American Psycho Page #6

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

BATEMAN is trying to hail a cab. Allen's body is at his feet. Luis Carruthers and a Japanese girl walk up to him.

CARRUTHERS:

Patrick? Patrick! Is that you?

BATEMAN:

No, Luis. It's not me. You're mistaken.

CARRUTHERS:

This is my very good friend Patrick Bateman. Where are you going? We're going to Nell's. Gwendolyn's father's buying it. (Looking down at the body) Ooh, Where did you get that overnight bag?

A cab stops. BATEMAN opens the door and manages to get Allen's body into the backseat.

BATEMAN:

Jean Paul Gautier.

INT. PAUL ALLEN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Bateman is letting himself into the apartment. It is very similar to Bateman's, but even more minimalist. The walls are white-pigmented concrete with a large minimalist painting on the wall. One wall is covered in a trendy, large-scale scientific drawing above a long, black leather couch.

BATEMAN (V.O):

When I get to Paul Allen's place I use the keys I took from his pocket before disposing of the body. There is a moment of sheer panic when I realize that Paul's apartment overlooks the park. And it's obviously more expensive than mine. (He walks into in Allen's bedroom) I calm myself and move into the bedroom. Where I find his suitcase and start to pack. It's time for Paul to take a little trip.

BATEMAN:

Where to send the bastard? Dallas? Paris?

He throws some clothes into a suitcase, randomly grabbing toiletries and shoving them in.

BATEMAN:

Singapore? London. I'll send the a**hole to London.

He puts some music on to help muffle his voice, then leans over the answering machine.

He does a passable imitation of Allen's speech.

BATEMAN:

Hi, this is Paul. I've been called away to London for a few days. Meredith, I'll call you when I get back. Hasta la vista, baby.

INT. BATEMAN'S OFFICE - MORNING

Bateman is sitting at his desk, his Walkman playing Kenny G. We hear the MUSIC until Jean enters and he takes the Walkman off.

BATEMAN:

(Faintly irritable) What is it?

JEAN:

Patrick?

BATEMAN:

(Condescendingly) Ye-es, Je-an?

JEAN:

There's a Mr. Donald Kimball here to see you.

BATEMAN:

Who?

JEAN:

Detective Donald Kimball.

Silence.

BATEMAN:

Tell him I'm at lunch.

JEAN:

(whispering) Patrick, It's only 10:30, I think he knows you're here.

Silence.

BATEMAN:

Send him in, I guess.

As she exits, he picks up the cordless phone and pretends to talk to someone at the other end.

BATEMAN:

Now, John, you've got to wear clothes in proportion to your physique. There are definite do's and don'ts, good buddy, of wearing a bold-striped shirt. A hold-striped shirt calls for solid-colored or discreetly patterned suits and ties....

The door to the office opens and he waves in DETECTIVE DONALD KIMBALL. KIMBALL is surprisingly young - about Bateman's age - and good-looking, dressed in a crumpled linen Armani suit of the type Bateman and his friends might wear.

Kimball sits down and crosses his legs with a self-assurance that makes Bateman so nervous he forgets to carry on with his fake conversation. Kimball looks up at him curiously, noticing the silence.

BATEMAN:

(Realizing that Kimball is staring at him) Yes...always tip the stylist fifteen percent.

Bateman shrugs at the detective, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Kimball nods understandingly.

BATEMAN:

Listen, John, I've got to go. T Boone Pickens just walked in...(He laughs inanely) Just joking... (Pause) No don't tip the owner of the salon. Okay, John, right, got it. (He hangs up the phone and pushes the antenna in) Sorry about that.

KIMBALL:

No, I'm sorry. I should've made an appointment. (Gesturing toward the phone) Was that anything important?

BATEMAN:

Oh that? Just mulling over business problems. Examining opportunities...Exchanging rumors...Spreading gossip.

They laugh politely.

KIMBALL:

(Holding out his hand) Hi. I'm Donald Kimball

BATEMAN:

(Shaking firmly) Hi. Pat Bateman. Nice to meet you.

KIMBALL:

I'm sorry to barge in on you like this. I know how busy you guys can get.

Kimball stares at the three open copies of Sports Illustrated and the Sony Walkman lying on Bateman's desk. Bateman sees the look and sweeps the magazines into the top drawer along with the Walkman, which is still running.

BATEMAN:

(Forcing himself to sound friendly and relaxed) So, what's the, uh--topic of discussion?

KIMBALL:

I've been hired by Meredith Powell to investigate the disappearance of Paul Allen.

BATEMAN:

Ah, I see...Yes. Paul's disappearance...Yeah.

KIMBALL:

So it's nothing that official. I just have some basic questions. About Paul Allen. About yourself-

BATEMAN:

Coffee?

KIMBALL:

No. I'm okay.

BATEMAN:

Apollinaris?

KIMBALL:

No, I'm okay.

Kimball takes out a small black notepad and the same gold Cross pen that Bateman and his friends all use. Bateman buzzes Jean.

JEAN (O.S.):

Patrick?

BATEMAN:

Can you bring Mr...Uh--

KIMBALL:

Kimball.

BATEMAN:

Mr. Kimball a bottle of Appollin-

KIMBALL:

No, really I'm okay.

BATEMAN:

It's no problem.

Bateman watches intently as Kimball writes something down in his notebook, then crosses something out. Jean enters and places the bottle of Appollinaris and a Steuben etched glass on the table, shooting a concerned glance at Bateman. He glares at her. Kimball smiles and nods at Jean as she leaves.

BATEMAN:

Well, what's the topic of discussion?

KIMBALL:

The disappearance of Paul Allen.

BATEMAN:

Oh right. Well, I haven't--I haven't heard anything about the disappearance or anything...(Trying to laugh) Not on "Page Six" at least.

KIMBALL:

I think his family wants this kept quiet.

BATEMAN:

Understandable. (Staring at the untouched bottle of Appollinaris) Lime?

KIMBALL:

No, no really. I'm okay.

BATEMAN:

You sure? I can always get you a lime.

A pause.

KIMBALL:

Just some preliminary questions that I need for my own files, okay?

BATEMAN:

Shoot.

KIMBALL:

How old are you?

BATEMAN:

27.

KIMBALL:

(Scribbling in his notebook) Where did you go to school?

BATEMAN:

Harvard, then Harvard Business School.

KIMBALL:

Your address?

BATEMAN:

The American Gardens Building. West 81st Street.

KIMBALL:

(Looking up, impressed) Mmm Nice. Very nice.

BATEMAN:

(Flattered) Thanks.

A pause as Kimball studies his notebook. Bateman closes his eyes, as if in pain.

KIMBALL:

What can you tell me about Paul Allen?

BATEMAN:

I'm...at a loss. He was part of that whole...Yale thing.

KIMBALL:

Yale thing?

A pause.

BATEMAN:

Yeah...Yale thing.

KIMBALL:

What do you mean...Yale thing?

A pause.

BATEMAN:

Well, I think for one that he was probably a closet homosexual. Who did a lot of cocaine...that Yale thing.

A silence.

KIMBALL:

What kind of man was he? Besides...(He hesitates tries to smile) the information you've just given.

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