Love Blooms Later

THE GALA GHOST INT. VANE FOUNDATION GALA - MAIN BALLROOM - NIGHT A sea of tuxedos and couture. Waiters glide with trays of champagne. The room hums with the sound of polite, fake laughter. MAYA CHEN (30) stands in a corner, wearing a "stealth" black jumpsuit, hovering over a portable ironing board. She is pinning a hem on a vintage 1950s silk dress. She looks like a surgeon in an operating room—intense, focused, and completely unbothered by the chaos around her. SLOANE (30), Maya’s best friend in a sequined disaster of a dress, leans in. She is holding a clipboard that reads "WEDDING GIGS." SLOANE (Whispering) Maya, you have to look up. Just once. Look at the room. It’s full of eligible bachelors. MAYA (Eyes glued to the hem) I’m looking at a 1952 Dior "New Look" that’s suffering from a hemline warp due to improper storage. If I look up, I might sneeze on it. SLOANE You’re at a billionaire’s charity gala, not a textile morgue. Live a little! What about that guy? The one in the navy suit by the ice sculpture? He’s been staring. MAYA He’s staring at the cheese platter, Sloane. He’s looking at the brie. SLOANE You’re impossible. You know, for a girl who claims she doesn’t "do" romance, you sure do spend a lot of time alone. MAYA I’m not alone. I’m with the fabric. We have a connection. Sloane sighs, defeated, and spots a potential client across the room. She struts away. Maya sighs, finally looking up. She takes in the crowd. MAYA (Muttering to herself) Why do they all look like they’re trying to solve a calculus problem with their eyebrows? She looks at her watch. *Almost done. Then I can go home, microwave a burrito, and watch old episodes of The Great British Bake Off. Suddenly, the crowd parts. JULIAN VANE (32) enters. He’s handsome in that generic, movie-star way, but he looks exhausted. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, but his tie is slightly loose. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. CROWD (V.O.) Mr. Vane! Over here! Julian! Julian puts on a fake smile, shakes a few hands, and then—spotting an exit route—starts walking briskly toward Maya’s corner. He’s holding a glass of red wine. Maya sees him coming. She steps back, protecting the dress. MAYA (Internal Monologue) Please don’t trip. Please don’t trip. Julian is looking over his shoulder at someone calling his name. He doesn’t look where he’s going. JULIAN (To Marcus, off-screen) I need a five-minute break, Marcus. Just five— THUD. Julian’s foot catches on the leg of the ironing board. He stumbles forward. JULIAN Whoa! The glass of Pinot Noir flies out of his hand. It arcs through the air in slow motion. MAYA NO. SPLASH. The red wine lands directly on the bodice of the pristine white 1950s Dior dress. It spreads instantly, a blooming flower of destruction. Silence falls over the corner. Julian looks at the dress. Then at Maya. Maya stares at the stain. Her eye twitches. JULIAN Oh my god. I am so sorry. I didn't see you there. Maya looks up at him. Her face is a mask of fury. MAYA You didn’t see the woman holding the glass of red liquid? Or the woman holding the fragile vintage garment? JULIAN I was distracted. Let me— He reaches out to touch the dress. Maya slaps his hand away. Hard. MAYA Don’t touch it! Do you know what tannins do to silk? It’s irreversible. This isn’t a dry-cleaning situation. This is a funeral. JULIAN (Stunned) I... I’ll pay for it. Whatever it costs. MAYA (Letting out a sharp, humorless laugh) "Whatever it costs." Right. Because money fixes everything. It fixes the carbon footprint of manufacturing a new one. It fixes the historical value of a piece that survived the 1950s. It fixes the fact that you are a clumsy man-child who treats the world like his personal obstacle course. Julian stares at her. He’sused to people curtsying or asking for selfies. This is new. JULIAN Man-child? MAYA (Stripping off her gloves) Yes. You, sir, are an entitled giraffe. Tall, expensive, and prone to knocking over things you don't understand. JULIAN (Amused despite himself) Entitled giraffe? MAYA I’m done here. The dress is ruined. I’m ruined. Goodbye. Maya grabs her bag, turns on her heel, and marches away, leaving a stunned Julian Vane holding an empty wine glass. JULIAN (To the empty room) Wait! I didn't even get your name!