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, TIE DEPARTMENT - DAY
	 
	Row after endless row of neckties in every size, shape and color: 
	a monumental achievement in the fine art of retail display.			
	 
	Humbled, PATRICK thoughtfully examines a necktie.
	 
	He thinks it over carefully, weighing his options before setting 
	it back on the rack...
	 
	...PATRICK gently runs his hand across a row of colorful silk 
	ties, closing his eyes, enjoying the sheer physical sensation of 
	the beautiful material.
	 
	A VOICE INTERRUPTS --
	 
					 LUIS (O.S.)
				 (whispering)
			What are you doing here?
	 
	LUIS has magically reappeared.
	 
	Standing next to PATRICK, LUIS picks up a tie, pretending to look 
	it over...
	 
	...PATRICK does his best to ignore him, but... LUIS persists:
	 
					 LUIS
			Patrick, why won't you look at me?
			Look at me.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Please, please leave me alone, Luis.
											
					 LUIS
			Come on, let's have a drink at Sofi's 
			and talk about this.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Talk about what?
	 
					 LUIS
			Well... about us.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Did you follow me in here?			     
	 
					 LUIS
				 (innocently)
			Me?  Follow you? 
				 (scoffing at PATRICK)	
			Oh come on.  Jesus.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Luis.  Please leave me alone.  Go
			away.
	 
					 LUIS
			Patrick.  I love you very much.  I
			hope you realize this.
				 (beat; then)
			Patrick, what are we doing here?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Well, I'm trying to buy a tie -- and
			you're trying to give me head, figure 
			it out.  Jesus, I'm getting out of 
			here.
		
					 LUIS
			Patrick, we've got to talk.
	 
	DISSOLVE TO:
	 
	 
	EXT FIFTH AVENUE - DAY
	 
	PATRICK battles his way through the Mid-town crowd, his stress 
	level at an all time high...
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			...I find myself cursing the earth and 
			everything I have been taught: morals,
			choices, knowledge, prayer - all of it
			was wrong, without any final purpose, 
			yet I am still able to find solace in
			many things: the new compact disc from
			Huey Lewis and the News, dress shirts 
			from Ralph Lauren, the fact that I 
			don't live in a trailer park or work 
			in a bowling alley, the dinner 
			reservations I have this evening with
			Paul Owen, the Patty Winters Show this
			morning was about shark attack 
			victims...
	 
	 
	INT TEXARKANA - NIGHT
	 
	A flashy new restaurant unremarkable in every way, except... 
	where are all the people?  This place feels deserted: the bar is 
	empty and only five tables have people at them in the dining 
	area.								     
	PAUL OWEN sits alone in a booth near the back.
	 
	PATRICK approaches PAUL smiling, his hand extended... 
	 
					 PAUL
				 (checking his Rolex)
			You're late.
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (laughing)
			Hey, I'm a child of divorce.  Give me
			a break.
	 
	They shake hands as PATRICK sits down.
	 
	PAUL motions to a WAITER, silently ordering a round of drinks by 
	pointing to his already empty martini glass.
	 
					 PAUL
			This is really a beehive of, uh, 
			activity, Halberstam.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Listen, I tried making a reservation 
			at Dorsia, but--
	 
					 PAUL
				 (interrupting)
			I know, I know.  Forget it.  They've
			got a twelve-month waiting list.  
			Twelve months, can you believe it?  
			For Christ sake, Stallone can't even
			get in there!
	 
					 PATRICK
			I didn't hear about this.
	 
					 PAUL
			Yeah.  Last week... they turned away
			Rambo himself.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Just... say... no.
	 
					 PAUL
			How've you been, Marcus?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Great.  Great... and you?
	 
					 PAUL
			Terrific.  Never better.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Are you still handling the Fisher 
			account?
											     
	 
					 PAUL
			Yeah.  Lucked out, huh?				  
	 
					 PATRICK
			How'd you get it?
	 
					 PAUL
			Things just fell into place. 
	 
	The WAITER reappears with the drinks...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Wow...
				 (beat; then)
			So how were the Bahamas?  You just got
			back, right?
	 
					 PAUL
			Well, Marcus, let me tell you --
			travelers looking for that perfect 
			vacation this summer may do well to
			look south, as far south as the
			Bahamas and the Caribbean islands.  
			There are at least five smart reasons
			to visit the Caribbean...
	 
	DISSOLVE TO LATER
	 
	 
	PAUL's martini is nearly gone... PATRICK's remains almost full.
	 
					 PAUL (CONT'D)
			...those who can't take a full week
			away will find the Caribbean an ideal
			spot for the alternative weekend 
			escape.
	 
					 PATRICK
			This is enlightening.
	 
	PAUL is just about completely shit-faced... he slams the rest of 
	his drink in one huge, drunken gulp as the WAITER silently 
	delivers him a fresh martini:
	 
					 PAUL
			For the active vacationer there is
			mountain climbing, cave exploring,
			sailing, horseback riding, white-
			water river rafting...  
	 
	DISSOLVE TO LATER
	 
	 
	The entrees have been served: mostly uneaten, they remain 
	beautiful works of culinary art.			    	 
	 
											  
	PAUL continues to pound down the martinis as quickly as they 
	arrive...
	 
					 PAUL (CONT'D)
			...for those who wish to gamble, there
			are casinos on many of the islands. 
			As for dining out, the islands have
			attracted numerous world class chefs -
			American, British, French, Italian...
			even Dutch expatriates own many of the
			restaurants.
	 
					 PATRICK
			My life is a living hell... and there
			are many more people I, uh, want to...
			want to, well, I guess, murder.
	 
					 PAUL
			What you need is a vacation, 
			Halberstam.  You and that beautiful
			lady of yours, what's her name?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Cecelia, Paul.  My girlfriend's name
			is Cecelia.
	 
					 PAUL
			That's right.  You and Cecelia should
			really think about... getting away.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Where would you suggest?  The Bahamas,
			perhaps? 
	 
					 PAUL
				 (genuinely surprised by the 	idea)
			Why not?  She'll love it.
				 (beat; then)			
			Do you golf, Marcus?  The golf courses
			and tennis courts in the Bahamas are 
			unlike anything you've ever seen.  
			During the summer months, the pros at 
			many of the resorts are made more 
			available...
			
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Paul Owen is so drunk by the time
			dinner is over that I (1) make him pay
			the check, which comes to over two
			hundred and fifty dollars, (2) make 
			him admit what a dumb son-of-a-bitch 
			he really is...
	 
	 
											     
	 
	 
	INT PATRICK'S APARTMENT, LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
	 
	Every light in the apartment is on; the venetian blinds are 
	closed.
	 
	PAUL is slumped over PATRICK's mini-bar, doing his best to pour a 
	glass of wine...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...and (3) get him back to my place,
			where he makes himself another drink.
	 
	PAUL staggers through the living room, stopping near the stereo 
	system to examine PATRICK's enormous CD collection.
	 
	A white aluminum folding chair has been set up in the center of 
	the living room, the floor beneath it covered with newspaper... 
	hmm, that's odd.
	 
	PATRICK silently enters the living room wearing a shiny new 
	raincoat -- IN HIS HAND: a very large AX...
	 
	Unaware of PATRICK's presence, PAUL straightens up and slowly 
	stumbles backward, sipping from his wineglass... 
	 
	...he seats himself in the folding chair, comfortably numb.
	 
	PATRICK slowly continues his silent approach, buttoning up the 
	raincoat with his free hand.
			
	Still getting settled in the flimsy chair, PAUL looks around, 
	drunk and confused:
	 
					 PAUL
				 (slurring)
			Hey, Halberstam.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Yes, Owen.
	 
					 PAUL
			Why are there, um, copies of the Style
			section all over the place?  Do you
			have a dog?  A chow or something?
	 
	PATRICK arrives at the folding chair...
	 
					 PATRICK
			No, Owen.
	 
	Standing directly in front of PAUL, PATRICK raises THE AX high 
	above his head --
	 
	-- but PAUL is so wasted that he doesn't even notice...
											     
	 
	 
	PATRICK brings the AX down, STOPPING just short of his target.
	 
	Reconsidering, PATRICK changes his grip on the AX, instead 
	holding it like a baseball bat.  He lowers it to his waist as if 
	preparing to swing at an oncoming ball...
	 
					 PAUL
			Anyway, I used to hate Iggy Pop but
			now that he's so commercial I like him
			a lot better than-
	 
	The AX HITS PAUL midsentence, straight in the face, finally 
	shutting him up.
	 
	PAUL weakly grabs at the handle of the AX, the force of the blow 
	having sapped his strength, a rustling SOUND filling the room as 
	newspapers tear beneath PAUL's kicking feet...
	 
	PATRICK pulls the AX out, almost yanking PAUL out of the chair by 
	his head -- blood slowly pouring out of his massive facial 
	wounds.
	 
	PATRICK STRIKES HIM with the ax ONCE AGAIN, directly in the 
	face...
	 
	...PAUL falls to the floor, bleeding profusely.
	 
					 PATRICK
			FUCKING STUPID BASTARD!  FUCKING
			STUPID BASTARD!
				 (beat; then calming down)
			Things just fell into place, buddy.
	 
	FADE TO RED --
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			It takes Paul five minutes to finally die.
			Another thirty to stop bleeding.
	 
	FADE TO BLACK --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			The aftermath: no fear, no confusion.
	 
	 
	INT PATRICK'S OFFICE - DAY
	 
	Seated comfortably behind his desk, PATRICK is once again hard at 
	work... attempting to solve the Rubix Cube.  The soothing SOUNDS 
	of soft jazz fill the room.
	 
	PATRICK's hands feverishly TWIST and TURN... bright squares of 
	color come to life in a WHIRL of hypnotic moving patterns...	
								     
	 
						
	PATRICK's INTERCOM BUZZES:
	 
					 JEAN (V.O., 	INTERCOM)
			Patrick?
		
					 PATRICK
			What is it?
	 
					 JEAN (V.O., 	INTERCOM)
			Patrick, a Mr. Donald Kimball is here
			to see you.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Who?
	 
					 JEAN (V.O., 	INTERCOM)
				 (hesitating)
			Detective Donald Kimball.
	 
	PATRICK's hands STOP moving.  He sits up, alert.  Did she say... 
	detective?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Tell him...
				 (beat; then)
			Tell him I'm at lunch.
	 
					 JEAN (V.O., 	INTERCOM)
			Patrick... I think he knows you're
			here.
				 (beat; then)
			It's ten-thirty.
	 
	PATRICK considers his limited options --
	 
					 PATRICK
			Well... send him in.
	 
	-- and realizes that there is NO WAY OUT of this.
	 
	PATRICK takes a deep breath before rising from his chair...
	 
	...he walks over to a large mirror and checks his hair.
	 
	PATRICK stares into the mirror, lost in his own beauty.
	 
	WE HEAR A DISTANT, FAMILIAR VOICE:
	 
					 WOMAN'S VOICE 	(V.O.)
			Are you a model?
		
	The FAMILIAR VOICE is none other than that of the WOMAN with the 
	cute BABY from Barney's...
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 WOMAN'S VOICE 	(V.O.)
			Ohmygod, I know who you are!  You're
			that actor!
	 
	PATRICK smiles confidently.  Who cares about the detective?
	 
	The doors to PATRICK's office fly open --
	 
	-- as DETECTIVE DONALD KIMBALL ENTERS.
	 
	KIMBALL is in his late twenties: clean cut, good-looking, 
	casually hip in a slightly disheveled Armani suit, an apparent 
	victim of one too many episodes of "Miami Vice".
	 
	PATRICK waves him in, offering his outstretched hand.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Hi.  Pat Bateman.
	 
	The MEN shake hands...		
	 
					 KIMBALL
			Donald Kimball.
	 
	PATRICK sits down behind his desk, motioning for KIMBALL to be 
	seated:
	 
					 KIMBALL
			I'm sorry to barge in on you like
			this, but I was supposed to talk to
			Luis Carruthers and he wasn't in 
			and... well, anyway, you are, so...
	 
	KIMBALL surveys PATRICK's desk: next to the Rubix Cube, several 
	magazines lay open to pictures of women in bikinis.
	 
					 KIMBALL (CONT'D)
			I know how busy you guys can get.  If
			it's any problem for you, I can--
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (interrupting)
			No.  It's no problem at all.
	 
	PATRICK very nonchalantly tries to clear his desk by pulling out 
	a drawer and sweeping everything into it --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			So... how can I help you?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			I've been hired to investigate the 
			disappearance of Paul Owen.
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 PATRICK
			Ah, I see... yes.
				 (beat; then)
			You're not with the FBI or anything,
			are you?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			No, no.  Nothing like that.  Just a
			private investigator.
	 
