The Dotted Line.
An Original Script By David Helm.

Scene 1.
We open in the reception area of an office. Plush red carpets, dark yet tasteful wall paper, and a desk. Sitting behind the desk is the receptionist. Smart, dark business suit and white blouse. The nameplate on the desk in front of her says her name is MELISSA. She is typing on the keyboard of her computer. She pays no attention to the group of young men sat- or rather slouched- on the couches in the main area of reception. These four could not be more contrasted to their surroundings- dark clothing, bandanas, knee-length shorts, boots. With their long hair and tattoos also, they look like a heavy metal band- which is exactly what they are, being the members of 8-BALL HAEMORRHAGE. Two of them are smoking, despite the “NO SMOKING” sign displayed above their heads. They are talking loudly amongst themselves, but MEL pays little attention to them, continuing to type. As she does, the buzzer on her desk goes off. She bends over the intercom and speaks inaudibly for several seconds. Then she looks up.
MEL: Mr. Hellman will see you now.
The band members get up from the sofas, one of them- hulking drummer RUSSELL “GRIZZLY” BURR- audibly cracking his knuckles as he does so. MEL winces. The men approach the desk, lead singer AXEL CAINE in the lead.
AXEL: (Smiling in a way he imagines to be charming) We can go in, finally, can we darling?
MEL nods, not looking up. AXEL waits for a couple of seconds to see if she will, then shrugs and walks past, gesturing to the rest of the band just exactly what he’d like to do to her. The others nod and grin, glancing back to MEL’S desk as they go through the door.
Scene 2.
We are now in the boss’s office. The carpet is so deep you sink five inches into it as you enter. The desk in the centre of the room appears to be carved out of whalebone, polished and varnished to within an inch of its life. Pictures adorn the walls of the boss shaking hands with assorted well-known faces. And sat behind the desk is the boss himself, NICK HELLMAN. He is about thirty-five years old, dark hair, tanned. His hair is spiked with a small lake’s worth of gel, the points so pronounced they look positively lethal. His teeth- blindingly white- resemble fangs. When he grins- which he does a lot- you can see nearly every single tooth.
HELLMAN: Guys! Great to finally meet you- always been a big fan.
He gestures for the band to sit down. The four men come in- AXEL swaggering in the lead, the other three behind him- and sit in the leather seats in front of HELLMAN’S desk. AXEL stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on HELLMAN’S desk as he sits down.
HELLMAN: Before we get going, can I offer anybody anything? I can get absolutely anything in here- say the word and I’ll have Mellie fetch it. Guys?
Three of the band members- GRIZZLY, bassist CURTIS WELLS and guitarist JAMES “GRINDER” GLENNON- shake their heads, CURTIS taking a little longer to make his mind up before reaching a decision. AXEL- perhaps inevitably- nods, pursing his lips.
AXEL: Anything?
HELLMAN nods.
AXEL: OK. Red absinthe. Get me a red absinthe.
He sits back in his chair, smirking.
HELLMAN nods again. He presses the intercom button on his desk, speaks into it for a couple of seconds- much as MEL did earlier- and then looks back up at the band.
HELLMAN: Sure there’s nothing that I can get for you guys?
GRINDER, GRIZZLY and CURTIS shake their heads again. HELLMAN shrugs.
HELLMAN: Suit yourselves, guys.
He leans back in his seat, placing his hands behind his head.
HELLMAN: A real honour to meet you guys. Always a pleasure to meet a bunch of guys like you- your music does so much for me. The last album- I could not stop listening to it. Snuff Movie Oscars and Facial Deconstruction were fantastic. And when you killed that chicken live on stage at that awards show- I thought that was great.
CURTIS, GRINDER and GRIZZLY raise their eyes to the ceiling and shake their heads.
AXEL: (Smirking) That was my idea.
HELLMAN: How could I guess?
The door opens and MEL comes in. She places a glass containing something red on the glass table between HELLMAN’S desk and AXEL’S chair. She turns and leaves without saying a word. AXEL picks up his glass and takes a sip. His face screws up in disgust and he puts the glass firmly back down.
AXEL: (Opening and closing his mouth, trying to remove the taste) Tastes like fucking lighter fluid. (Turns to GRIZZLY) Here, Grizz- you’ve tried lighter fluid. Get that down you, mate- you’ll probably love it.
GRIZZLY: (In the sort of voice that makes you realize how he got his nickname) Cheers.
He takes a big gulp. A few seconds, and then he twitches suddenly and rather alarmingly.
GRIZZLY: Surprisingly mild.
He finishes the glass in one more gulp and sits back. HELLMAN look slightly perturbed. After a couple of seconds he shakes his head to clear it and turns back to the rest of the band.
HELLMAN: Anyway, as I was…saying, I’ve asked you here today for one thing. (Laughs sheepishly) I’ve got to admit it- the only reason I wanted to see you was to sign you to my label.
AXEL: May have escaped your notice, Mr. Hellman, but we’re already signed to Redemption Records. Got the contract and everything.
HELLMAN laughs.
HELLMAN: Yes, yes, I heard about the deal you already have. Terry Gates is a good friend of mine… But have you seen the papers today?
He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a newspaper. He tosses it to AXEL, who immediately tosses it to GRINDER, who is sitting on his right.
AXEL: I don’t read the papers. (Turns to GRINDER) What’s it say?
GRINDER: (Sounding shocked) “The boss of Redemption Records, Terrell Gates was struck and killed by a car as he left the studios late last night…The driver failed to stop and is now being sought by the police…”
AXEL: What? (Grabs the paper back) He’s dead?
GRINDER: What it says here.
HELLMAN: Yes, yes…Terrible tragedy, but (laughs again) as I understand it, gentlemen, the contract you had was with the late Mr. Gates was with him, not with his label. He’d been your manager for a while before he started his label, is that correct? He didn’t want to tie you to any label- wanted you to have artistic freedom, isn’t that right?
AXEL: That’s right, but-
HELLMAN: So if you were only signed with Terry, and Terry’s dead, you can sign with anybody now, can’t you?
He leans forward on his desk, spreading his palms outwards.
HELLMAN: Don’t get me wrong- I’m not trying to dance on his grave, but I think that you have everything that I need in a band. If you sign with Triple 6, then you’ll have everything too. Freedom to write your own songs, the space to do it- as well as hot and cold running women. You’ll have everything.
AXEL looks tempted- although by the “women” line more than anything else. The other three look unsure- they can see that it seems to be all in their favour- but this is a big decision to be taken on-the-spot.
CURTIS: Look, Mr. Hellman- you’ve made it seem like it would all be to our advantage to sign with you. What’s in it for you?
HELLMAN: What does anybody want these days? I won’t lie to you- I think you and your music have what it takes to make me very rich. But it’s what you get that makes this a good deal. You get everything.
CURTIS: Everything? And all we do is sign on the dotted line?
HELLMAN: That’s right…
He opens another drawer in his desk.
HELLMAN: Does that mean you’re ready to sign? (Reaches into the drawer)
CURTIS: Hold on, hold on. Wait a minute. This is a big decision to make, man.
AXEL: What d’you mean? You heard what the man said. Women- hanging off your cock. Money to fucking burn. What’s the problem? It’s win-win. (Turns back to HELLMAN) I’ll sign. Where’s a pen?
GRINDER: Wait, Axel. We’ve always done everything as a band- you ain’t signing on your own...
CURTIS: Besides- remember what we talked about? The new material?
HELLMAN, who has been flipping through some papers on his desk as the argument has been going on,snaps back to attention at this.
HELLMAN: New material? What new material?