Perspectives: Rachel

(Perspectives: Rachel is a short film from The Chronicles of Oscar and Amber. The screenplay, which varies slightly from the video version, is below.)

Scene 1: “He’s Not the Catch You Think He Is”

Night. The stylish, dimly lit interior of Bolero — a Cuban-inspired bar in Baton Rouge. Dark wood, vintage posters, warm amber lighting, and a lively but not overwhelming atmosphere. Rachel and Leigh sit in a quiet corner booth with cocktails.

Rachel is in her usual structured, understated outfit (black blazer, earth tones). Leigh is loud and colorful — bold polka-dot blouse, big jewelry, vibrant makeup.

Leigh takes a sip, eyes narrowing with amusement.

LEIGH [sips her mojito, gives a satisfied look]: This is a really cool place, Rachel. I’d never even heard of it. How’d you find it?

RACHEL [enthusiastic]: Oscar. He brought me here to celebrate when I nailed down the Crockett account, and it’s kinda turning out to be my hangout, I guess.

LEIGH [scolding look]: Yeah. Meaning you’re here every night hoping you’ll “accidentally” run into him.

RACHEL [defensive, but smiling]: Oh, stop. It’s a good bar. You said it yourself.

LEIGH [laughing] Bullshit. Come on, Rachel. It’s definitely a nice place, but it’s empty. On a Wednesday. You’re making it your hangout for one reason, and one reason only.

Rachel doesn’t deny it quickly enough.

LEIGH [leaning in, a superior look on her face]: He’s not the catch you think he is, Rach.

RACHEL [slightly taken aback]: What’s that supposed to mean?

LEIGH: Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you do a good job of hiding that fangirl thing you do with him.

RACHEL [defensive]: Because I respect him, Leigh. And why shouldn’t I? He’s doing an incredible job with Stafford Oil. You said yourself that the turnaround he’s pulling off is borderline miraculous. And he’s been great with me — giving me real responsibility, letting me run with the business development stuff…

LEIGH [leaning back]: Yeah, OK. You don’t have to bite my head off. I’m not saying he’s incompetent. The man is scary good at what he does.

RACHEL: OK. That’s better.

LEIGH: That’s not what I’m getting at, though. I’m talking about him as a… romantic prospect, OK?

RACHEL: What is this? You’re a matchmaker now?

LEIGH: Hell, if you can do corporate headhunting, this is child’s play.

[Rachel rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her rum punch]

LEIGH: Look, for whatever virtues Oscar has, he’s still just an overgrown boy.

[Rachel rolls her eyes harder this time and gives a little groan]

LEIGH: No, listen to me. He’s never been married, and it’s not like he’s a young guy. Now he’s playing house with not one, but two dolls and he treats the first one like it’s his wife...

RACHEL: I mean, I actually really do like Amber, though.

LEIGH: Yeah, well, we can come back to that. But don’t even get me started on this thing with Erica.

RACHEL: Well, I guess you’d know more about that than anybody else, but what are you talking about?

LEIGH [breezy, taking another sip of her mojito]: They finally fucked a couple nights ago. Erica waited until I had to go to Dallas on business and I was out of the house, and then she had him over and they did it. When I got back yesterday she was like a teenager – she just had to tell somebody.

RACHEL [uncomfortable]: Oh.

LEIGH: Erica’s like “Oh, do you think this means we’re going to progress to a real romantic thing?” And I told her I think he’s just fulfilling some thirty-year-old fantasy instead of growing up and building a real life.

RACHEL [surprised and a little stung]: Ohhh, Leigh!

LEIGH: No, I mean it. And don’t get the wrong idea. I actually like Oscar. I respect what he’s doing professionally. I’d grab him as a client in no time flat – it’s a damn shame I couldn’t have helped his career a decade ago, because I could have made both of us a lot of money. But now that he’s finally knocked the bottom out of Erica, you watch. It won’t go anywhere. He doesn’t need her because he has a robot that’ll tell him all the things he wants to hear.

RACHEL: My God, you’re so bleak!

LEIGH: Look, the Factory Girl he’s got is impressive technology, I’ll give you that. But if a guy thinks it’s acceptable to replace real women with machines… that tells you something about where his head’s at. And you’re sitting here pining after him?

RACHEL [quiet, defensive]: I dunno. I’m just… not gonna judge, that’s all. I’ve had nothing but good interactions with Oscar, and I’m not going to pretend I know all of the reasons he’s made the decisions he’s made.