					 PATRICK
			So... no one's dealing with the 
			homicide squad yet or anything, right?
	 
	KIMBALL eyes PATRICK: that was a very strange question...
	 
					 KIMBALL
			No... no... I just have some, you 
			know, basic questions.  For my file.
	 
					 PATRICK
			For your file.
	 
					 KIMBALL
			About Paul Owen.  About yourself-
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (interrupting)
			Coffee?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			No, I'm okay.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Perrier?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			No, really.  I'm fine.
	 
	KIMBALL removes a small notebook and a pen from his coat 
	pocket... he opens it up, finds the right page and begins 
	writing.
	 
	PATRICK BUZZES JEAN:
	 
					 JEAN (V.O., 	INTERCOM)
			Yes, Patrick?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Jean, can you bring Mr. --
	 
	PATRICK pauses, looking over to KIMBALL for help with his name...
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 KIMBALL
			Kimball.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Mr. Kimball a bottle of San Pelle-
	 
					 KIMBALL
				 (interrupting)
			Oh no, really, that's not necessary.
	 
					 PATRICK
			It's no problem at at all.
	 
	KIMBALL scribbles in his notebook.  He frowns, scratching it 
	out...
	 
	JEAN ENTERS THE OFFICE:
	 
	She sets down a bottle of San Pellegrino along with a crystal 
	tumbler on the desk in front of KIMBALL.
	 
	KIMBALL looks up at JEAN and smiles politely --
	 
	-- PATRICK scowls at her: GET OUT!
	 
	JEAN EXITS QUICKLY.
	 
	PATRICK sits up in his chair, clasping his hands together:
	 
					 PATRICK
			So.  Where were we then?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			The disappearance of Paul Owen.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Oh right.  Well, I haven't heard
			anything about Paul Owen's 
			disappearing act...
				 (beat; then jokingly)
			At least not on Page Six.
	 
					 KIMBALL
			I think his family wants this kept 
			quiet.
	 
					 PATRICK
			That's understandable.
	 
	PATRICK gestures toward the untouched bottle of water:
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Lime?
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 KIMBALL
			No, really.  I'm okay.
	 
					 PATRICK
			You sure?  Because I can always get
			you a lime.
	 
					 KIMBALL					
			I just have a few questions for you
			and then I'll be on my way--
	 
	PATRICK shuts both eyes tightly.  He squeezes the bridge of his 
	nose.  Beads of sweat glisten on his brow.  PATRICK is not doing 
	very well right now --			
	 
					 KIMBALL (CONT'D)
			Pardon me, but... are you okay?
	 
	-- PATRICK's eyes open wide:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Why do you ask?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			You seem... nervous.
	 
	PATRICK reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of 
	aspirin...
	 
	PATRICK struggles with the child-proof bottle... he finally 
	manages to get it open, in the process spilling most of the pills 
	all over his desk:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Nuprin?
	 
					 KIMBALL
			Uh... no thanks.
	 
	PATRICK quickly pops two of the little white pills into his 
	mouth, gulping them down without any water.
	 
	KIMBALL pulls out a pack of Marlboros, laying them down on the 
	desk next to an unused crystal ashtray --
	 
	-- PATRICK fearfully stares at the offensive package:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Bad habit.
			
					 KIMBALL
			I know.  I'm sorry.
	 
	PATRICK continues staring, consumed --
											     
	 
	 
	 
					 KIMBALL (CONT'D)
			Do you... would you rather I not 
			smoke?
	 
					 PATRICK
			No... no... I guess it's okay.
	 
					 KIMBALL
			You sure?
	 
	-- PATRICK snaps out of his trance:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Of course.  It's no problem at all.
	 
	KIMBALL takes out a cigarette and lights it, sucking in hard 
	while looking through his notebook...
	 
	...he finally exhales an enormous cloud of cigarette smoke:
	 
					 KIMBALL
			Where were you on the night of Paul
			Owen's disappearance?
	 
	 
	EXT CENTRAL PARK ZOO - DAY
	 
	The Central Park Zoo: New York's wildest animals behind bars, a 
	sanctuary from the urban sprawl.  Horsedrawn carriages pass in 
	front of the entrance gates...
	 
	...DRUG DEALERS hang out, hoping to make a sale... a BLIND MAN 
	gnaws on a jumbo pretzel, his mouth open... two drunk FAGGOTS 
	console each other on a park bench as a young MOTHER publicly 
	breast feeds her INFANT...
	 
	The tips of skyscrapers and apartment buildings on Fifth Avenue 
	peek out high above the surrounding trees.
	 
	PATRICK enters the zoo:
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Unable to maintain a credible public
			persona, I find myself roaming the zoo
			in Central Park.
		
	A SERIES OF SHOTS -- various animals...
	 
	...dirty polar bears lay across giant slabs of concrete... an 
	alligator floats across an oily pond... puffins and toucans stare 
	out from their cages, bored...
	 
	 
											     
	 
	 
	EXT CENTRAL PARK ZOO, SEAL EXHIBIT - DAY
	 
	Seals dive off artificial rocks into a pool of murky water... 
	they resurface, barking as a ZOO KEEPER rewards them with fish.
	 
	A small CROWD has gathered in front of the seal tank: mostly 
	ADULTS, a few accompanied by CHILDREN... they APPLAUD and CHEER 
	mechanically.
	 
	PATRICK joins the CROWD, quickly making his way to the front for 
	a better view of the action...
	 
	...he notices a SIGN:
	 
			COINS CAN KILL - IF SWALLOWED, COINS
			CAN LODGE IN AN ANIMAL'S STOMACH AND
			CAUSE ULCERS, INFECTIONS AND DEATH.
			DO NOT THROW COINS IN THE POOL.
	 
	PATRICK looks around cautiously --
	 
	-- before tossing a handful of change into the seal's tank...
	 
	PATRICK SMILES, pleased with himself.
	 
				
	INT PENGUIN HABITAT - DAY
	 
	A dark, cavernous room.  A large banner, "EDGE OF THE ICEPACK", 
	hangs on the wall.  Penguins lazily glide underwater behind 
	gigantic glass walls as FAKE PENGUIN NOISES play over a cheap 
	sound system...
	 
	A large, NOISY CROWD watches the graceful, flightless birds.
	 
	 
	IN THE CROWD:
	 
	A five year-old BOY watches the penguins, captivated by their 
	charm as he chews on a candy bar.
	 
	His MOTHER, early thirties, average in every way, smiles lovingly 
	at her SON as he finishes his candy bar and hands her the empty 
	wrapper...
	 
	The MOTHER gives the wrapper back to the BOY, POINTING OFF SCREEN 
	as she speaks to him, smiling and nodding...
	 
	...the BOY nods, understanding what she wants him to do... he 
	smiles and happily skips OUT OF FRAME.
	 
	The MOTHER smiles, pleased.  Her attention returns to the 
	penguins.									     
	 
	 
	 
	AT THE BACK OF THE PENGUIN HABITAT:
	 
	The BOY approaches a large trash can in a dimly lit corner of the 
	room.  Standing on tiptoes, he carefully throws the wrapper into 
	the trash.
	 
	Crouched behind the trash can, PATRICK peeks out, smiling:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Psst... hi.
	 
	The BOY stands still --
	 
	-- he looks at PATRICK apprehensively, yet fascinated...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Would you like... a cookie?
	 
	The BOY nods up and down, smiling.
	 
	In one swift move, PATRICK reaches into his coat pocket, pulling 
	out a knife as he lunges forward -- 
	 
	-- GRABBING the unsuspecting BOY.
	 
	 
	BACK TO THE CROWD:
	 
	The MOTHER is still watching the penguins, unaware...
	 
	PATRICK MOVES INTO FRAME, joining the CROWD.
	 
	PATRICK stands next to an attractive WOMAN.  He taps her shoulder 
	and winks as he points to a penguin preparing to dive...  
	 
	...the WOMAN smiles back at PATRICK, openly flirting.
	 
	The MOTHER scans the CROWD, craning her neck for a better view --
	 
	-- turning around she sees SOMETHING OFF SCREEN.
	 
	She smiles, relieved.
	 
	The MOTHER walks toward the back of the room, OUT OF FRAME...
	 
	 
	AT THE BACK OF THE PENGUIN HABITAT:
	 
	Clearly visible behind the trash can are two tiny feet, slowly 
	kicking up and down...
											     
	 
	 
	...the MOTHER approaches, smiling:
	 
					 MOTHER
			Are you playing hide-and-seek, honey?
	 
	 
	BACK TO THE CROWD:
	 
	PATRICK and the WOMAN continue to flirt, PATRICK occasionally 
	craning his neck to scan the room...
	 
	A WOMAN'S SCREAMS PIERCES THROUGH THE NOISE OF THE CROWD.
	 
	Several PEOPLE turn in the direction of the SCREAM, however most 
	ignore it, content just to watch the goddamned birds.
	 
	PATRICK instantly turns around, his handsome face a mixture of 
	horror and genuine concern --
	 
	-- he runs toward the screaming MOTHER, pushing PEOPLE out of his 
	way:
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'M A DOCTOR!  MOVE BACK, I'M A
			DOCTOR!
	 
	THE TRASH CAN HAS BEEN PULLED AWAY FROM THE WALL --
	 
	-- the young BOY lies on the floor, gasping for breath, grabbing 
	at his throat, his legs kicking weakly --
	 
	-- his face covered with BLOOD.
	 
	The MOTHER kneels next to the BOY, hysterical.
	 
	PATRICK drops to his knees and delicately lifts the little BOY's 
	head while checking for a pulse, desperate to save his young 
	life...
	 
					 MOTHER
			DO SOMETHING!  DO SOMETHING!
	 
	Unable to ignore the MOTHER's screaming, the CROWD focuses its 
	collective attention, forming a semi-circle around PATRICK, the 
	MOTHER and the BOY.
	 
	Members of the CROWD gasp in horror as A WAVE OF PANIC surges 
	through the penguin habitat...
	 
	SOMEONE runs from the CROWD to "go get help" --
	 
	-- a TOURIST with a camera takes flash pictures...
	 
	The penguins freak out, slamming themselves into the glass wall 
	behind the CROWD.						     
	 
	 
	PATRICK holds the BOY, soothing him as the MOTHER totally loses 
	control, shrieking and wailing... PATRICK harshly slaps her face, 
	a futile attempt to calm her down.
	 
	NO ONE blinks twice at any of the "DOCTOR's" actions...
	 
	Two ZOO OFFICIALS and a SECURITY GUARD burst through the main 
	doors, running to the bleeding BOY --
	 
	-- the SECURITY GUARD pushes PATRICK away, carefully lifting the 
	BOY's limp body, carrying him outside...
	 
	The MOTHER runs after them, PATRICK right behind her --
	 
	-- as the CROWD follows, chasing the excitement.
	 
	 
	EXT PENGUIN HABITAT - DAY
	 
	The SECURITY GUARD gently lays the BOY down on the ground as a 
	ZOO OFFICIAL removes the BOY's blood soaked shirt.
	 
	An EMERGENCY MEDICAL TEAM arrives -- but it's too late.
	 
	THE BOY GASPS, DIES.				
					
	PARAMEDICS fight to restrain the hysterical MOTHER.
	 
	Two POLICE OFFICERS arrive on the scene...
	 
					 POLICE OFFICER
			Okay, people -- let's go!  Keep 
			moving... keep moving.
	 
	HIGH ANGLE on PATRICK as he blends back into the CROWD, his hands 
	and suit stained with blood.
	 
	PATRICK slowly backs away, UNCAUGHT.
	 
	 
	INT PATRICK'S OFFICE - NIGHT
	 
	PATRICK is at his desk finishing up some paperwork.  It's late; 
	way past quitting time...
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			My appearances in the office the last
			month or so have been sporadic to say
			the least.  I have all the               
			characteristics of a human being -- 
			flesh, blood, skin, hair -- yet I feel
			empty, hardly here at all.  I am only 
			imitating reality.
				 (beat; then)
			These are terrible times.			     
	 
	 
	JEAN gently knocks on PATRICK's half-open door --
	 
	-- without looking up, PATRICK motions for her to enter...
	 
	JEAN approaches PATRICK's desk, delivering a file... she looks 
	especially attractive this evening, more so than usual.
	 
					 JEAN
			Doin' the crossword puzzle?
	 
	PATRICK silently nods... JEAN walks behind his desk for a better 
	look:
	 
					 JEAN (CONT'D)
			Need help?			
	 
