Best Man Wins [Episode Part 2]

✦ EXT. SERVICE ALLEY BEHIND THE AWARDS VENUE – NIGHT

A rusted steel door marked "CATERING STAFF ONLY" swings open with a thud. A woman in black slacks and a wrinkled dress shirt steps outside, trailing cigarette smoke and exhaustion.

CHARLIE CALE, sleeves rolled up, apron folded over one arm, lets the door close behind her. She lights a Parliament and leans against the wall, half hidden between the catering van and a dumpster that smells like shrimp cocktail and wet ambition.

A door creaks open again.

Two catering staff, SHAY and LEN, both young, both gossipy, step outside, too loud for the hour.

SHAY:"Did you see Dorian Cass tonight? Jesus. That guy still thinks he's hot shit."

LEN:"He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own face. Could barely clap when Owen won."

SHAY (laughing):"He's probably pissed Owen finally lapped him. Like, sorry bro, you can't coast on one good role from a decade ago."

Charlie doesn't say anything. Just exhales smoke, eyes drifting across the parking lot. Listening.

LEN:"I swear he gave Owen the death glare. Like full 'if I can't have it, no one can' mode."

SHAY:"That man's face is so Botoxed holy shit."Charlie smirks, just barely. But her eyes tighten.

LEN:"I heard he got cut from that indie last year. Didn't test well."

SHAY:"Didn't test at all. Dude's expired milk. Owen's the one with the juice now."

They both laugh. Too loud. Too young to care about nuance.

Charlie flicks her ash, watching their shadows bounce off the alley wall. She's not one for gossip. Doesn't give a shit about who's hot in Hollywood. But something about the tone, dismissive, shallow, mean, scratches at her.

She flicks her cigarette, quietly.

CHARLIE:"What's he like in person?"

SHAY (surprised):"Who, Dorian?"

Charlie nods.

SHAY (shrugs):"Standoffish. Cold. Kind of a dick." LEN:"Yeah, and he did this weird thing backstage. Just stood there. Like he was staring at the floor for ten minutes."

SHAY:"Probably rehearsing his acceptance speech. Didn't get to use it."

They laugh again, reenter the building without saying goodbye.

Charlie stays behind.

Silence again.

She taps the side of her cigarette box against her palm, but doesn't light another. Just stares out across the parking lot, brows pulled together in thought.

⸻

✦ INT. BACKSTAGE – LATER THAT NIGHT

The ceremony's over. Awards have been handed out. Applause has cooled into low chatter.

A small, elegant green room hums with afterglow. A cluster of B list celebs mingle with studio execs. Waitstaff move carefully with trays of champagne and seaweed crisps. A string quartet is trying to play modern pop songs, but you'd never know it.

Charlie works the side bar, barely visible behind a tower of sparkling water bottles. She's blending in. Doing her job. But her eyes move.

There he is: Dorian Cass, in a dark suit that doesn't fit quite right anymore. He's standing alone at the edge of the room, drink untouched in his hand. His face is composed. Smooth. Too smooth. He looks almost serene.

No one talks to him.

He's in the room, but not in it.

Across from him is OWEN VANCE, surrounded by laughter, hand gripping the base of a trophy. He's electric. Every move loose, confident, warm.

Charlie doesn't know either of them. Not really. But the contrast is sharp.

Like a spotlight that skips over one man and burns another alive.

⸻

✦ INT. BAR STATION – MOMENTS LATER

Owen approaches, alone for a moment. He slides up to the bar, nodding at Charlie.

OWEN:"You got anything that tastes like it didn't win a People's Choice Award?"

CHARLIE:"Define 'good.'"

OWEN (grins):"Surprise me."

She pours him a whiskey, neat. He lifts it.

OWEN:"To undeserving winners."

Charlie raises an eyebrow.

CHARLIE:"Bit dark for someone with a new paperweight."

OWEN:"Yeah, well. Sometimes it feels like they're handing you a target, not a trophy."

He sips.

She studies him. The joke came too fast. It was rehearsed.

CHARLIE (carefully):"Rough night?"

OWEN (shrugs):"Not for me."

He glances over his shoulder, toward Dorian. A flicker of something crosses his face. Guilt? Worry? Regret?

