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Written in 2021 at The Grind Coffeehouse in Bangor, Maine, The Grind follows the story of Margot Fields, an aspiring writer, who finds herself in a strange conversation with a mysterious man who sits across from here as she writes.
FADE IN: 1 INT. THE GRINDHOUSE CAFE - AFTERNOON 1 The half-written page of a thriller novel fills the mirrored frame of a laptop.Words appear on the page;each keystroke lambasted with aggravated conviction. MARGOT FIELDS, a woman in her twenties wearing a hoodie and the egocentric stoicism of a newly inspired writer, is reflected. She pauses,sips her steaming coffee, relishes the boost of caffeine, and returns to the musical eloquence of the keyboard. The quaint café is filled with pictures of famous artists. It’s the type of place that inspires even the most uninspired with it’s tasteful blend of modern and art-deco design. As Margot types, the world around her begins to lapse through time. People blur past. Shadows scurry along the floor.Cars zoom past at light-speed. As time normalizes, the sun passes through the café logo and casts a long shadow onto the table. SUPER: THE GRIND LATER Margot stares at the same page with mournful eyes. It’s nearly full.The cursor blinks like the beat of a heart. She mumbles as she types the last sentence. IT WAS TOO LATE. FOR THE WORLD SHE KNEW WAS FADING AND THE SINISTER SPIRIT ENGULFED HER— Margot exhales then highlights all but the first sentence. Her finger, like a pin pricking a balloon, depresses the delete button. Margot rubs her bloodshot eyes and yawns.Before she can languish in her defeat, a sudden look of consternation engulfs her pallid face. THE STRANGER, a tall gentleman in his sixties with grey hair,occupies the once empty seat across from Margot. His eyes are covered by mirrored sunglasses and his body is wrapped in a long sherpa lined jacket.He stares at her with a death-like intensity. A coffee rests on the table before him. Margot scans the café for empty tables. One. Two. Three. A MAN in his twenties smiles at her and lifts his coffee. She’s oblivious as she continues the tally. There are plenty of tables available. She reasserts her gaze to the stranger, gives him a quick survey, and speaks.
MARGOT Umm, can I help you? He remains steadfast in his ominous silence. Then, without warning, he rises with a snap of his fingers and walks to the counter. Aghast, Margot watches as he saunters away. The Stranger has a slight kink in his step and an arched back. After a few moments, Margot loses interest and returns to the barren page before her. Frustrated, she closes it. Just as the lid CLICKS, the stranger sits with an unsettling silence. He places two packets of sugar onto the table and fiddles with one in his fingers. Margot, aggravated, leans back in her chair. The stranger follows suit. His playful gaze reveals a slight smirk. MARGOT (CONT'D) (authoritative) Excuse me, can I help you? The stranger takes a quick sip of his coffee and sighs. He speaks with a proper and well-orchestrated Tennessee accent. THE STRANGER Tell me, do you drink cold coffee? MARGOT Is that seriously what you sat down to ask me? If I drink cold bre— THE STRANGER I thoroughly dislike cold coffee. It’s, too old. The taste just, doesn’t come,alive. It’s egregious to start the mornin’s like that. Margot glances at the sugar in his fingers then into the stranger’s sunglasses. She can’t see his eyes.Only her reddened eyes glaring back. MARGOT (playfully) Well, I hate to break it to you,but look around.It’s six. (beat) What’s with the sugar? THE STRANGER Ah, can’t have sugar.I’ll tell ya what, enjoy your youth, cause agin’, agin’ takes the fun out of everything. Nah, these? I like to look at em’. (MORE)
THE STRANGER (CONT'D) Helps me remember their sweet taste from when I was, a younger man. MARGOT (under her breath) Didn’t need the backstory. THE STRANGER What now? MARGOT That must suck. Mochas are my favorite.Don’t know what I’d do without them. THE STRANGER You ever ponder the intricacies, the, life behind the drinks you come across? MARGOT It’s just coffee. I solely drink it to prevent my untimely demise. The stranger glances at Margot’s hands as she grips her coffee.Her face as she listens. THE STRANGER All coffee tastes different. When you’ve lived as long as I, you can taste the peculiarities of each bean variety. The locale of it’s upbringing. To the richness of the soil it emerged from. Even the manner in which the plants thrust themselves toward the sky in hopes of tasting that miraculous light.That’s what makes it so, enticing, and, succulent. Margot stares before offering a mild eyebrow raise. He relishes the delivery of his self-serving conversation. THE STRANGER (CONT'D) I’m somewhat of an expert. Years of acquiring it helps you discern quality. But, drinking cold coffee? Now, that’s like dealin’ with the devil now isn’t it. Margot, more relaxed, releases a slight laugh.
MARGOT (sarcastic) Oh, isn’t it just! You should go repent. THE STRANGER (with a tease) And the truth shall reveal itself! You kno…I knew you weren’t a cold brew kinda gal! MARGOT Nope. I need something warm to help me cut through the ice-cold grip of this nightmare of a novel. The stranger, captivated, leans forward in his chair. THE STRANGER Speaking of the devil in the room, what’re you workin’ on if you don’t mind my pryin’ eyes. MARGOT Well I can’t see your— THE STRANGER I’ve got this light sensitivity thing. Gotta wear…well, it’s boring. What’s this novel? Margot opens the laptop and lies about the nearly empty page. MARGOT I’m a novelist. I needed some inspiration so, when I have the time, well, here I am. THE STRANGER Well my Lord, what’re your titles? Anything I would— MARGOT Nothing published as of yet. THE STRANGER Well, well, well, I’m thinkin’ I should request your autograph before you go gettin’ famous on me. Margot smiles at his comment but bows her head.