	ON THE DESK --
	 
	A crossword puzzle, every square filled in with the words "MEAT" 
	and "BONE"... next to the puzzle is a small pile of no. 2 
	pencils, snapped in half...
	 
	JEAN emits a slight gasp before dutifully picking up the broken 
	pencils.  PATRICK has the greatest secretary in the world: she is 
	completely and totally devoted to her boss.
	 
	JEAN turns to leave --
	 
					 PATRICK
			Jean?
	 
					 JEAN
			Yes, Patrick?
	 
	PATRICK finally looks up from the crossword puzzle:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Would you like to accompany me to
			dinner?  That is, if you're not...
			doing anything.
	 
	JEAN has dreamt of this moment for a very long time...
	 
					 JEAN
				 (embarrassed; looking down)
			Oh no.  I have no plans.
	 
	JEAN is putty in his hands... PATRICK turns on the charm:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Well, isn't this a coincidence?
				 (beat; then)
			Where should we go?
											     
	 
	 
					 JEAN
			Anywhere you want?
	 
					 PATRICK
			No, no, no.  How about anywhere you
			want.
	 
					 JEAN
			Oh Patrick.  I can't make this 
			decision.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Come on.  Anywhere you want.  I can
			get us in anywhere.
		
					 JEAN
			How about...
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Don't say Dorsia, don't say Dorsia, 
			don't say Dorsia...
		
					 JEAN
			...Dorsia?
	 
					 PATRICK
			S-o-o-o... Jean wants to go to Dosia?  
			Dorsia it is.
										
	Too proud to back down, PATRICK casually picks up the telephone 
	and dials, smiling...
						
					 PATRICK (into 	TELEPHONE)
			Can you take two tonight, oh, let's
			say, in around twenty minutes?
				 (beat; then)
			Oh, really?  That's great!
				 (beat; then)
			See you then.
	 
	PATRICK hangs up, smiling --
	 
	-- but JEAN is confused... something is bothering her:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Yes?  You look... fine.
	 
					 JEAN
				 (puzzled)
			You didn't give them a name.
	 
					 PATRICK
			They know me.
	 
											     
	 
	 
	 
	INT DORSIA, ENTRANCE - NIGHT
	 
	Manhattan's hippest, busiest restaurant... it is a cool, 
	happening place, but come on -- a twelve month waiting list for 
	dinner reservations?
	 
	The CROWD is an eye-pleasing mix of YUPPIES, MODELS and assorted 
	SCENE-MAKERS... their NOISE is deafening. 
	 
	The MAITRE D' is dressed entirely in black, his greying hair 
	pulled back into a "hipper-than-thou" ponytail... 
	 
	...he leaves his post to seat a glamourous young COUPLE.
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN approach the podium.
	 
	The reservation book lies open, unguarded...
	 
	Awestruck, JEAN looks around as PATRICK casually leans over the 
	podium, trying his best to read the reservation book without 
	being too obvious about it...
	 
	PATRICK carefully scans the book... most of the names have 
	already been crossed out: this is not good... his eyes dart back 
	and forth across the page... JACKPOT!  
	 
	 
	HE SEES:
	 
	9:00        2 PEOPLE        SCHRAWTZ
	 
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Oh Jesus.
	 
	BACK TO SCENE
	 
	 
	The MAITRE D' has just seated the first COUPLE... already on his 
	way back, he's cris-crossing through the dining room --
	 
	-- PATRICK looks around nervously:	
	 
					 PATRICK
			Why don't you go to the women's room?
	 
					 JEAN
			What?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Don't you want to use the ladies'
			room?
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 JEAN
			Why?  I mean... do I?
	 
	The MAITRE D' is getting CLOSER!
	 
					 PATRICK
			Just... go.
	 
					 JEAN
			But I don't need to go, Patrick.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Oh Christ.
	 
	The MAITRE D' arrives at the podium, an eyebrow quizzically 
	raised as he inspects PATRICK and JEAN from head to toe:
	 
					 MAITRE D'
			Yes?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Reservations at nine... for two.
	 
					 MAITRE D'
			Yes?  Name?						
	 
					 PATRICK
			Um, Schrawtz.  Mr. and Mrs. Schrawtz.
	 
	JEAN is absolutely STUNNED... what in the hell is going on?
	 
	Without a second thought, the MAITRE D' crosses the name off in 
	the reservation book and grabs two menus...
	 
					 MAITRE D'
			Follow me.
	 
	PATRICK turns to JEAN, grinning like an idiot, a very handsome 
	idiot... he takes her hand, leading her into Dorsia's crowded 
	dining room.
	 
	 
	INT DORSIA, DINING ROOM - LATER
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN have been seated at a small table for two near 
	the open kitchen... it's not the best table in the restaurant, 
	but hey -- it's better than nothing!
	 
	A WAITER drops off their drinks, disappears.
	 
	JEAN is absorbed in the menu, studying it like a text book... 
	every now and then she glances up at PATRICK and giggles.  She 
	couldn't be happier.
	 
											     
	 
	 
	Straight through the dining room, PATRICK has a perfect view of 
	the podium:
	 
	A flashy young COUPLE has just arrived... there seems to be some 
	confusion, some problem with the reservation book... oh my god, 
	no!
	 
	The MAITRE D' glares at PATRICK from across the entire restaurant 
	-- if looks could kill...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Something bad is happening.
	 
	His face turning beet red, the MAITRE D' marches through the 
	dining room with the real MR. AND MRS. SCHRAWTZ following close 
	behind...
	 
					 JEAN
			Why?  What's wrong?
	 
	They arrive almost instantly, the MAITRE D' looming over the 
	table:
					 MAITRE D'
				 (sternly, to PATRICK and JEAN)
			Mr. and Mrs.... Schrawtz?
	 
	 
	EXT SIDEWALK - NIGHT
	 
	The sidewalk in front of Dorsia: a homeless MAN desperately cries 
	out for spare change...
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (chanting)
			I should have known better...  I       
			should have known better... I should 
			have known better...
		
	JEAN skips ahead, laughing.
	 
					 JEAN
			That was so funny.  Your sense of 
			humor is so spontaneous.
				 (beat; then)
			Where to now, Mr. Schrawtz?
	 
	DISSOLVE TO:
		
	 
	INT ARCADIA - NIGHT
	 
	Arcadia is pure elegance: WAITERS in tuxedos silently move 
	through a dimly lit dining room decorated entirely with paintings 
	and sculptures of characters from Greek Mythology.
											     
	 
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN are enjoying a candle-lit dinner at a secluded 
	table near the back -- hanging above their table is a framed 
	reproduction of Nicholas Poussin's "Echo and Narcissus".
	 
	JEAN stares lovingly into PATRICK's eyes, listening to his every 
	word... she focuses on his lips, the shape of his perfectly 
	formed mouth... his recently manicured, almost feminine hands... 
	JEAN is spellbound.
	 
	PATRICK is really coming into his own, thoroughly enjoying 
	himself: talking, smiling, he even pauses to refill JEAN's wine 
	glass, lingering for a moment to appreciate just how physically 
	beautiful she really is, how... delicate she seems.
	 
	DISSOLVE TO:
	 
	 
	EXT JEAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
	 
	A classy Upper East Side apartment building: not too shabby, 
	JEAN.  A DOORMAN stands in the lobby, suspicious of EVERYONE.
	 
	It's a beautiful, clear night... a curtain of stars, miles of 
	them, glow scattered across the sky.
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN are standing in front of her apartment building, 
	tense with expectations... what now?
	 
					 JEAN
			Well.  Here we are.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Here we are.
	 
					 JEAN
			Dinner was wonderful.  Thank you very
			much.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Actually, the food was mediocre, but
			you're welcome.
	 
					 JEAN
			Do you want to come up?
			
					 PATRICK
			Do you have any peyote?
	 
					 JEAN
			What?
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 PATRICK
			Just a joke.
				 (beat; then)
			I'd love to but I have to return some
			videotapes.
	 
					 JEAN
				 (checking her watch)
			Now?  It's almost midnight.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Well, yeah...
	 
					 JEAN
			Then, I guess... it's good night, Mr.
			Bateman.
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN are both giddy, like teenagers on a first date -
	- the evening has gone quite well... maybe it shouldn't be ending 
	just yet.
	 
	PATRICK awkwardly reaches out to JEAN --
		
	-- they shake hands, but... 
	 
	...JEAN won't let go.
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN lock eyes --
	 
	-- as she throws her arms around PATRICK,
	 
	KISSING HIM ON THE MOUTH.
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			I am so used to imagining everything 
			happening the way it occurs in movies,
			that I almost hear the swelling of the
			orchestra...
	 
	...an orchestra suddenly swells up, the string section bursting 
	forth with the promise of a never-ending romance --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)		
			...can almost hallucinate the camera
			panning low around us...
	 
	-- PAN AROUND PATRICK and JEAN as they kiss, starting low, 
	gradually rising --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...as fireworks burst overhead in slow 
			motion...
	 
	-- as colorful fireworks EXPLODE high above...
											     
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...the seventy-millimeter image of her
			lips parting, murmuring "I want 
			you..."
	 
	EXTREME CLOSE UP OF JEAN'S LIPS glistening as she seductively 
	mouths "I want you..."
	 
	 
	BACK TO SCENE 
	 
	Back to REALITY: the fireworks are gone, the orchestra has cut 
	out...
	 
	PATRICK is FROZEN, tense -- JEAN continues kissing him, her eyes 
	closed...
	 
	...but PATRICK remains frigid.  He lightly pushes her away.
	 
	JEAN looks away, embarrassed and confused...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Listen, I've got to go.
				 (beat; then)
			I don't want any... late fees.
	 
					 JEAN
			Okay.  Bye.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Night.
	 
	PATRICK turns, walks away...
	 
	JEAN shouts out to him:
	 
					 JEAN
			Patrick!  Don't forget you have a
			breakfast meeting... tomorrow...
	 
	JEAN can't decide if she wants to cry or jump for joy, her 
	intense crush on PATRICK leaving her powerless over her own 
	strong emotions...
	 
	...watching him disappear into the darkness, she wonders: does he 
	feel the same way?
	 
	 
	EXT INTERSECTION, UPPER EAST SIDE - NIGHT
	 
	Very few PEOPLE are out tonight... it's quiet, tranquil.
	 
	PATRICK hails a passing TAXI CAB.
	 
	The cab pulls over, PATRICK gets in...
											     
	 
	 
	 
	INT TAXI, MOVING - NIGHT
	 
	PATRICK sits in the back of the cab, emotionally and physically 
	exhausted.  He takes a deep breath, relaxing.  
	 
	PATRICK silently stares at the bizarre assortment of signs and 
	stickers decorating the interior of the cab:
	 
	..."God is my co-pilot"..."Peace, love, happiness"..."Don't 
	worry, be happy"..."Abused?  Battered?  Get help"..."Say no to 
	drugs"..."Bush & Quayle '88"...
	 
	PATRICK's attention drifts... 
	 
	He leans back in the seat, staring at the ceiling... staring at 
	nothing --
	 
	INSERT SEQUENCE:
	 
	 
	EXT CENTRAL PARK - DAY
	 
	A beautiful spring day.  Central Park looks surreal,  heavenly: 
	the trees are in full bloom, the grass has never been greener, 
	there's not a cloud in the endless blue sky...
	 
	The park is empty, except for:
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN, both casually dressed in blue jeans and a white 
	T-shirt...
		
	...they chase each other through the park, smiling and laughing 
	like little children.
	 
	On PATRICK's left hand: A SILVER WEDDING BAND --
	 
	-- on JEAN's left hand: AN ENORMOUS DIAMOND RING.
	 
	PATRICK finally catches up to JEAN --
	 
	-- he takes her hand... she smiles.  
	 
	They passionately KISS ON THE MOUTH as...		
	 
	...a MAN SELLING BALLOONS magically appears.
	 
	His balloons are visually stunning, breath-taking in their 
	simplistic beauty: red ones, yellow ones, blue ones, green 
	ones...
	 
	JEAN jumps up and down, thrilled as --
	 
	-- PATRICK gives the MAN some money...
											     
	 
	 
	The MAN smiles, handing the balloons over to JEAN.  He waves 
	"good-bye" and WALKS OFF.
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN look deep into each other's eyes...
	 
	AIN'T LOVE GRAND?
	 
	PATRICK smiles, "accidentally on-purpose" tripping JEAN --
	 
	-- she falls down, playfully dragging PATRICK with her.
	 
	They KISS --
	 
	-- JEAN's hand opens, letting go of the balloon strings...
	 