Charlie catches it. File it away.

INT. HOTEL BREAKFAST ROOM – MORNING

Sunlight filters in too bright through gauzy curtains. Buffet trays hiss and clatter, utensils clink against china. Everything's too loud for how tired everyone looks.

A coffee line snakes out past the croissants.

At a table near the window, three production assistants, SHELBY, LENA, and MATTY, sit with overfilled plates, barely touching them.

SHELBY(whispering, eyes puffy)So he just... never came back?

LENA(toying with her spoon)They said he left the lake house early this morning. Took the car. Left his phone. Real mysterious.

MATTY(low, dry)Or he wandered into the woods and got eaten by raccoons. I don't know.

Shelby rolls her eyes but there's a flicker of worry underneath.

SHELBYNo, seriously. He wouldn't just ghost. Not during press week.

LENADorian's here though.

MATTYBig shock. Dude's like a shadow. I didn't even see him at the party and then boom, appears this morning like he never left.

They glance toward the far end of the buffet line.

DORIAN, crisp and composed, serves himself oatmeal like it's just another Tuesday. He stirs in blueberries. Quiet. Calm. Perfect posture.

He doesn't look up.

The others watch him for a beat.

SHELBY(under breath)He always gave me the creeps.

LENAHe was Owen's best friend.

MATTYYeah, exactly.

LENA(snickering)Bet he's thrilled now. Get the whole spotlight to himself.

SHELBYJesus, Lena.

LENAWhat? I'm not saying he did anything. I'm just saying... Dorian never looked too thrilled about Owen winning. Not even onstage. Dude looked like someone shot his dog.

They all fall silent as Dorian turns and walks past, perfectly calm, coffee in hand. Not eavesdropping. Not reacting. Just passing.

Still, all three of them freeze mid sip until he's out of earshot.

MATTY(low)Robot ass motherfucker.

⸻

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE OWEN'S SUITE – LATER

Charlie stands at the end of the hall, watching two housekeeping staff knock on Owen's door. No answer.

They knock again. Louder.

HOUSEKEEPER #1(murmuring to the other)He was supposed to check in with front desk by 10. That was hours ago.

They try the key. The lock blinks red.

Charlie takes a slow step forward.

CHARLIEHe leave a Do Not Disturb?

HOUSEKEEPER #2Nope. But his car's gone.

CHARLIEWhat, like, he drove off?

The women shrug.

Charlie's gut twists. She doesn't know why yet. Just that something feels off.

She glances at the floor, sees it before she understands what it is.

A smudge of dark mud by the baseboard. Like something was dragged. Faint, but there.

She squints. Looks around. No one else notices.

⸻

INT. HOTEL SERVICE KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER

Charlie leans on a prep counter, fidgeting with a wrapped knife roll. Another cater waiter, RAFAEL, pours orange juice into carafes nearby.

RAFAELYou look like you saw a ghost.

CHARLIEYou hear about Owen?

RAFAELWhat, that he bailed? Yeah. Everyone's saying he pulled a diva move. Took the Tesla and split.

CHARLIEHe ever seem like the bail on press kind of guy?

RAFAELI mean... he was an actor.

CHARLIENo, like, last night. Did he seem off to you?

RAFAELI dunno. I was mostly stacking wine glasses. He was drunk. Him and that Dorian guy? Arguing near the fire pit at one point.

Charlie straightens slightly.

CHARLIEArguing?

RAFAELI didn't hear much. Just saw the body language, you know? Tense. Like... not shouting." Charlie processes that. Her gaze drifts back toward the dining room, where Dorian is now holding court at a table alone, reading something on his phone, untouched coffee beside him.

Rafael notices her staring.

RAFAELWhat, you think he did something?

Charlie doesn't answer.

She just watches Dorian, eyebrows pulling together. EXT. LAKE TOWN – SMALL COFFEE SHOP – DAY

A BELL JINGLES over the door as QUINN steps inside. She's mid thirties, dressed in a long coat that still carries the dust of travel. Not glamorous, but sharp. Her phone is in her hand, screen lit up with missed calls and a news headline:

"Actor Owen Vance still missing: authorities expand search."