MARGOT I don’t think it would be worth much, unfortunately. Maybe one day it will though. THE STRANGER Well, when will that day be? MARGOT That day? THE STRANGER The day you’re a famous novelist! MARGOT Wow, hittin’ me with those menacing philosophical questions. THE STRANGER Hey, I need to know when to come get that John Hancock. Margot gazes through the window at the quaint downtown. The sun’s golden rays illuminate the beauty of the world outside. MARGOT At this rate. I don’t know. THE STRANGER Then— (beat) How about this. Wha twill you be doin’ on that day?The day you’ve attained it all? MARGOT On that day, I guess, I guess this book will be bound with a red sleeve, soft to the touch but coarse enough to thrill the senses. It’ll be published and sold in bookstores, both big box and independent. And, I’ll be in this very cafe starting my next novelas the aroma of this novel’s newly printed pages intermix with the redolent bliss of coffee grinds. THE STRANGER Now that’s a nice aspiration. MARGOT Writing’s my life.
THE STRANGER I’d say it seems you have this planned to a tea but… MARGOT It’s more of a b-ean rate plan… THE STRANGER There she is ladies and gents. Miss— MARGOT Margot. The Stranger waits for her last name. MARGOT (CONT'D) Fields. THE STRANGER Miss Margot Fields. They share a laugh. MARGOT Well, I’ve wanted this for longer than I can recall, really. THE STRANGER And why’s that? MARGORT A little bit of this, a little of that. Some’s because people told me I’d never be able to do it. Some’s because I’ve always wanted to do it. I’ve put so much time into building my… (beat) —this persona, that I can’t go back at this point.I’m in. THE STRANGER May I pose another question then? MARGOT (intrigued) Hit me. The stranger leans forward. He places the sugar packet onto the table in front of him and straightens it.
THE STRANGER Would you give up the time it takes to write that book, that very book, and everything that comes with it, in order to have it done and finished at this very moment? MARGOT You mean, have it finished like— THE STRANGER Right now. Every page.Every paragraph. Every word. Now. MARGOT And published? THE STRANGER All of it. Margot ponders the stranger’s peculiar question. An innocent smile streaks across her face as she speaks. MARGOT Yeah. I guess I would, if I could have it finished right now that is. I mean who wouldn’t? It’d save me a lot of time! Ha! Would you?Give up the time? The stranger’s smile drops as his demeanor shifts. He reaches into his coat and removes a book bound in a red fabric cover. He carefully places it onto the table. An awkward pause enshrouds the pair. MARGOT (CONT'D) (jokingly) What’s that? My hopes and dreams? He gently slides the book in front of her. She glances at the cover in shock. THE GRIND HOUSE,BY MARGOT FIELDS. She releases a nervous laugh as she opens to the first page. MARGOT (CONT'D) Is this some kind of joke? Silence. He remains unfazed by her question. Margot flips through the pages until she opens to forty-three. Her lips mutter the words in the book.Then the words on the laptop.They’re identical. Taken aback, Margot cautiously raises her gaze from the crisp pages of the newly printed book.
MARGOT (CONT'D) What is this? How did you get this? The stranger leans closer to Margot. An ever-so eager smile treads across his face. His tone shifts to one of eagerness; hungry to consume her next reaction. THE STRANGER That’s what you’ve always wanted. MARGOT How. But how? What— THE STRANGER Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, young lady. MARGOT Have you been following me? What, do you just—
THE STRANGER Relax, Margot. Relax. Give it a good ol’ whiff. Margot drops the stranger the eye before she inhales the fresh aroma of the pages. Her face lights up with pleasure. MARGOT It has the smell. THE STRANGER It has everything. Even an ending. Margot’s eyes widen. She streaks to the end of the novel. THE STRANGER (CONT'D) Ah, before you read,just remember the trade— MARGOT Yeah, yeah. (beat) How did you come up with this end— THE STRANGER Oh, I didn’t. I’m just glad it’s what you wanted.You spent the time to write it, after-all. Margot places the book on the table and plants her face into the pages. As she reads, time lapses by. The camera TILTS DOWN and enters an ARC SHOT.
The sun casts long shadows across the table. The stranger opens a sugar packet and dumps it into his coffee. His shadow moves in the opposite direction of the others.
People blur as they scurry past the table. Margot finishes the book and begins to type at her laptop. A semi-blank page fills the reflective screen.
RACK FOCUS to:
LATER
MARGOT, visibly older with fanciful expensive attire,types with a lack of lust. Her face devoid of heartfelt emotion. The world around her is quiet and lifeless.
Like a crowbar to a window, the sudden boom of the MAN’s voice echoes through Margot’s ear.She snaps from her self-imposed coma and looks at him. He’s older.
THE MAN
Margot! Still writin’ away I see. Always fun to see you around here.
Margot gives the man a performative smile that fades from her face. She releases a sigh and glares at the cursor. It’s cold. She glances back at the man.
He’s surrounded by a family; a wife and two kids. He’s heavier now and wears glasses. A brief smile crosses Margot’s face as the man and wife kiss.She looks at her hands.
They’re older now.
She glares at the finished book and touches the coarse cover.Then back to the laptop. Her smile weakens and, without hesitation, she deletes the entirety of the page with a subtle click.
In need of inspiration, she takes a sip of her coffee and winces at the bitter taste. She looks into the despairing pit of darkness inside. It’s cold. A depressive lack of emotion crosses her face as she notices a sugar packet in-front of the empty chair across from her.
Just outside the café windows is THE STRANGER. He is younger, has dark hair, and stands with perfect posture. Without emotion,the stranger raises his coffee and takes a sip.
Steam swirls into the air. It’s hot.After a few moments in time, the stranger vanishes into bustling urban jungle.
THE END.
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