	The BALLOONS FLOAT AWAY quickly, forever lost --
	 
	-- their bright colors FRAMED against the clear blue sky, they 
	rise... higher and higher... 
	 
	...until they drift OUT OF FRAME.
	 
	 
	INT LUKE - NIGHT
	 
	A bistro almost too chic for its own good: nouvelle Chinese 
	cuisine served with a Creole flair... only in Manhattan.
	 
	The atmosphere is surprisingly calm and subdued given the fact 
	that nearly every table is occupied.
	 
	PATRICK and EVELYN are seated at a decent table near the front, 
	their entrees already served.
	 
	PATRICK stares off into space, daydreaming...
				
					 EVELYN
				 (smiling)
			Patrick?  Yoo-hoo, Patrick.
	 
	EVELYN waves her hand in front of his face.
	 
	PATRICK snaps out of it --
	 
	-- he looks at EVELYN with a sheepish grin:
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm back.
											
					 EVELYN
			What's the matter, honey?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Nothing.  I've just got a lot on my 
			mind.  You know, work.				     
	 
					 EVELYN
			What work?  What work do you do?  I 
			don't understand.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Evelyn... did you... take your
			medication?
	 
					 EVELYN
			Why don't you just quit?  You 
			practically own that damn company.
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			I wonder if Evelyn would sleep with
			another woman.  Probably not; the odds
			don't look good.  
				 (beat; then)
			But what if I forced her at gunpoint?
	 
	A BUSBOY clears the table.
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			For dessert I've arranged something
			special.
	 
	A WAITER arrives carrying a large plate covered by a shiny silver 
	dome... 
	 
	EVELYN's eyes LIGHT UP in anticipation...
	 
	...PATRICK smiles, enjoying his GIRLFRIEND's reaction.
	 
	With EVELYN distracted by the WAITER, PATRICK quickly empties the 
	contents of her water glass into a nearby ficus, setting the 
	empty glass down in front of her.
	 
	The WAITER makes a huge production of presenting the plate to 
	EVELYN, expertly milking the moment for every possible ounce of 
	drama before lifting up the silver dome:
	 
					 WAITER
			Voi-ra!
	 
	UNDER THE SILVER DOME:
	 
	A Godiva box wrapped in a silk bow sits on a large porcelain 
	plate, attractively garnished with fresh, colorful flowers.
	 
	EVELYN coos with delight as the WAITER sets a spoon down next her 
	empty water glass...
	 
					 EVELYN
			Patrick, that's so sweet.
	 
	EVELYN smiles as she eagerly unwraps the gold box.
											     
	 
	 
	IN THE GODIVA BOX:
	 
	A single mouth-watering oval-shaped piece of chocolate...
	 
					 EVELYN (CONT'D)
			I adore Godiva.
	 
	PATRICK smiles, waving the WAITER away when he tries to set down 
	another spoon...  
	 
	EVELYN anxiously hovers over her dessert, concerned:
	 
					 EVELYN (CONT'D)
			Aren't you having any?
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm not hungry.  Dinner was...
			filling.
	 
	EVELYN leans down, smelling the brown oval:
	 
					 EVELYN
			Are you... sure?
	 
					 PATRICK
			No, darling.  I want you to eat it.
			There's not a lot there.
	 
	EVELYN takes her first bite, chewing dutifully --
	 
	-- but something isn't right: this doesn't taste like Godiva 
	chocolate...
	 
	Nearly gagging, EVELYN manages to swallow... she grimaces and 
	shudders before taking another tentative bite. 
	 
	The BUSBOY appears with a pitcher of ice water --
	 
	-- PATRICK quickly waves him away before he can pour any into 
	EVELYN's empty glass...
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Earlier today I stole a urinal cake
			from the men's room at the '21' Club,
			took it home, covered it with
			chocolate syrup and froze it.
	 
					 PATRICK
			How is it?  Go on... eat it.
	 
					 EVELYN
			It's so...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Yes?  It's so... what?				     
	 
	 
	EVELYN's face twists and contorts with displeasure.  Anxious to 
	please PATRICK, she swallows a second mouthful.
	 
					 EVELYN
			It's so... minty.
				 (beat; then)
			It just... so minty.
	 
	EVELYN involuntarily reaches for her water glass --
	 
	-- only to find it EMPTY!
	 
	Desperate to rid her mouth of the putrid taste, she grabs 
	PATRICK's full glass of water and drains it in a heartbeat.
	 
	She pushes the tainted plate away, smiling appreciatively...
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Though satisfying, watching Evelyn eat
			something that I and countless others
			have pissed on is a poor excuse to put
			up with her for three hours.  Nothing
			is worth this... endless torture.
	 
	EVELYN signals for the WAITER to remove her plate...
	 
					 EVELYN
			I want a firm commitment.
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Oh my god.
	 
					 PATRICK
			I think, Evelyn, that... that we've
			lost touch.  We need to talk.
	 
					 EVELYN
			Why?  What's wrong, Patrick?
				 (beat; then)				
			If you're going to start in again on
			why I should have breast implants, I'm
			leaving.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Just... just hear me out, Evelyn.  My
			need to engage in... homicidal 
			behavior on a massive scale cannot be,
			um, corrected.  But I -- I have no
			other way to express my blocked needs.
				 (beat; then)
			It's over, Evelyn.  It's all over.
	 
					 EVELYN
			Touchy, touchy.
											     
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm serious.  It is fucking over.  Us.
			This is no joke.
	 
					 EVELYN
			Let's just avoid this subject, all 
			right?  I'm sorry I said anything.
	 
	EVELYN rummages through her handbag --
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm not going to push the issue, but-- 
						
					 EVELYN
				 (interrupting)
			How uncharacteristic of you, Patrick.
	 
	-- and pulls out a compact... she checks her lipstick in the tiny 
	mirror.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Why must you constantly undermine my
			stability?
				 (beat; then)
			Evelyn.  This has got to end.
				 (beat; then)
			I don't think we should see each other
			any more.
	 
	EVELYN closes the compact, looking directly at PATRICK:
	 
					 EVELYN
			But your friends are my friends.  My
			friends are your friends.  I don't
			think it would work.
				 (beat; then)
			You have a tiny fleck on the top of
			your lip.  Use your napkin.
	 
	Exasperated, PATRICK brushes the fleck off his lip...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Listen, I know that your friends are 
			my friends and vice versa.  I've 
			thought about that.  You can have
			them.
	 
					 EVELYN
			You're really serious aren't you?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Yes I am.
	 
					 EVELYN
			Do you have something against me,
			Patrick?							     
	 
					 PATRICK
			Evelyn.  I'm sorry.  You're just...
			not terribly important... to me.
	 
	EVELYN's calm facade is about to crack... barely able to contain 
	her hysteria, she opens her handbag and takes out a designer 
	pillbox...
	 
					 EVELYN
			Well, who is?  Who do you think is, 
			Patrick?  Who do you want?
				 (beat; then)
			Cher?
	 
	EVELYN unsnaps the pillbox, her hands shaking --
	 
	-- swallowing hard, she nearly chokes as the bitter pill goes 
	down...
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (smiling, confused)
			Cher?  Cher?  What are you talking 
			about?
				 (beat; then serious)
			Forget it.  I know my behavior is 
			erratic sometimes-
	 
					 EVELYN
				 (interrupting)
			Oh god, Patrick.  You're so lousy.
			You're inhuman.
	 
	A large, wet tear runs down EVELYN's cheek -- the dam is ready to 
	burst!
	 
					 PATRICK
			No, I'm... in touch with humanity.
				 (beat; then)
			I'm...		
	 
					 EVELYN
			You... are not...
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm not what?						    
	 
					 EVELYN
			You are not all there.  You don't add
			up.
	 
					 PATRICK
			I do too.  I do too add up.
				 (beat; then)
			Listen, Evelyn.  I've assessed the 
			situation and I'm going.
											     
	 
	 
	EVELYN reaches across the table, taking PATRICK's hand --
	 
					 EVELYN
			Don't.  Please don't go.
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm leaving Evelyn.
	 
					 EVELYN
			Where are you going?  Tell me,
			Patrick, where are you going?
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm just leaving.
	 
					 EVELYN
			But where?	
	 
	PATRICK has reached the end of his rope -- he throws his hands up 
	in the air:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Jesus Christ, does it matter, Evelyn?
			I'm going to Libya, ALRIGHT?  LIBYA!
				
	DEAD SILENCE.									
	 
	EVERYONE in the dining room STOPS MOVING --
	 
	-- ALL EYES ARE ON PATRICK.
		
	He looks around, caught off-guard... what next?
	 
	PATRICK finally stands up, ready to leave:
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Because of your outburst I'm not 
			paying for this meal.
	 
	EVELYN breaks down sobbing...
	 
	...PATRICK EXITS.
	 
	 
	EXT TRIBECA STREET - NIGHT
	 
	Just past midnight on an empty Tribeca street.  It's misty, on 
	the verge of rain.  PATRICK walks along peacefully, passing 
	storefronts and boarded-up restaurants.
	 
	A young MAN in a white beret plays a very beautiful but cliched 
	saxophone solo in the doorway of an abandoned 
	bistro -- at his feet, an open umbrella with a dollar and some 
	change in it. 
											     
	 
	 
	Unable to resist, PATRICK approaches the SAXOPHONE PLAYER --
	 
	-- who is grateful to have an audience.  
	 
	The SAXOPHONE PLAYER nods at PATRICK before launching into a new 
	song -- his head leaned back, the MAN lifts his instrument up, 
	blowing with everything he's got, really putting his heart and 
	soul into it.
	 
	PATRICK is not immune to the strong emotions evoked by the 
	melancholy sound of the saxophone --
	 
	-- he can actually feel the power of the music working on him, 
	tugging on his heart-strings, sweeping him along...
	 
	In one fluid motion, PATRICK removes a .45 CALIBER PISTOL from a 
	holster beneath his coat, expertly screwing a SILENCER onto it.
	 
	The SAXOPHONE PLAYER opens his eyes, immediately NOTICING the GUN 
	in PATRICK's hand --
	 
	-- he stops playing, the tip of the saxophone still in his mouth.
	 
	PATRICK nods for him to continue...
	 
	...the MAN tentatively resumes playing as --
	 
	-- PATRICK RAISES THE GUN to his face.
											
	Terrified, the MAN continues blowing into his sax.
	 
	PATRICK PULLS THE TRIGGER IN MIDNOTE.
	 
	A huge crimson ring instantly appears behind the SAXOPHONE 
	PLAYER's head as...
	 
	...the BOOMING SOUND of a gunshot rings out, stunning PATRICK.
	 
	THE SILENCER DIDN'T WORK!
	 
	The SAXOPHONE PLAYER falls to his knees, collapsing onto his 
	bloody instrument.
	 
	PATRICK angrily pops the clip, replacing it with a full one... 
	goddamn silencer!
	 
	Without warning, A POLICE SIREN PIERCES THE NIGHT --
	 
	-- where the fuck did that come from?
	 
	PAN OVER to a POLICE CAR, slowly cruising down the street, it's 
	red and blue lights FLASHING...		     
	 
	 
	PATRICK casually walks away from the trembling SAXOPHONE PLAYER, 
	as if innocent...
	 
	...but the POLICE CAR accelerates, a VOICE BLASTING out of its 
	loudspeaker:
	 
					 LOUDSPEAKER VOICE
			Halt!  Stop!  Put down your weapon!  
			Don't move!  Drop your weapon!
	 
	PATRICK breaks into a full-fledged run -- 
	 
	-- the POLICE CAR screeching after him...
	 
	...PATRICK makes a left onto Broadway, heading down toward City 
	Park Hall, the SQUAD CAR CLOSING IN FAST.
	 
	PATRICK ducks into an alleyway --
	 
	-- the SQUAD CAR follows him but only manages to make it halfway, 
	a spray of BLUE SPARKS flying out before it gets stuck as the 
	alley narrows...
	 
	...exiting the alley, PATRICK sprints onto Church Street,  
	flagging down a passing CAB.
	 
	PATRICK hops in the front seat, waving his gun at the CAB DRIVER, 
	a young Iranian GUY:
	 
					 PATRICK
			LET'S GO!  GET OUT OF HERE!  FAST!
	 
	The CAB DRIVER is STUNNED -- hands held up high, he cries out in 
	mangled English:
	 
					 CAB DRIVER
			Don't shoot me, please don't kill me!
	 
					 PATRICK
			Oh shit!  JUST FUCKING DRIVE!
	 
					 CAB DRIVER
			Oh don't shoot me man don't shoot--
	 
					 PATRICK
			Fuck yourself!
	 