Inside, the place is cozy but tight. A few locals. A teenager at the counter. A retired couple sipping coffee like they've been doing it for fifty years. Nobody looks up.

QUINN approaches the counter, offers a tight, polite smile.

QUINNHey, sorry , can I ask you something? You ever seen this guy in here?

(She flashes a photo on her phone , it's Owen, blurry but recognizable, mid laugh, holding the Monarch Award.)

The teenage barista squints.

BARISTAThat's the movie guy, right? He was on the news.

QUINNYeah. Owen Vance. I'm his agent. He's been missing since Saturday night. Someone said he might've come up here.

BARISTAI mean... people come through, you know? Weekenders. You want a coffee or something?

QUINNNo. Thanks.

She tucks her phone back into her coat. Scans the room again.

QUINNYou remember anyone coming in with him? Another guy, maybe mid forties

BARISTAI dunno. Maybe. I just work Saturdays.

She scans the café, then stops cold.

CHARLIE CALE is in the corner booth, half watching the scene unfold over a cup of watery coffee. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink.

QUINN (quietly)Of course.

Charlie raises her cup like a half assed toast.

CHARLIESmall world, huh?

Quinn moves toward her. She doesn't sit yet.

QUINNYou working the fundraiser?

CHARLIESure was. Tuxedo penguins, passed hors d'oeuvres, rich folks pretending they care.

QUINNAnd Owen?

CHARLIEShowed up late. Alone. Did the whole smile for the camera thing. Said some pretty words.

QUINNAnd after?

CHARLIEHung back. Waited till most people left. I was cleaning up.

QUINN finally slides into the booth across from her. Drops her bag onto the seat beside her like it's heavier than it should be.

QUINNYou talk to him?

CHARLIE

Yeah, I uh poured him a drink he was telling me how much he was happy and sad about his win.

(beat)Said he didn't trust anyone in that room.

QUINNExcept you?

CHARLIEI'm just the girl with the ashtray.

Quinn narrows her eyes.

QUINNHe say what was going on?

CHARLIENot directly.

A silence settles between them.

CHARLIEYou were there, weren't you?

QUINNLeft early. Figured he had it under control. Big mistake.

CHARLIEYeah, well... hindsight's a bitch.

They sit there for a moment.

QUINNWhat happened when he left?

CHARLIEHe didn't. Not right away. He just stood there. Like he was waiting for something. Or someone. Then this black Tesla pulls around from the back lot, tinted windows, the whole cliché, and he gets in.

QUINNYou get plates?

CHARLIENo. Too dark. And I was halfway through a cigarette I didn't wanna waste.

QUINNYou always did prioritize the wrong things.

CHARLIEAnd you always assumed you knew better.

A beat.

QUINNYou think he's dead?

Charlie doesn't answer right away. Then:

CHARLIEI think he was scared. And I think whoever picked him up wanted him to stay quiet.

QUINNAnd you're just sitting here?

CHARLIEI didn't think anything big of it also I'm just waitstaff

QUINNYeah? Well, dare I say I need help

Charlie leans forward slightly, expression unreadable.

CHARLIEThen we're in business.

QUINNGod help me.

Charlie cracks the smallest, most tired smile. EXT. SMALL TOWN STREET – DAY

They step out into the gray light. A sharp breeze scrapes down the main drag. Quinn pulls her coat tighter. Charlie just shrugs against the cold like it's an old friend.

They walk side by side, not quite in step, not exactly casual either.

CHARLIESo, uh... you still got that place in Silver Lake?

QUINNNo.

CHARLIEDamn. I liked that apartment. Felt like a movie set. The good kind. Like... Before Sunset but with better furniture.

QUINNIt was never mine. Belonged to Owen. He just let me stay there when I needed to be in L.A. for work.

Charlie lets out a low whistle.

CHARLIEShit. That's right. I forget sometimes you two were tight.

QUINNNot tight. Contractually obligated.

Charlie glances over.

CHARLIESure. Just like how you and I were, uh... what, emotionally subletting?

QUINNCharlie.

CHARLIENo, no, I get it. Ancient history. Fossilized. Like a mosquito in amber except, you know, instead of blood it's just weird conversations and bad timing.

They cross the street. A truck rumbles past, spitting gravel.

QUINNYou always talk like that now?

