AMERICAN PSYCHO
by
Matthew Markwalder
Unproduced screenplay based on the book by Bret Easton Ellis
June 1998
FADE IN
TITLE CARD:
And as things fell apart
Nobody paid much attention
Talking Heads
EXT WALL STREET - DAY
SOFT FOCUS on a blur of moving shapes and colors. SOUNDS of
traffic and PEDESTRIANS on a crowded street. CREDITS ROLL as we
SNAP TO SHARP FOCUS on...
...a swirling mass of SUITS, all of them clones: white MEN, mid-
twenties to thirties, fashion slaves. INDIVIDUAL FACES reveal
nothing. YUPPIES, circa 1989. Another business day ends as...
...an endless stream of taxis and limousines pour into the
surrounding maze of streets. Traffic crawls as the CROWD surges
forward, relentless...
Enormous grey buildings, cold and impersonal, reach up to the
sky. HOMELESS PEOPLE lay passed out on the sidewalk, in
doorways, on benches. A grotesque disfiguration on an otherwise
perfect, gleaming surface, they beg for food, for change -
anything. Pathetic and broken, they are ignored by Wall Street's
ruling class.
A HOMELESS MAN holds a cardboard sign: I AM HUNGRY. PLEASE HELP
ME.
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
CLOSE ON a well-manicured HAND tightly gripping a Mont Blanc pen.
The HAND is writing on the wall above a urinal... we see the
first two neatly written letters: KI.
ESTABLISHING MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
(TO BE INTERCUT with previous SCENE in the MEN'S BATHROOM).
CREDITS CONTINUE ROLLING as we see a MONTAGE of life in late
Eighties Manhattan: the good, the bad and the ugly side of the
Big Apple. Juxtaposition the obvious with the obscure...
...The Empire State Building... red graffiti on the side of the
Chemical Bank: ABANDON ALL HOPE... traffic barely moving as
bicycle messengers fly past... a cop car disappears into an
underground parking structure... a bus roars past, an
advertisement for "Les Mis" on its side; the word "DYKE" scrawled
across Eponine's face...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND, writing. Additional letters now visible: LL
A.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...an out of business bistro covered up with posters featuring
Donald Trump on the cover of Time Magazine... The Statue of
Liberty... automated teller machines dispensing cash... a white
cop frisks a black man... newspapers and garbage blowing through
the streets... Rockefeller Center Plaza... delicatessens...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND still writing. Additional letters now visible:
LL Y.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...a gay pride parade: muscle bound macho men and flamboyant drag
queens proudly march arm in arm down Fifth Avenue... police...
George Plimpton... Broadway theater marquees... Trump Plaza...
subways... homeless people... mannequins in Bloomingdale's store
front... Radio City Music Hall...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND writing. Visible letters: UPP.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...an old bag lady cracks a whip at pigeons fighting over crumbs
on the piss-stained sidewalk... transvestites glare from the
shadows... the Chrysler Building... taxis everywhere, all of them
occupied... pigeons refuse to move... the homeless fight among
themselves...
INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - SAME
CLOSE ON the HAND. Now visible: IES.
SLOWLY PULL BACK to reveal an expensive looking set of cufflinks
attached to the sleeve of a designer suit... PULL BACK further to
discover the entire "message" written on the wall:
KILL ALL YUPPIES.
CONTINUATION OF MONTAGE, MANHATTAN - DAY (1989)
...graffiti on the side of a McDonald's: FEAR... rows and rows of
brightly colored packages of detergent... models strutting on a
catwalk in a fashion show... a homeless man pushing a shopping
cart half-full of tin cans stops to look for hidden treasure in
an overflowing trash can. Attached to his shopping cart is a
sign: THE END IS NEAR...
END MONTAGE
EXT TIMES SQUARE - LATE AFTERNOON (1989)
High above the streets, enormous brightly lit billboards loom
over Times Square. Flashing neon signs in X-rated storefronts
battle for attention. Sensory overload, American style...
inescapable, hypnotic.
...models, ten stories tall, selling underwear... "Coke Is
It!"... "XXX GIRLS"... "Fly United"... laughing faces on the
giant SONY Trinitron... "LIVE SEX SHOW"... "Fly Delta"... "Choice
Of A New Generation"... "Fly Blue Star"...
On a massive billboard advertising a tropical resort are the
words: DISAPPEAR HERE.
...ANGLE on a TAXI CAB in the Times Square traffic as CREDITS
CONTINUE.
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATE AFTERNOON
PATRICK BATEMAN and TIMOTHY PRICE, both grand prize winners in
the genetic lottery: perfect skin, high cheekbones and square
jaws, sit in the back seat of a taxi slowly moving uptown, driven
by an IMMIGRANT CABBIE.
Often mistaken as brothers, their natural good looks are further
enhanced by perfectly tailored, designer suits. Obviously
expensive yet subtle, understated. Very impressive. GQ Magazine
come to life.
PATRICK stares out the dirty window, expressionless. TIM focuses
straight ahead, in the middle of a passionate monologue:
TIM
I'm resourceful. Creative. I'm
highly motivated, I'm skilled. In
essence what I'm saying is that
society cannot afford to lose me. I'm
an asset.
(beat; then MORE)
TIM (CONT'D)
I mean the fact remains that no one
gives a shit about their work,
everybody hates their job, you've told
me you hate yours. What do we do? Go
back to Los Angeles?
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATER
TIM removes the Walkman from around his neck, opening his attache
case.
TIM
I hate to complain -- I really do -
about the trash, the garbage, the
disease, about how filthy this city
really is and you know and I know that
it is a sty...
TIM places the Walkman in the attache case and pulls out today's
New York Post, opening it up.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh... my... god.
TIM
In one issue -- in one issue -- let's
see here...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Please... shut up.
TIM
...strangled models, babies thrown
from rooftops, kids killed in the
subway, a Communist rally, mafia boss
wiped out, Nazis-
TIM flips through the pages excitedly...
TIM (CONT'D)
-baseball players with AIDS, more
mafia shit, gridlock, the homeless,
various maniacs, faggots dropping like
flies in the streets, the cancellation
of a soap opera, surrogate mothers...
and the joke is, the punch line is,
it's all in this city - nowhere else,
just here, it sucks, whoa wait, more
Nazis, gridlock, baby-sellers, black-
market babies, coma baby, hot water
burns baby, AIDS babies, bridge
collapses-
TIM stops, catching his breath. He notices something through the
window...
TIM's POV:
A HOMELESS PERSON begs for change on a street corner.
TIM (O.S.)
That's the twenty-fourth one I've seen
today. I've kept count.
BACK TO SCENE
PATRICK (V.O.)
Timothy Price began his spiel today,
hours ago over lunch and has been
going non-stop, more or less, ever
since. I've mostly been ignoring him,
although I did pay attention earlier
at Harry's when he began ranting about
Paul Owen and the mysterious Fisher
account.
(beat; then)
Tim is an investment banker with
Pierce & Pierce. We work in the same
office.
TIM
Why aren't you wearing the worsted
navy blue blazer with the gray pants?
PATRICK (V.O.)
Our destination this evening:
Manhattan's Upper West Side - a quiet
dinner with Evelyn and Courtney.
(beat; then)
Tim is twenty-six years old.
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATER
TIM
Diseases! There's this theory out now
that if you can catch the AIDS virus
through having sex with someone who is
infected then you can also catch
anything, whether it's a virus per se
or not - Alzheimer's, muscular
dystrophy, anorexia, autism, dyslexia,
for Christ sakes -- you can get
dyslexia from pussy-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
I'm not sure, guy, but I don't think
dyslexia is a virus.
TIM
Oh, who knows? They don't know that.
Prove it.
Traffic grinds to a halt... TIM and PATRICK are stuck at a RED
LIGHT. Another TAXI pulls up next to them...
...in the back seat is LUIS CARRUTHERS: generically handsome,
LUIS looks like every other young guy on Wall Street -- slicked-
back hair, suspenders, horn-rimmed glasses.
LUIS' face lights up when he notices TIM sitting in the car next
to him... LUIS waves "hello":
TIM smiles back, slowly extending his middle finger.
TIM (CONT'D)
Luis Carruthers... what... a... dick.
(beat; then)
Smile for the birdie, Luis.
PATRICK ignores both of them.
The traffic light turns green... LUIS is left behind.
INT TAXI, MOVING - LATER
TIM slaps his forehead and shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw as
he looks out the window:
TIM
I'm leaving. I'm dumping Meredith.
I'm gone. Twenty-six, twenty-seven...
I mean I tell her I'm sensitive. I
told her I was freaked out by the
Challenger accident -- what more does
she want? I'm ethical, I'm tolerant,
I mean I'm extremely satisfied with my
life, optimistic about the future-
TIM turns to PATRICK, suddenly concerned:
TIM (CONT'D)
I mean, aren't you?
Nearly comatose, PATRICK slowly turns to TIM:
PATRICK
Sure, but-
TIM
(interrupting)
And all I get is shit from her.
TIM's POV:
Three BUMS are sprawled out beneath a "Les Mis" poster.
TIM (O.S.)
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, holy shit
it's a goddamn cluster of bums. I
tell you-
PATRICK (O.S.)
(interrupting)
Should we bring flowers?
BACK TO SCENE
TIM
Nah. Hell, you're banging her,
Bateman. Why should we get Evelyn
flowers?
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am fairly sure that Timothy and
Evelyn are having an affair.
TIM
Jesus, Patrick... you should see how
ripped my stomach is. The definition.
Completely buffed out... ripped.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Timothy is the only interesting person
I know.
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
A typical Upper West side neighborhood: rows of brownstones
framed by tree-lined streets.
PATRICK and TIM stand on the front steps of EVELYN's BROWNSTONE.
TIM RINGS the DOORBELL, adjusting his necktie...
INT EVELYN'S FOYER - NIGHT
The door is opened by COURTNEY LAWRENCE, late twenties, blond,
physically perfect. She could easily have found fame and fortune
as a model...
...PATRICK enters, removing his overcoat as COURTNEY carefully
airkisses his right cheek. She greets TIM in the same manner.
COURTNEY
A bit late, aren't we boys?
TIM
Inept Haitian cabbie.
(beat; then)
Do we have reservations somewhere and
please don't tell me Pastels at nine.
COURTNEY
Eating in tonight, darlings. I'm
sorry, I know, I know, I tried to talk
Evelyn out of it but we're having...
sushi.
TIM breezes past COURTNEY, down the hall, OFF SCREEN.
TIM (O.S.)
Evelyn? Where are you, Evelyn?
We have to talk...
PATRICK faces COURTNEY, dropping his hands to her waist.
PATRICK
It's good to see you. You look very
pretty tonight. Your face has a
youthful... glow.
COURTNEY
You really know how to charm the
ladies, Bateman.
They KISS on the mouth, more than friends. COURTNEY pulls away,
an eyebrow quizically raised:
COURTNEY (CONT'D)
Should I tell Evelyn you feel this
way?
PATRICK
No. But I bet you'd like to.
COURTNEY looks down, suddenly serious:
COURTNEY
Patrick. I think Luis suspects
something.
PATRICK
Like what? That two plus two equals
four? That you're secretly Nancy
Reagan?
(beat; then)
Courtney, relax. Luis is... clueless.
Blue socks? Grey trousers? Am I
making sense here?
COURTNEY
Patrick, I'm serious. I think we
should stop.
(beat; then)
Besides, you have a girlfriend.
COURTNEY's somber mood passes as it came: quickly and without
warning. Looking up at PATRICK, she smiles:
COURTNEY (CONT'D)
Come on.
COURTNEY flirtatiously removes PATRICK's hands from her waist.
Moving behind him, she steers PATRICK down the hall.
INT EVELYN'S KITCHEN - NIGHT
A brightly lit, spacious kitchen dominated by shiny appliances
and stainless steel fixtures opens to a large dining room.
A "Talking Heads" CD plays softly in the background.
EVELYN RICHARDS crouches over a countertop carefully arranging
sushi on a platter. She has on virtually the exact same outfit
as COURTNEY; they look like twins. Barbie Dolls, manufactured.
COURTNEY leads PATRICK into the kitchen as HE NOTICES --
-- TIM squeezing EVELYN's ass before wandering OFF SCREEN to
investigate the mini-bar...
EVELYN doesn't look up as PATRICK approaches her from behind:
EVELYN
Oh honey, I'm sorry. I wanted to go
to this darling little new Salvadorian
bistro on the Lower East side-
TIM groans loudly, OFF SCREEN...
EVELYN (CONT'D)
-but we couldn't get reservations.
Timothy, don't groan.
EVELYN picks up a piece of sushi, cautiously placing it near the
top of the platter. Standing back, she inspects her work.
EVELYN (CONT'D)
I don't know. Oh, I'm so unsure.
(to COURTNEY)
The California Roll should circle the
rim of the plate, no?
TIM (O.S.)
Bateman? Drink?
PATRICK
J&B. On the rocks.
EVELYN
Oh god. It's a mess. I swear I'm
going to cry.
PATRICK
The sushi looks marvelous.
EVELYN
Oh, it's a mess. It's a mess.
PATRICK
No, no, the sushi looks marvelous.
PATRICK picks up a piece of the sushi and pops it into his mouth.
Hugging EVELYN from behind, he groans inwardly with pleasure.
PATRICK
Delicious.
EVELYN playfully slaps at PATRICK as TIM walks into the kitchen,
handing PATRICK a cocktail.
TIM raises his drink to PATRICK, a toast:
TIM
Bateman?
PATRICK
Yes? Timothy?
TIM
You're a dufus.
BOTH MEN smile widely, old friends. EVELYN is completely lost in
her own little world courtesy of Valium and Xanax:
EVELYN
Oh leave Patrick alone. He's the boy
next door. That's Patrick. You're
not a dufus. You're the boy next
door, aren't you?
PATRICK
No I'm not. I'm a fucking evil
psychopath.
EVELYN doesn't miss a beat:
EVELYN
Oh so what. We have to eat this now
or else we'll all be poisoned.
EVELYN continues arranging the sushi, totally spaced out...
Without warning, she SHRIEKS, nearly collapsing as --
-- COURTNEY and PATRICK rush to help her, concerned:
PATRICK
(to EVELYN)
What's wrong?
(to TIM)
For Christ sakes, Price! Help us!
Supported by PATRICK and COURTNEY, EVELYN becomes unhinged. She
gasps for air, unable to speak...
COURTNEY
(frantic)
What's wrong? Tell me, Evelyn.
