I'll page you with the number.
He drives off. Ricky checks his pager, still furtively
scanning the street.
EXT. JESSICA'S HOUSE - BLACKBURN - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
Bobby pulls up in front of the quaint Spanish Colonial two-
flat. He bounds up the stairs to the upper unit.
INT. JESSICA'S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS
He lets himself in, searching for his girlfriend. The
apartment is Z-Gallery, with a few accents of Bobby's
Where were you?
He finds her in the bedroom. JESSICA is a knockout. Too
pretty. The pretty that makes a woman a full-time job. What's
worse is she's decked out like a whore. She's wearing slutty
lingerie covered by a bland terry cloth bathrobe. Her
ridiculously long legs are garnished with candy-apple porn
star sky high heels. Bobby watches with cultivated patience
as she applies tasteless amounts of make-up from a Mac case
the size of a tackle box. She's in a hurry.
So, what kind of gig is this?