CHARLIETalk like what?

QUINNLike you're narrating a detective novel

CHARLIEPfft. I've toned it down.

(beat)You should've heard me last year. Whole month I talked like a guy from Fargo trying to do noir. Wasn't on purpose. Just kinda... happens when you drive too long with nothing on the radio but AM static and late night trucker confessions.

QUINNRight. You're still... on the run?

Charlie gives her a side eye.

CHARLIEIt's less "on the run," more like, uh... strategic drifting. Like if you plan it just enough, people stop asking questions. You know, make yourself useful, keep your head down, don't make too many friends.

QUINNAnd this is peaceful for you?

CHARLIECompared to LA? Hell yeah. Here, if someone stares at you too long it's 'cause they're trying to figure out if they went to high school with your cousin. Not because they're calculating how many Instagram followers you have.

QUINNStill hate that town, huh?

CHARLIENot hate. It just, like... it doesn't work for people like me. You ever see a pigeon in a pet store? That's me in LA.

They round a corner. Quinn gestures toward the edge of a fenced off lot behind the fundraiser venue , now dark, quiet, the string lights dead above the loading zone.

QUINNThis where you talked to him?

Charlie stops. Looks up at the side door.

CHARLIEYeah. Back here. After the whole tuxedo penguin speech thing, I was on drinks. Guy asked for bourbon , neat , said it was the only honest thing in the room.

She kneels down and pulls a half smoked cigarette from behind a loose brick on the ledge. Lights it without a word.

QUINNYou really just stash those?

CHARLIEYeah. Like trail markers for emotionally constipated raccoons.

(beat)Anyway. He looked off. Like, not just tired, but... twitchy.

thought he was being metaphorical, you know, like actors do. Turns out... maybe not.

QUINNYou didn't tell the cops any of this?

CHARLIEYeah, well, cops don't like me much.

QUINNJesus, Charlie.

CHARLIEHey, I gave 'em the basics. Name, time, said I poured him a drink and he left. They didn't exactly grill me. Just wanted to check off the box.

QUINNAnd the Tesla?

CHARLIEPulled up maybe five, ten minutes after. Tinted windows. No plates.

Quinn's jaw clenches. She's quiet for a beat.

QUINNYou think he got in willingly?

Charlie blows out smoke and watches it spiral.

CHARLIEThat's the million dollar question, isn't it?

QUINNYou said he looked scared.

CHARLIEYeah. But scared ain't always unwilling. Sometimes it's just... desperate.

They stand in the silence, the air heavy between them.

CHARLIESo, uh... where you heading next?

QUINNFigured I'd talk to the caterer, see if any staff saw where the car came from. Maybe hit the hotel, check his room if the cops didn't already tear it apart.

Charlie flicks ash into the dirt.

CHARLIEMind if I tag along?

QUINNThought you liked keeping your head down.

CHARLIEI do. But, uh... I liked Owen. And he talked to me like he needed to say something, and then didn't get to. So... yeah. I'm in.

(beat)Unless you think I'll cramp your style.

QUINNMy style's already cramping itself.

Charlie smirks.

CHARLIEThen let's go bother some rich people and ruin their day.

QUINNNow that sounds like the Charlie I remember.

They walk off together, toward the hotel , two people who once meant more to each other than they're ready to say. Now tethered again by someone else's vanishing act.

The mystery's just getting warm.

EXT. HOTEL SERVICE ENTRANCE – LATER

A different kind of quiet hangs here. Not the sleepy hush of a small town.

Quinn pushes open the door marked "Deliveries Only." It creaks like a warning. Charlie slips in behind her, hands shoved in her coat pockets.

INT. HOTEL – SERVICE HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS

Industrial beige walls. The buzz of a soda machine the only sound. Quinn walks with purpose; Charlie trails a beat behind, taking it all in.

CHARLIE(low)Wow. Glamorous.

QUINNYeah, it's not the front desk, but it's where the caterers unload. Figured it's a better place to start than chasing down guest services.

They round a corner into a utility room that doubles as a prep kitchen. Stainless steel counters, stacked trays, bins full of empty glassware.

A man in a hairnet is dumping ice into a cooler. He looks up, startled.

QUINNHi. Sorry. We're not here to cause trouble.

