things bug her, but what bugs her most is when people aren’t honest with themselves or with others. That drives her crazy.

JAKE: [look of disbelief] Are you sure? Being honest? Well, I guess I can see that. It does sound sort of strange—well, not really strange, like summoning the undead, but—anyway, I mean—

JANE: Look, you remember a few months ago when she crawled in that refrigerator carton and wouldn’t come out until you told her about the fight you and your wife had when Daria was little? The fight about why Daria was so different from other kids?

JAKE: [stunned] She told you about that?

JANE: Well, of course she did! I’m her best friend. That’s why you’re calling me to find out what’s she’s like instead of asking her yourself.

JAKE: [pause, chastened] Um, oh. Yeah.

JANE: Once you were honest with her about what really happened, she was fine, right? That’s all you had to do. If you lie to her or deny something really happened, she goes ballistic. She wants people to be honest. She’s smart enough to know when people are lying or covering up. Lots of things annoy her, but nothing burns her like dishonesty. It goes with that integrity thing.

JAKE: [silent for a moment] Um, okay. That was three. I’ll have the twenty ready when—

JANE: Wait a sec. Mister Morgendorffer, I’ll be honest with you, too. When we started this three-questions thing, I fully expected you’d ask me something like, oh, what’s Daria weigh, or what’s her favorite food, or something like that. Don’t take this the wrong way, but what you asked was really different. It showed me that you really care about her. It goes against all my principals, but forget about the twenty. Keep it. Spend it on Daria instead at the seminar this weekend. Do that, and we’ll be even.

JAKE: [face brightens, relieved] Uh, okay. I will. Thanks, Jane! You’ve been a big help!

JANE: Great. Now, I have a question for you. What’s all this stuff you were saying about animal sacrifices and summoning the undead and unspeakable—

JAKE: [panicked] Gottacallontheotherlinebye! [hangs up fast, vanishes from split screen]

JANE: [stares at handset in confusion] What the hell . . .?

* * * * *

FRIDAY EVENING

Part Three: Night of the Living Dad

(a.k.a.: My Dinner with Angry, or, The Good, the Bad, and the Upchuck)

* * * * *

10. INT: EARLY EVENING, LOBBY OF LAWNDALE PLAZA HOTEL

Daria and Jake come into the lobby through the revolving doors in front. Jake pulls two small wheeled suitcases behind him.

JAKE: [stops, happily looks around lobby for main desk] Nice place! Hey, kiddo, there’s a long line at the desk, so have a seat and I’ll get the room keys. Got us a two-bedroom suite with a kitchenette, two bathrooms, a full refrigerator, and TVs in every room!

DARIA: [deadpan] Cable or satellite?

JAKE: Satellite! Six thousand channels! Nothing but the best for my Lawndale Princess!

DARIA: [faint smile] Houston, we’re go for launch. [smile fades] They still could’ve picked a better name for this outing than the Princesses thing. Lawndale Bloodthirsty Medusas, maybe, or Lawndale Crazed Psycho Chicks, or—

JAKE: [nervous, starts to leave] Ah, sure, great ideas, kiddo! I better get those keys!

DARIA: No problem. I brought some light reading.

JAKE: Great! [heads off] Just hope they didn’t screw anything up and put us in a broom closet. Man, I hate these overgrown impersonal bureaucracies!

DARIA: [watches him go, softly] Which, of course, is why you choose to work with them for a living.

Daria shrugs and looks around the lobby. She notices that the main dining room for the hotel is actually a large section of the lobby, surrounded by planters and potted trees and shrubs. Her attention is caught by a sign that reads, “Weekender Special! Need a special getaway place for someone special? Ask about our Friday-Monday Weekender Rates!” In small print is: “Renter and all guests must be 18 or older. No refunds.”

DARIA: [to self] A no-tell hotel. Do tell. Anything for a buck these days.

Seeing nothing else of interest, Daria then takes a seat on a bench behind a row of decorative bushes and small trees. She is completely blocked from view to anyone coming in the hotel’s main doors. She pulls a paperback book (Best Short Slasher Fiction of the Twentieth Century) from an inside pocket in her jacket and begins to read.

Behind her, Jodie Landon comes in through the main revolving door. A moment later, “Mack” MacKenzie hurries across the lobby to greet her, wearing his school jacket.

MACK: Hey! Glad you could make it! [reaches out to hug her]

JODIE: [backpedals, holds up hand, face tense] Mack, wait a minute.

Daria hears their voices and puts her book aside, preparing to stand up and greet her friends.

MACK: I got the room. Just the two of us in our secret love nest.

Eyes wide, Daria immediately sits down again, scrunching up behind the shrubbery to avoid being seen.

JODIE: [soft but firm voice] Mack, listen to me. I came down here only to talk to you, nothing else. I’m not very good at saying things like this, so just listen to me. Okay?

MACK: What? Something come up? The room’s good for the weekend, no refunds, and we’ve had this planned for—

JODIE: Mack, nothing’s come up that hasn’t come up a hundred times already since graduation.

MACK: Jodie, what are you talking about? Look, we can talk up in—

JODIE: No. I can’t stay.

MACK: What?

JODIE: It’s over, Mack.

Daria listens, frozen in place.

MACK: Jodie, honey, please—

JODIE: Listen to me! You and I are friends. We’ve always been friends.

