American Psycho Page #2

JEAN:

Late?

BATEMAN:

Aerobics class. Sorry. Any messages?

JEAN:

Ricky Harrison has to cancel today. He didn't say what he was canceling or why.

BATEMAN:

I occasionally box with Ricky at the Harvard Club. Anyone else?

JEAN:

Spencer wants to meet you for a drink at Fluties Pier 17.

BATEMAN:

When?

JEAN:

After six.

BATEMAN:

Negative. Cancel it.

JEAN:

And what should I say?

BATEMAN:

Just...say...no.

JEAN:

Just say no?

Jean stands at his desk, waiting for instructions.

BATEMAN:

Okay, Jean. I need reservations for three at Camols at twelve-thirty, and if not there, try Crayons. All right?

JEAN:

Yes, sir.

She turns to leave.

BATEMAN:

Oh wait. And I need reservations for two at Arcadia at 8:00 on Thursday.

Jean turns around.

JEAN:

Something...romantic?

BATEMAN:

No...silly. Forget it, I'll make them.

JEAN:

No, I'll do it.

BATEMAN:

No, No. Be a doll and just get me a mineral water, okay?

JEAN:

You look nice today.

BATEMAN:

Don't wear that outfit again.

JEAN:

What? I didn't hear you.

BATEMAN:

I said, "Do not wear that outfit again." Wear a dress, a skirt or something.

Jean stands there, then looks down at herself.

JEAN:

(Smiling bravely) You don't like this, I take it?

BATEMAN:

Come on, you're prettier than that.

JEAN:

(Sarcastically) Thanks, Patrick.

The phone RINGS and Jean turns to leave.

BATEMAN:

I'm not here. And high heels. I like high heels.

As Jean leaves, Bateman clicks on the TV set in one corner of the room and starts watching Jeopardy!

INT. TAXI - EVENING

EVELYN WILLIAMS, Patrick Bateman's fiance, is making notes with a gold Cross pen and sipping a bottle of mineral water. Evelyn is blonde, classically beautiful, expensively educated, and utterly pleased with herself. She usually addresses Patrick as if he were a small child.

CLOSE-UP on Bateman, who is wearing a Walkman and staring out the window.

EVELYN:

Marzipan. Pink tents. Hundreds, no, thousands of roses. And lots of chocolate truffles, Godiva, and oysters on the half shell.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

I'm trying to listen to the new Robert Palmer tape, but Evelyn--my supposed fiance--keeps buzzing in my ear.

Evelyn continues taking notes.

Photographers. Annie Leibovitz. We'll get Annie Leibovitz. And we'll have to get someone to videotape. Patrick, we should do it.

BATEMAN:

(Removing his Walkman) Do...what.

EVELYN:

Get married. Have a wedding.

BATEMAN:

No, I can't take the time off work. Evelyn?

EVELYN:

Your father practically owns the company. You can do anything you like, silly.

BATEMAN:

I don't want to talk about it.

EVELYN:

Well, you hate that job anyway. I don't see why you don't just quit.

BATEMAN:

Because I...want...to...fit...in.

The taxi bumps to a halt.

INT. ESPACE RESTAURANT- NIGHT

A cavernous garage, harshly spot-lit, decorated in self-conscious brutalist chic. Iron girders, walls of waxed plaster featuring exposed rusted pipes, a huge Schnabel smashed-plate painting on one wall. The tables and chairs are made of extremely uncomfortable bolted steel.

EVELYN:

Williams' party.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

I'm on the verge of tears by the time we arrive at Espace since I'm positive we won't have a decent table, but we do, and relief washes over me in an awesome wave.

TIM BRYCE and two downtown types, STASH and VANDEN, are already seated. Vanden is about twenty, pretty and sullen, with green streaks in her black hair. Stash is pale, with ragged black hair and bad skin.

EVELYN:

Patrick, this is my cousin Vanden and her boyfriend Stash. They're both artists.

BRYCE:

The menu's in braille.

EVELYN:

I see you've met everyone.

BRYCE:

You look awesome.

He kisses all over her face.

EVELYN:

(laughing) Ok, ok, all right.

COURTNEY RAWLINSON and LUIS CARRUTHERS arrive at the table. Courtney is blonde, classically beautiful and from precisely the same social background as Evelyn, but she is considerably more fragile and neurotic. Luis is half-English, half-Argentinean, slightly overweight (a rarity in this crowd), puppyish and eager to please. He wears the same type of designer clothes as Bryce and Bateman, but with foppish tendencies: velvet jackets, bow-ties, boldly patterned vests.

LATER:

BATEMAN (V.O.):

I am fairly sure that Timothy Bryce and Evelyn are having an affair. Timothy is the only interesting person I know. I'm almost completely indifferent as to whether Evelyn knows i'm having an affair with Courtney Rawlinson, her closest friend. Courtney is almost perfect looking. She's usually operating on one or more psychiatric drugs. Tonight I believe it's Xanax. More disturbing than her drug use, though, is the fact that she's engaged to Luis Carruthers, the biggest dufus in the business.

Bryce is whispering in Evelyn's ear. Everyone else is quietly eating, except Bateman, who is drinking and watching Evelyn and Bryce.

Courtney rouses herself from her drug haze.

COURTNEY:

Tell me. Stash...do you think SoHo is becoming too...commercial?

CARRUTHERS:

Yes, I read that.

BRYCE:

Oh, who gives a rat's ass?

VANDEN:

Hey. That affects us.

BRYCE:

(Wired on coke) Oh ho ho. Well, what about the massacres in Sri Lanka, honey? Doesn't that affect us, too? I mean don't you know anything about Sri Lanka? About how the Sikhs are killing like tons of Israelis there?

BATEMAN:

Come on. Bryce. There are a lot more important problems than Sri Lanka to worry about.

BRYCE:

Like what?

BATEMAN:

Well, we have to end apartheid for one. And slow down the nuclear arms race, stop terrorism and world hunger. We have to provide food and shelter for the homeless and oppose racial discrimination and promote civil rights while also promoting equal rights for women.

The table stares at Bateman uncomfortably.

BATEMAN:

We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values. Most importantly we have to promote general social concern and less materialism in young people.

Bryce chokes on his drink. Everyone is silent and mystified.

CARRUTHERS:

Patrick, how thought-provoking.

Bateman sips his drink.

EXT. STREET - LATER THAT NIGHT

It is 3 a.m. Bateman is standing at an ATM, listening to the comforting sound of fresh bills thudding out of the machine. Bateman turns around and watches a solitary young woman walk past him. He collects his money, placing it carefully in his wallet, and then walks toward her, whistling. He catches up to her as she pauses at a don't walk crosswalk sign.

BATEMAN:

Hello.

The woman looks suspicious for a moment and then, seeing his smile, smiles back.

WOMAN:

Hello.

They sit and stare at the Don't Walk sign.

It turns to walk.

INT. DRY CLEANERS - DAY

Bateman, dressed in an Armani suit with an unlit cigar between his teeth is standing in a dry cleaners, arguing with the Chinese woman behind the counter.

BATEMAN:

Bleach-ee? Are you trying to say bleach-ee? Oh my God.

She keeps pointing to the jacket and talking.

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