	PATRICK raises the gun to the CAB DRIVER's face and PULLS THE 
	TRIGGER --
	 
	-- SPLATTERING THE DRIVER'S HEAD OPEN.
	 
	PATRICK opens the door, pushing the corpse out onto the street...
											     
	 
	 
	...he slams the door shut and starts driving, BUT --
	 
	-- HE CAN'T SEE THROUGH THE BLOODY WINDSHIELD!
	 
	PATRICK veers sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a head-on 
	collision with another taxi cab...
	 
	...instead CRASHING into the side of a parked LIMOUSINE.
	 
	Frantic, PATRICK turns on the windshield wipers and shifts into 
	reverse...
	 
	...he attempts to clean off the inside of the windshield with his 
	gloved hand while blindly racing down Greenwich.
				
	PATRICK COMPLETELY LOSES CONTROL, swerving into a Korean deli --
	 
	-- the cab rolls over fruit stands, smashing through a glass wall 
	into a karaoke restaurant full of JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN, the BODY 
	of a CASHIER thudding across the hood...
	 
	...PATRICK tries to put the cab in reverse, BUT --
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Patrick tries to put the cab into 
			reverse, but...
	 
	-- NOTHING HAPPENS.
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...nothing happens.
	 
	PATRICK staggers out of the car --
	 
	-- shaken, he leans against it,  surveying the situation:
	 
	TOTAL CHAOS.  
	 
	...the BODY on the hood of the taxi moans in agony, smashed 
	tables everywhere, JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN taking flash pictures, 
	speaking in tongues, smashed fruit, a karaoke tape still 
	playing...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Nice going, Bateman.
	 
	PATRICK limps out of the newly destroyed restaurant, shaking his 
	head in disbelief...
	 
	ACROSS THE STREET:
	 
	A COP RUNS toward PATRICK, yelling into his walkie-talkie.
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Patrick has no idea where the cop 
			across the street has come from.  
			Patrick is stunned, but...
	 
	PATRICK lunges out, knocking him to the sidewalk before the COP 
	can get to his gun --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...still manages to surprise him,
			lunging out before the cop can get to
			his gun.
	 
	PATRICK and the COP struggle, the COP wheezing from exertion as 
	he tries to wrestle the pistol from PATRICK's grip.
	 
	A CROWD has gathered to watch the struggle, to stare at the 
	wreckage...
	 
	...BUT NO ONE HELPS THE COP.
	 
	PATRICK and the COP roll into the street --
	 
	-- two pairs of hands holding the same gun.
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Patrick feels infected, like gasoline
			is coursing through his veins instead
			of blood.
	 
	A sudden surge of adrenaline enables PATRICK to bring the gun up 
	to the COP's face -- HE PULLS THE TRIGGER.
	 
	The first bullet DOESN'T KILL the COP -- 
	 
	-- but the SECOND ONE DOES.
	 
	...some of the SPECTATORS scream, some do nothing, some hide, 
	some run back into the restaurant...
	 
	PATRICK gets up, still holding the gun, as...
	 
	...a SQUAD CAR appears, SCREECHING TO A HALT --
	 
	-- PATRICK trips over the curb, collapsing onto the sidewalk, at 
	the same time reloading the pistol.
	 
	THE DISTANT WAIL of approaching POLICE SIRENS fills PATRICK's 
	ears:
	 
	What now?
	 
	The POLICE OPEN FIRE --
	 
											     
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Patrick realizes that he is involved
			in an actual gunfight...
	 
	-- PATRICK returns their gunfire from his belly, bullets flying 
	in both directions as he CRAWLS FOR COVER behind the corner of a 
	nearby building...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...I have no idea what I've done to 
			increase my chances of getting caught.
			I shot a saxophonist?  A saxophonist?
			Who was probably a mime too?  For that
			I get this?
	 
	...a SECOND SQUAD CAR arrives.
	 
	PATRICK FIRES REPEATEDLY, no longer bothering to aim.
	 
	One of PATRICK's stray bullets hits the gas tank of the first 
	POLICE CAR --
	 
	-- its headlights dim before... IT BURSTS APART!
	 
	A THUNDEROUS EXPLOSION shakes the ground as a fireball billows up 
	into the darkness, the bulb of a streetlamp above it exploding in 
	a burst of yellow-green sparks, flames washing over the BODIES of 
	POLICEMEN, shattering dozens of windows...
			
	...PATRICK RUNS OFF, disappearing into the darkness.
	 
	DISSOLVE TO:
	 
	 
	EXT TRIBECA STREET - NIGHT
	 
	It's raining.  Fog drifts through the passageways created by the 
	skyscrapers.  
	 
	PATRICK sprints down the street, uncaught...
								
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			There's no use in denying it: this has
			been a bad week.
	 
	FADE TO BLACK as PATRICK disappears into the night.
	 
	 
	EXT OUTDOOR CAFÉ - DAY
	 
	A small sidewalk café on Columbus, near Central Park.  WAITERS in 
	white aprons attend to a cluster of little white tables roped off 
	from the relentless crush of Sunday morning PEDESTRIANS.
											     
	 
	 
	PATRICK and JEAN sit at one of the tables, enjoying the beautiful 
	day, each sipping a cappuccino.
	 
	PATRICK scowls at the passing PEDESTRIANS, lost in thought... 
	JEAN tries to get his attention:
	 
					 JEAN					
			Come on, Patrick.  Smile.  You have no
			reason to be so sad.
	 
	PATRICK snaps out of it, disarming her with his handsome smile:
					 PATRICK
			I know.  You're right, but...
				 (beat; then)
			It's... tough to smile -- these days. 
			At least for me it is.
	 
	JEAN registers this comment, unsure what to make of it...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			You know what I think?
				 (beat; then)
			I think that we're all in our private
			traps.  Clamped in them tight.  And 
			none of us can ever get out.  We 
			scratch and claw, but only at the air.
			Only at each other.  And for all of it
			we never budge an inch.
	 
					 JEAN
			Sometimes we deliberately step into 
			those traps.
				
					 PATRICK
			I was born in mine.
				 (beat; then)
			I don't mind it anymore.
	 
					 JEAN
			Awww, poor baby.
	 
	JEAN leans across the table, taking PATRICK's hand --
	 
					 JEAN (CONT'D)
			Listen, Patrick.  We need to talk
			about something.  Or at least I need
			to talk about something.
	 
	-- JEAN falters, unsure if she should continue:
	 
					 JEAN (CONT'D)
			I've learned what it's like to be 
			alone and... I think I'm in love with 
			you.								     
	 
	 
	PATRICK smiles tenderly, holding a finger up to his lips:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Shhhh...	
				 (beat; then)
			I was at a restaurant the other 
			night... and I saw some guy in the
			men's room... a total Wall Street guy.
	 
	JEAN nods, puzzled by PATRICK's response.
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			I saw... 
	 
	CUT AWAY:
	 
	 
	INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
	 
	ANGLE ON THE HAND FROM THE OPENING SEQUENCE... we see ONLY the 
	HAND and the first two neatly written letters: KI.
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			...he was writing... 
	 
	 
	BACK TO SCENE:
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			...something on the wall over the...
			urinal he was standing at.  
	 
	CUT AWAY:
	 
	 
	INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
	 
	ANOTHER ANGLE on the writing HAND... additional letters now 
	visible: LL Y.
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D, 	V.O.)
			When he saw me come in...
	 
	SLOWLY PULL BACK to reveal more of the HAND... the sleeve of a 
	designer suit, expensive cuff-links...
	 
	 
	BACK TO SCENE:
				
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			He stopped writing -- like he was
			nervous or something... then he 
			left the room.
				 (beat; then MORE)
											     
	 
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Anyway... I went over to use the 
			urinal and... I leaned over... to read
			what he wrote.
	 
					 JEAN
			Which was?
	 
	CUT AWAY:
	 
	 
	INT RESTAURANT, MEN'S BATHROOM - DAY
	 
	ANOTHER ANGLE AS THE HAND FINISHES WRITING...
	 
	SLOWLY PAN ACROSS the entire message: KILL ALL YUPPIES.
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Kill... all... yuppies.
	 
	PULL BACK FURTHER to reveal the UNKNOWN WRITER's identity:
	 
	PATRICK BATEMAN is standing in front of the urinal, a Mont Blanc 
	pen in his hand.
	 
	 
	BACK TO SCENE:
	 
					 JEAN
			Gosh, Patrick...
	 
					 PATRICK
			How many people in this world do you
			think are like me, Jean?
	 
					 JEAN
			I don't... think anyone.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Let me rephrase the ques -- wait, how
			does my hair look?
	 
					 JEAN
			Uh, fine.
								
					 PATRICK
			Okay.  I think... uh, you know how 
			they say no two snowflakes are alike?
	 
	JEAN nods slowly, unsure -- what is this guy talking about?
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Well, I think a lot of snowflakes are 
			alike... and I think that a lot of
			people are alike, too.				     
	 
	 
					 JEAN
			What are you saying, Patrick?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Appearances can be deceiving.
	 
					 JEAN
			No.  I disagree.  I don't think they
			are deceiving.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Sometimes, Jean, the lines separating 
			appearance -- what you see -- and
			reality -- what you don't -- become, 
			well, blurred.
	 
					 JEAN
			That's not true.  That's simply not
			true.
	 
	JEAN's emotional outpouring has left PATRICK uncharacteristically 
	vulnerable: he struggles as years of repressed emotions threaten 
	to surface.  He does his best to hold it all inside, to appear 
	strong...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Really?
	 
	...but it's a losing battle: PATRICK CANNOT HIDE FROM WHO HE 
	REALLY IS.
	 
	JEAN reaches across the table, tenderly taking PATRICK's 
	trembling hand in hers:
	 
					 JEAN
			Patrick... talk to me... don't be so 
			upset.
	 
					 PATRICK
			I think it's... time for me to... take
			a good look... at the world I've 
			created.		
	 
	 
	INT DR. NOVA'S OFFICE - DAY
				
	A sparsely furnished PSYCHIATRIST's office.
	 
	PATRICK, stretched out on the leather sofa, stares up at the 
	ceiling --
	 
	-- just out of PATRICK's view is DR. NOVA, seated in a matching 
	leather chair: early thirties, looking sharp in a slightly 
	ruffled Armani suit... an academic doing his best yuppie 
	impersonation.						     
	 
	 
	DR. NOVA flips through a file, making notations on a legal pad... 
	he resets a small stopwatch and clears his throat:
	 
					 DR. NOVA
			Let's pick up where we left off last
			week, shall we Patrick?
	 
	PATRICK nods, exhales deeply...
	 
	The room falls DEAD SILENT, except for --
	 
	-- the SOUND of the stopwatch: TICK, TICK, TICK...
	 
	CLOSE ON PATRICK struggling to form a sentence --
	 
	-- beads of sweat glistening on his beautiful, tortured face... 
	WELCOME TO HELL, PATRICK.
	 
	 
	PATRICK'S HALLUCINATION MONTAGE - LATE EIGHTIES
	 
	(A variation of CAMERA ANGLES and OPTICAL PROCESSES underscore 
	the almost SURREAL sense of TERROR and CONFUSION during this 
	RAPID-FIRE MONTAGE).	
	 
	...black and white news footage of buildings exploding... police 
	cars... neatly cut lines of cocaine... a CLIP of "Wheel of 
	Fortune": Vanna White turning two letters in a new puzzle, 
	subtitled "EVENT" -- xxxxxxDDxx... the American flag, proudly 
	blowing in the wind... a CLIP of RONALD REAGAN's Address on 
	Defense and National Security, March 23, 1983:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			My fellow Americans, thank you for 			
			sharing your time with me tonight.
	 
	...a cooing, happy baby... a sharpei... the Mets winning the 1986 
	World Series!... a CLIP of Huey Lewis and the News' video for 
	"Heart and Soul" -- Huey and his girl open a closet door and come 
	face to face with a speeding steam locomotive... BACK to REAGAN's 
	Address on Defense and National Security:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			...I want to offer hope for the 
			future.
	 
	...a CLIP of "Alf"... PATRICK and LUIS French kissing... MORE 
	"Wheel of Fortune": a contestant spins the wheel... raw meat 
	hanging on a hook... nuclear reactors on Three Mile Island... the 
	Challenger exploding... a CLIP of TED BUNDY's FINAL DEATH-ROW 
	INTERVIEW:
	 
											     
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			...I grew up in a wonderful home with 
			two dedicated and loving Christian
			parents...
	 