LEIGH [snorting, takes another sip]: Fine. Whatever. But if you’re not at least a little offended that some guy thinks he can swap us out for silicon and servos, you’re not paying attention.

[Rachel takes a gulp from her drink, clearly unsettled]

LEIGH [softer, more direct]: Okay, real talk. I really like you, Rach, but I don’t get you. You’re attractive, you’re smart, you’re competent as hell. Why are you starting over in a mid-sized backwater like Baton Rouge with no ties here? What’s really going on?

RACHEL [hesitant]: It’s far enough from Houston that I won’t get sucked back in. And… I don’t know. I like the pace here. Big cities feel like I can’t compete socially.

LEIGH [incredulous]: Why on earth would you think that?

RACHEL: Because I’m… I don’t know. I’ve just never really fit in with the kind of women guys like Oscar end up with.

LEIGH: That’s horseshit. And would you stop using Oscar as your standard? There are many better guys, even in this cow-town.

RACHEL: [sighs] I’m just saying. Desirable guys. And they’ve never given me  the time of day.

LEIGH [rolls eyes]: Bitch, PLEASE.

RACHEL: No, really. I’ve always tried to be relatable. I can do guy stuff — swing a golf club, throw a football, change a tire, drink tequila without falling over. But I’m starting to realize… that’s not what they want. They don’t get excited by a woman who can keep up with them on their terms. I have all the wrong skills.

LEIGH [laughing]: I don’t know about that, but some guy asks me to change a tire, I’m looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind.

RACHEL: Exactly. See? I’ve got that all wrong.

LEIGH [chuckling]: Maybe you’re just a country girl at heart who got dropped in the wrong life.

RACHEL: I’m definitely not a country girl. I’ve spent enough time in the sticks to know that.

LEIGH: Huh. OK. But you deserve better than pining after Oscar. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you waste your time when we can do better for you.

[Rachel gives a small, uncertain smile.]

LEIGH [brightening]: Tell you what. I’ll take you to Strains tomorrow afternoon after work. It’s my health club and there are actually some real men who work out there.

RACHEL: It’s like a big meat market, though, right?

LEIGH: Oh, it’s a massive meat market and it can be obnoxious as fuck. But there’s some actual talent in the place. I’m not saying you’ll like it, but I’m dragging your ass there anyway.

RACHEL: All right, fine. Whatever. I need to find a workout place anyway.

Scene 2: “Tell Oscar I Said Thanks”

[Daytime. Conference room of Bergeron Industrial Fabricators; an industrial yard with trucks and equipment visible out of the window. Rachel is finishing a presentation on her laptop. Across the table sits Mark, mid-40s, well-dressed, successful-looking.]

Rachel closes the laptop with a confident smile.

RACHEL: So that’s the plan. We can have the first phase of the forensic audit wrapped in ten days, which is a week before the deadline for the acquisition, and we’ll have the full system integration complete within six weeks of your takeover. You’ll see immediate cost savings that’ll beat your projections by a third.

[Mark leans back, visibly impressed.]

MARK [satisfied smile]: Rachel, this is outstanding work. Seriously. I was skeptical when you talked me into going with y’all instead of RDS, but you’ve blown past every expectation. The board is going to love this.

RACHEL [warm smile, almost seductive, holding eye contact a beat longer than strictly professional]: Thank you, Mark. That means a lot coming from you. I’ve really enjoyed working on this one.

MARK [nodding, an appreciative grin, leaning back and folding his arms in front of him]: You’ve got a real talent for this. I’d like to expand the relationship — maybe bring your IT gang in on the supply chain side next quarter.

RACHEL [hopeful, softer, head tilted and a quick run of her fingers through her hair]: I’d love that. I’m always happy to make time for clients who appreciate good work.

[Tiny pause. Rachel gives a small, inviting smile — a clear but classy “I’m open to more than business” signal. Mark doesn’t pick it up. He checks his watch and stands.]

MARK [exhales]: Great. Listen — please pass along my thanks to Oscar as well. The IT team he sent over last month was fantastic. Tell him he’s got a customer for life.

[Rachel’s smile falters for just a fraction of a second before she recovers.]

RACHEL [keeping it professional]: Of course. I’ll let him know.

[Mark shakes her hand firmly]

MARK: You’re doing great, Rachel. Keep it up.

[He exits. Rachel stands alone in the conference room for a moment, the professional smile slowly fading. She lets out a quiet breath, looking down at the table.]