WORKER(pulling earbuds out)You... with the cops?

QUINNNo. Just asking a few questions. About the guy who disappeared Saturday night. Owen Vance?

The worker's face stiffens.

WORKERI don't know anything.

CHARLIEYou don't have to know anything. Maybe you just saw something.

He squints at her. Charlie offers a disarming smile. It's half charm, half exhaustion.

CHARLIE (CONT'D)Big guy. Sharp tux.

WORKERYeah, okay. I saw him. He was out back by the loading dock. Seemed like he was waiting for someone. Was pacing. Looked, uh, not good. Jumpy. QUINNDid you see the car?

WORKERTesla. Black. Came from the side lot , not the main drive. Tinted windows. Real quiet engine, too. No lights. Kinda... sneaky, you know?

CHARLIESneaky cars. Great. Always a good sign.

WORKERHe got in on his own. That's all I saw. No yelling. No force. Just... gone.

QUINNDid you see who was driving?

He shakes his head.

WORKERJust a silhouette. Male, maybe? I dunno. Whole thing gave me the creeps.

Quinn nods, more to herself than to him.

QUINNThanks. That helps.

They turn to go. The worker puts his earbuds back in like none of this ever happened.

INT. HOTEL HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER

Charlie pulls out a flask and takes a swig. Offers it to Quinn, who hesitates, then takes a quick drink. Winces. QUINNJesus. What is that?

CHARLIESomething I bought in Wyoming with no label .

They walk in silence for a moment.

CHARLIE (CONT'D)So. The guy gets in the car, no struggle. Looks scared, but not shocked. That's not a kidnapping. That's... something else.

QUINNAn appointment.

CHARLIEBingo. Probably not for brunch, though.

QUINNHe told me he was nervous about something. About being followed. I thought it was just actor paranoia. You know, post awards season comedown, maybe one too many espresso martinis.

CHARLIEYeah. But this wasn't nerves. This was... countdown to something kind of energy.

They stop outside a closed guest room door. Room 428. Owen's.

QUINNLet's see what the cops didn't bother locking down.

She tries the handle. It opens with a quiet click.

CHARLIEHuh. That's... not encouraging.

INT. OWEN'S HOTEL ROOM – CONTINUOUS

The room is too clean.

Not staged, not spotless. But cleared. Like someone took their time packing up .

They walk in silence for a moment.

CHARLIE (CONT'D)So. The guy gets in the car, no struggle. Looks scared, but not shocked. That's not a kidnapping. That's... something else.

QUINNAn appointment.

CHARLIEBingo. Probably not for brunch, though.

QUINNHe told me he was nervous about something. About being followed. I thought it was just actor paranoia. You know, post awards season comedown, maybe one too many espresso martinis.

CHARLIEYeah. But this wasn't nerves. This was... countdown to something kind of energy.

They stop outside a closed guest room door. Room 428. Owen's.

QUINNLet's see what the cops didn't bother locking down.

She tries the handle. It opens with a quiet click.

CHARLIEHuh. That's... not encouraging.

INT. OWEN'S HOTEL ROOM – CONTINUOUS

The room is too clean.

Not staged, not spotless. But cleared. Like someone took their time packing up

Charlie lifts the room service menu off the desk. Nothing underneath. Quinn checks the nightstand drawer , Gideon Bible, untouched. She pulls open the minibar. Empty.

CHARLIEThis guy was either incredibly tidy or someone came in here with a checklist.

Quinn crouches beside the desk, opens the drawer. Stops.

A printed flight confirmation.

QUINNLAX to Newark. Monday morning.

CHARLIESo... he was leaving town. Fast.

Quinn flips the paper over. Scribbled notes on the back , shorthand, a few partial names, initials. One line underlined twice:

"If I don't show, it's not a choice."

Charlie exhales. Long. Low.

CHARLIEThat doesn't sound like a guy planning to get a mimosa at the airport lounge.

They exchange a look. The puzzle pieces are ugly and wet and shaped like something nobody wants to finish.

QUINNYou still wanna tag along?

CHARLIEYeah. Yeah, I do.

(beat)Let's go find the bastard who picked him up.

They head out, the printed page clutched in Quinn's hand.