	...an Apple Macintosh computer... semi trucks on a freeway... an 
	AIDS rally: SILENCE = DEATH!... lottery balls being drawn by a 
	hardbody in a bikini... MORE "Wheel of Fortune": Vanna turning 
	another letter in the puzzle -- xxMxxxDDxx... a commercial for 
	shampoo: a woman looks into the camera, "Don't hate me because 
	I'm beautiful"... a CLIP of REAGAN's First Inaugural Address, 
	January 20, 1981:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			From time to time, we have been 
			tempted to believe that society has
			become too complex...
	 
	...the Royal Wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles... a 
	CLIP of the Smurfs... a CLIP of the video game "ZAXXON"... MORE 
	of the Challenger exploding... MORE of TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			...I don't want to infer that I was 
			some helpless victim...
	 
	...crime scene tape around EVELYN's neighbor's brownstone... MORE 
	raw meat hanging on a hook... ANOTHER ANGLE of PATRICK and LUIS 
	French kissing... a CLIP of Berlin's video for "Sex"... dead fish 
	floating on the ocean... FLASHBACK to PAUL OWEN'S DEATH, blood 
	and gore everywhere... freight trains in a switching yard... MORE 
	of TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			...I'm not blaming pornography for
			what I've done...
	 
	...a black BMW BURNING in the middle of Fifth Avenue -- WITHOUT 
	SOUND... Pope John Paul blessing a crowd... a CLIP of "First 
	Blood - Part II": Sylvester Stallone firing a machine gun, biceps 
	bulging... a CLIP of REAGAN's State of the Union Address, 1985:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Of all the changes in the past twenty
			years, none has more threatened our
			sense of national well-being than the
			explosion of violent crime.
	 
	...a CLIP of RONALD REAGAN being shot... a CLIP of the video game 
	"PAC-MAN": Pac-Man gobbling his way through a phosphorous maze, 
	four ghosts following close behind... a CLIP of GORDON GEKKO's 
	famous speech from WALL STREET:
											  
					 GORDON GEKKO 
			...greed is good.					     
	 
	 
	...automobiles rolling off an assembly line... a CLIP of WWF 
	Wrestling... Liberace playing the piano... MORE "Wheel of 
	Fortine": Pat Sajak saying, "Big money, come on, BIG MONEY!"... 
	Bernhard Goetz in a courtroom... hundred dollar bills rolling off 
	a printing press... BACK TO GORDON GEKKO:
	 
					 GORDON GEKKO
			Greed works, greed is right.
	 
	...a CLIP from "Body Double": a WOMAN being impaled by a power 
	drill... an ultrasound of a fetus... BACK TO REAGAN's 1985 State 
	of the Union Address:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			There can be no economic revival in 
			ghettos when the most violent among us
			are allowed to roam free.
	 
	...FLASHBACK: PATRICK killing PAUL OWEN... lines of unemployed 
	factory workers... Mikhial Gorbachev addressing a crowd... a CLIP 
	of the video game "Double Dragon": a computer-generated woman 
	being repeatedly whipped by cartoonish gang members... MORE OF 
	TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			People need to realize that those of
			us who have been so influenced by 
			violence in the media--
	 
	...a CLIP of David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks... Japanese 
	businessmen singing karaoke... EVELYN looking into the camera, "I 
	love you, Patrick"... footage of an airline disaster... MORE OF 
	TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			-- in particular pornographic
			violence --
	 
	...a CLIP from a cheap PORNO: a WOMAN, "Oh god, fuck me, FUCK 
	ME!"... a severe automobile accident, blood and guts spilled on 
	the pavement... MORE of "Wheel of Fortune": Vanna turning the 
	letter "G" -- ARMAGxDDxx... FLASHBACK to PATRICK killing the 
	BLACK BUM... a CLIP of RONALD and NANCY REAGAN's Campaign Against 
	Drug Abuse speech, September 14, 1986:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Drugs are menacing our society.  
			They're threatening our values and
			undercutting our institutions.
	 
	...oil soaked birds... a hungry rat... the crime scene tape 
	around EVELYN's neighbor's brownstone... a trailer park, rows and 
	rows of mobile homes... MORE lines of cocaine... MORE of TED 
	BUNDY:							    
											     
	 
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			-- are not inherent monsters.  We are
			your sons and we are your husbands.  
			And we grew up in regular families.
	 
	...a CLIP of the "CALIFORNIA RAISINS" dancing and singing... 
	FLASHBACK to PATRICK torturing the WHORE... a CLIP of REAGAN's 
	1984 State of the Union Address:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			For a time we forgot the American 
			dream...
	 
	...a commercial for Kool-Aid, the "Kool-Aid Man" running through 
	a suburban yard... a CLIP of MTV's famous "Apollo rocket" station 
	identification... Moammar Quadaffi... a CLIP of REAGAN's address 
	to the nation after the Challenger disaster, January 28, 1986:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			I know it is hard to understand, but
			sometimes painful things like this 
			happen.
	 
	...a CLIP of MMMMMMAX HEADROOM!... Jim and Tammy Faye Baaker 
	crying... ANOTHER ANGLE of PATRICK and LUIS kissing... a 
	crucifix... the aftermath of the bombing in Beirut... a 
	commercial for Budweiser featuring Spuds Mackenzie... a CLIP of 
	RONALD and NANCY REAGAN'S Campaign Against Drug Abuse Speech:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Today there's a new epidemic: smokable
			cocaine, otherwise known as crack.
	 
	...a CLIP of the movie "Gremlins"... famine in Africa... a Toy's 
	R Us COMMERCIAL: "I don't want to grow up, I'm a Toy's R Us 
	Kid"... a CLIP of Genesis' video for "Land of Confusion"... MORE 
	OF THE SILENTLY BURNING BLACK BMW... MORE "Wheel of Fortune" -- 
	the spinning wheel lands on BANKRUPT... BACK TO GORDON GEKKO:
	 
					 GORDON GEKKO
			Greed clarifies, cuts through, and
			captures --
	 
	...Jimmy Swaggert crying... a commercial for Meow Mix: cats 
	singing along with a WOMAN... MORE footage of an airline 
	disaster... MORE of GORDON GEKKO:
	 
					 GORDON GEKKO
			-- the essence of the evolutionary
			spirit.
	 
											     
	 
	 
	 
	MORE of the Campaign Against Drug Abuse Speech:
	 
					 NANCY REAGAN
			...so much has happened over these 
			last years, so much to shake the
			foundations of all that we know and
			all that we believe in.
	 
	...babies crying... black and white footage of the Hindenberg 
	disaster... FLASHBACK: PATTY WINTER's Show about multiple 
	personalities... a CLIP of CNN... MORE of TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			...we're talking about an influence
			which was an indispensable link in the
			chain of behavior--
	 
	...a CLIP of "The Cosby Show"... FLASHBACK: PATRICK wrestling 
	with the COP... a CLIP of "Miami Vice"... MORE of TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			-- the chain of events that led to the
			assaults, murders...
	 
	...MORE lines of cocaine... a CLIP from a JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER 
	DAY SAINTS public service announcement... a CLIP of the video 
	game, "Marble Madness"... MORE of TED BUNDY:
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			Alcohol... with the use of pornography
			reduced my inhibitions...
	 
	MORE of the Campaign Against Drug Abuse Speech:
	 
					 NANCY REAGAN
			Say yes to your life.  And when it 
			comes to drugs and alcohol just say
			no.
	 
	...factories belching out filth and pollution...a CLIP of the 
	KEEP AMERICA BEAUTIFUL public service announcement: an AMERICAN 
	INDIAN surveys the land as a tear rolls down his cheek... MORE 
	"Wheel of Fortune": a contestant saying , "I'd like to solve the 
	puzzle, Pat"... MORE of the video game "Pac-Man": the ghosts 
	catch up to Pac-Man, ending his "life"... MORE of the Campaign 
	Against Drug Abuse Speech:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Think for a moment how special it is 
			to be an American.
	 
											     
	 
	 
	 
	...DETECTIVE KIMBALL: "I've changed my mind.  I think I will take 
	that lime, Patrick"... a CLIP of ABC's video, "How To Be a 
	Zillionaire"... a CLIP of the television show, "Night Flight"... 
	MORE "Wheel of Fortune": the contestant carefully pronouncing, 
	"Arm-a-ged-don" -- the audience CHEERS!... MORE of the Campaign 
	Against Drug Abuse Speech:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			To some extent, we are also victims of
			our own success.
	 
	...a CLIP of "USA For Africa" musicians... a CLIP of the video 
	game "Sinistar": an evil face appears spinning through outer 
	space, laughing, "I HUNGER!  I LIVE!"... a CLIP of a nuclear bomb 
	exploding... MORE famine in Africa... stainless steel surgical 
	instruments... a KKK rally... MORE of REAGAN's 1986 State of the 
	Union Speech:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			This is reality.  Closing your eyes
			will not make reality disappear.
	 
	...a CLIP of OLIVER NORTH testifying before Congress... poachers 
	shooting elephants... crash test dummies... footage of the US 
	bombing of Libya... a CLIP of REAGAN's 1988 State of the Union 
	Speech:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			How well prepared are we to enter the
			Twenty-First Century?						
	 
	...FLASHBACK: JEAN, "I think I'm in love with you"... FLASHBACK: 
	PATRICK killing the spider... a trailer park destroyed by a 
	tornado... MORE Japanese businessmen singing karaoke... Mt. 
	Fuji... POLICE shooting targets at a firing range... MORE of 
	REAGAN's 1983 State of the Union Speech:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Are we at the end?
	 
	...an anti-abortion protest... ANOTHER ANGLE of PATRICK and LUIS 
	kissing... MORE of the Challenger explosion... a commercial for 
	Wendy's, "Where's the Beef?"... MORE of MAX HEADROOM... a CLIP of 
	the 1984 presidential debate:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Where's the beef?
	 
	...MORE "Wheel of Fortune": Vanna finishes turning the remaining 
	letters -- ARMAGEDDON -- the contestant jumps up and down, Pat 
	and Vanna smile brightly... MORE of TED BUNDY:
	 
	 
											     
	 
					 TED BUNDY
			What I hope will come of our
			discussion is that society deserves
			to be protected from itself...
	 
	-- a very loud RINGING ALARM from DR. NOVA's stopwatch INTERRUPTS 
	THE MONTAGE.
	 
	BACK TO SCENE
	 
	CLOSE ON PATRICK --
	 
	-- tears streaming down his face...
	 
					 DR. NOVA (O.S.)
			I'm sorry, Patrick.  Our time is up.
	 
	 
	INT BARNEY'S, MEN'S DEPARTMENT - DAY
	 
	ON PATRICK wandering through the men's department of an upscale 
	department store...
	 
	SOMETHING CATCHES HIS EYE --
	 
	-- he STOPS in front of a MALE MANNEQUIN stylishly dressed in an 
	expensive designer suit.
	 
	The strangely familiar MANNEQUIN bears far more than just a 
	passing resemblance to PATRICK... so life-like, yet so dead.
	 
	PATRICK stares in awe at the MANNEQUIN, devastated by how 
	impossibly hip the MANNEQUIN's suit actually is: the cut, the 
	fabric, the color, the pricetag...
	 
	PATRICK remains motionless, weakened by the MANNEQUIN's power, 
	gripped by a burning desire to... OWN THIS SUIT!
	 
	A VOICE INTERRUPTS PATRICK'S TRANCE --
	 
					 LUIS (O.S.)
			Patrick?  Is that you?
	 
	PATRICK SNAPS back to REALITY:
	 
	LUIS CARRUTHERS has once again appeared without warning.
	 
	Virtually unrecognizable from his first appearance, LUIS has 
	successfully transformed himself into a SCREAMING QUEEN: jaguar-
	print silk evening jacket, deerskin gloves, a felt hat, fur-lined 
	knee-high boots, aviator sunglasses...
	 
	LIBERACE, EAT YOUR HEART OUT!
	 
					 PATRICK (V.O.)
			Oh... my... god.					     
	 
	 
	LUIS smiles expectantly, thrilled to have found his "MAN":
	 
					 LUIS
			Patrick?  Hello?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Don't make me say it, Luis.
	 
	PATRICK casually looks over at LUIS, taking it all in stride... 
	even LUIS' presence can't make PATRICK forgot how fucking cool, 
	how utterly desirable the MANNEQUIN's designer threads really 
	are.
	 
	PATRICK has to have that goddamned SUIT!
	 
					 LUIS
			Patrick?  What do you mean?
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm ignoring you, Luis.  Can't you 
			tell?  I'm ignoring you.
	 