Trembling, EVELYN lamely points to where she had been working --
-- A MEDIUM-SIZED SPIDER slowly crawls across her countertop...
Gasping, EVELYN finally catches her breath:
EVELYN
A spider.
COURTNEY and PATRICK stare at each other. Fighting back a smile,
they try hard not to laugh.
COURTNEY
It's okay, Evelyn. It's just a little
spider. Don't be scared.
TIM erupts with LAUGHTER -- PATRICK glares at him:
PATRICK
Shut up, Price.
TIM moves closer, singing "The Itsy Bitsy Spider"...
TEARS stream down EVELYN's porcelain cheeks. Helpless, she turns
to PATRICK:
EVELYN
Do something, Patrick.
PATRICK shrugs, rolls his eyeballs and smiles good-naturedly, as
if dealing with a small child. Just another one of EVELYN's
outbursts. Nothing unusual.
PATRICK removes a silk handkerchief from his jacket and gently
places it over the SPIDER --
-- using great caution, PATRICK delicately folds it over, safely
trapping the SPIDER inside...
Already well into his second cocktail, TIM continues mocking
EVELYN in a high, fey voice:
TIM
Patrick, do something! Save me!
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
PATRICK opens the front door. He delicately sets the
handkerchief down on the top step, unfolding it...
The timid SPIDER cautiously emerges as --
-- PATRICK looks up, distracted.
PATRICK's POV:
A tall, thin beautiful WOMAN walks up the stairs of the
brownstone next door. She fumbles with her keys as their EYES
LOCK. Finding the right key, she smiles at him, opens her door
and disappears.
BACK TO SCENE
PATRICK watches the helpless SPIDER struggle, his face
expressionless.
Several moments pass before --
HE STEPS ON THE SPIDER, KILLING IT.
PATRICK pockets his handkerchief, smiling ear to ear.
INT EVELYN'S DINING ROOM - NIGHT
PATRICK, TIM, EVELYN and COURTNEY are seated at a large, modern
table. Several platters of brightly colored sushi are making the
rounds. In place of silverware, EVELYN has provided her guests
with chopsticks...
COURTNEY
It's delicious.
EVELYN
(worriedly)
Tempura?
PATRICK
I'll have some.
PATRICK stabs a piece of eggplant, lifting it off the platter.
TIM
(to COURTNEY)
I mean, how can you say that? Don't
you know anything about Sri Lanka?
About how the Sikhs are killing like
tons of Israelis there? Doesn't that
effect us?
PATRICK
Oh come on, Price. There are more
important problems than Sri Lanka to
worry about. Sure our foreign policy
is important, but there are more
pressing problems at hand.
TIM
Like what? By the way, why is there
an ice cube in my soy sauce?
PATRICK
Well, for one thing we have to slow
down the nuclear arms race. We must
ensure a strong national defense,
prevent the spread of Communism, the
insidious evil, and work for peace in
the Middle East while preventing a
U.S. military involvement overseas.
We also need to stop terrorism and end
world hunger. Now that's not to
belittle our domestic problems which
are equally important, if not more so.
(MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
We need better and more affordable
care for the elderly. We need to
control and find a cure for the AIDS
epidemic and we need to improve the
quality of education. We also have to
crack down on crime and illegal drugs.
EVERYONE at the table stares at PATRICK. He's on a roll:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
But economically we're still a mess.
We have to find a way to hold down the
inflation rate and reduce the deficit.
We also need to provide training and
jobs for the unemployed as well as
protect existing American jobs from
unfair foreign imports. We have to
make America the leader by promoting
economic growth and business
expansion.
PATRICK sips his drink and continues:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
But let's not ignore our social needs,
oh no! We, as a society, are
obligated to provide food and shelter
for those who are unable to provide
for themselves, however we must stop
people from abusing the welfare
system. We must unite in our fight
against racial inequality and
celebrate the diversity of this great
nation. The abortion laws must be
changed to protect the right to life
yet still somehow maintain women's
freedom of choice.
(beat; then)
But before any of this can happen, we
must encourage a return to traditional
moral values, curbing graphic sex and
violence on T.V., in movies, in
popular music, everywhere. Most
importantly, we must promote general
social concern and less materialism in
young people.
PATRICK finishes off his drink, triumphant.
TIM shakes his head in disbelief, amused, applauding slowly...
COURTNEY smiles, genuinely moved by PATRICK's speech... EVELYN
stands up unsteadily, completely mystified:
EVELYN
Would anyone like dessert?
INT EVELYN'S BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK and EVELYN lay in bed together, still fully clothed,
alone for the first time tonight. Several vials of prescription
pills sit atop EVELYN's night stand, open. PATRICK's necktie has
been loosened...
...EVELYN is in a trance, watching television, the Home Shopping
Club... glass dolls, embroidered throw pillows, lamps shaped like
footballs... CALL NOW!
Unable to relax, PATRICK seems restless; something lays heavily
on his mind...
PATRICK
What's going on with Courtney and
Luis?
EVELYN
(staring at the television)
Oh god. The really dreadful thing
about Courtney is not that she doesn't
like Luis anymore. It's that she's
really in love with her real estate
broker.
(beat; then turning to PATRICK)
Are you gaining weight?
PATRICK
Jesus. No, Evelyn.
EVELYN
Your face definitely looks rounder.
Less chiseled.
PATRICK
Why don't you just go for Price?
EVELYN
Oh god, Patrick. Why Price? Price?
PATRICK
He's rich.
EVELYN
Everybody's rich.
PATRICK
He's good-looking.
EVELYN
Everybody's good-looking.
PATRICK
He has a great body.
EVELYN
Everybody has a great body.
PATRICK reaches for EVELYN, playfully kissing and biting at her
neck, massaging her thighs... a valiant attempt at foreplay.
EVELYN ignores his advances, craning her neck for a better view
of the T.V. There will be no sex tonight.
EVELYN
You know, you can always be in better
shape.
Defeated, PATRICK retreats.
EVELYN
Your hairline looks like it's
receding. Are you using Minoxidil?
EXT/INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, HALLWAY - DAWN
CLOSE UP: framed portrait of RONALD REAGAN.
SLOWLY PULL BACK and DOLLY through a dimly lit hallway into:
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM - DAWN
PATRICK's spacious apartment exudes wealth, good taste and order.
It is immaculate, almost sterile.
In the early light of dawn, we DOLLY through the LIVING ROOM to
reveal:
...polished white oak floors... enormous floor to ceiling
windows... a breath-taking view of Manhattan partially visible
through half-opened Venetian blinds...
...a large white sofa dominates the room... a vintage Wurlitzer
jukebox... a state of the art stereo system sandwiched between
two tower speakers... a thirty-one inch television sitting above
a VCR...
...a large portrait hanging over the marble fireplace of a naked
woman watching TV on a Martian landscape (a David Onica
original)... a black concert grand piano seems strange, out of
place...
The ultimate bachelor pad. Think: Sharper Image Catalog meets
Architectural Digest.
A television can be HEARD, faintly, OFF SCREEN.
DOLLY through the living room, stopping at: A BEDROOM DOOR.
-- the sound becomes louder... the glow from a television spills
into the hallway --
DOLLY into the BEDROOM:
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - DAWN
A large futon in an oakwood frame sits, unmade. Four chests of
immense mahogany drawers hide an entire wall. A thirty-one inch
television set fills the room with sound and color.
PATRICK has just woken up. Dressed in silk pajamas, he is
engaged in a series of stretching exercises on the floor in front
of the television...
ON THE TELEVISION:
The Patty Winter's Show:
A daily tabloid talk-show moderated by PATTY WINTERS, mid-
thirties, totally annoying yet highly entertaining...
ON STAGE, an older, overweight WOMAN sits in a chair, fidgeting
nervously.
PATTY WINTERS (O.S.)
Well, is it schizophrenia or what's
the deal? Tell us.
WOMAN
No, oh no. Multiple personalities are
not schizophrenics. We are not
dangerous.
PATTY WINTERS stands in the middle of the audience, microphone in
hand:
PATTY WINTERS
Well... who were you last month?
WOMAN
Last month it seemed to be mostly
Polly.
The audience reacts: a housewife's horrified face speaks a
thousand words. The studio fills with murmurs as PATTY WINTERS
regains control:
PATTY WINTERS (O.S.)
Now who are you?
WOMAN
Well... well, this month I'm...
Lambchop. Mostly... Lambchop.
A long pause... CUT TO: close-up of a stunned housewife shaking
her head, another housewife whispering something to her...
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, SHOWER STALL - DAWN
THE SHOWER HEAD roars to life, spraying PATRICK --
PATRICK (V.O.)
The universal all-directional shower
head adjusts within a thirty-inch
vertical range. It's made from
Australian gold-black brass and
covered with white enamel finish.
-- PATRICK's "showering ritual" begins: JUMP CUT as he
meticulously massages exotic gels, cleansers and shampoos all
over his beautiful body.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
I begin with a water-activated gel
cleanser, then a honey-almond body
scrub, and on the face an exfoliating
gel scrub. Vidal Sasson shampoo is
especially good at getting rid of the
coating of dried perspiration, salts,
oils, airborne pollutants and dirt
that can weigh hair down and flatten
it to the scalp, making you look
older.
(beat; then)
The conditioner is also good.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BATHROOM - DAWN
Marble sink. Gold fixtures. A framed portrait of Oliver North
hangs over the toilet.
PATRICK steps out of the shower, toweling off... his perfect
physique impossible to ignore.
PATRICK stands in front of the mirror, preparing to shave. We
JUMP CUT through each stage of his "shaving ritual":
PATRICK (V.O.)
Before shaving, I always press a hot
towel against my face for two minutes
to soften abrasive beard hair. Then I
slather on a moisturizer and let it
soak in for a minute. You can rinse
it off or keep it on and apply shaving
cream over it -- preferably with a
brush, which softens the beard as it
lifts the whiskers, making hair
removal easier.
(beat; then)
Rinse the razor and shake off any
excess water before starting.
Afterwards splash cool water on the
face to remove any trace of lather.
You should use an aftershave lotion
with little or no alcohol. Never,
ever use cologne on your face since
the alcohol content will dry your skin
out and make you look older.
(beat; then)
Applying a moisturizer is the final
step. If the face seems dry and flaky
-- which can make it look dull and
older -- use a clarifying lotion that
removes flakes and uncovers fine skin.
Then apply anti-aging eye balm.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, WALK-IN CLOSET - MORNING
Dozens of designer suits, neatly pressed, hang in PATRICK's
gigantic closet. A sense of neatness, order.
The door opens. PATRICK walks in wearing a bathrobe --
inspecting several of the suits, he chooses only one.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
Dressed in the suit, PATRICK stands in front of a full-length
mirror, examining himself... hmmm... nope, something isn't quite
right.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK wears a different suit... standing in front of the
mirror, he frowns... this one is no good, either.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK wears yet another suit... he turns around in front of the
mirror, inspecting himself from all sides, but -- he's still not
satisfied.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - LATER
PATRICK has returned to the first suit he tried on. He closely
examines his hair in the mirror... was EVELYN right?
PATRICK smiles at his beautiful reflection. PERFECT.
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, HALLWAY - MORNING
PATRICK puts on his raincoat, taking a white scarf off the
coatrack near the door...
...the scarf is embroidered with a cute, blue whale; something a
child might wear. One corner of the scarf has been splattered
with mysterious dark brown stains.
PATRICK drapes the scarf around his neck. EXIT.
EXT WALL STREET - MORNING
Wall Street roars to life... it's showtime.
EXT PIERCE & PIERCE BUILDING - MORNING
The offices of P&P are housed in an imposing building on Wall
Street. The building's architecture suggests the Roman Empire at
its height.
A taxi cab pulls up. PATRICK steps out, his chest swollen with
the kind of confidence that only money can buy.
INT P&P LOBBY - MORNING
PATRICK strides through the crowded ornate marble lobby, a Wall
Street journal tucked neatly under his arm.
Colleagues pass by, courteously greeting PATRICK before
disappearing into the swirling crowd: Good Morning, Mr.
Bateman!... Congratulations Flanagan!... Hey Goodsen, drinks?
Harry's, seven o'clock... PATRICK smiles widely, unfazed as...
PETER FALLOW, a disheveled, drunken reporter last seen in Bonfire
Of The Vanities materializes out of thin air...
Obnoxious as hell, FALLOW attempts to block PATRICK, waving a
folded up newspaper inches from PATRICK's face, rapidly firing
off questions:
FALLOW
Did Sherman McCoy kill Henry Lamb?
How well do you know Mr. McCoy? Is
there anything you'd like to say to
the dead boy's family?
PATRICK picks up speed, a bull, unstoppable... trailing several
feet behind his quarry, FALLOW unfolds his newspaper, holding it
out in front of him -- the headline in bold, black letters: HONOR
STUDENT IN COMA, COPS SIT ON HIT AND RUN...
FALLOW comes to a stand still:
FALLOW
Our streets flow red with the blood of
the innocent. What do you say to
that, Mr. Wall Street?
Ignoring the reporter, PATRICK walks into a crowded elevator,
beaming... he winks at an attractive WOMAN as the elevator doors
slide shut --
FALLOW shouts out to no one, to everyone:
FALLOW
Someone will pay!
INT P&P HALLWAY - MORNING
Elevator doors open. PATRICK steps out...
DOLLY with PATRICK walking down the hall:
...elegantly framed paintings of various wildlife scenes are hung
alongside portraits of powerful men... dark wood, conservative
earth tones... we are in the presence of old family money...
HOLD ON a large PORTRAIT OF A MAN as PATRICK passes by without
notice:
...written on the brass plate beneath it: SEAN BATEMAN, SNR.,
1920-1987, OUR FOUNDING FATHER... a MAN in his mid-fifties with
sharp, memorable features... his expression stern, almost
hostile... he bears an uncanny resemblance to his son, PATRICK
BATEMAN.
INT PATRICK'S OUTER/INNER OFFICE - MORNING
A tastefully decorated waiting room: large leather sofa, two
matching chairs, recent issues of Fortune, Money and Life
Magazine neatly arranged on a glass coffee table...
...a framed reproduction of Salvador Dali's "Metamorphosis Of
Narcissus" brings much needed color to the room...
PATRICK's secretary, JEAN, 26 years old, attractive,
approachable, sits at her desk wearing an improbably expensive
outfit by Chanel. She is a class act.
