“THE FIRST COURSE”
Love is fragile. Ego is volcanic. Dinner is collateral damage.
INT. KESTREL — NIGHT
The dining room glows like a jewelry box — lacquered wood, curated shadows, too-perfect people posed at tables. The kind of place where everyone pretends they’re not watching everyone else.
MAIA and JOE sit at a narrow table meant to force intimacy. Joe scrolls on his phone, face lit cold blue.
JOE
This place is very… self-satisfied.
MAIA
You booked it.
JOE
My coworker said it was impossible to get in. I assumed that mattered to you.
It lands like an insult disguised as an insight.
A SERVER appears with cocktails. Joe tastes his, winces theatrically.
JOE
Too sweet. Like a prom drink.
MAIA
You can order something else.
JOE
I shouldn’t have to.
Before Maia can respond, LAWRENCE approaches — tall, beautiful, a man who makes the room tilt a little. His presence is startling, but his smile is warm.
LAWRENCE
Maia. Jesus. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.
He kisses her cheek, hand lingering too comfortably on her shoulder. Joe watches every second, eyes narrowing.
MAIA
You’re busy. Hi.
LAWRENCE
Never too busy for you.
Lawrence turns to Joe with a dazzling, almost bored charm.
LAWRENCE (CONT’D)
You must be Joe.
Joe shakes his hand stiffly.
JOE
Big operation you’re running. Impressive.
(beat)
You two know each other well?
Lawrence flashes a look at Maia. Maia freezes internally.
MAIA
We used to… hang out.
LAWRENCE
(soft, knowing)
We did more than hang out.
Maia shoots him a warning glance, but Lawrence is already turning toward the kitchen.
LAWRENCE
I’ll send out something special. On me.
He disappears.
A long silence. Joe lets it rot between them.
JOE
Used to hang out?
MAIA
Joe—
JOE
No, seriously. I want to hear you say it. Slowly. Like you’re explaining it to a child. What did “hang out” mean? Exactly?
MAIA
We hooked up a few times. Years ago. It wasn’t a relationship.
Joe sips his drink, brown liquor, eyes vacant, like he’s tasting her answer.
JOE
So I’m sitting in a restaurant owned by the guy you used to sleep with. Great. That’s a fun surprise. It really sets a tone.
MAIA
Why are you acting like I trapped you?
JOE
Because you do this thing where you curate what I get to know. You pick the lighting, the angles, the version of you I’m allowed to see. Everything has this… gloss over it.
Maia feels it — the humiliation creeping under her skin.
MAIA
It didn’t occur to me to give you a résumé of everyone I’ve ever slept with before dinner.
JOE
You could’ve told me when we walked in. “Hey, by the way, the chef and I used to fuck. Heads up.” That would’ve been polite.
MAIA
You’re being cruel right now.
JOE
I’m being honest.
A WAITER arrives with a first course. Joe doesn’t even look.
JOE (CONT’D)
Enjoying your old boyfriend’s tasting menu?
MAIA
He wasn’t my boyfriend.
JOE
Right. You don’t do boyfriends. Just “casual.”
There is an iciness to him now — the kind that smells like impending disaster.
Maia stands, trying to save the night, or herself.
MAIA
I’m going to the bathroom. Please stop making a scene.
JOE
I’m not causing a scene, it’s impossible to ignore when apparently my caesar tartar is being prepared by someone who knows what you taste like.
She glares and walks away quickly.
INT. KESTREL — BATHROOM HALLWAY — MOMENTS LATER
The hallway is dim, lined with mirrors. Maia leans against the sink, breathing. Someone else’s laughter echoes faintly from the dining room.
She checks her reflection, tries to smooth her expression into neutrality, into survival.
INT. KESTREL — DINING ROOM — CONTINUOUS
Maia returns to find Joe standing, coat over his arm, voice too loud, too sharp. Several tables glance over with that predatory LA interest — the thrill of watching a scene unfold.
JOE
I’m done. I’m not eating here. I’m not playing this game.
MAIA
Joe. Sit down. We can talk after dinner.
JOE
After dinner? After he sends out another course you “used to hang out” over?
Maia flushes. A few patrons look openly now. A woman at a nearby table whispers to her date.
MAIA
Lower your voice.
JOE
You don’t get to tell me how loud I can be when I’m the one being humiliated.
MAIA
You’re humiliating yourself.
JOE
No. You humiliated me the second he kissed you.
She closes her eyes, steadying herself.
MAIA
Please. Don’t leave like this.
JOE
Why? Are you embarrassed?
(a cruel smirk)
Or worried he’ll see you chasing after me?
He turns and storms toward the exit. Maia follows.
EXT. KESTREL — NIGHT
Valets in tailored jackets. A sleek black SUV idles. The night is cold and glittering.
Joe strides down the sidewalk. Maia catches up, breathless.
MAIA
Stop. Please. Just talk to me.
JOE
I am talking. You just don’t like the conversation.
MAIA
You’re twisting everything. What is this really about?
Joe finally turns. His face is a mask — the theatrical kind Ellis characters wear when they want to hurt someone without raising their voice.
JOE
It’s about respect.
(beat)
Something you don’t seem to understand.
MAIA
Respect isn’t you blowing up in front of a room full of strangers.
JOE
Respect isn’t you parading me into your old fling’s restaurant like some kind of prop.
MAIA
You’re not a prop. You’re— you’re behaving like someone who wants to be wounded.
JOE
You know what I want?
(a low, sharp whisper)
I want honesty. Transparency. Not your curated, sanitized version of the truth.
MAIA
You asked me nothing. You assumed everything.
He steps closer. Too close.
JOE
If you’d told me the truth upfront, we wouldn’t be here.
MAIA
If you trusted me, we wouldn’t be here.
JOE
Trust is earned, Maia. And you—
(smiles like a knife)
—you spend it faster than you earn it.
Maia’s face falls — a small, devastating collapse.
A couple waiting for their car stares openly at them. Joe doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.
MAIA
You’re trying to hurt me.
JOE
No. I’m trying to wake you up.
He turns again, signaling for a rideshare.
Maia watches him, stunned by the emptiness in his eyes.
MAIA
Joe. Don’t walk away.
He pauses only long enough to twist the knife.
JOE
Go back inside.
(beat)
I’m sure he’ll take care of you.
A car pulls up. Joe gets in without looking back.
The door slams. The SUV disappears into the night.
Maia stands there, trembling, in the glow of the valet stand — the laughter, the music, the curated perfection of the restaurant behind her suddenly obscene.
FADE OUT.