I. Emma Stone clipping toenails
We hear Emma clipping her toenails: a hesitant, musical sound.
EMMA: Emma Stone… clipping… toenails.
So weird. When I clip my own toenails there they are—
Emma Stone’s toenails. Perfect keratin crescents in a—pile.
On the bathroom floor.
Emma Stone. Emma stone.
It’s not that I’m self-obsessed. I’m not self-obsessed.
Oh—I’ll get a banh mi when I’m finished.
I’m not even Emma, everyone knows that. My name isn’t—
I told them in the voice of Emma Stone.
God I love my voice.
(She is finished clipping.)
Someone would probably—
Could you melt the clipped toenails down? Maybe make something.
I always wanted a tiny moonlit sculpture of me
cut from my own cloth. I could sell that. It would sell.
Someone would buy it.
Billions. Ha.
God I love banh mis.
I love speaking and knowing it’s my voice
coming out. Earthy, musky. That’s how my voice is.
Not listening back, god. But speaking. Listening when I speak.
God I love acting.
II. Emma Stone receiving a call
Phone ringing.
Scrambling sound: hands against cold tile.
EMMA: Hi! Hey, Jesse!
You finished! That’s—yeah.
You’ve been—yeah.
Wow. Big day. Mhmm. Big day!
Get yourself some champagne, yeah. Oh—
Of course—yes!—of course you can send it over, just—
Yeah. You have my email. Send it over.
Alright. Yay, Jesse! Alright. Bye. Ba-bye.
III. Emma Stone getting angry
Slamming noise: a lower bathroom cupboard door.
EMMA: Motherfucker! That curly-haired four-eyed
New York jackass! The one full day—
Good, Jesse, great script, the little—
Fucker!!! Emma Stone doesn’t have the time!
God I wish I was good at lying.
I was gonna get a banh mi.
IV. Emma Stone filing nails
A noise connoting a makeup holder. Utensils rattling around:
Emma retrieves her nail filer.
EMMA: Perfect. Crescents.
God I’m good at this.
Jesse Eisenberg can suck my—
Email receipt sound.
That’s probably—
Checking phone sound.
Motherfucker!
180 pages?
Despair sound.
Who does he think he is? Homer?
The fuckin Odyssey?
V. A brief but intense climax
Jesse Jesse Jesse Jesse Jesse!
Those fuckers want me so bad!
VI. Emily Stone realizing
EMMA: They want me.
They don’t want me. Me.
Emily.
They want Emma Stone.
To buy Emma Stone’s toenails for a grand on eBay.
To send her—what was I—I just—the
cliché, the public, the private,
Emma Stone with the Oscars on the shelf
That time I—
there was nothing else around, so I—
the cockroach. I shriekd, didn’t I?
Impulse, I reached for whatever—
heavy. Not as heavy as maybe—
you wouldn’t drop an Oscar, but it works
to smash a cockroach.
And there’s so much.
Of me. I like being famous. I like
—All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts—
I want to grab a bag of grain-free chips
at Whole Foods without a cap and glasses—
I don’t know if I—
like it—
The golden halo around my head at night
The Oscars on the shelf
The roaches
Pause.
Emily Stone is filled with regret!
VII. Emma Stone returns to equilibrium/zen
Sweeping sound
Toenails hitting trashcan bottom sound
EMMA: Emma Stone, discarding toenails.
God I said that well.
Footstep noise.
Emma Stone, crossing bathroom.
Door opening noise.
Emma Stone, en route to banh mi.
Door shut noise.