JEAN's cluttered workspace has been personalized with small
signs, plaques and pictures:
...KNOW THYSELF... God grant me the serenity to accept the things
I cannot change, courage to change the things that I can and
wisdom always to tell the difference... a drawing of a cup of
cappuccino overflowing with froth, the words: THE FUTURE in black
letters...
PATRICK makes a grand entrance. JEAN looks up, smiling shyly:
JEAN
Good morning, Patrick.
PATRICK
What a good morning it is, Jean.
PATRICK's smile lights up the room...
Though strictly professional, there exists between JEAN and
PATRICK an undeniable chemistry, something far deeper than sexual
attraction.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Did you see the Patty Winters Show
this morning?
JEAN
No. How was it?
PATRICK
I don't remember... I think I was
hallucinating while watching it... I
can't be sure.
(beat; then)
I really don't know.
PATRICK arches an eyebrow, flirting...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Any messages?
JEAN
Charlie Babbitt has to cancel today.
He didn't say what it was he is
canceling or why.
PATRICK
Charlie imports sports cars... I'm
thinking of buying one from him.
Anyone else?
PATRICK walks past his secretary and opens the two large doors to
his magnificent office -- JEAN gets up from behind her desk...
nice ass.
PATRICK enters his office, JEAN following close behind.
JEAN
Doug Coughlin called. He wants to
meet you for a drink tonight.
PATRICK
When?
JEAN
After six.
PATRICK
No can do, Jean. Cancel it.
JEAN
Oh? And what should I say?
PATRICK
Just... say... no.
JEAN
Just say no?
PATRICK
Is there an echo in here? I could
swear I just heard an echo. You'd
better check it out.
(beat; then)
Okay, Jean. I need reservations for
three at Camols at twelve-thirty and
if not there, try Crayons. All right?
JEAN
Yes, sir.
PATRICK
Oh wait... and I need reservations for
two at Arcadia at eight tonight.
For a brief moment, JEAN's face betrays her: she is crushed... a
consummate professional, she recovers quickly:
JEAN
Oh, something... romantic?
PATRICK
No, silly. Forget it. I'll make
them. Thanks.
JEAN
(insisting)
I'll do it.
PATRICK
(waving her off)
No, no. Be a doll and just get me a
Perrier, okay?
JEAN turns to leave. Before reaching the doors, she turns back
to PATRICK, already seated, his feet up on the desk:
JEAN
You look nice today.
Smiling, PATRICK says nothing as he puts on a pair of black Ray-
Bans.
JEAN looks down, embarrassed. She exits, OUT OF FRAME.
PATRICK's large desk is surprisingly barren:
...a vintage German beer stein holding pens and pencils... a
computer terminal... a multi-line telephone... a glass
paperweight with a fish struggling to get out... a Rubix Cube...
an issue of Sports Illustrated...
Scanning the desk, PATRICK picks up the RUBIX CUBE: the very
definition of frustration, it is totally scrambled -- a puzzle
begging to be solved.
Unable to resist its charm, we hear the unmistakable WHIR of the
cube in motion as PATRICK's hands twist and turn, gliding over
its surface, giving it everything he's got:
...two rows of solid white, three rows of solid white... only one
more row of white is needed to complete the side... almost
there... almost... SHIT!
A stubborn red square prevents PATRICK from completing the fourth
row of white; PATRICK's hand movements intensify as he battles
the defiant toy, his fuse visibly lit.
PAN through PATRICK's office:
...soft, muted colors... gigantic windows look out over Wall
Street's financial institutions... uninspiring...
...a sleek, modular stereo system... an antique table with
matching chairs... a life-size ceramic Doberman... an umbrella
stand, unused... a George Stubbs painting on the wall... floor to
ceiling, built-in bookshelves...
ZOOM ON a prominently displayed hardcover edition of Donald
Trump's classic, The Art Of The Deal...
VOICE (O.S.)
Hello Patrick.
BACK TO PATRICK AT DESK:
DONALD TRUMP walks INTO FRAME looking like a million bucks.
PATRICK remains calm, as if there is nothing at all unusual about
TRUMP's appearance --
PATRICK
Mr. Trump... this is a... surprise.
TRUMP
Please. My friends call me Don.
Getting comfortable, TRUMP sits on the edge of PATRICK's desk.
PATRICK
Don, I'm a real... I'm a huge fan of
yours...
TRUMP
That's great Patrick. I see you have my
book.
PATRICK
It's like, my bible.
TRUMP
I'm a rich man. Did you know that,
Patrick?
PATRICK
Ummm... yes... yes I did.
TRUMP
You and me, we're a lot alike, Patrick.
People think I have everything... people
say, Oh Donald Trump, what more could he
possibly want?
PATRICK
Well... umm...
TRUMP
All my life I've wanted only one thing. A
secretary like Jean. You're a lucky man,
Patrick. Be good to her.
TRUMP smiles, lightly slapping PATRICK across the knees, a
fatherly gesture. He gets up and walks... OUT OF FRAME.
PATRICK reclines in his chair, relaxed... tuned out, lost behind
dark sunglasses in a world of his own design.
A VOICE INTRUDES --
JEAN (O.S.)
Patrick? Patrick? Here's your
Perrier...
Startled, PATRICK nearly jumps out of his chair... frantic, he
looks around --
-- but DONALD TRUMP is nowhere to be found.
JEAN stands over him, concerned. She sets a bottle of Perrier on
his desk...
JEAN
You have a reservation at Camols at
twelve-thirty, non-smoking section.
(beat; then)
I brought you the Ransom file...
Patrick? Is something wrong?
PATRICK returns to reality:
PATRICK
Don't wear that outfit again.
CLOSE IN on PATRICK's black sunglasses...
EXT MANHATTAN SKYLINE, AERIAL - NIGHT
Bright lights, big city...
EXT HARRY'S - NIGHT
As old as Wall Street itself, Harry's is the watering hole of
choice after a hard day's work in the world of high finance.
INT HARRY'S - NIGHT
A dark, cigar-smoke filled room. Large, yet somehow
claustrophobic. An old-world saloon for the nouveau riche:
Red velvet curtains draped over large areas of exposed wall
suggest a sense of tradition, power, wealth...
Black and white Depression-era photos hang framed on the walls...
set next to a young, upwardly-mobile clientele, their effect is
surreal, almost comical.
Dominating most of one wall is an antique, stained oak bar,
tended by FREDDY: early fifties, well groomed, a likable guy.
His crowd, mostly regulars, drinks martinis and bottled beers...
The usual, sir? You bet, Freddy!
It's busy in here tonight: groups of men sit huddled at the bar,
at tables, in dark booths... the din of conversation is broken
only by sudden outbursts of laughter... individuals move from
table to table, from group to group, shaking hands and smiling.
AT A TABLE NEAR THE FRONT:
PATRICK sits with CRAIG McDERMOTT and DAVID VAN PATTEN,
colleagues from P&P. Both in their late twenties, CRAIG and
DAVID are model-handsome... slicked-back hair, horn-rimmed
glasses and suspenders -- neither of them have ever worried about
getting a date.
Not yet drunk, DAVID and CRAIG are well on their way:
PATRICK (V.O.)
Sitting in Harry's with Craig
McDermott and David Van Patten,
tonight's topic of conversation is
familiar: fashion do's and don'ts.
CRAIG
(to PATRICK)
Here's my question: is it proper to
wear tasseled loafers with a business
suit or not?
PATRICK (V.O.)
Inseparable since birth, David and
Craig have an on-going bet to see who
will get in the Question and Answer
column of GQ Magazine first.
CRAIG
(to PATRICK)
Don't look at me like I'm insane.
PATRICK
Well guys...
(beat; then)
The tasseled loafer is traditionally a
casual shoe...
CRAIG
But it's become acceptable just
because it's so popular, right?
PATRICK
Yeah. As long as it's either black or
cordovan it's okay.
DAVID
What about brown?
PATRICK
Too sporty for a business suit.
TIM walks up to the table, handing PATRICK a cocktail. Taking
the seat across from PATRICK, he sits down and crosses his legs.
TIM
What are you fags talking about?
(beat; then to PATRICK)
Luis Carruthers is here.
PATRICK
(looking around)
Where? Where?
TIM
Over at the bar. Go say 'hi'.
WE SEE:
LUIS standing at the bar, waving his money, desperately trying to
get FREDDY's attention... everyone else is served, but... LUIS IS
IGNORED.
PATRICK (V.O.)
I honestly don't know what Courtney
sees in this guy. I mean, look at his
suit, for Christsake.
BACK TO SCENE
DAVID
Okay, okay. This is my question. A
two-parter: are rounded collars too
dressy or too casual? Part two, which
tie knot looks best with them?
TIM
It's a very versatile look, David. It
can go with both suits and sports
coats. It should be starched for
dressy occasions and a collar pin
should be worn if it's particularly
formal.
(beat; then)
With a blazer it can be worn either
pinned or unpinned. You want the
collar to look soft. Since it's a
traditional preppy look it's best if
balanced by a relatively small four-in
-hand knot.
(sipping drink; then)
Next question?
CRAIG
Buy the man a drink.
DAVID
Price?
TIM
Yes?
DAVID
You're priceless.
CRAIG
Hey Price. You got a question for GQ?
TIM
Yeah, I do.
(beat; then)
If all of your friends are morons, is
it a felony, a misdemeanor or an act
of God if you blow their fucking heads
off with a thirty-eight magnum?
CRAIG
Not GQ material. Try Soldier of
Fortune.
DAVID
Or Vanity Fair.
TIM cranes his neck, looking OFF SCREEN:
TIM
Who is that? Is that David Shawn?
CRAIG
No. That's Nigel Morrison.
TIM
Ahhh... one of those British faggots
serving internship at-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
How do you know he's a faggot?
TIM
They're all faggots. The British.
DAVID
How would you know, Timothy?
TIM
I saw him fuck Bateman up the ass in
the men's room at Morgan Stanley.
PATRICK
When are we going to Tunnel?
DAVID
What in the fuck is Morrison wearing?
Is that really a glen-plaid suit with
a checkered shirt?
TIM
That's not Morrison.
DAVID
Who is it then?
TIM
That's Paul Owen.
PATRICK
That's not Paul Owen. Paul Owen's on
the other side of the bar. Over
there.
WE SEE:
PAUL OWEN, yet another yuppie clone, drinking and laughing with
two other members of his same tax bracket...
CRAIG (O.S.)
He's handling the Fisher account.
PATRICK (O.S.)
Lucky bastard.
DAVID (O.S.)
Lucky Jew bastard.
PATRICK (O.S.)
Oh Jesus, Van Patten.
BACK TO SCENE
PATRICK is outraged. Zero to sixty in four seconds... is that a
vein popping on his forehead?
PATRICK
What does that have to do with
anything?
DAVID
Listen. I've seen the bastard sitting
in his office, on the phone, spinning
a fucking menorah.
PATRICK
You spin a dreidel, David. Not a
menorah. You spin a dreidel.
TIM
Oh my god, Bateman. What's your
problem?
PATRICK
Just cool it with the anti-Semetic
remarks.
TIM
The voice of reason. The boy next
door.
PATRICK
Yeah, a boy next door who, according
to you, let a British finance intern
sodomize him up the ass.
TIM
I said you were the voice of reason.
I didn't say you weren't a homosexual.
DAVID
Or redundant.
TIM, CRAIG and DAVID enjoy getting a rise out of PATRICK...
TIM
Patrick.
PATRICK
(still pissed-off)
What?
TIM
Patrick, do you remember your first
blow job?
PATRICK
No, Price. I don't.
(beat; then)
Of course I do.
TIM
Did you spit or swallow?
CRAIG and DAVID double over... PATRICK tries hard not to laugh,
but... it's too damn funny. TIM got him good. PATRICK can't
help but smile.
TIM looks OFF SCREEN:
TIM
Look who approaches. Watch me act
thrilled.
BUD FOX, last seen in Wall Street, walks up to the table, a shit-
eating grin on his handsome face.
TIM
Hey, Buddie boy, how you doin'?
BUD
Great Tim, any better it'd be a sin.
CRAIG
Still seeing that sexy French chick?
BUD
No. She asked the wrong question.
DAVID
What was that?
BUD
"What are you thinking?"
(beat; then)
Having sex with her was like reading
the Wall Street Journal.
TIM
She had a heartbeat.
BUD
Wanna bet?
CRAIG
So what? I'd fuck her.
TIM
Buddie, Buddie... Mr. McDermott wants
sloppy seconds.
CRAIG
(seriously)
I don't care. She is beautiful. I
want to fuck her. I want to marry
her. I want her to have my children.
The entire table cracks up laughing...
BUD
Oh wait, guys, listen, I got a joke.
TIM
Bud Fox, you are a joke. By the way,
nice jacket... non-matching but
complementary.
BUD
Ouch. Price, that really hurts...
anyway, what do you call a black
investment banker?
TIM
I don't know... what do you call a
black investment banker?
BUD
A nigger.
DAVID high-fives BUD. TIM nearly falls out of his chair laughing
as... the vein reappears on PATRICK's forehead:
PATRICK
Oh Christ. That's awful.
BUD
Why? It's funny. It's humorous.
CRAIG
Yeah, Bateman. Cheer up.
TIM
For Christ sakes, Bateman. What
bothers you about that?
PATRICK
It's not funny. It's racist.
BUD
Bateman, you are some kind of morose
bastard. You really should lighten
up, stop reading all those serial
killer biographies. Who was it last
week? Ted Bundy? Son of Sam?
TIM
Don't you know, Buddie? Patrick can't
read. He doesn't know how, do you
Patrick?
PATRICK
Fuck both of you. Racist assholes.
BUD
(checking Rolex)
Listen men, I'm off. Will see you
tomorrow.
DAVID
Yeah... same Bat Time, same Bat
Channel.
BUD FOX walks away, OUT OF FRAME.
TIM
What a fucking loser... they should
throw his ass in jail.
PATRICK
(calming down)
Do you know what Ed Gein said about
women?
DAVID
Ed Gein? Maitre d' at Canal Bar?
PATRICK
No. Serial killer. Wisconsin, in the
fifties. He was an interesting guy.
TIM
Oh Christ, Bateman. I don't want to
hear this.
DAVID
Go on, Patrick. What did Ed say?
PATRICK
He said, When I see a pretty girl
walking down the street I think two
things. One part of me wants to take
her out and talk to her and be real
nice and sweet and treat her right.
DAVID
And what does the other part of him
think?
PATRICK
What her head would look like on a
stick.
(beat; then)
Are we going to Tunnel or not?