MACK: What? [loud whisper] We’ve been a lot more than friends!

JODIE: Mack, please. We’ve shared so much, but we always knew we were heading in different directions. Let me say this, please!

MACK: What are you talking about? We’re not going to be that far apart, Jodie. Vance University’s only a day’s drive from Turner U! We can still—

JODIE: It’s not that! [deep breath] I want to be free. I’m so confused lately about what I want in life. When we graduated, I thought I knew where I was going with everything, but I need some breathing space. I’ve been thinking about the two of us for weeks now, and we—we aren’t going down the same road, Mack. We’re not. [pause] I want to see what else life has for me. We have to go our separate ways. It’s going to happen when we got to college, and we may as well face it now. We never were meant for each other for the rest of our lives. [pause] Mack, it’s over.

MACK: [gasps] Jodie!

JODIE: We’ve talked about this a hundred times! You knew we weren’t going to be together forever! That was high school. This is life!

MACK: [agonized] Jodie . . . I love you.

Daria closes her eyes and grimaces in sympathetic pain.

MACK: After everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve done for you, please—

JODIE: [upset, voice breaking] I have to go. I’m sorry, but it’s over, Mack. I’ll always be your friend, but that’s . . . I have to go.

MACK: But you said you were so lucky to have—wait! Jodie!

JODIE: [leaving, verge of tears] Goodbye!

Jodie leaves quickly through the revolving door, wiping her eyes as she goes. Mack stands in the lobby in shock. He takes a few steps toward the door, looks out after Jodie, then steps back. His face is blank with disbelief. His hands fall to his sides. Dazed, he slowly turns and walks back across the lobby and out of sight.

Daria opens her eyes and sighs heavily, looking sad. She picks up her paperback but cannot get interested in it.

Behind her, Brittany Taylor comes through the revolving door. She wears the same yellow-and-blue outfit as always. She looks around the lobby for someone. Moments later, Kevin Thompson (still wearing his Lawndale High School football uniform) hurries across the lobby to her.

KEVIN: Hey, babe! Glad you could make it!

BRITTANY: [anxious, low voice] Kevvy, I don’t know if this is really a good idea.

Hearing their voices, Daria gets a severely pained look on her face. She tries to focus on her book, scrunching down in her seat.

KEVIN: I got a room for the two of us, babe. It’ll be just like the old days.

BRITTANY: Wow, like, we never did it in a hotel. Under the bleachers, in your car, in the locker room, in the janitor’s room, in every closet in your house and every park in town, yeah, but never in a hotel. Not a nice hotel like this one, anyway. Probably no crawly things in the sheets here.

KEVIN: [wicked leer] Except for me, of course!

BRITTANY: Wait. Kevvy, listen to me.

KEVIN: We can talk later. Let’s let looove talk now. Let’s put Mister Gopher back inside his happy burrow!

Daria flinches and scrunches down in her seat even further, the paperback pressed right up to her face.

BRITTANY: [upset] Kevin, that’s just rude! Please listen to me! Something about this isn’t right. We have to think about our futures, you know?

KEVIN: Hey, I am thinking about our future. It’s on the fifth floor in room five thirteen.

BRITTANY: I mean our big futures! Like, you remember in class when they talked about that philosophy stuff, and it, like, made my head hurt so much I had to take my PMS pills? That kind of future, Kevvy.

KEVIN: Baby, look, it wasn’t my fault I didn’t graduate. It’s the stupid teachers. They’re jealous of me. They’re jealous of my athletic prow—prown—’cause I can throw a football, and they suck at it. They’re jealous because I’ve got you!

BRITTANY: But Kevvy, I’m going away to Great Prairie State in a couple months, and that’s a long way from here, even though on the map it isn’t that far, only four inches, maybe. We’ll be apart for weeks and weeks. [leans forward, low voice] Things can happen, you know?

KEVIN: [low, husky whisper] I’ve got four inches that’ll take you all the way to paradise, babe.

Daria instantly puts her book aside and clamps both hands tightly over her ears, eyes shut and teeth clenched.

BRITTANY: [looks around, whispers] Shhh! Not here, Kevvy!

KEVIN: Please, baby. Look, we can have dinner or something first and talk about it. They’ve got burgers and fries here on the kids’ menu.

BRITTANY: [groans, weakening] Any pizza?

KEVIN: [grins in triumph] Bitchin’ pizza. Cheese, I think.

BRITTANY: [sighs] Well, maybe a little pizza would be okay. So we can talk. We gotta talk, Kevvy.

KEVIN: [relieved] Great, baby! Then maybe for dessert we can have some of that great Brittany pie!

BRITTANY: Kevin! [smacks him on the arm]

Kevin and Brittany leave. After a few moments, Daria removes one hand, hears nothing more, and sits up again, opening her eyes and sighing deeply. She sits for a moment, appearing exhausted, then reaches over and picks up her book. She forces herself to read it, frowning hard.

Behind her, Andrea of the unknown last name (in her usual Goth outfit) comes through the revolving doors. Hurrying across the lobby, Charles Ruttheimer III (Upchuck) comes up to greet her, in his usual school outfit.

UPCHUCK: [in peak form, takes Andrea in his arms] Ah, my vampiric vixen, my queen of darkness, my Hoth-eyed beauty!