MR KNIGHT: Let me go! Get the fuck off me!
KING: Oh man! Thank fuck!
PRINCETON: You alright Mr. King? You ain’t hurt are you?
KING: I’m fine, just keep that asshole down while I—
King goes to the phone and dials. As he dials Princeton exits with Mr Knight
King turns around they’re gone
He decides to hang up
He goes to his desk and pours another drink
He contemplates the other line of cocaine and begins to roll the cheque up and hen he snorts
Enter Queenie. She is meek and slightly shy; grinning nervously: she is meeting her idol. She carries a copy of the same book that Princess was reading earlier. She also has a marker at hand
QUEENIE: Hello Mr. King. I’m you’re number one fan.
KING: How’d you—?
QUEENIE: The young girl let me in.
KING: What girl?
QUEENIE: She says she walks your dogs when you’re working on a novel. And I can see that you’re in over your head at the moment. I’m very excited to read it. I just love your work.
KING: She shouldn’t of let you in here. This is private property.
QUEENIE: And you’re a very private person. I know that. I know everything about you.
King reaches for the phone
QUEENIE: Oh please, please don’t be scared of lil’ ole me. I’m nothing to be scared of. Ha! What a hoot! I’m just a fan who has your most recent novel here with her and a marker and I’d just love it if you—?
KING: Autograph?
QUEENIE: It would be an honor.
KING: Then you’ll leave?
QUEENIE: I’m interrupting a work in progress aren’t I?
KING: You already know you are.
QUEENIE: It’s just that I couldn’t pass this up. I was waiting in line for hours at the Bangor Best Buy Book Sellers, that’s where I get all your first editions. The woman there was not helpful at all…
KING: So I’ve been told.
QUEENIE: But I met this nice young man who was picking up a copy for you. So I—
KING: You followed him.
QUEENIE: Yes. I followed him. Lucky I had my car with me by golly that boy can run!
KING: Gimme your book.
QUEENIE: Oh, yes, yes here!
She hands him her book and he signs it
KING: Who do I make it out to?
QUEENIE: Your number one fan.
KING: Is there a name that goes with that?
QUEENIE: (dismissive) Annie. Annie Wilkes. But I’m a plain jane nobody, not the Hollywood type you’re so used to gallivanting ‘round with; I mean all those glamorous pretty ladies and the parties and the big important producers and the like; I’m just some silly goat stuck out on her big ole farm down the road; you don’t need to pollute your masterpiece with my name…
KING: (writing) To Annie Wilkes. My number one fan. Lots of love Stephen King.
Queenie is astounded. She is completely star struck. She collects her book as if it were the lost scrolls of the holy bible
QUEENIE: Thank you. Oh my goodness, heavens to Betsy, thank you so much…
KING: You’re welcome Annie.
King sits back at his typewriter, Queenie hovers over him, worshiping him but also slowly morphing into something monstrous:
QUEENIE: This is just too much for me. Really it is. I’ve loved you from day one. From the short stories you wrote for Playboy magazine to your articles and your essays and all those anthologies…
KING: Thank you, you’re too kind.
QUEENIE: Oh but the novels! My my those are just too good for words!
KING: Oh no, they’re word worthy alright.
QUEENIE: I’m just in awe of your genius. You are a god among men.
KING: I might have to hire you. Keep you around the place. Sayin’ exactly the stuff it is you’re saying.
QUEENIE: So what’s the new book about?
KING: Haven’t really decided yet.
QUEENIE: Oh I’d love to sit here and watch you write.
KING: That might make me a tad nervous.
QUEENIE: Oh I won’t be a bother, I just want to be in control of, I mean, I just want to be involved or see how your mind works… sorry I’m hopeless. The right words never come out for me and I just seem all over the shop and—
KING: Do you want a drink?
QUEENIE: Oh no no no not me! I don’t drink!
KING: Well do you mind if I do?
QUEENIE: Not at all. Why would I?
KING: I think I’m gonna like you.
QUEENIE: Oh! You’re so lovely! I read that you were a charming and decent fellah in many a magazine but they can write whatever it is they want really, you have to actually meet the celebrity up close and personal to really know that they’re nice. And you haven’t disappointed at all… you really are nice.
KING: You got me on a good day.
QUEENIE: (in love) Oh I just love your writing Paul, it’s just so—noble.
KING: (puzzled) Paul?
Princess enters the scene; Queenie remains there but hidden in darkness staring at King waiting for him to pound the typewriter
Princess is her ditsy dog-walking self again. But this time she seems a tad solemn:
KING: Hey. How was the walk?
PRINCESS: Good.
KING: They have fun?
PRINCESS: They always do.
KING: Hey you’re not ranting, something the matter?
PRINCESS: Do I rant?
KING: You usually trail off without stopping to breathe and right now you ain’t. You not yourself today.
PRINCESS: No. I’m not.
KING: What’s up?
PRINCESS: Oh nothing.
KING: Come on let me in.
PRINCESS: The dogs and me went to Max’s Café.
KING: Where they let dogs in the beer garden, right?
PRINCESS: Yeah.
KING: And?
PRINCESS: And the TV was on.
KING: So?
PRINCESS: Mr King there was an accident.
KING: I think I just had one of those too…
He begins to scratch out something he wrote
PRINCESS: In Portland. A car accident.
KING: Portland? Is anyone hurt?
PRINCESS: It was just on the news. I had to tell you as soon as I heard. I got scared Mr King. For the first time in my life I really got scared.
KING: So you’ve been lying to me all this time? You never got remotely white knuckled readin’ one of my fucking books? Jeesh!
PRINCESS: When I heard about the accident in Portland my mind went wandering and I got thinking. I had an image flash in my head and a thought that hung there like a bad smell. A horrible thought.
KING: Bring it on dear, maybe I can rip it off…
PRINCESS: Imagine if that was Tabitha.
King is distracted from his work now:
KING: Oh Christ.
PRINCESS: No, really, imagine if it was.
KING: Hey! It wasn’t so stop saying it.
PRINCESS: Oh fuck Mr. King what would you do if that happened? Where would you end up? How would you cope?
KING: Leave it alone. Tabby is fine. She’s perfectly ok.
PRINCESS: And imagine if it was one of your kids.
KING: Enough. I don’t want to imagine…
PRINCESS: Imagine instead of that little nameless girl from Connecticut lying there on that asphalt bleeding internally and sporting large gaping wounds with her lifeless body ready for decomposition and her face bruised to a pulp it was one of your own. It was Joe! Your little boy!