EXT TUNNEL - NIGHT
A small crowd has gathered behind the velvet ropes outside of
Tunnel, the hippest place to see and be seen. A meet market... a
meat market.
All of the MEN waiting to be let in are dressed in tuxedos. Two
pony-tailed DOORMEN survey the CROWD, admitting a select few,
denying entrance to most.
A HOMELESS PERSON sits nearby, begging for change...
TIM leads PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID around the CROWD, directly up
to the ropes...
...TIM nods to one of the DOORMEN. Recognizing him, the DOORMAN
unhooks the rope, admitting all four of them without any hassle.
The CROWD surges forward, desperate to slide through in their
wake. People shout out, hoping to be recognized... hoping to be
let in.
TIM, PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID acknowledge no one as they
disappear inside the club.
INT TUNNEL, FRONT HALLWAY - NIGHT
A long hallway leading to the actual entrance of the club...
A small LINE OF PEOPLE wait to have their tickets ripped.
The FOUR MEN pass three beautiful WOMEN -- turning their heads to
stare, the WOMEN abruptly stop talking as...
...PATRICK smiles handsomely, pleased with himself, enjoying the
WOMEN's attention... TIM walks right past, aloof... DAVID and
CRAIG follow, clueless:
PATRICK
This is what I call a target rich
environment.
TIM
New Jersey's finest.
DAVID
(to PATRICK)
You live your life between your legs,
Pat.
PATRICK
Van Patten, even you could get laid in
a place like this.
DAVID
I'm telling you, I'd be happy to find
a girl who'd talk dirty to me.
CRAIG
I worry about disease just walking
into this place. These are some
skanky chicks.
DAVID
I told you, dude, white guys can't get
AIDS.
TIM, PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID come to the front of the line...
dance music getting louder... a WOMAN rips their tickets as the
FOUR MEN pass through the turnstiles:
PATRICK (V.O.)
Tim only manages to get two VIP
basement passes. At first this pisses
me off but then it occurs to me that
Tim is probably planning to ditch
Craig and David at some point this
evening so I don't have a panic attack
about it or anything.
INT TUNNEL, VIP STAIRCASE ENTRANCE - NIGHT
Loud dance MUSIC POUNDS -- conversation is possible only by
screaming.
TIM, PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID stand in front of a massive
descending staircase just inside of the club... the staircase is
blocked by an imposing SECURITY GUARD.
TIM hands two small cards to CRAIG and DAVID...
CRAIG and DAVID, taken aback by TIM's generosity, eagerly grab
the passes from his hand.
CRAIG and DAVID proudly display their VIP passes to the SECURITY
GUARD who steps aside, allowing them to descend...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Goodbye, gentlemen.
INT TUNNEL, MAIN ROOM - NIGHT
A darkly lit room filled to capacity, mostly MEN, all holding
champagne flutes.
TIM and PATRICK stand near the edge of the dance floor, an
endless sea of bodies gyrating with the beat of the THROBBING
MUSIC.
TIM shouts something into PATRICK's ear...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Predictably, Price wants to find some
Bolivian Marching Powder and though
I'm not really in the mood for cocaine
tonight, I don't really protest. What
the hell, I'm thinking. This is the
Eighties.
PATRICK nods, good idea...
INT TUNNEL, MEN'S ROOM - NIGHT
TIM and PATRICK huddle in a well-lit toilet stall, the door
closed.
TIM is jittery; his hands shake wildly. PATRICK keeps his cool,
a tiny package of white powder held in the palm of his hand.
PATRICK removes his PLATINUM AMERICAN EXPRESS CARD... holding it
in front of himself, he imitates Karl Malden's famous AmEx
commercial:
PATRICK
Don't leave home without it.
Both MEN giggle, pre-coke nerves... this shit better be good.
Taking his own Platinum AmEx card, TIM gently sticks a corner of
it into the powder and brings it up to his face --
-- TIM inhales sharply. His eyes snap open... gasping, his face
turns bright RED:
PATRICK
Easy, killer... easy.
PATRICK sticks the corner of his AmEx card into the powder and
brings it up to his nose...
CUT ON -- the SOUND of PATRICK INHALING.
INT TUNNEL, CHANDELIER ROOM - NIGHT
An enormous room. Exposed brick walls. A massive crystal
chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling. No WOMEN
anywhere, just an army of PROFESSIONALS from Wall Street wearing
tuxedos.
AT THE BACK OF THE CHANDELIER ROOM:
A steel RAILING overlooking non-functional twin TRAIN TRACKS
garishly lit in shades of blue, green and purple.
TIM and PATRICK lean on the railing, overlooking the tracks, each
with a cocktail...
The music isn't as loud in this room; conversation is possible:
PATRICK
Hey, I'm going out with Courtney
tomorrow night.
TIM
(sarcastic)
Great.
PATRICK
Well, why not? Luis is out of town.
TIM
Might as well hire someone from an
escort service.
PATRICK
Why?
TIM
Because she's gonna cost you a lot
more to get laid.
PATRICK
No way.
TIM
Listen, I put up with it too.
(beat; then MORE)
TIM (CONT'D)
Meredith's the same way. She expects
to be paid. They all do. I hope I'm
not causing you to relose your
innocence, Bateman.
PATRICK
Price?
(sipping from his drink)
You're priceless...
TIM points over his shoulder, indicating the train tracks:
TIM
Where do those tracks go?
PATRICK
I don't know.
TIM's attention returns to the tracks. Hunched over the railing,
TIM disappears inside himself...
The Chandelier Room is filling up quickly... a more even mixture
of WOMEN and MEN.
PATRICK, high on cocaine, scans the crowd, half-heartedly nodding
his head to the beat of the music:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Aren't you high?
TIM stands up straight, murmuring to himself, his attention still
focused on the TUNNEL:
TIM
I'm leaving -- I'm getting out.
PATRICK
(confused)
Leaving what?
TIM raises his glass in a grand sweeping motion, indicating
something large, something unspecified:
TIM
This!
PATRICK
(looking at TIM's glass)
Don't. I'll drink it.
TIM
Listen to me, Patrick. I'm leaving.
PATRICK
Where to?
TIM
I'm leaving! I am leaving!
PATRICK
(laughing)
Well, where are you going?
TIM
Away!
PATRICK
Don't tell me. Merchant banking?
TIM
No, Bateman. I'm serious, you dumb
son-of-a-bitch. Leaving.
Disappearing.
PATRICK plays along...
PATRICK
(laughing)
Where to? Rehab? Where?
TIM downs his drink in one gulp, turning back to the TRACKS.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I need a drink. Price, I'm going to
the bar. Do you want something?
PATRICK waits for a response... nothing. He nudges TIM:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Price, do you-
TIM
(interrupting)
Good bye, Bateman.
PATRICK shrugs, walking OFF SCREEN.
TIM stares off into the BLACKNESS OF THE TUNNEL...
IN THE CROWD, LATER:
It's standing room only tonight. PATRICK has a cocktail in his
hand. He struggles to maneuver back to the train tracks without
spilling it.
As if on cue, CRAIG and DAVID appear in the swirling mob,
thrilled to have found PATRICK. The CROWD closes in on them:
DAVID
Skanky chicks. Beware. No
hardbodies.
CRAIG
Basement sucks.
DAVID
Did you find drugs?
PATRICK
No. Negative. Couldn't find any.
Suddenly distracted, a huge wave of shock washes over CRAIG's
face --
-- speechless, CRAIG grabs PATRICK by the arm. He points OFF
SCREEN, over PATRICK's shoulder:
AT THE BACK OF THE CHANDELIER ROOM:
TIM has climbed up on the railing overlooking the train tracks...
teetering, about to fall, he regains his balance... eyes
closed... head tilted back... arms stretched out, Christ-like, as
if blessing the CROWD.
PATRICK frantically pushes through the CROWD, his eyes locked on
TIM, but... he can't move. HUMAN GRIDLOCK.
TIM's behavior goes largely unnoticed until...
...during a well timed byte of SILENCE, TIM SHOUTS:
TIM
GOODBYE!
He's got their attention now...
TIM
FUCKHEADS!
...the entire CROWD stares at TIM, frozen. What will he do next?
TIM gracefully LEAPS over the railing onto the TRACKS...
...he runs down the train tracks, half-drunk, a champagne flute
bobbing up and down held out to his side...
...stumbling once, twice, TIM barely regains his balance before
DISAPPEARING into the DARKNESS OF THE TUNNEL.
A SECURITY GUARD sits by the railing shaking his head... he says
nothing, does nothing.
The CROWD cheers and yells, applauding TIM's "performance".
PATRICK is STUNNED. A blast of adrenaline pushes him through the
CROWD --
PATRICK
PRICE!
-- but he is soon forced to a standstill... it's just way too
crowded.
PATRICK notices a beautiful young WOMAN passing next to him in
the CROWD... moving away, she LOOKS back over her shoulder --
-- PATRICK returns her LOOK as... CRAIG approaches him from
behind:
CRAIG
Does Price know about a secret VIP
room?
INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, BEDROOM - NIGHT
Two halogen lamps burn brightly, one on each side of PATRICK's
futon. A crystal ashtray sits on the nightstand, unused.
PATRICK's clothing hangs neatly on a clothes rack... a WOMAN's
clothes lay scattered near the bed.
PATRICK, naked except for Ray-Bans, is on top of the WOMAN from
Tunnel, thrashing wildly... engaged in acrobatic, animalistic
SEX... she moans hysterically beneath him, ecstatic...
PATRICK thrusts into her silently, a machine:
WOMAN
I'm coming, oh god, I'm coming.
PATRICK finishes quickly. Rolling off, he immediately moves to
the opposite side of the bed.
The WOMAN's expression turns from pleasure... to hurt... to
anger... to resignation.
Exhaling loudly, the WOMAN sits up in the bed and reaches for her
purse... opening it up, she removes a pack of cigarettes...
putting one in her mouth, she fumbles around for her lighter.
Without looking at her, PATRICK monotones:
PATRICK
No. Don't.
The WOMAN pauses, an unlit cigarette dangling from her mouth...
she looks at the ashtray, then at PATRICK, then back at the
ashtray... what the fuck?
PATRICK stares across the room...
WOMAN
But you have an ash-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Smoking is a filthy habit. Do not
smoke in my apartment or around me.
The WOMAN, visibly upset by PATRICK's sudden outburst, silently
mouths "okay"... the cigarettes are put away.
She closes her eyes tightly, sighing...
PATRICK reaches across the bed, tenderly touching her shoulder:
PATRICK
I think you should go home.
The WOMAN opens her eyes, scratches her neck.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I think I might... hurt you. I don't
think I can control myself.
WOMAN
Okay. Sure.
The WOMAN slowly gets out of the bed, naked... she gathers her
clothes from off the floor, dressing herself:
WOMAN (CONT'D)
I don't want to get too involved
anyway.
PATRICK
I think something bad is going to
happen.
The WOMAN pulls her panties on... checking her hair in the
mirror, she notices PATRICK's reflection:
WOMAN
(nodding)
I understand.
The WOMAN finishes dressing in silence.
PATRICK
(hopefully)
You don't want to get hurt, do you?
WOMAN
That's why I'm leaving.
PATRICK
I think I'm losing it.
EXT/INT XCLUSIVE HEALTH CLUB - MORNING
A state of the art, Upper West Side private health club: weight
machines, free weights, tennis and racquetball courts, two
swimming pools, a sun deck, a café with a juice bar... this place
has it all.
IN THE MAIN CARDIOVASCULAR ROOM:
A vast array of brand new exercise equipment is arranged
throughout the enormous, well-lit room.
Dozens of perfect hardbodies flex, stretch, grind and sweat to
throbbing electronic music...
PATRICK (V.O.)
The private health club I belong to is
located four blocks from my apartment
on the Upper West Side. Membership
runs five thousand dollars annually.
PATRICK works up a sweat on the Stairmaster machine... every
muscle in his well toned body bulges beneath his tight Lycra tank
top and shorts.
The WOMAN exercising on the machine next to him pretends not to
notice, but... she can't help herself:
PATRICK catches her staring... intimidated, the WOMAN turns away.
PATRICK smiles, satisfied.
PATRICK (V.O.)
My fitness program incorporates both
aerobic exercises and weight training.
On the leg machines I do five sets of
ten repetitions. For the back I also
do five sets of ten repetitions. On
the stomach crunch machine I've gotten
so I can do six sets of fifteen and on
the biceps curl machines I do seven
sets of ten. This is followed by
twenty minutes on the exercise bike.
JUMP CUT as PATRICK goes through his exercise regimen:
...leg machines, a stomach crunch machine, curl machines...
riding the exercise cycle while reading Money Magazine, GORDON
GEKKO pictured on the cover... the headline: GEKKO THE GREAT?
PATRICK (V.O.)
Using the free weights I do three sets
of fifteen repetitions each of leg
extensions, leg curls and leg presses
followed by three sets and twenty
repetitions of barbell curls, bent-
over lateral raises, pulley rows, dead
lifts, and bent-over barbell rows.
For the chest I do three sets of
twenty reps of incline-bench presses.
For the front deltoids I also do three
sets of lateral raises and seated
dumbbell presses. Finally, for the
triceps I do three sets and twenty
reps of cable pushdowns and close-grip
bench presses.
JUMP CUT as PATRICK continues to exercise using the free
weights...
INT XCLUSIVE HEALTH CLUB, LOCKER ROOM - MORNING
PATRICK stands in front of a mirror. Dressed in one of his
signature business suits, he splashes water on his face and
adjusts his perfect hairdo. BIG SMILE.
PATRICK (V.O.)
The Patty Winters Show this morning
was about UFOs That Kill.
EXT/INT BARCADIA - NIGHT
A darkly lit dining room. Banquettes are clustered around a
stainless steel sculpture in the center of the room. Modern jazz
is piped in through ceiling mounted speakers...
The restaurant is packed: overflow from the bar spills into the
dining room. Hip and trendy, Barcadia is the flavor of the
month... here today, gone tomorrow. EVERYONE looks good, even
the WAITSTAFF.
PATRICK and EVELYN sit across from each other at a small, candle-
lit table near the back of the dining room:
EVELYN
Gregory's graduating from Saint Paul
soon and will be attending Columbia in
September. I've got to get him a
graduation present and I'm at a total
loss. Any suggestions, hon?
PATRICK
A poster from Les Miserables?
EVELYN
Perfect.
PATRICK
I have no idea who Gregory is. You do
know that, right?
