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SCRIPTS by J. Lowe:

FANNIE MAE & FREDDIE MAC Logline: Two frustrated singles--wanting a place to call home--stumble onto half a million in cash from a payoff for smuggled Cuban cigars, and try their hand at Bonnie & Clyde on the run from the CIA and eco terrorists, only to solve a mystery and build a house of their own in a crowded subdivision in the Florida keys. 120 pages, feature film script with the theme of housing development.

EVERYBODY OVERBOARD. Logline: A honeymoon couple awaken alone on a cruise ship heading into a Bermuda Triangle storm, all arranged by a billionaire's son in love with the bride and determined to unmask the groom. (Exists as screenplay treatment; included in the sports satire ebook THE UMPIRE HAS NO CLOTHES.)

NOW YOU SEE ME. Logline: A geek Junior High student, new to town, discovers a science experiment being conducted in a supposedly haunted house involving invisibility, and uses the knowledge to his advantage. (Exists as treatment.)

THE FAME GAME. Logline: A lottery winner engineers his own disappearance with the intent to reemerge a hero for financing a coup attempt against a corrupt Caribbean island dictator, extending his 15 minutes of fame into a lifetime. (Exists as treatment and novel "The Instant Celebrity.")

Jude parks in the guest area and walks toward the resort, putting on a sport coat taken from his trunk. As he walks through the lobby and restaurant area to the pool, he exchanges nods with people who don’t nod back.

             JUDE {voiceover}  
   Boldness is a required trait for anyone
   expecting to make it as a peeper for a 
   pulp paper. You also need to possess 
   certain acting skills. Those in awe of
   celebrity or wealth needn’t apply. Let 
   them be the readers rather than the writers 
   of half truths, innuendoes, and theories
   about whether some privileged headcase 
   'hotsie totsie' is doing their kid's nanny,
   downing pills like dinner mints, or dying 
   of some rare tropical disease.  

He saunters past a sign reading Guests Only Beyond This Point. He gives the security camera a smile, stops at the bar.

             JUDE {voiceover}
   First, I needed a prop, like maybe 
   an eight dollar raspberry daiquiri.

Jude discards the straw, downs half of the drink immediately, and sets off past the buffet, where chefs in tall hats serve prime rib and roast rack of lamb to unsmiling people in Gucci loafers and sandals.  

             JUDE {voiceover}
   I drew a few stares, sure, but I
   decided that each of them was no one
   important, this season. That gave
   my smile just the snooty edge it needed.  

Strolling nonchalantly past the pool's ramada, Jude draws a complimentary embossed towel from a stack of them, and draped it across his shoulder, continuing on. He waves at no one at the other end of the pool to make his escape.

The elevator is next, just past a Grecian fountain of a nude endlessly draining his bladder. Alone inside the cool metal cubicle, he hesitates pushing the button marked PENTHOUSE because of the camera monitor in the corner.

             JUDE {voiceover}
   This was it. ‘Course that security 
   camera felt like the red eye of a Hal 
   9000. Or a Sal 5000.

Jude sneezes and punches the button. Nothing happens. The button is depressed, but the elevator does not move. He depresses the button just below PENTHOUSE. There is an engagement, and the elevator starts to move.

             JUDE {voiceover}
   On the way up to the floor below the 
   penthouse, I noticed a little keypad
   device, and figured it for a combination

When the door opens, he sets the stop button and goes to peek up into the stairwell, seeing a chain blocking the way up, and another security camera guarding the way. Jude returns to the elevator, frustrated.  

             JUDE {voiceover}
   I imagined them coming for me first
   with handcuffs, then with a straight 
   jacket. Then, out of frustration, 
   I tried the keypad. 

He punches some digits, and suddenly a little green light appears. He releases the Stop button in awe, and the elevator begins to move up. 

             JUDE {voiceover}
   Couldn’t believe my luck. Actually,
   it wasn’t my luck, it was Howard’s. Me?
   I’d just punched 1, 5, 1, 2, 3, and 7,  
   the first three numbers of Howard's now
   infamous winning lotto. Fifteen, twelve, 
   and thirty-seven.

The elevator opens, and Jude steps out, faced by a heavy wooden door in an alcove portico. The little gold plaque reads PRIVATE. On either side of the door stands two black marble swans. The carpet is white and plush.  

Jude slowly stretches out a fist, and knocks. There is a click, and then the door whispers open, unlocked. He steps inside to stand alone on a white marble foyer floor, looking up at a high sculptured ceiling where a crystal chandelier hangs over a Louis Philippe trundle day bed in the living room. There is a Steinway baby grand piano beside it.

             JUDE {calls}
{a beat}
   Hello? Mister Rosen?

Jude steps to an elaborate bar bearing a rocks glass one quarter full of diluted whiskey, and a tiny sliver of ice. Jude walks to the bedroom door, and knocks.


Jude turned the knob cautiously, and pushed the door wide. He goes to the teak dresser and sees a Rolex there.  

             JUDE {loudly}
   It's just me--hotel security?

He moves to the closet's accordion doors, past a canopied king size bed with its mussed red silk sheets. An original oil painting near the closet is of a Hinckley yacht docked in Miami on the waterway.  

Jude throws open the closet doors. There are expensive men’s clothes and shoes, which he examines. Then he hears the entry door in the other room slam shut, followed by the distinctive sound of a deadbolt being thrown. He straightens his own clothes, prepares himself, and steps boldly out of the room to find a short, middle-aged man with blond hair turning to face me with a bag of ice. They both stare at each other in shock.  

HOWARD ROSEN wears a peach colored Izod polo shirt, white linen shorts, and brown mesh sandals. His dark, gold framed sunglasses are parked in his thick bleached hair. He looks tanned.

   I'm. . .here to fix the ice machine?

                                                     (Scene from Fame Island)
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