American Psycho Page #4

During this voiceover the CAMERA WANDERS over to MARCUS HALBERSTAM, who is conferring with a colleague in the opposite corner of the room. He bears a superficial resemblance to Bateman.

ALLEN:

How's the Ransom account going, Marcus?

BATEMAN:

(Nervous) It's...it's...all right.

ALLEN:

Really? That's interesting. (He stares at Bateman, smiling) It's...not uh...not great?

BATEMAN:

Oh well, you know.

ALLEN:

And how's Cecilia? She's a great girl.

BATEMAN:

Oh yeah. I'm very lucky.

McDermott and Bryce enter.

McDERMOTT:

Hey. Allen! Congratulations on the Fisher account.

ALLEN:

Thank you, Baxter.

BRYCE:

Listen, Paul. Squash?

ALLEN:

Call me. (Hands him a business card)

BRYCE:

How about Friday?

ALLEN:

No can do. Got a res at eight-thirty at Dorsia. Great sea urchin ceviche.

They're is a stunned silence as he walks away and sits in a corner of the room, ostentatiously studying papers.

CLOSE-UP on Bateman's face, cold with hatred.

BRYCE:

(Whispering) Dorsia? On a Friday night? How'd he swing that?

McDERMOTT:

(Whispering) I think he's lying.

Bateman takes out his wallet and pulls out a card.

BRYCE:

(Suddenly enthused) What's that, a gram?

BATEMAN:

New card. What do you think?

McDermott lifts it up and examines the lettering carefully.

McDERMOTT:

Whoa. Very nice. Look at that.

He hands it to Van Patten.

BATEMAN:

Picked them up from the printers yesterday

VAN PATTEN:

Good coloring.

BATEMAN:

That's bone. And the lettering is something called Silian Rail.

VAN PATTEN:

It is very cool, Bateman. But that's nothing.

He pulls a card out of his wallet and slaps it on the table.

VAN PATTEN:

Look at this.

They all lean forward to inspect it.

BRYCE:

That's really nice.

VAN PATTEN:

Eggshell with Romalian type. (Turning to Bateman) What do you think?

BATEMAN:

(Barely able to breath, his voice a croak) Nice.

BRYCE:

Jesus. This is really super. How'd a nitwit like you get so tasteful?

Bateman stares at his own card and then enviously at Van Patten's.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

I can't believe that Bryce prefers Van Patten's card to mine.

BRYCE:

But wait. You ain't seen nothin' yet.

He holds up his own card.

BRYCE:

Raised lettering, pale nimbus white...

BATEMAN:

(Choking with anxiety) Impressive. Very nice.

BRYCE:

Mmm.

BATEMAN:

Let's see Paul Allen's card.

Bryce pulls a card from an inside coat pocket and holds it up for their inspection: "PAUL ALLEN, PIERCE & PIERCE, MERGERS AND ACQUISITIONS." Bateman swallows, speechless. The sound in the room dies down and all we hear is a faint heartbeat as Bateman stares at the magnificent card.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

Look at that subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh my God, it even has a watermark...

His hand shaking, Bateman lifts up the card and stares at it until it fills the screen.

He lets it fall. The SOUND RETURNS TO NORMAL.

CARRUTHERS:

Is something wrong? Patrick...you're sweating.

EXT. STREET- EVENING

The financial district. The streets are eerily deserted.

A HOMELESS MAN is lying in a doorway on top of an open grate, surrounded by bags of garbage and a shopping cart. A cardboard sign is attached to the front of the cart: I AM HOMELESS AND HUNGRY PLEASE HELP ME. A small, thin dog lies next to him.

He is black, dressed in a stained, torn, lime-green polyester pants suit with jeans worn over the pants.

BATEMAN:

(Offering his hand) Hello. Pat Bateman.

The Homeless Man stares at Bateman, struggling to sit up.

BATEMAN:

You want some money?. Some...food?

The Homeless Man nods and starts to cry. Bateman reaches into his pocket and pulls out a $I 0 bill, then changes his mind and holds out a $5 instead.

BATEMAN:

Is this what you need?

The Homeless Man shakes his head, looks away, wipes his nose.

HOMELESS MAN:

I'm hungry.

BATEMAN:

Yeah, cold out, too, isn't it? Why don't you get a job? If you're so hungry, why don't you get a job?

HOMELESS MAN:

(Shivering) I-I lost my job...

BATEMAN:

Why? Were you drinking? Is that why you lost it? Insider trading? (chuckles) Just joking. Listen, what's your name?

HOMELESS MAN:

Al.

BATEMAN:

Hmm, Speak up. Come on.

HOMELESS MAN:

Al.

BATEMAN:

Get a goddamn 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.

HOMELESS MAN:

You're so kind, mister. You're kind. You're a kind man. I can tell.

BATEMAN:

(Petting the dog) Shhhh...it's okay.

HOMELESS MAN:

(Grabbing Bateman's wrist) Please...You got to tell me what to do. You gotta help me. It's so cold. I'm hungry.

BATEMAN:

Do, you know how bad you smell? You reek of sh*t. Do you know that? (laughs) Al...I'm sorry.

Bateman carefully puts the money back in his wallet.

BATEMAN:

It's just that...I don't know. I don't have anything in common with you.

He opens his briefcase and pulls out a long thin knife with a serrated edge. He pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to protect it.

HOMELESS MAN:

Oh, thank you, Mister. Thank you. I'm cold out here.

BATEMAN:

Do you know what a f***ing loser you are?

HOMELESS MAN'S POV as Bateman lunges at him with the knife.

EXTREME WIDE SHOT of the street. Bateman's shadowed figure is hunched over the Homeless Man, stabbing him in the stomach. The dog barks wildly and Bateman stomps on it until it is silent.

Bateman walks calmly into the empty caverns of Wall Street. Cars drift past, their headlights momentarily illuminating the body left twitching on the ground.

INT. BEAUTY SALON - DAY

CLOSE-UP on Bateman's face and torso. His eyes are closed as a woman's hands rub cream into his face.

FACIALIST:

What beautiful skin you have, Mr Bateman. So fine, so smooth...

His eyes open to look up at the facialist and then he closes them again.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

I have all the characteristics of a human being- flesh, blood, skin, hair-but not a single clear, identifiable emotion except for greed, and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside me and I don't know why.

CUT TO:

Bateman sitting in a chair, looking down at the MANICURIST who is giving him a pedicure. She is cutting his nails with tiny sharp scissors. He stares at them longingly.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy.

CUT TO:

Bateman lying irradiated by ultraviolet light on a tanning bed, wearing goggles.

BATEMAN (V.O.):

I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.

INT. FANCY COCKTAIL PARTY - NIGHT

Christmas music is playing over speakers in the festively decorated house that seemingly belongs to Evelyn, with a young waiter dressed with a elves hat is serving drinks. HARRY HAMILTON approaches Bateman.

HAMILTON:

Hey, the play, what do you say?

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