EVELYN
Mr. Bateman. I really like you. I
adore your sense of humor. Ha ha ha.
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am sitting in a restaurant
with Evelyn this evening because she
caught me on call waiting while I was
on the other line trying to secure a
reservation at Dorsia which I had
planned to use with Courtney.
EVELYN
Anyway, I was going to tell you what
happened to Melania and Taylor and --
PATRICK's head droops -- he'd rather watch drying paint than have
to listen to more of EVELYN's mindless bullshit:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
-- stop looking at my chest, Patrick.
1
Look at me, not my chest.
PATRICK refocuses his attention...
...slowly CLOSE IN on EVELYN's face.
HOLD ON EVELYN's non-stop MOUTH as her droning VOICE gradually
FADES OUT...
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Now anyway, Taylor Grassgreen and
Melania were... you know Melania, she
went to Sweet Briar. Her father owns
all those banks in Dallas? And Taylor
went to Cornell... anyway, they were
supposed to meet --
PATRICK (V.O.)
I keep studying Evelyn's face, bored
by how beautiful it is, flawless
really, and I think to myself how
strange it is that she has pulled me
through so much; how she's always been
there when I needed her the most.
(beat; then)
Our waitress, a total hardbody, flirts
with me every time she passes by our
table. The thought of fucking her
crosses my mind and though I
conclude the odds are in my favor,
it's... just... not... worth it.
(beat; then)
The boxer shorts I am wearing cost
sixty dollars.
EVELYN (CONT'D)
-- at the Cornell Club and then
they had a reservation at Mondrian at
seven and he was wearing... no. Le
Cygne. They were going to Le Cygne
and Taylor was... oh god, it was
Mondrian. Mondrian at seven and he
was wearing a Piero Dimitri suit.
Melania had been shopping... I think
she'd been to Bergdorf's, though I'm
not positive - but anyway, oh yes, it
was Bergdorf's because she was wearing
the scarf at the office the other
day... so anyway, she hadn't been to
her aerobics class for something like
two days and they were mugged on one-
PATRICK (V.O.)
Dinner with Evelyn is a chore, an
obstacle for me to overcome, however,
today has not been that bad...
INSERT SEQUENCE -- EVELYN's mouth is still moving...
EXT AUTOMATED TELLER MACHINE - DAY
An ATM spits out five crisp twenty dollar bills. PATRICK neatly
places them in a designer wallet already filled with cash.
PATRICK (V.O.)
After a two hour workout at Xclusive,
I stopped by an automated teller
machine where just for the hell of it
I withdrew another hundred dollars,
feeling better about having an even
five hundred in my wallet.
INT VIDEOVISIONS - DAY
A crowded Upper West Side video rental store.
DIFFERENT ANGLES as PATRICK wanders from aisle to aisle searching
for a videotape, visibly distressed.
Smiling COUPLES aimlessly stroll through the store, holding
hands, in love...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Later in the afternoon I found myself
wandering around VideoVisions, the
video rental store I go to on the
Upper West Side. Membership costs
only two hundred dollars annually.
(beat; then)
I wanted to rent some pornographic
videos, but because the store was more
crowded than usual, I was forced to
browse... but there were too many
fucking movies to choose from.
PATRICK grabs Manhattan off of the display rack...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Feeling ripped off I settled for a
Woody Allen movie but... I still
wasn't satisfied. Then, almost by
rote, as if I'd been programmed, I
reached for Body Double, a movie I
have rented thirty-seven times.
PATRICK approaches the CASHIER with the empty boxes.
The CASHIER smiles politely... seeing the empty box for Body
Double, he looks up and immediately recognizes PATRICK --
-- the CASHIER is horrified; PATRICK does his best to
smile...
INT HARDWARE STORE - DAY
PATRICK and a STORE CLERK stand in front of an endless array of
insecticides and pest killers --
PATRICK (V.O.)
On Evelyn's request, I stopped at a
hardware store on Amsterdam to
purchase something for her insect
problem.
-- PATRICK removes a package from the shelf, inspecting it:
PATRICK
(to STORE CLERK)
Let's see what they say about this
one...
(beat; then)
They tell you what it's ingredients
are... and how it's guaranteed to
exterminate every insect in the world.
But they do not tell you whether or
not it's painless.
(beat; then)
And I say insect or man, death should
always be painless.
PATRICK stands in line, waiting to pay for his items...
PATRICK (V.O.)
In addition to the insecticide, I
purchased a nail gun and a power saw,
both by Black and Decker.
(beat; then)
On impulse I also bought twenty feet
of barbed wire.
INT CHINESE DRY CLEANERS - DAY
A very small, cluttered dry cleaning shop near Columbia.
PATRICK (V.O.)
This was followed by a very tense
scene at my dry cleaners.
PATRICK holds up a linen jacket, pointing to several massive,
dark stains obviously the result of someone's blood. The GORE-
SOAKED jacket is REVOLTING.
An old CHINESE WOMAN jabbers at PATRICK incomprehensibly... she
doesn't really speak English, communicating instead with
exaggerated body language.
An old CHINESE MAN stands next to her, mute... he pulls a blood-
drenched shirt out of the laundry bag resting at PATRICK's feet
and examines it.
PATRICK
Listen, wait...
(beat; then)
You're not... shhh...
(beat; then speaking very slowly)
What are you trying to say to me?
The CHINESE WOMAN's babbling intensifies as her yipping voice
rises another octave...
...the CHINESE MAN removes another bloody shirt from the bag. He
just stares at PATRICK's laundry, a dumb look on his creased
face...
PATRICK nods, pretending to understand... still smiling, he leans
into the CHINESE WOMAN's face:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
If-you-don't-shut-your-fucking-mouth-
I-will-kill-you-are-you-understanding-
me?
The CHINESE WOMAN's eyes open wide, her arms flapping like a
goddamned bird... this is crazy.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Listen. I cannot understand you.
Running a hand through his hair, PATRICK starts laughing:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
What? You didn't hear me? You want
some ham? Is that what you just said?
You want... some ham? Oh Christ.
(beat; then screaming)
You... are... a... fool!
EXT EVELYN'S NEIGHBOR'S BROWNSTONE - DAY
Two police cars are parked in front of Evelyn's neighbor's
brownstone, lights flashing... POLICEMEN are roping off the area
with "CRIME SCENE" tape.
PATRICK (V.O.)
On top of everything else today,
the woman who lives in the brownstone
next to Evelyn's was found murdered
last night.
(beat; then)
So far there are no suspects.
BACK TO SCENE
INT BARCADIA - NIGHT
The entrees have already arrived... haute cuisine: is it food or
is it art? The plates sit untouched, ignored.
Dewey-eyed, EVELYN reaches across the table, tenderly placing her
hand over PATRICK's:
EVELYN
We should do it.
PATRICK
Do what?
EVELYN
Oh Patrick. Let's get married.
PATRICK
(his mind elsewhere)
Yeah... and live with me in a
storeroom behind a hardware store in
Fairvale. We'll have lots of laughs.
(focusing)
Are you proposing to me, Evelyn?
EVELYN
(her mind elsewhere)
Weddings are so romantic... a diamond
engagement ring.
(focusing)
You know, Patrick, I won't settle for
less. It has to be diamond.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Evelyn seems to be holding up
relatively well this evening
considering the fact that her
neighbor's head is in my freezer.
EVELYN (CONT'D)
What would we wear?
PATRICK
I would demand to wear Ray-Ban
sunglasses. In fact I would demand
that everyone would have to wear
Ray-Ban sunglasses.
EVELYN
I'd want a zydeco band, Patrick.
That's what I'd want. A zydeco band.
Or mariachi. Or reggae. Something to
shock daddy.
PATRICK
I'd want to bring a Harrison AK-47
assault rifle to the ceremony so after
thoroughly blowing your fat mother's
head off with it I could use it on
that fag brother of yours. And though
I personally don't like to use
anything the Soviets designed, I don't
know, the Harrison somehow reminds me
of... Stoli?
EVELYN
Oh and lots of chocolate truffles.
Godiva. And oysters. Oysters on the
half shell. Marzipan. Pink tents.
Hundreds, thousands of roses.
Photographers. Annie Leibowitz.
We'll get Annie Leibowitz! And we'll
hire someone to videotape it!
PATRICK
Or an AR-15. You'd like it, Evelyn:
it's the most expensive of guns but
worth every penny.
EVELYN
Patrick, I can't wait. I'm so
excited.
INT BEDROOM - NIGHT
A dark bedroom. Light from a streetlamp creeps in through a
window. Visibility is poor.
A MAN and a WOMAN lay in bed together... because of the darkness,
their identity is unclear.
The MAN gets up and sits on the edge of the bed. Standing up, he
runs a hand through his hair before walking across the room... TO
THE CAMERA:
The MAN is PATRICK BATEMAN.
The flame from a cigarette lighter flickers in the dark,
suspended over the bed in mid-air, illuminating the WOMAN's face:
The WOMAN is COURTNEY LAWRENCE.
COURTNEY lights up. Taking a deep drag, the "cherry" of her
cigarette burns a hole into the darkness of the room. PATRICK
turns to face her:
PATRICK
I never knew you smoked.
COURTNEY exhales, blowing smoke toward PATRICK:
COURTNEY
You never noticed.
PATRICK
Okay, I admit I'm embarrassed, but
just a little.
COURTNEY
Listen, Patrick. Can we talk?
PATRICK walks over to the bed:
PATRICK
There's nothing to say, Courtney. You
look marvelous.
(beat; then)
You're going to marry Luis. Next
week, no less.
COURTNEY
Isn't that special?
PATRICK
Read my lips. You look marvelous.
PATRICK leans over, tenderly kissing COURTNEY on the forehead,
unable to make eye contact. He turns and walks out the door...
COURTNEY
Patrick?
...he stops in the hallway just outside COURTNEY's bedroom:
PATRICK
Yes, Courtney?
COURTNEY
Nothing.
EXT MANHATTAN CITY STREET - NIGHT
The antique district below Fourteenth Street. PATRICK walks down
the street passing a newsstand, a dry cleaners, a
church, a diner...
The moon hangs just above the tip of the Chrysler Building.
Steam rises from below the streets, billowing up in tendrils
before evaporating. Bags of frozen garbage line the curbs. The
siren from an ambulance screams... it echoes then fades.
The streets are empty. The only noise breaking up the silence is
from an occasional taxi...
PATRICK (V.O.)
My watch has stopped so I'm not sure
what time it is. I guess it's
probably ten thirty or so. My mind is
a mess. I don't know what to think or
how to feel. The Patty Winters Show
(MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
this morning was about the possibility
of nuclear war, and according to a
panel of experts the odds are pretty
good it will happen sometime within
the next month.
(beat; then)
The videotapes I forgot to return this
evening will cost me a small fortune in
late fees.
PATRICK notices a black BUM laying in the doorway of an abandoned
antique store, asleep.
PATRICK walks OUT OF FRAME.
HOLD ON BUM... heavy-set, fortyish. Next to the BUM is a
shopping cart full of personal belongings: newspapers, bottles,
aluminum cans, etc. On the ground next to him: an empty bottle
of cheap wine...
A handpainted cardboard sign reads: I AM HUNGRY AND HOMELESS
PLEASE HEP ME.
PATRICK walks BACK INTO FRAME and approaches the BUM...
...the BUM yawns, waking up. PATRICK offers his hand:
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
The BUM can barely breathe. He stares dumbly at PATRICK:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
You want some money? Some... food?
The BUM nods gratefully, about to cry. PATRICK reaches into his
pocket and removes a thick wad of cash. He offers the BUM a ten
dollar bill... reconsidering, PATRICK holds out a fiver instead:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Is this what you want?
The BUM clears his throat, nods and looks away... he's still got
his pride:
BUM
I'm so hungry.
PATRICK
It's cold out, too. Isn't it?
BUM
I'm so hungry.
The BUM's entire body shudders with spastic convulsions. He
looks away, embarrassed.
PATRICK
Why don't you get a job? If you're so
hungry, why don't you get a job?
Sobbing, the BUM inhales deeply:
BUM
I lost my job...
PATRICK
Why? Were you drinking? Is that why
you lost it? Insider trading? Just
joking. No, really - were you
drinking on the job?
BUM
I was fired. I was laid off.
PATRICK
(nodding)
Gee, uh, that's too bad.
BUM
I'm so hungry.
PATRICK
I know that, I know that. Jeez,
you're like a broken record. I'm
trying to help you.
BUM
I'm hungry.
PATRICK
Listen. Do you think it's fair to
take money from people who do have
jobs? Who do work?
BUM
What am I gonna do?
PATRICK
Listen. What's your name?
BUM
(softly)
Al.
PATRICK
Speak up. Come on.
BUM
Al.
PATRICK
Get a goddamned job, Al. You've got
a negative attitude. That's what's
stopping you. You've got to get your
act together. I'll help you.
BUM
You're so kind, mister. You're kind.
You're a kind man. I can tell.
PATRICK
Shhh... it's okay.
BUM
Please. I don't know what to do. I'm
so cold.
PATRICK kneels, gently stroking the BUM's face...
PATRICK
Do you know how bad you smell? My
god...
BUM
I can't... I can't find a shelter.
PATRICK
You reek. You reek of... shit. Do
you know that? Goddamnit, Al - look
at me and stop crying like some kind
of faggot.
Overcome with rage, PATRICK closes his eyes tightly, squeezing
the bridge of his nose... he regains control of himself:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Al... I'm sorry. It's just that... I
don't know. I don't have anything in
common with you.
The BUM sobs inconsolably as... PATRICK slowly puts the five
dollar bill back into his coat pocket.
The BUM notices this and sits up. The sobbing abruptly stops...
with his free hand, PATRICK gently touches the BUM's face:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Do you know what a fucking loser you
are?
The BUM nods uselessly as PATRICK removes a long, thin knife from
his coat pocket...
PATRICK pushes half an inch of the blade into the BUM's right
eye.
Shocked beyond words, the BUM opens his mouth but nothing comes
out...
...balancing on his haunches, PATRICK yanks the BUM's pantsuit
down and STABS him in the stomach.
The BUM instinctively covers himself with both hands as --
-- PATRICK repeatedly STABS him in short, staccato motions.
Holding the BUM's head back, PATRICK slowly pushes the tip of the
knife into his other eye.
The BUM finally begins screaming as PATRICK slits his nose in
two, blood spraying from wounds like geysers...