	LUIS carefully removes his expensive, yet hideous gloves --
	 
					 LUIS
			Patrick, can't we just talk?  
	 
	-- THROWING them at PATRICK, hitting him in the head.
	 
					 LUIS (CONT'D)
			Patrick -- look at me!
	 
	PATRICK does his best to ignore LUIS' little outburst:
	 
					 PATRICK
			There is nothing, nothing to talk--
	 
					 LUIS
				 (interrupting)
			We can't go on like this.  I can't go 
			on like this.
	 
					 PATRICK
			You are sick.
	 
	LUIS oh-so-casually examines his hand, checking his nails, trying 
	to avoid PATRICK's stare...
	 
					 LUIS
			If I'm sick it's because of you.  
			Because of you I am sick and I will
			not get better.
	 
	 
											     
	 
	 
					 PATRICK
			You have distorted this obsession of 
			yours way out of proportion.  Way, way
			out of proportion.
	 
					 LUIS
			But I know you have the same feelings
			I do.  And I know that just because...
				 (beat; then)
			Just because you won't admit...
			certain feelings doesn't mean you
			don't have them.					
	 
	PATRICK tries to stay cool, but -- HE'S LOSING HIS GRIP!  
	 
	The MANNEQUIN, the SUIT, LUIS... NO ONE deserves to go through 
	anything like this.
	 
					 PATRICK
			What are you trying to say?
	 
	LUIS whips off his sunglasses, dramatically illustrating his 
	point:
	 
					 LUIS
			That I know you feel the same way I
			do.
				 (beat; then)
			Is it so wrong to love you, Patrick?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Jesus Christ, Luis.  Get a hold of 
			yourself.
	 
					 LUIS
			To want you?  To want to be with you?
			Is that so wrong?
	 
					 PATRICK
			What is this continuing inability you
			have to evaluate this situation
			rationally?  Huh?
				 (beat; then)
			Go away.
	 
	LUIS bursts into tears, falling to the floor at PATRICK's feet...
	 
					 LUIS
			Oh god, Patrick, why don't you like
			me?
	 
	PATRICK looks around, embarrassed.  THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS.  
	PATRICK manages to keep it together, but... 
											     
	 
	 
	...LUIS is really, REALLY pushing the envelope.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Get up.  Get up.
									
	LUIS pounds his fist on the floor, crying like a baby, grabbing 
	at PATRICK's leg with his free hand... 
	 
	Several other SHOPPERS pass nearby, gawking at the unbelievable 
	spectacle unfolding in the men's department.
	 
	PATRICK smiles and shrugs helplessly...
	 
					 LUIS
			Why can't we be together?
	 
	LUIS is having a complete and total NERVOUS BREAKDOWN on the 
	floor of the men's department in Barney's!
	 
	PATRICK looks around to see if he knows ANYONE in the store:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Because I... don't--
				 (beat; then almost whispering)
			-- find you... sexually attractive.
	 
	PATRICK closes his eyes, trying to stay calm --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			I can't believe I actually said that.
				 (beat; then)
			Leave me alone.  Please.
	 
					 LUIS
			Please, Patrick, please don't leave
			me. 
	 
	-- but it's too late: PATRICK's face is bright red:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Listen to me, Luis.  If you do not
			stop crying, you fucking pathetic
			faggot, I am going to slit your
			fucking throat.  Are you listening to
			me?  I mean it, Luis.
	 
					 LUIS
				 (sobbing incoherently)
			Oh just kill me.  If I can't have you,
			I don't want to live.  I want to die.
	 
	PATRICK is at the end of his rope --
	 
	-- he grabs LUIS by the shoulders, SHAKING HIM VIOLENTLY:
											      
	 
					 PATRICK
			Listen to me.  ARE YOU LISTENING TO 
			ME?  I don't usually warn people, so-
			be-thankful-I-am-warning-you.
	 
	LUIS tenderly looks up at PATRICK, still dreaming the impossible 
	dream...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			You want to die, Luis?  I'll do it, I 
			swear to god, Luis, I'll fucking kill 
			you.  I'll rip your fucking stomach 
			open and cram your intestines down 
			your fucking faggot throat until you
			choke on them.
	 
					 LUIS
			Please, Patrick, please.  Listen to 
			me--
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (interrupting)
			Shut up, Luis.  My god, just shut the
			fuck up.
	 
					 LUIS
			I love you.
	 
	Realizing something, PATRICK CALMS DOWN...
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm convinced Luis.  You've convinced
			me.  Now get up.
	 
	PATRICK extends his hand --
	 
	-- LUIS takes it, pulling himself up off the floor...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Just, you know, have the guts to face, 
			uh, reality.
	 
	LUIS smiles sheepishly, blushing as --
	 
	-- PATRICK looks away, staring off into the distance at the rows, 
	the endless rows of well-dressed MANNEQUINS, all of which are 
	lifeless, inanimate carbon-copies of... PATRICK BATEMAN.
	 
	 
	INT PATRICK'S OFFICE - DAY
	 
	PATRICK is comfortably reclined in his large leather chair, 
	expensive designer shoes defiantly kicked up on the desk, his 
	face buried in a book -- PETER FALLOW's bestseller, THE REAL 
	McCOY AND THE FORGOTTEN LAMB...		     
	 
	 
	The INTERCOM BUZZES, interrupting his concentration:
	 
					 JEAN (V.O., 	INTERCOM)
			Patrick?  Tim Price would like to see
			you.
	 
	PATRICK stops reading -- he can't believe his ears.  TIM PRICE?  
	PATRICK is too spaced out to even bother asking  questions...
	 
					 PATRICK
			Send him... in.
	 
	Still recovering from the initial shock, PATRICK carefully sets 
	down his book and stands up as --
	 
	-- the office door BURSTS OPEN:
	 
	TIM PRICE enters the office, smiling, radiating confidence. 
	 
	TIM looks remarkably well -- in fact, he has never looked better.  
	Inexplicably, there is a dark smudge in the shape of a cross on 
	TIM's forehead... very, very strange.
	 
	The two MEN shake hands, smiling.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Price.  Where have you been?
	 
	PATRICK notices the smudge on TIM's forehead: my god, what in the 
	hell is that?  Does he have AIDS?  Sweet Jesus...
	 
					 TIM
			Oh, just making the rounds.  But hey,
			I'm back.
	 
	PATRICK gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, motioning 
	for TIM to have a seat...
	 
	Sitting down, TIM notices the RUBIX CUBE on PATRICK's desk.
	He grabs the scrambled puzzle, absent-mindedly playing with it as 
	he talks to PATRICK, too cool to care about anything.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Far out.  How was... it?
	 
					 TIM
			It was... surprising.
				 (beat; then suddenly quite far 	away)
			It was... depressing.
				 (beat; then refocusing)
			Hey, how are you, Bateman?
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm okay.  Just... existing.			     
	 
					 TIM
			And Evelyn?  How is she?
	 
					 PATRICK
			Well, we broke up.				
	 
					 TIM
			That's too bad.  Courtney?
	 
					 PATRICK
			She married Luis.
	 
	TIM smirks, continues playing with the RUBIX'S CUBE... 
	 
	...PATRICK falters, missing a beat as his mind struggles to make 
	sense of this bizarre encounter:
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			You've been gone, like, forever, Tim.
			What's the story?
	 
	TIM abruptly stands up.
	 
					 TIM
			I've been back.  You probably just
			missed me.  Lost track, you know?
	 
	PATRICK picks up a dish of colorful jellybeans, offering them to 
	TIM:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Would you like a jellybean?
	 
	TIM declines, shaking his head --
	 
					 TIM
			You're a madman, Bateman.  An animal.
	 
	-- as he drops the RUBIX CUBE on PATRICK's desk.
	 
					 TIM (CONT'D)
			A total animal.
	 
	TIM smiles widely, victorious.
	 
	PATRICK's eyes nearly POP out of his head when he notices --
	 
	-- all six sides of the RUBIX CUBE now display solid colors.
	 
	TIM PRICE SOLVED THE PUZZLE!
	 
	PATRICK slowly shakes his head, FLABBERGASTED. 
	 
					 PATRICK
			I can't disagree.
											     
	 
	 
	INT TAXI CAB - DAY
	 
	PATRICK sits in the back seat of a taxi slowly making its way 
	through Mid-town gridlock.
	 
	Wearing his favorite pair of black Ray-Bans, PATRICK half-
	heartedly reads the Wall Street Journal as his Walkman blasts out 
	music loud enough to be heard a mile away.
	 
	The bearded, Middle Eastern TAXI DRIVER suspiciously eyes PATRICK 
	in the rearview mirror --
										
	-- PATRICK notices the TAXI DRIVER's stare as he carefully 
	refolds the newspaper, putting it down.
	 
	PATRICK looks away, avoiding the TAXI DRIVER's eyes --       
	 
	-- but it's too late... the TAXI DRIVER knocks on the plexiglass 
	divider, motioning for PATRICK to remove his headphones.
	 
	PATRICK slowly removes the WALKMAN, visibly irate.
	 
	A LOUD CLICK as the car doors automatically LOCK SHUT.
	 
	The cab lurches forward, breaking out of traffic as it turns onto 
	the West Side Highway, heading down to Wall Street...
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (irritated)
			Yes?  What?
	 
	The cab swerves into the far right lane, speeding.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Hey, don't I know you?
	 
					 PATRICK
			No.
	 
	PATRICK begins to put his headphones back on --
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			You look familiar.
	 
					 PATRICK
			No I don't.  You don't either.
				 (beat; then attempting to be 	friendly)
			Chris Hagen.			
	 
	A sly, knowing smile creeps across the TAXI DRIVER's face...
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Come on.  I know who you are.
											     
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm in a movie.  I'm an actor.  A
			model.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Nah, that's not it.
				 (beat; then stuggling to 	remember)
			I've seen your face somewhere.
	 
					 PATRICK
			You have?  Really?  Interesting.  Just
			watch the road, Abdullah.
	 
	PATRICK reopens the newspaper, flipping through it as the TAXI 
	DRIVER continues staring at him, trying to remember where he has 
	seen PATRICK before...
	 
	...the TAXI DRIVER's face suddenly lights up:
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			I know.  Man, I know who you are.
	 
	The car rapidly accelerates, running through a RED LIGHT.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER 	(CONT'D)
			You're the guy who kill Solly.
	 
	PATRICK lowers his sunglasses, glaring at the TAXI DRIVER:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Who, may I ask, is Sally?
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Man, your face is on a wanted poster
			downtown.
	 
	PATRICK takes a deep breath...
	 
					 PATRICK
			I think I would like to stop here.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			You're the guy, right?
	 
	PATRICK slowly shakes his head "no"... this isn't happening, this 
	CAN'T be happening... trembling, PATRICK removes a pen from his 
	briefcase:
	 
					 PATRICK
			I am going to take your license number
			down--	
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
				 (interrupting)
			You kill Solly.  You son-of-a-bitch!
											     
	 
	 
	 
	EXT DOWNTOWN DOCKS - DAY
	 
	A speeding yellow taxi cab swerves off the highway, racing into a 
	deserted parking lot...
	 
	 
	INT TAXI CAB - DAY
	 
	The TAXI DRIVER races through the parking lot, CRASHING into a 
	rusty aluminum fence, knocking it down --
	 
	-- PATRICK IS TERRIFIED, his hands twisted into paralyzed fists, 
	his knuckles white.
	 
	WHAT IS THIS CRAZY FUCKING CAB DRIVER DOING?
	 
	A flock of seagulls scatter as the car nears water...
	 
	The TAXI DRIVER stops the car and turns around --
	 
	-- pointing a HANDGUN at PATRICK:
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			The watch.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Is this some kind of prank?
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Get out.
	 
	A LOUD CLICK as the DOORS UNLOCK --
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER 	(CONT'D)
			Get the fuck out of the car.
	 
	PATRICK gathers up his briefcase, opens the car door and 
	cautiously steps out of the vehicle.
	 
	The TAXI DRIVER remains seated behind the wheel as he leans out 
	the window, his gun pointed at PATRICK's head:
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER 	(CONT'D)
			The watch, you scumbag.
	 
					 PATRICK
			Listen, I don't know what it is you
			think you're going to accomplish or 
			what it is you think you're going to
			be able to do.  I've never been
			fingerprinted, I have alibis--
	 
	 
											     
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
				 (waving the gun, interrupting)
			Shut up!  Just shut your fucking
			mouth!
	 
					 PATRICK
			I am innocent.
	 
	The TAXI DRIVER cocks the gun.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			The watch.
	 
