Here’s another treatment I did for Adaptation, influenced by the story “Naveed” by Dave Eggers.
Fat Girls Fuck, Too
A ratted pair of Converse chases a pair of black and white polka dot flip-flops up the concrete stairwell of an urban Philadelphia apartment complex.
The girl in the flip-flops is Sadie, a twenty-three year old who keeps her hair in black Bettie bangs and a bandana. Her thick thighs are wrapped tight with black jeans and her torso is hidden beneath a loose Black Flag t-shirt. She wears a frown on her mascara stained face.
The man in the Converse is Brett, a twenty-seven year old who spends too much time on his hair. His tan arms burst from a Hollister t-shirt and his toned calves peek from dark cargo pants. His lips stutter from beneath a perfectly groomed face as he says, “I’m sorry, it just came out wrong. But it’s true – I’ve never been with a fat girl before.”
A plump Calico wails at the door as Sadie storms into the studio apartment. Somewhere beneath all the books and paper are a futon and homemade desk. The walls are plastered with vintage B movie posters, a pirate flag, and strands of colored lights. Sadie drops her bag on the futon and the Calico wails again as she paws at an empty cat dish. Brett bursts into the apartment and before he can apologize again Sadie slams another door, locking herself behind it.
Sadie stands nude before a full-length mirror in a cramped bathroom, the walls in the reach of her five foot four wingspan. Her pale reflection shudders as she fights to cover her slightly mismatched breasts, the rolls of her stomach, the stretch marks on her thighs all at the same time. She watches her reflection with sad eyes. She turns to trace the shape of her ass, her back, her arms. She lifts an arm, flicking at the flab, watching it ripple in the reflection. She pokes at her plump cheeks, pushes them up, pulls them down. She sighs and sits at the edge of the bathtub.
The closet door opens. On hands and knees she climbs half way in, shuffling through miscellaneous types of products – feminine, cleaning, beauty. The shuffling stops and Sadie yanks out a dusty black duffel bag.
A corset is wrapped around her torso and her breasts are raised with the tight tie of each lace. Fishnets slide onto her legs just before a shiny black knee-high boot. A deep red gloss masks her lips. She fiddles with the end of a leather whip. Sadie stares into the full-length mirror, feeding her reflection a sly grin.
Sadie disappears through the door as it slams shut. From behind the door there is a thump. “Sit down and shut the fuck up.”
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