Still kneeling, PATRICK throws a quarter in the BUM's face:
PATRICK
There's a quarter. Go buy some gum
you crazy fucking nigger.
PATRICK stands up... smiling, proud of himself. His jacket is
lightly splattered with the BUM's blood.
PATRICK calmly walks away, OUT OF FRAME.
The BUM is left to DIE.
EXT/INT YALE CLUB DINING ROOM - DAY
An elegant dining room. Every table is occupied: Ivy League
graduates solving the world's problems over three-martini lunches
on expense account.
PATRICK, CRAIG and DAVID are seated at a fairly decent table near
the front. They are exceptionally well-dressed, show-stoppers,
as always...
Each man has a cocktail in front of him:
PATRICK (V.O.)
I am sitting with Craig Van Patten and
David McDermott in the dining room of
the Yale Club, having lunch. Since
the three of us have taken the rest of
the afternoon off, we're all getting
massages.
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Van Patten is wearing a glen-plaid
wool-crepe suit from Krizia Uomo, a
Brooks Brothers shirt, a tie from
Adirondack and shoes by Cole-Haan.
McDermott is wearing a lamb's wool and
cashmere blazer, worsted wool flannel
trousers by Ralph Lauren, a shirt and
tie also by Ralph Lauren and shoes
from Brooks Brothers. I'm wearing a
tick-weave wool suit with a windowpane
overplaid, a cotton shirt by Luciano
Barbera, shoes from Cole-Haan and
nonprescription glasses by Bausch &
Lomb.
PATRICK scans the dining room and notices... LUIS CARRUTHERS
sitting at a nearby table --
-- LUIS attempts to make eye contact as PATRICK turns away,
ignoring him:
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Luis Carruthers is sitting five tables
away. He's wearing an unidentifiable
suit from some French tailor and he
keeps looking over here, trying to get
my attention.
DAVID
What are the rules for wearing a
sweater vest?
PATRICK (V.O.)
David's question looms over the table,
filling me with a nameless dread.
CRAIG
What do you mean?
PATRICK
Yes. Clarify.
DAVID
Well, is it strictly informal-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Or can it be worn with a suit?
DAVID
Exactly.
PATRICK
Well, according to Bruce Boyer-
DAVID
(interrupting)
Wait. Is he with Morgan Stanley?
PATRICK
No. He's not with Morgan Stanley.
CRAIG
Wasn't he a serial killer? Don't tell
me he was another serial killer,
Bateman. Not another serial killer.
PATRICK
No, McDufus, he wasn't a serial
killer.
(beat; then turning to CRAIG)
That really pisses me off.
CRAIG
But you always bring them up. And
always in this casual, educational
sort of way. I mean, I don't want to
know anything about Son of Sam or the
fucking Hillside Strangler or, or...
Featherhead, for god sake.
DAVID
Featherhead? Who's Featherhead? He
sounds exceptionally dangerous.
PATRICK
He means Leatherface. Leatherface.
He was part of the Texas Chainsaw
Massacre.
DAVID
Oh. Of course.
PATRICK
And he was exceptionally dangerous.
CRAIG
And now okay, go on. Bruce Boyer,
what did he do? Let's see -- skin
them alive? Starve them to death?
Run them over? Feed them to dogs?
What?
PATRICK
(shaking his head, grinning)
You guys. He did something far worse.
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
He was the author of Elegance: A Guide
to Quality in Menswear.
(beat; then)
And no, Craig, he wasn't a serial
killer in his spare time.
CRAIG
What did Brucie baby have to say?
PATRICK
You're a clod. It's an excellent
book. His theory remains we shouldn't
feel restricted from wearing a sweater
vest with a suit.
(beat; then to CRAIG)
Did you hear me call you a clod?
CRAIG
Yeah.
DAVID
But doesn't he point out that a vest
shouldn't overpower the suit?
PATRICK
Yes...
(beat; then)
With discreet pinstripes you should
wear a subdued blue or charcoal gray
vest. A plaid suit would call for a
bolder vest.
CRAIG
And remember, with a regular vest the
last button should be left undone.
SEVERAL TABLES AWAY:
LUIS stands up, wipes his mouth with a napkin and glances over at
PATRICK before EXITING the dining area.
PATRICK
I thought you hadn't read this... this
book.
(beat; then)
You just told me you couldn't tell the
difference between Bruce Boyer... and
John Wayne Gacy.
CRAIG
It came back to me.
PATRICK
Listen. Wearing argyle socks with an
argyle vest will look too studied.
DAVID
You think so?
PATRICK
(to DAVID)
You'll look like you consciously
worked for this look.
(to CRAIG)
Featherhead? How in the hell did you
get Featherhead from Leatherface?
CRAIG
Ah, cheer up, Bateman.
DAVID
Yeah, buddy. Don't worry, be happy.
PATRICK stands up and pushes his chair in:
PATRICK
Listen. I just want everyone to know
that I'm pro family and anti-drug.
Excuse me, gentlemen.
PATRICK leaves the table, walking OUT OF FRAME as DAVID grabs a
passing waiter:
DAVID
Is this tap water? I don't drink tap
water. Bring me an Evian or
something, okay?
PATRICK walks through the main dining room... he smiles and
shakes hands with several men seated at a table as he passes by:
PATRICK (V.O.)
One of the many questions I must now
face: Would Courtney spend more time
with me - the time she now spends with
Luis - if he was out of the picture,
no longer an alternative... if he was
perhaps... dead?
PATRICK exits the main dining room...
THE MEN'S ROOM DOOR... is pushed open by PATRICK.
INT MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
A deserted bathroom. All of the stalls are unoccupied except for
one at the end, its door slightly ajar. The SOUND of a MAN
pissing echoes from it...
PATRICK admires himself in the mirror as he slides on a pair of
black leather gloves. He flashes a big smile and winks at
himself...
PATRICK cautiously approaches the occupied stall:
LUIS CARRUTHERS stands in front of the toilet bowl, his back to
PATRICK, urinating. Sensing movement, LUIS stiffens as the SOUND
of his urine hitting the water abruptly STOPS --
-- PATRICK steps forward, silently encircling his hands around
LUIS' neck, his index fingers touching just above the Adam's
apple...
PATRICK closes his eyes and squeezes tightly, but --
-- strangely, there is no struggle...
PATRICK's grip is loose enough to allow LUIS to turn around...
PATRICK's eyes snap open:
LUIS looks down at PATRICK's wrists, still clasped around his
neck in a stranglehold... PATRICK is unable to react as...
...LUIS lowers his head and gently kisses PATRICK's left wrist.
He looks up at PATRICK with a loving expression that is only half
awkward.
LUIS
God, Patrick. Why here?
This is WAY TOO MUCH for PATRICK to handle... he is FROZEN,
unable to move.
LUIS gently begins running his fingers through PATRICK's hair,
grinning...
LUIS (CONT'D)
I've seen you looking at me. I've
noticed your hot body.
LUIS tries to kiss PATRICK on the mouth as...
...PATRICK snaps out of his trance, backing into the stall door,
accidentally closing it, trapping him.
PATRICK's hands drop from around LUIS' neck... LUIS immediately
replaces them:
LUIS (CONT'D)
Don't be shy.
Still in shock, PATRICK once again drops his hands from around
LUIS' neck...
...LUIS grabs PATRICK by the shoulders and begins working himself
up into a frenzy, squeezing and kneading PATRICK's muscular upper
arms:
LUIS (CONT'D)
You don't know how long I've wanted
it...
PATRICK calmly turns around and opens the door, EXITING the
stall. LUIS trails close behind...
PATRICK stands in front of the large bathroom mirror,
concentrating on his reflection, doing his best to block out LUIS
who has walked over and sat down on the sink next to him:
LUIS (CONT'D)
I want you...
(beat; then)
...too.
PATRICK is beside himself, unable to take it all in...
LUIS makes another feeble attempt to kiss him as --
-- PATRICK BREAKS FREE, storming out of the MEN'S ROOM...
INT PATRICK'S OUTER OFFICE - DAY
JEAN sits at her desk doing paperwork, business as usual...
The telephone RINGS:
JEAN answers it on the first ring...
JEAN
Patrick Bateman's office, may I help
you?
EXT PHONE BOOTH, MID-TOWN MANHATTAN - DAY
PATRICK stands at a phone booth somewhere in mid-town
Manhattan... he is frantic, totally unglued:
INTERCUT:
PATRICK
Jean? Hello, Jean?
JEAN
Patrick? Is that you?
PATRICK doubles over with stomach cramps...
PATRICK
Oh my god.
JEAN
Patrick, what's wrong?
PATRICK
Jean, I'm not going to make it... I'm
not going to... make it... to the
office this afternoon.
JEAN
(alarmed)
What is it, Patrick? Are you alright?
PATRICK
Stop sounding so fucking... sad.
Jesus.
JEAN
Patrick, I'm sorry. I mean I meant to
say-
PATRICK hangs up, cutting JEAN off...
...PATRICK rips the Walkman off his neck and throws it into a
nearby trashcan... steadying himself, PATRICK holds onto the rim
of the trashcan, breathing heavily, his suit jacket tied around
his waist...
BEGIN SEQUENCE -- PATRICK falling apart...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK moves rapidly up Broadway, the
sun melting the mousse on his head, mingling with his sweat... he
runs a hand through his hair, licking greedily at the palm...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK stands on a corner, scowling at
people... bike messengers whiz by, oblivious... no one even
pretends to notice PATRICK's condition...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK appears to have regained his
normalcy... he walks toward a row of storefronts... suddenly, he
doubles over in excruciating pain, literally dropping to his
knees...
He recovers enough to hobble into a nearby pet store:
...large, white rats furiously scramble through elaborate
Habitrail systems... exotic parrots screech... piranhas glide
gracefully behind a glass tank...
PATRICK moves through the aisles, about to explode...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK walks down Broadway, sweating and
moaning, pushing people out of his way, foam pouring out of his
mouth...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK rushes up and down the aisles of
a Gristede's, inspecting a truly baffling array of sundries:
exotic bottled waters, individually wrapped imported cheeses,
wine bottles shaped like fish, cookies shaped like windmills,
Japanese pears, star fruit, red peppers, yellow peppers, green
peppers, purple peppers... it's fucking endless...
PATRICK takes a canned ham off the shelf, looking around
cautiously... when the coast is clear, he conceals the thing
under his jacket...
With the canned meat hidden under his coat, PATRICK calmly walks
to the front of the store... nodding to a clerk, he walks out of
the grocery store, uncaught...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER...PATRICK is in the lobby of a luxury
apartment building... he tries to blend in, hiding behind a
large, stainless steel sculpture... he looks totally deranged...
a DOORMAN watches him, about to say something...
PATRICK opens the canned ham with his keys... he scoops handfuls
of the pink meat into his mouth, like an animal, making
disgusting slurping sounds... the DOORMAN approaches him:
PATRICK
OH GOD!
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK is at a bus stop, chanting while
puking up the canned ham...
PATRICK
I've got to return my videotapes, I've
got to return my videotapes, I've got-
...he leans against a poster for Les Miserables and kisses
Eponine's face, smearing it with bile and vomit as...
...PATRICK backs into a fruit stand in front of a Korean deli,
collapsing stacks of apples and oranges and lemons, sending them
crashing onto the sidewalk, into the street as...
...a KOREAN MAN instantly appears, jabbering away in broken
English... PATRICK apologizes, offering his platinum American
Express card, then a twenty... taxis and busses pass by, crushing
the fruit...
...the KOREAN MAN immediately takes the twenty then grabs PATRICK
by the lapels of his stained jacket, pulling him closer to his
face...
...the KOREAN MAN bursts into the chorus of "Lightnin'
Strikes"... PATRICK pulls away, horrified...
ANOTHER ANGLE, LATER... PATRICK is in a shabby delicatessen on
Second Avenue... a short, fat Jewish WOMAN slowly approaches
him...
PATRICK
Listen. I have a reservation.
Bateman. Where's the maitre d'? I
know Jackie Mason.
WOMAN
I can seat you... don't need a
reservation.
The WOMAN leads PATRICK to a small table near the back...
PATRICK rushes up behind her, grabs the menu and reseats himself
at a "better" table near the front:
PATRICK
Is this a goddamn joke?
The WOMAN turns and shrugs, resigned... she's seen it all.
Before she can approach the new table, PATRICK holds his hand up
in the air, signaling to her:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
A cheeseburger. I'd like a
cheeseburger and I'd like it medium
rare.
The WOMAN sighs, pointing to a sign up front --
WOMAN
I'm sorry, sir. No cheese. Kosher.
PATRICK tries to remain calm...
PATRICK
Fine. A kosherburger but with cheese,
Monterey Jack perhaps, and - oh god.
PATRICK winces in enormous pain as the cramps return:
WOMAN
No cheese, sir. Kosher-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
What in the fuck is going on?
WOMAN
I'll get the manager-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
No, wait! Bring me a beverage. Bring
me a fucking... vanilla... milkshake.
EXTRA THICK!
CUT TO BLACK
EXT ROCKEFELLER CENTER PLAZA - DAY
CLOSE ON an illuminated, glowing STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
Slowly PULL BACK to reveal an enormous CHRISTMAS TREE...
...PAN DOWN to Rockefeller Center's famous ICE RINK:
Hundreds of skaters appear as bursts of bright color, a graceful
human kaleidoscope...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Days pass. I don't know how many.
(beat; then)
December arrives without warning.
PAN ACROSS to the SIDEWALK --
Two fat MEN dressed as SANTA CLAUS ring bells for the Salvation
Army -- nearby a HOMELESS WOMAN helplessly begs for change... Ho!
Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
PEDESTRIANS jam the PLAZA, loaded down with oversized packages
and shopping bags.
ANGLE ON PEDESTRIANS as thousands of people pass by, anonymous...
...a familiar FACE sticks out from the CROWD --
-- STAY ON PATRICK BATEMAN, moving along with the flow of
traffic...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
My priorities before Christmas include
the following: (1) to get an eight o'
clock reservation on a Friday night at
Dorsia,(2) to find out as much as
humanly possible about Paul Owen's
mysterious Fisher account,(3) to get
myself invited to Donald Trump's
Christmas party and (4) to apologize
to Evelyn without making it look like
an apology.
EXT BLOOMINGDALE'S STOREFRONT - DAY
PATRICK moves with great purpose past enormous storefront window
displays... metallic MANNEQUINS, forever frozen, act out
fragmented scenes from the life of a perfect nuclear family: the
kitchen, the dining room, a day at the beach...