	PATRICK unhooks his ROLEX, sliding it off his wrist... he 
	reluctantly hands it to the TAXI DRIVER.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER 	(CONT'D)
			Wallet.  Just the cash.
	 
	PATRICK slowly opens his wallet, handing over the cash.
	 
					 PATRICK
			What are you going to do?  Isn't there
			a reward of some kind?
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			No.  No reward.
	 
					 PATRICK
			How do you know I'm not going to call
			you in and get your license revoked?
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Because you're guilty.
	 
	PATRICK removes a small blood-stained knife from his coat 
	pocket... where'd this come from?  He examines it cautiously, 
	offering it to the TAXI DRIVER --
	 
					 PATRICK
			Like you know.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			The sunglasses.  Get the knife away 
			from me.
	 
					 PATRICK
			How do you know I'm guilty?
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Look what you're doing, asshole.  The
			sunglasses.
	 
					 PATRICK
			These are expensive.
											     
	 
	 
	Immediately realizing his mistake, PATRICK lamely attempts to 
	correct himself...
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			I mean cheap.  They're very cheap.  
			Just... isn't the money enough?
			
					 TAXI DRIVER
			The sunglasses.  Give them now.
	 
	PATRICK removes his Ray-Bans and hands them over.  The TAXI 
	DRIVER tries them on -- he looks at himself in the rearview 
	mirror and smiles before taking them off and putting them in his 
	jacket pocket.
	 
					 PATRICK
			You're a dead man.
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			And you're a yuppie scumbag.
	 
					 PATRICK
			You're a dead man.  Count on it.
	 
	The TAXI DRIVER starts up the cab...
	 
					 TAXI DRIVER
			Yeah?  And you're a yuppie scumbag.
			Which is worse?
	 
	...and steps on the gas, SQUEALING AWAY.
	 
	PATRICK IS STRANDED.
	 
	Humiliated and broken, PATRICK slowly begins the painful walk 
	back to the highway, Manhattan's SKYLINE LOOMING dramatically in 
	the distance...
	 
	PATRICK slows down, choking back a sob:
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (chanting under his breath)
			I just want to... keep the game going,
			I just want... to keep... the game... 
			going... I just want...
	 
	A crusty old HOMELESS WOMAN hobbles out from behind a "Les 
	Miserables" poster at a deserted bus stop.  She holds out a puffy 
	red hand, begging for change.		    
	 
	PATRICK tries to shoo her off --
	 
					 PATRICK (CONT'D)
			Oh, will you please go away?
											     
	 
	 
	-- but she won't go down without a fight:
	 
					 HOMELESS WOMAN
			Get a decent haircut.
	 
	PATRICK stares at her, ASTONISHED --
	 
	-- pushed over the edge, PATRICK breaks down CRYING hysterically, 
	HOWLING like an animal.
	 
	 
	INT HARRY'S - NIGHT
	 
	Harry's is jam-packed tonight.  A quick scan of the CROWD reveals 
	the usual host of familiar YUPPIES FACES -- yet something is 
	different about Harry's tonight... something has changed.
	 
	Several large television monitors hang suspended from the 
	ceiling.
	 
	 
	ON EVERY TELEVISION SET:
	 
	RONALD REAGAN has just begun delivering his farewell address to 
	the nation --
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			It's been the honor of my life to be
			your president.  So many of you have
			written the past few weeks to say
			thanks, but I could say as much to 
			you.  Nancy and I are grateful for...
	 
	-- REAGAN's speech drones on, barely audible above the NOISE of 
	the CROWD.
	 
	PATRICK sits at a table near the back with CRAIG McDERMOTT and 
	DAVID VAN PATTEN.  The three MEN mostly ignore each other, each 
	lost in his own private vision of hell:
	 
	CRAIG concentrates on the portable stock-quotation device sitting 
	on the table in front of him as --
	 
	-- DAVID half-heartedly watches REAGAN's speech on a nearby 
	television, lazily sipping from his martini --
	 
	-- and PATRICK scans the CROWD looking for BABES, bored...
	 
	SOMEONE catches PATRICK's eye --
	 
	-- he squints, rubbing his eyes...
	 
	OH MY GOD!
											     
	 
	 
	Seated three tables away is PAUL OWEN -- ALIVE and WELL!
	 
	PATRICK nearly falls out of his chair... IT CAN'T BE!
	 
	He looks over at PAUL OWEN's table again, but --
	 
	-- PAUL IS NO LONGER THERE... in his place: a generic YUPPIE look 
	alike.
	 
	PATRICK runs a nervous hand through his hair, relieved... of 
	course PAUL OWEN isn't in Harry's tonight!  PAUL OWEN is not here 
	tonight because... HE IS DEAD!
	 
	CRAIG and DAVID remain oblivious to PATRICK's "discovery".  
	 
	PATRICK takes a long sip from his cocktail, turning his attention 
	to RONALD REAGAN.
	 
	ON TELEVISION:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			It's been quite a journey this decade,
			and we held together through some 
			stormy seas.  And at the end, 
			together, we are reaching our 
			destination.
	 
	Fortified by his cocktail, PATRICK once again finds the strength 
	to look around the room: 
	 
	PAUL OWEN is definitely not in HARRY's tonight, although...
	 
	...DONALD TRUMP is standing at the bar!
	 
	PATRICK bursts out laughing... DONALD TRUMP, of course!
	 
	CRAIG and DAVID laugh along with him, involuntarily, not wanting 
	to be left out --
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN 	(O.S.)
			America is respected again in the 
			world and looked to for leadership...			
			
	-- predictably, their attention quickly returns to the television 
	set...
	 
	PATRICK once again looks over at the BAR:
	 
	Not only is DONALD TRUMP still standing at the bar -- he has now 
	been joined by... PAUL OWEN!  The two of them laugh and smile, 
	patting each other on the back, old friends.
	 
	Noticing PATRICK, they BOTH turn around and raise their champagne 
	flutes, offering a toast from across the room --
											      
	 
	 
	-- PATRICK smiles, laughing out loud as he raises his glass in 
	response, returning the gesture...
	 
	TIM PRICE walks up to the table, taking a seat next to PATRICK.
	 
	Nursing a fresh cocktail, TIM watches RONALD REAGAN's televised 
	speech in horrified silence, methodically sucking on each one of 
	his ice cubes before spitting them back into the cocktail glass.
	 
	TIM is obviously not pleased with the PRESIDENT's speech: he 
	rapidly graduates from spitting the ice cubes out to crushing 
	them between his perfect set of teeth, his frustration level 
	reaching new heights.
	 
	ON TELEVISION:
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN
			Common sense told us that when you put
			a big tax on something, the people
			will produce less of it.  So, we cut 
			people's tax rates, and the people 
			produced more than ever before.  The 
			economy bloomed like a plant that had 
			been cut back and could now grow 
			quicker and stronger...
	 
	TIM motions to the nearest television monitor, to RONALD REAGAN's 
	enormous techni-color head:
	 
					 TIM
			How can he lie like that?  How can he
			pull that shit?
	 
	This comment gets everyone's full attention -- all eyes are now 
	on TIM:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Oh Christ.  What shit?  What the hell
			are you talking about?
	 
	TIM continues to stare at the television, slack-jawed...
	 
					 TIM
			I don't believe it.  He looks so...
			normal.  He seems so... out of it.
			So... undangerous.
	 
					 CRAIG
			He is totally harmless, you asshole.
			Just like you are totally harmless.  
			Look at Bateman over there... I'll bet
			he's totally harmless, aren't you 
			buddy? 							     
	 
	 
					 PATRICK
				 (doing a terrible REAGAN 	impression)
			I have no recollection of any wrong 
			doing whatsoever.
	 
	DAVID and CRAIG laugh, high-fiving each other...
	 
					 TIM
			I just don't get how someone, anyone, 
			can appear that way yet be involved in
			such total shit.
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN 	(O.S.)
			The lesson of all this was, of course,
			that because we're a great nation, our
			challenges seem complex.
	 
					 DAVID
			How about because Nancy was right 
			behind him?  Because Nancy did it all?
	 
	TIM turns away from the television, focusing on DAVID:
	 
					 TIM
			How can you be so fucking, I don't 
			know -- cool about it?
	 
					 DAVID
			Some guys are just born cool, I guess.
	 
	PATRICK looks around, noticing other familiar FACES in the CROWD:
	 
	PETER FALLOW, BUD FOX, and the WHORE from the Meat-packing 
	District are sitting four tables away, laughing and talking...
	 
	...ANOTHER ANGLE -- DETECTIVE KIMBALL and the WOMAN FROM BARNEY'S 
	sitting at another table conversing with the MAITRE 'D from 
	DORSIA...
	 
	...ANOTHER ANGLE -- the LIMO DRIVER and AL THE BUM are in a booth 
	talking to two gorgeous MODELS...
	 
	...ANOTHER ANGLE -- the beautiful WOMAN FROM TUNNEL walks by 
	PATRICK's table, pouting her full red lips, silently blowing him 
	a kiss...
	 
	PATRICK bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of this entire 
	situation: TIM's overreaction, DAVID's lame response, the DEAD 
	walking among the LIVING... it's all too much.
	 
	TIM is having a difficult time tolerating PATRICK's wild fit of 
	laughter --
											     
	 
					 TIM
			And Bateman -- what are you so fucking
			zany about?
	 
					 PATRICK
			I'm just a happy camper.  Don't worry,
			Price.  Be happy.
	 
					 CRAIG
			Be all that you can be.
	 
					 TIM
			Oh brother.  Look...
				 (beat; then pointing at the 	television)
			He presents himself as a harmless old
			codger.  But inside...
				 (beat; then looking at the 	GUYS)
			But inside...
	 
					 CRAIG
			Inside?  Yes, inside?  Go on, Tim.
	 
	TIM does his best to come up with an intelligent response, some 
	kind of answer, but... he comes up with nothing.  
	 
	Desperate, he turns to PATRICK:
	 
					 TIM
			Bateman - help me out, here.  What do 
			you think about this?
	 
	PATRICK neatly folds his hands, resting them on the table as he 
	carefully considers what he wants to say... eventually he finds 
	the magic words:
	 
					 PATRICK
			Inside... doesn't matter.
	 
	THERE IS NO RESPONSE.
	 
	CRAIG, DAVID and TIM turn their attention back to REAGAN...
	 
	Fed up with the whole situation, PATRICK turns around, facing the 
	back of Harry's --
	 
	-- his mind a complete mess, PATRICK manages to focus his 
	attention on the red velvet drapes partially covering the back 
	door to Harry's...
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN 	(O.S.)
			...a final word to the men and women
			of the Reagan revolution, the men and
			women across America who for eight
			years did the work that brought
			America back.  My friends: We did it.
					 (MORE)					     
	 
	 
	...above the door there is a SIGN, clearly legible from PATRICK's 
	POV --
	 
					 RONALD REAGAN 	(CONT'D, O.S.)
			We weren't just marking time.  We made
			a difference.  We made the city 
			stronger, we made the city freer, and
			we left her in good hands.  All in 
			all, not bad, not bad at all.
	 
	-- THIS IS NOT AN EXIT.
	 
	 
	ROLL CREDITS.
	 
	 
	INTERRUPT CREDITS --
	 
	 
	-- EXTREME CLOSE UP on PATRICK BATEMAN:
	 
					 PATRICK
			I've been a big fan of Genesis ever
			since the release of their 1980 album,
			Duke.  Although I found all of their 
			previous albums to be too artsy, too
			intellectual, I was able to embrace
			Duke, mainly because the music became
			more modern, the drum machine became
			more prevalent and the lyrics started
			getting less mystical, more specific.
			Complex, ambiguous studies of loss
			became, instead, first-rate pop songs.
			A classic example of this is
			"Misunderstanding", which not only was
			the group's first big hit of the
			Eighties, but also seemed to set the
			tone for the rest of the decade. 
			Duke was followed almost immediately
			by ABACAB, yet another weapon in an
			increasingly impressive musical 
			arsenal.  Once again the songs
			reflect dark emotions, focusing on 
			people who feel lost or are in
			conflict.  Sound depressing?  Hardly.
			The production and sound, courtesy of 
			producer Hugh Padgham, are gleaming 
		and upbeat.  One of my favorite songs,	
			"Who Dunnit?" profoundly expresses the
			theme of confusion over a funky groove
			and what makes this song so exciting
			is that it ends with its narrator
			never finding anything out at all--
	 
											     
	 
	 
	 
	CUT TO BLACK as --
				
	-- Alfred Hitchcock's infamous "PSYCHO" strings fill the theater.
	 
	 
	 
	 
	 
		THE END