Scene 3: “Project Rachel”

The weight room at Strains Health Club. Rachel finishes a set of deadlifts, racks the bar, and wipes her forehead. She’s in practical workout gear. A fit guy in his late 30s walks over, clearly impressed.

RYAN: Damn. That’s some serious weight. You training for powerlifting or something?

RACHEL [smiling, friendly, trying to engage]: Nah, just trying to stay strong. You lift?

RYAN: Yeah, but not like that. I’d probably throw my back out if I tried your numbers. What’s your secret?

RACHEL [laughing lightly, keeping it easy]: No secret. Just years of doing guy stuff. I can throw a football decently too, if that counts.

RYAN [chuckling]: Nice. Most girls I know tap out at the pink dumbbells.

RACHEL [trying to flirt a little, with a small smile]: Well, I’ve never been much for pink.

[The guy laughs, gives her a friendly fist bump, and wanders back to his friends. No spark. No follow-up. Just “cool girl” energy.]

[Rachel watches him go, then sighs, throwing her hands up in frustration as Leigh appears from the side, towel around her neck.]

LEIGH: Still trying to out-lift the boys and win them over with your deadlift game?

RACHEL [throwing her hands up, half-laughing, half-exasperated]: I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I can talk to them, I can keep up with them, I can even make them laugh… but it never goes anywhere. It’s like I’m one of the guys to them. My sexual game is absolute trash.

LEIGH [consoling but blunt]: You’re not trash, Rach. You’re just… wired different. You’ve spent your whole life learning how to survive in male spaces. That’s a skill. But yeah, it doesn’t always translate when you want them to see you as a woman.

RACHEL [exasperated]: Exactly. I can change a tire, throw a football, drink most of them under the table… but apparently that’s not what gets their attention in the way I want.

[Leigh puts an arm around her shoulders and steers her toward the women’s steam room.]

LEIGH: Come on. Let’s hit the steam room. I’ve got an idea that might actually help.

]The women’s steam room. Thick, hazy steam. Rachel and Leigh sit on the wooden benches wrapped in white towels, skin glistening.]

LEIGH [continuing seamlessly]: So I’m way beyond the point where I’m wearing out my welcome at Erica’s, and…

RACHEL: Oh, no. What happened?

LEIGH: Nothing! Oh, I mean, she’s been great. I just feel like a freeloader over there. Besides, I want my own house. Which is what I’m trying to tell you, before I was so rudely interrupted…

RACHEL [giggles]: Oh, I’m SOOO sorry.

LEIGH [rolls eyes]: ANYWAY, so I’m seriously thinking about putting an offer on this house in Mid-City. It’s in kind of a sketchy part of town, but people are buying and fixing places up left and right. It’s a big old house with this really cool layout — basically two separate wings off the main living area.

[She leans forward, excited.]

LEIGH: It would make a killer roommate house.

RACHEL [raises an eyebrow, half-smiling]: Roommate house?

LEIGH [grinning]: Yeah. You should move in with me once I close on it. That way I can make you my personal project. We’re gonna turn you into the hottest thing in this town.

RACHEL [snorting, but clearly amused]: As if. But… it’s not a terrible idea. My lease on that crappy garage apartment is up in a couple of months anyway, and I still have a ton of stuff in storage in Houston I never bothered to bring down here. So… yeah. Maybe.

LEIGH [clapping her hands once]: Then it’s settled! I’ll buy the place, you move in when I close, and you can help me fix it up. Then I’ll fix you up.

RACHEL [whining playfully]: Oh God…

LEIGH [laughing]: What? You need it! I mean, you just showed me proof out there!

RACHEL [more seriously]: Look, that neighborhood… it’s not the safest. How are you at protecting yourself?

LEIGH [shrugging]: Like, can I fight? I mean, I’ve thrown a punch or two in my life, but…

RACHEL: That’s not really… OK, have you ever shot a gun?

LEIGH: Never in my life.

RACHEL [smiling faintly]: Then that’s how I can fix YOU up.

LEIGH: You gonna teach me how to shoot guns?

[Rachel nods]

LEIGH: I thought you said you were a city girl. Shootin’ guns is a country-girl thing.

RACHEL:  I’ve… had some firearms training. I can teach you how to shoot. And maybe a few other things that might help with security in a dangerous neighborhood.

[Leigh looks at her, intrigued and a little surprised.]

LEIGH [softening into a grin]: Well, hell. Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a deal. Roommates, home improvement, and shootin’ irons. This is gonna be fun!

[Rachel gives a small, uncertain smile, but there’s a flicker of genuine hope in it.]