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
There are many presents that I still
need to buy and though I could have
sent my secretary Jean to make these
purchases, I feel prepared to deal
with this myself thanks to a vigorous
two hour workout at my private health
club on Manhattan's Upper West Side.
INT BLOOMINGDALE'S - DAY
Christmas SHOPPERS everywhere, chaos... once an upscale
department store, Bloomingdale's is now a virtual war zone.
A QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS --
...as PATRICK wanders through Bloomingdale's, assaulted by a
dizzying array of essentially useless products:
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Paisley ties and crystal water
pitchers, tumbler sets and office
clocks that measure temperature,
humidity and barometric pressure,
electric calling card address books
and margarita glasses, sets of dessert
plates and correspondence cards,
mirrors and shower clocks and aprons
and hand-knitted cotton snowflake
sweaters. Porsche-design ski goggles
and diamond earrings. Vodka glasses,
cameras, aftershaves, salt and pepper
shakers, aluminum lunch pails and shoe
horns that cost two hundred dollars.
INT BLOOMINGDALE'S COSMETICS DEPARTMENT - DAY
PATRICK slumps over the counter in the Cosmetics Department,
breathing heavily. The beautiful SALESGIRL behind the counter
abruptly stops her sales-pitch midsentence... the SALESGIRL and
her CUSTOMER stare at PATRICK --
Attempting to stand up straight, PATRICK clutches at his chest,
his face creased with pain... frantically rifling through his
pockets, PATRICK acknowledges the WOMEN with a weak smile --
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Some kind of existential chasm opens
before me in Bloomingdale's, filling
me with a nameless dread.
-- PATRICK pops a small black PILL into his mouth, swallowing
spastically... the SALESGIRL and her CUSTOMER turn away.
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
A Xanax fails to ward off the panic.
(beat; then)
Saks Fifth Avenue intensifies it...
INT SAKS FIFTH AVENUE - DAY
Another department store... another battlefield.
ANOTHER QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS --
-- as PATRICK darts through Saks Fifth Avenue on the verge of a
full blown panic attack:
PATRICK (CONT'D, V.O.)
Pens and photo albums, electric shoe
polishers and heated towel stands.
Portable palm-sized color TVs with
earphones, birdhouses, ice buckets,
jewelry boxes and scarves, pillow
cases, foreign-currency-exchange
minicalculators, and diamond earrings.
Two hundred dollar shoe horns and
customized tennis balls and--
CUT TO BLACK
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
A light snowfall can be seen in the artificial glow of a street
lamp near EVELYN's brownstone...
...the trees and lampposts lining the street have been tastefully
decorated with red bows, ribbons and miniature white lights:
everything is perfect in this "winter wonderland", except for --
-- the POLICE LINES still up around EVELYN's neighbor's home.
Four limousines are parked in front of EVELYN's brownstone,
idling...
PATRICK (V.O.)
In the weeks leading up to Christmas,
my presence will be required at many,
many cocktail parties -- the majority
of which I would rather not attend.
(beat; then)
The first of them... and by far the
worst, is tonight.
INT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE, LIVING ROOM/DINING ROOM - NIGHT
Tall, full blue spruces covered in white twinkling lights stand
on either side of the fireplace... a BARTENDER wearing a tuxedo
pours champagne and mixes drinks behind a makeshift bar decorated
with poinsettias...
...a long buffet table features a mind-boggling assortment of
exquisite, gourmet food... candles have been lit everywhere, all
of them burning in sterling silver candleholders...
...there are quite a few PEOPLE here tonight: predictably, most
of them are "YUPPIE-TYPES", however several residents of the East
Village also appear to have been invited --"ARTISTE-TYPES" way,
way out of their element...
The mood is light, the evening is young... most of the MEN,
including PATRICK, have a pair of ridiculous-looking paper
antlers tied onto their heads.
EVELYN'S CHRISTMAS PARTY IS IN FULL SWING.
FACES in the CROWD: CRAIG McDERMOTT, DAVID VAN PATTEN, PAUL OWEN,
LUIS CARRUTHERS and, of course, COURTNEY LAWRENCE...
SEVERAL MIDGETS festively dressed in GREEN and RED elf suits walk
around the party with trays of appetizers, offering them to
EVELYN'S GUESTS.
EVELYN approaches PATRICK holding a piece of mistletoe in one
hand, a large candy cane in the other --
EVELYN
Mistletoe alert!
-- EVELYN playfully dangles the mistletoe branch over PATRICK's
head before kissing him dryly on the cheek:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Merry Xmas, Patrick.
PATRICK's hands are full: a plate of Waldorf salad in one, a
martini in the other.
PATRICK
Merry... Xmas.
EVELYN is her usual zombified self, the result of one too many
Xanax... or was it Valium? Too much eggnog? Most likely a
combination of all three.
EVELYN
You're late, honey.
PATRICK
No, Evelyn, darling. I'm not late.
EVELYN
Oh yes you are.
PATRICK looks around the room, uncomfortable... already desperate
to escape:
PATRICK
I've been here. You just didn't see
me.
EVELYN
Oh, stop scowling. You're such a
Grinch.
PATRICK
Bah humbug.
EVELYN
How's the Waldorf salad? Do you think
it tastes alright?
A GUEST passes next to EVELYN --
GUEST
Great party, Evelyn.
-- EVELYN involuntarily turns to her GUEST, ignoring PATRICK...
EVELYN
Are you sure? Are you having a good
time? Did you try the Waldorf salad?
PATRICK
Delicious.
...EVELYN turns what's left of her attention back to PATRICK:
EVELYN
But Mr. Grinch was late. And not a
word about that damn Waldorf salad.
PATRICK
You know, Evelyn, there were a lot of
other Xmas parties in this metropolis
that I could have attended tonight yet
I chose yours. Why? you might ask.
Why? I asked myself. I didn't come up
with a feasible answer, yet I'm here,
so be, you know, grateful, babe.
EVELYN
(sarcastic)
Oh, so this is my Christmas present?
How sweet Patrick, how thoughtful.
PATRICK looks down, noticing a noodle stuck on his shirt cuff...
PATRICK
No, this is. Here.
...he picks the noodle off of his shirt, presenting it to EVELYN
--
-- who delightedly accepts, holding it up to the candlelight,
examining it as if it were the Hope Diamond...
EVELYN
Oh Patrick, I'm going to cry. It's
gorgeous. Can I put it on now?
PATRICK
No. Feed it to one of the... midgets.
EVELYN
Oh, Patrick. They're elves.
Christmas elves. Santa's helpers.
God, what a sourpuss. Look at them.
They're adorable. That one over there
is Rudolph, the one passing out candy
is Blitzen. The other one is Donner-
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Wait a minute, Evelyn, wait.
(beat; then)
I... those are the names of reindeer.
Not elves. Blitzen was a reindeer.
EVELYN
Oh... is this true?
PATRICK
Yes, Evelyn... I distinctly remember
Blitzen being a reindeer, not an elf.
EVELYN
Oh, so what. Don't you think it's
Christmasy?
PATRICK
You're absolutely right, Evelyn. I
couldn't agree with you more. It's
very Christmasy.
(beat; then)
Excuse me. I need another drink.
PATRICK manages to break free, as --
-- EVELYN moves onto her next VICTIM, oblivious...
EVELYN
(to no one, to everyone)
Is that Michael J. Fox over there?
...STAY on PATRICK moving through the CROWD.
COURTNEY and LUIS are holding hands, deep in discussion with
another yuppie COUPLE --
-- COURTNEY turns her head slightly, registering PATRICK's
presence.
She pouts her lips at him, silently mouthing the words "call me"
before returning her attention to LUIS and the other COUPLE...
...PATRICK ignores her, steadily moving through the CROWD.
LUIS' face instantly lights up as he sees PATRICK over COURTNEY's
shoulder --
-- suddenly animated, LUIS winks at PATRICK before silently
mouthing the words "I'll call you"... he even goes so far as to
raise his free hand to his ear, thumb and pinkie finger
outstretched, symbolizing a telephone.
Sensing COURTNEY's glare, LUIS abruptly looks away from PATRICK,
gazing into his beautiful girlfriend's eyes --
-- a fake smile plastered on his face, LUIS dutifully gives
COURTNEY a little peck on the lips.
PATRICK rolls his eyes, laughing to himself.
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh... my... god.
AT THE BAR:
PAUL OWEN is examining an antique silver pocket watch while
waiting for the BARTENDER to prepare his drinks.
PATRICK approaches, holding out a hand --
PATRICK
Owen!
PAUL
(shaking hands)
Marcus! Merry Christmas! How've you
been? Workaholic, I suppose.
PATRICK
All work and no play makes Jack a dull
boy.
PAUL
We just got back from the Bahamas.
Meredith insisted that I take her, so
what could I do?
PAUL elbows PATRICK in the ribs -- BOTH MEN chuckle knowingly...
SOMEONE bumps into PAUL from behind -- he turns around,
exchanging pleasantries: "Hey Kinsley! Yeah, so do you..."
PATRICK (V.O.)
Paul Owen apparently thinks that I'm
someone named Marcus Halberstam which
I guess is understandable since Marcus
and I both pretty much look the same.
Marcus also works at P&P, in fact
doing the same exact thing I do.
(beat; then)
Being mistaken for Marcus doesn't
really me bother all that much except
for when I accidentally get sent his
junk mail and I have to spend hours
tracking him down. That gets to be a
real fucking nuisance.
PATRICK
Are you still handling the Fisher
account?
PAUL
Yeah. Lucked out, huh, Marcus?
PATRICK
You sure did. Wow...
PAUL
We're going to Nell's later. Limo's
waiting out front.
PATRICK
We should have lunch.
PAUL
Yes, that would be great. Maybe you
could bring...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Shit. Who is Marcus dating? What is
her fucking name?
PATRICK
Cecelia?
PAUL
Yes. Cecelia.
PATRICK
Oh, Cecelia would... adore it.
PAUL
Well, let's do it.
PATRICK
Yes. We could go to... Le Bernardin
for some... seafood perhaps? Hmmm?
PAUL
Le Bernardin is in Zagat's top ten
this year. You know that?
(beat; then)
Sea urchins. Meredith loves the sea
urchins there.
PATRICK
Oh does she?
PAUL
(motioning behind PATRICK)
Meredith! Come here.
PATRICK looks around nervously --
PATRICK
She's here?
PAUL
She's talking to Cecelia over there.
(shouting out to MEREDITH)
Meredith!
MEREDITH POWELL, late twenties, beautiful in a boring way, walks
INTO FRAME with... EVELYN.
MEREDITH
Yes boys? What are you two talking
about? Making up Christmas lists?
PAUL
The sea urchins at Le Bernardin,
darling.
MEREDITH moves in closer, draping an arm over PATRICK's shoulder:
MEREDITH
To die for. Simply to die for.
PATRICK
(suddenly quite interested)
Really? To die for?
MEREDITH
They're absolutely fabulous.
EVELYN
What does everyone think of the
Waldorf salad? Did you like it?
PAUL
Cecelia, darling, I haven't tried it
yet... but I'd like to know why there
are midgets serving eggnog.
EVELYN
Those aren't midgets! Those are
Christmas elves. Patrick, what did
you tell him?
PATRICK
Nothing, Cecelia!
EVELYN
Oh, Patrick. You're the Grinch.
Attempting to draw PAUL and MEREDITH's attention away from
EVELYN's little faux pas, PATRICK lifts a sprig of parsley from
off of one of the ELVE's passing appetizer trays and holds it
over EVELYN's head --
PATRICK
Mistletoe alert!
EVERYONE near the bar ducks for cover as --
-- PATRICK kisses EVELYN on the mouth, taking her completely by
surprise.
EVELYN
Oh Patrick-
Moving quickly, PATRICK forcefully takes her by the arm.
PATRICK
(interrupting)
Cecelia! Come here at once.
(to PAUL and MEREDITH)
Excuse us. We have to talk to that
elf and get this all straightened out.
EVELYN shrugs apologetically as...
EVELYN
(to PAUL and MEREDITH)
I'm so sorry.
...PATRICK drags her away:
EVELYN (CONT'D)
Patrick what is going on?
INT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE, KITCHEN - NIGHT
The kitchen is deserted, with the exception of several ELVES
reloading their appetizer trays.
EVELYN is confused, upset:
EVELYN
Patrick? What are we doing in the
kitchen?
PATRICK grabs her shoulders, facing her:
PATRICK
Listen. Let's get out of here.
EVELYN
Oh Patrick. I can't just leave.
Aren't you having a good time?
PATRICK
Why can't you leave? You've been here
long enough.
EVELYN
Patrick, this is my Christmas party.
Besides, the elves are going to sing
'O Tannenbaum' any minute now.
PATRICK
Come on, Evelyn. Let's get out of
here. I want to take you away from
all this.
EVELYN
From all what?
(beat; then)
You didn't like the Waldorf Salad, did
you?
PATRICK
Let's go. Be daring. For just once
in your life, Evelyn, be daring.
(beat; then)
Come on... let this be my Christmas
present.
EVELYN
Oh no, I was already at Brooks
Brothers and-
PATRICK
(interrupting, pleading)
Stop it. Come on, I want this.
EVELYN remains unconvinced... she's not going anywhere.
Unwilling to accept defeat, PATRICK brings out the heavy
artillery:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Mrs. Bateman?
EVELYN
Oh Patrick.
EXT EVELYN'S BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
The four LIMOUSINES remain in front of EVELYN'S brownstone,
idling.
PATRICK and EVELYN peek around the corner from an adjacent alley:
the coast is clear...
PATRICK leads EVELYN over to the nearest limousine... he opens
the door, pushes her in.
EVELYN
Patrick. This is so naughty. And a
limo-
PATRICK shuts the door, cutting her off.
He walks around the car and taps on the DRIVER's window...
...the DRIVER slowly lowers it, an unlit cigar clenched between
his teeth.
PATRICK holds out his hand...
...but the DRIVER just sits there, expressionless.
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
(beat; then)
Pat Bateman. What, ah, what is it?
The DRIVER rudely stares at PATRICK's head without a word.
PATRICK tentatively raises a hand to his head and is shocked to
find... two pairs of paper antlers!
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Oh Jesus, whoa!
PATRICK rips them off his head and throws them on the ground...
smoothing his hair back into place, PATRICK regains his
composure:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
So, Pat Bateman.
DRIVER
Uh, yeah? Sid.
PATRICK
Listen, Sid. Mr. Owen says we can
take this car, so...
DRIVER
Who's Mr. Owen?
PATRICK
Paul Owen. You know. Your customer.
DRIVER
No. This is Mr. Barker's limo. Nice
antlers, though.
PATRICK
Shit.
PATRICK runs around the limo and opens the door:
EVELYN
Patrick, darling, I love it.
Champagne -- and truffles, too.
EVELYN holds up a bottle of Cristal and a small gold box.
PATRICK grabs her by the arm, yanking her out:
PATRICK
Wrong limo -- take the truffles.
PATRICK gracefully guides EVELYN over to the next limo, opens the
door and pushes her in.
PATRICK approaches the SECOND DRIVER, his hand outstretched:
PATRICK
Hi. Pat Bateman.
They shake hands.
SECOND DRIVER
Yeah? Hi. Donald Trump. My wife
Ivana's in the back.
PATRICK
Hey, watch it. Listen, Mr. Owen says
we can take his car. I'm... oh damn,
I mean Marcus.
SECOND DRIVER
You just said your name was Pat.
PATRICK
No. I was wrong. I was wrong about
my name being Pat. My name is Marcus.
Marcus Halberstam.
SECOND DRIVER
Now you're sure of this, right?
PATRICK
Listen, Mr. Owen said I can take his
car for the night, so... you know,
let's just get on with it.
SECOND DRIVER
I think I should talk to Mr. Owen
first.
PATRICK
No, wait! Listen, I'm... it's fine,
really. Mr. Owen is in a very, very
bad mood.
SECOND DRIVER
I'm not supposed to do this. No way.
Forget about it.
PATRICK
Oh come on, man.
SECOND DRIVER
It's totally against company
regulations.
PATRICK
Fuck company regulations.
SECOND DRIVER
Fuck company regulations?
PATRICK
Mr. Owen says it's-
SECOND DRIVER
(interrupting)
Listen, mister.
PATRICK
Marcus.
DRIVER 2
Marcus. Whatever. It's company
rules. I'm not gonna break 'em. Good
bye.
The SECOND DRIVER begins rolling up the window, waving "bye-
bye"...
...PATRICK reaches through the window, grabbing him by the lapels
of his uniform:
PATRICK
Let me put it this way... they've got
midgets in there. Midgets who are
about to sing 'O Tannenbaum'... do you
know how scary that is? Elves
harmonizing?
(beat; then MORE)
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I'm sorry. I just don't think I can
leave until I get just a little
compassion from you.
PATRICK realizes that he has overstepped a boundary of some sort:
he loosens his grip on the MAN's uniform.
The SECOND DRIVER remains silent, a smug expression on his inbred
face. He starts that waving shit as the window goes up again.
Exasperated, PATRICK reaches for his wallet:
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Shit. Here's a hundred.
PATRICK waves two crisp fifties in the DRIVER's unimpressed face
--
SECOND DRIVER
Two hundred.
PATRICK
This city sucks.
-- PATRICK reluctantly removes two more fifties from his wallet
and hands him the money...
SECOND DRIVER
Where to?
INT LIMO - NIGHT
PATRICK and EVELYN have made themselves comfortable in the back
of the plush limousine.
Scraps of wrapping paper have been strewn about everywhere.
Once again, EVELYN looks ready to cry.
PATRICK
What... what did I do?
EVELYN
Oh Patrick. It's lovely. I don't
know what to say.
PATRICK
Well... I don't either.
EVELYN holds up a diamond necklace. Wait a minute -- where'd
that come from?
EVELYN
Help me put it on, darling. You're
not the Grinch, honey.
PATRICK
Uh, Evelyn.
EVELYN
It's lovely, oh I love it...
PATRICK
But... that's not...
EVELYN
What? What are you saying? Oh,
honey, you have something else for me?
PATRICK
No, I mean-
EVELYN
(interrupting)
Come on, you devil. You've got
something else. Let me guess. A ring
to match? A matching bracelet? A
brooch? So that's it! It's a
matching brooch.
EXT WEST SIDE HIGHWAY, AERIAL SHOT - NIGHT
The limousine races along the West Side Highway, dwarfed by the
city's awesome skyline.
PATRICK (V.O.)
My luck could be worse. It really
could.
INT LIMO, LATER
EVELYN
Patrick, where are you taking me?
PATRICK
It's hip. It's totally hip.
EVELYN
Have you ever been there?
PATRICK
Millions of times.
EVELYN
Where honey, tell me.
PATRICK
It's a surprise.
EVELYN
Chernoble? No, not Chernoble. Honey,
it's Christmas.
PATRICK
What in the hell does that mean?
EVELYN
I don't understand why you have to
ruin this time of year for me.
(beat; then)
Oh Patrick, please. Honey, it's
Christmas.
PATRICK
You keep saying that as if it meant
something.
(beat; then)
Where would you like me to take you,
Evelyn? The Rainbow Room?
EVELYN
Oh why not, Patrick? They have the
best Waldorf Salad in town at the
Rainbow Room. Did you like mine? Did
you like my Waldorf Salad, honey?
PATRICK
Oh my god.
(beat; then)
Why wasn't Donald Trump invited to
your party?
EVELYN
Not Donald Trump again. This
obsession of yours has got to end!
That's why you were acting like such
an ass.
PATRICK
It was the Waldorf Salad, Evelyn. It
was the Waldorf Salad that was making
me act like an ass!
EVELYN
Oh my god. You mean it, too! I knew
it. I knew it.
PATRICK
But you didn't even make it! It was
catered!
EVELYN
Oh my god. I can't believe this.
INT LIMOUSINE/EXT CLUB CHERNOBLE - NIGHT
The limousine pulls up in front of the club... a CROWD ten deep
is waiting to be let in.
Always the perfect gentleman, PATRICK reaches over to open the
door for EVELYN --
-- she gets out of the car, but... PATRICK remains seated.
PATRICK
You go on inside, Evelyn.
EVELYN
Patrick? What's going on?
PATRICK
There's something I need to pick up.
EVELYN
Oh for god's sake, just buy your drugs
downstairs if you have to.
PATRICK
Evelyn, honey, I'll be back before
midnight.
EVELYN
Patrick, you made me leave my own
goddamned party.
PATRICK
Don't have a hissy fit, Evelyn.
EVELYN
You're impossible. There's something
seriously wrong with you.
PATRICK
Just go on inside and order me a
Foster's, okay? I'll be back.
PATRICK slams the door shut and sits back, relieved...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Don't you bet on it.
...stunned, EVELYN bursts into tears as the limousine squeals
away.
EXT MEAT PACKING DISCTRICT - NIGHT
Manhattan's infamous meat packing district: dark and deserted
except for the occasional PROSTITUTE, PIMP or DRUG PUSHER.
Giant NEON LETTERS on the side of a warehouse: M E A T --
-- the "M" flickering, ready to burn out...
Hot steam rises from deep beneath the city as a black limousine
slowly cruises down the street, a rarity in these parts --
The LOCALS shout out to the passing car: "Hey, big boy! Where
you goin', huh?", "Whachowan, man? I geddit for you!", "I fuck
you real good, baby", etc....
ON THE CORNER:
A WHORE pretends not to notice the commotion caused by the
approaching limousine.
Young and white, this WHORE could easily be mistaken for an NYU
girl --
-- CLOSE UP she's trashy but by no means is she too used up...
blond, slim, pale, fire-engine red lipstick on a pouty little
mouth. She's definitely not dressed for cold weather.
The limousine pulls up next to her, idling.
The young WHORE lingers casually, pretending to be unaware of
what the limousine actually signifies...
...a tinted window is lowered to reveal:
PATRICK BATEMAN, smiling a rictus.
The WHORE quickly looks away --
PATRICK
I haven't seen you around here.
WHORE
You just haven't been looking.
PATRICK
Do you take American Express?
The WHORE glares at him: go fuck yourself, Mr. Limousine.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Just a joke, I'm only kidding...
(beat; then)
Would you like to see my apartment?
The WHORE looks at PATRICK, then at the LIMOUSINE, then back at
PATRICK... is she playing "hard to get"? My god...
WHORE
I'm not supposed to.
PATRICK reaches for his wallet; the WHORE has trouble hiding her
delight.
PATRICK
(chuckling)
What's the matter? Are you afraid of
me? Do I look dangerous?
PATRICK removes a thick wad of cash, mostly hundreds. He
holds out a hundred dollar bill, offering it to her...
...without a word, the WHORE greedily takes the money.
PATRICK
Do you want to come up to my apartment
or not?
WHORE
I really shouldn't, but...
The WHORE looks around cautiously --
WHORE (CONT'D)
I can make an exception.
-- before she opens the door and gets in...
INT PATRICK'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Silence. PATRICK and the WHORE lay in the bed, sleeping...
The WHORE restlessly shifts in her sleep -- rolling over, she
mumbles something incomprehensible...
She brushes up against PATRICK's wrist --
-- his eyes immediately SNAP open:
PATRICK
Don't touch my fucking Rolex.
The WHORE doesn't wake up... instead, she snuggles up to PATRICK,
an almost involuntary reaction on her part: rubbing his well-
defined chest muscles, she moves down... down... down... BINGO!
Disgusted by the WHORE's pathetic attempt at intimacy, PATRICK
abruptly rises from the bed -- the WHORE barely registering his
absence.
STAY ON PATRICK walking across the bedroom --
-- he stops to check his reflection in the mirror above the
armoire: it's been a rough night but PATRICK is still the perfect
vision of male beauty -- and he knows it.
OFF SCREEN, the groggy WHORE beckons PATRICK: "baby, come back to
bed... baby, come here..."
SOMETHING on the armoire catches PATRICK's attention --
-- with the concentration of a neurosurgeon, PATRICK arranges and
then, apparently unsatisfied, rearranges the items on top of his
dresser.
At last PATRICK turns around, facing the WHORE --
-- IN HIS HAND: a rusty coat hanger and a large jar of seasoning
salt:
PATRICK
We're not through yet...
PATRICK walks OUT OF FRAME, approaching the bed.
The WHORE can be heard OFF SCREEN: "what are you doing? no,
no, don't... stop it... you're hurting me..."
PATRICK (V.O.)
She leaves an hour later, bleeding but
well paid.
CUT ON the SOUND of the WHORE SCREAMING IN AGONY.
EXT MANHATTAN SKYLINE (SUMMER) - DAY
A panoramic view of the World's Greatest City.
PATRICK (V.O.)
For a limited period of time I am
actually capable of being halfway
cheerful and outgoing.
INT BARNEY'S - DAY
A TWO-YEAR-OLD BABY'S FACE fills the FRAME --
-- smooth pink skin, bright blue eyes, all grins and giggles...
awww, how cute!
PATRICK (O.S.)
(sing-song, babytalk)
I'm a psychopathic murderer, oh yes I
am...
PATRICK playfully lifts the BABY up over his head:
PATRICK
(shaking his head, smiling)
I like to kill people, oh yes I do,
honey, little sweetie pie, yes I do...
A beautiful young WOMAN standing next to PATRICK waits for a
SALESCLERK to ring up her purchases, an empty stroller at her
side...
...PATRICK eyes the WOMAN up and down before handing the BABY
over to her. Nicely dressed, thin, classy: she easily passes his
inspection.
The WOMAN gently takes the BABY from PATRICK, placing her in the
empty stroller.
WOMAN
I think she likes you.
PATRICK
What a beautiful baby... she looks
just like you.
WOMAN
(blushing, looking down)
She's not actually mine. I'm just
watching her.
(beat; then)
Do I know you from somewhere?
PATRICK continues to play with the BABY, waving his American
Express card in front of her face...
PATRICK
I don't know... do you?
WOMAN
Are you a model? I could swear I've
seen you in a magazine or somewhere.
PATRICK smiles, says nothing...
WOMAN (CONT'D)
Ohmygod, I know who you are! You're
that actor! You were in... um...
PATRICK
No. Flattering, but no.
WOMAN
Are you sure?
(beat; then)
So... what do you do?
PATRICK
I'm into, oh, murders and executions
mostly. It depends.
WOMAN
Do you like it?
PATRICK
Umm... yeah, sometimes. I guess so.
Why do you ask?
WOMAN
Well, most guys I know who work in
mergers and acquisitions don't really
like it.
PATRICK
That's not what I said.
Without warning, LUIS CARRUTHERS materializes out of thin air,
literally BUMPING into PATRICK.
LUIS' physical appearance has undergone something of a
transformation: it's very subtle, difficult to pinpoint. The
blond highlights in his expensive haircut are new... the silk
scarf around his neck belongs only in a caricature --
-- LUIS looks and acts so flamboyantly gay, he GLOWS!
LUIS
Patrick? Ohmygod, Patrick? Is that
you?
The sexual energy built up between PATRICK and the WOMAN
instantly disappears --
-- derailed, PATRICK shakes LUIS' outstretched hand, making a
huge production of it.
PATRICK
Luis Carruthers. Well, well.
PATRICK looks around nervously, trying to wipe off his right hand
without being noticed. There is a brief moment of uncomfortable
silence:
PATRICK
We were just--
LUIS
(interrupting)
What a cute baby!
LUIS can't help himself: he immediately departs for a distant
planet where unicorns freely run through open fields of brightly
colored flowers, leaping over rainbows to the sound of Judy
Garland singing her heart out...
...the WOMAN's attention turns from PATRICK to the BABY as she
journeys with LUIS to Planet Queer.
LUIS kneels down in front of the stroller: aww, coochie-coochie-
coo... my, you're a big girl, oh yes you are... you sure are, my
little buttercup...
The WOMAN is completely overcome as her maternal instincts take
over, destroying her capacity for rational thought and adult
conversation, rendering her "gaga".
PATRICK squints his eyes tightly as he squeezes the bridge of his
nose: try to stay calm PATRICK, try to stay calm...
PATRICK (V.O.)
Oh my god.
PATRICK looks around nervously -- time for a graceful exit:
PATRICK
I think I need... to be... alone right
now.
LUIS and the WOMAN can't be reached -- they're way too busy being
"cute" with the baby...
PATRICK (CONT'D)
Excuse me, I have to purchase a tie.
PATRICK turns away from LUIS, the WOMAN and the BABY --
-- his departure barely registering with either of them.
STAY ON PATRICK walking:
PATRICK
(under his breath)
Fuck, fuck, fuck...
PATRICK grabs a towel from a display rack and vigorously wipes
off his right hand, cleansing himself of LUIS...
...PATRICK drops the towel on the floor and WALKS OUT OF FRAME.
INT BARNEY'S,