American Psycho Page #7

An insanely expensive nouvelle Tex-Mex restaurant, with an

ironic Southwestern decor: Santa Fe colors, Navajo blankets,

naive cowboy art, rawhide banquettes.

Bateman bursts in the door, late, and approaches the MAITRE D'.

BATEMAN:

Marcus Halberstam. For two at eight?

MAITRE D'

Your friend has already been seated. Follow me, Mr. Halberstam.

Paul Owen is seated at a table underneath an enormous pair of

ram's horns. He is arguing with the WAITER.

OWEN:

No, I want to know. I came here for the cilantro

crawfish gumbo, which is after all the only excuse one

could have for being in this restaurant, which is by the

way, almost completely empty. Am I to believe that all ten

people in this restaurant have eaten your entire supply of

cilantro crawfish gumbo?

WAITER:

I'm very sorry sir. There was a fire in the kitchen

earlier today, and-

BATEMAN:

J&B, straight. And a Dixie beer.

WAITER:

Would you like to hear-

OWEN:

Double Absolut martini.

WAITER:

Yes, sir. Would you like to hear the specials?

BATEMAN:

Not if you want to keep your spleen.

The Waiter leaves.

OWEN:

This is a real beehive of, uh, activity, Halberstam.

This place is hot, very hot.

BATEMAN:

Listen, the mud soup and the charcoal arugula are outrageous

here.

OWEN:

Yeah, well, you're late.

BATEMAN:

Hey, I'm a child of divorce. Give me a break

(Studying the menu; he's in a surprisingly good mood)

Hmmm, I see they've omitted the pork loin with lime jello.

OWEN:

We should've gone to Dorsia. I could've gotten us a table.

BATEMAN:

Nobody goes there anymore.

There is a long disgruntled silence.

BATEMAN:

Is that Ivana Trump over there? (Laughs) Jeez

Patrick I mean Marcus, what are you thinking? Why would Ivana

be at Texarkana?

Another pause.

BATEMAN:

So, wasn't Rothschild originally handling the

Fisher account? How did you get it?

OWEN:

I could tell you that, Halberstam, but then I'd have

to kill you.

He guffaws. Bateman laughs politely.

LATER:

Paul Owen is very drunk. BATEMAN cold sober.

BATEMAN:

I like to dissect girls. Did you know I'm utterly insane?

Owen continues laughing and motions to the waiter for another

drink.

OWEN:

Great tan, Marcus. Really impressive. Where do you tan?

BATEMAN Salon.

OWEN:

I've got a tanning bed at home. You should look into it.

Bateman nods, agitated.

OWEN:

And Cecelia, how is she? Where is she tonight?

BATEMAN:

Cecelia is, well...you know (Cecelia. I think

she's having dinner with...Evelyn Williams.

OWEN:

Evelyn. Great ass. Goes out with that loser Patrick

Bateman. What a dork.

BATEMAN:

Another Martini, Paul?

Owen nods drunkenly.

LATER:

The end of the meal. Owen is squeezing a lime onto the

table, missing his beer, incredibly drunk. The check is laid

down.

BATEMAN:

(Talking to Owen like a child)

Paul, give me your Amex card. Good boy.

Bateman slaps the card down, looks at the check.

BATEMAN:

Two-hundred-and-fifty. Very reasonable. Let's leave

a big tip, shall we? My place hr a nightcap?

OWEN:

No, man. I'm gonna bail.

BATEMAN:

Come on, you dumb son of a b*tch.

(Helping him into his jacket)

I've got a preview of the Barneys catalogue and a

bottle of Absolut waiting for us.

INT. BATEMAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The living room floor has been meticulously covered with

newspaper.

Owen is slumped drunkenly in a white Eames chair, a glass

in his hand. Bateman is looking through his CDs.

BATEMAN:

You like Huey Lewis and the News?

OWEN:

They're okay.

BATEMAN:

Their early work was a little too New Wave for my

taste. But then Sports came out in 1983, I think they really

came into their own, commercially and artistically.

Bateman walks to his bathroom, taking a large ax out of the

shower. He takes two Valium.

BATEMAN:

(Said partly from the bathroom)

The whole album has a clear, crisp sound and a new sheen of

consummate professionalism that gives the songs a big boost.

Bateman comes back out and leans the ax against the wall.

He walks to the foyer and puts on a raincoat, watching Owen

from behind ail the time.

BATEMAN:

He's been compared to ELvis Costello but I think

Huey has a more bitter, cynical sense of humor.

Owen is absent-mindedly leafing through the Barneys

catalogue.

OWEN:

Hey, Halberstam?

BATEMAN:

Yes, Owen?

OWEN:

Why are there copies of the Style section all over

the place? Do you have a dog? A chow or something?

BATEMAN:

No, Owen.

OWEN:

(Confused)

Is that a raincoat?

BATEMAN:

Yes, it is.

Bateman moves to the CD player. He takes a CD out of its

case and slides it in the machine.

BATEMAN:

In 1987 Huey released this, Fore!, their most

accomplished album. I think I heir undisputed masterpiece is

"HiP To Be Square," a song so catchy that most people probably

don't listen to the lyrics. But they should because it's not

just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of

trends. It's al~ a personal statement about the band itself.

Bateman puts on "Hip To Be Square."

BATEMAN crosses the room and picks up the ax.

We follow BATEMAN from behind as he walks up to Owen, the

ax raised over his head.

BATEMAN:

Hey, Paul?

As Owen turns around, FROM OWEN'S POV we see Bateman swing

the ax toward his face.

Blood sprays onto the white raincoat.

FROM BEHIND OWEN, we see BATEMAN as he yanks the ax out.

Owen drops to the floor. His body falls out of the frame.

We stay on his legs twitching mechanically.

Blood pulses onto the newspaper-covered floor.

BATEMAN:

(Raising the ax and screaming)

Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you f***ing

stupid bastard!

LOW ANGLE ON BATEMAN as he beats Owen with the back of the

ax.

OFFSCREEN, the sound of the ax hitting Owen.

BATEMAN:

(Panting)

F***ing bastard...

Bateman takes his raincoat off, still panting. He folds the

coat carefully in half, bloody side in, and drapes it neatly

over the back of a chair.

He sits back on the white sofa and surveys the scene. He

checks his Rolex and lights a cigar.

OFFSCREEN, Paul Owen's last faint sighs are heard.

INT. LOBBY - NIGHT

BATEMAN drags a large, blood-soaked sleeping bag through the lobby,

past the bored doorman, who looks up from the Post for a moment.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

BATEMAN is trying to hail a cab. Owen's body is at his

feet. Luis Carruthers and a Japanese girl walk up to him.

CARRUTHERS:

Patrick? Is that you?

BATEMAN:

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

CARRUTHERS:

This is Gwendolyn Ichiban. 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)

Where did you get your overnight bag?

BATEMAN:

Commes des Garcon.

A cab stops. BATEMAN opens the door and manages to get

Owen's body into the backseat.

Bateman gets into the cab.

CARRUTHERS:

Call me please, Patrick.

BATEMAN:

Jesus lives, Luis.

INT. BATEMAN'S HELL'S KITCHEN APARTMENT - NIGHT

A bare room, lit by one light bulb. The walls are blank

except for a Les Miserables poster. There is one ratty chair.

Bateman pours lime over Paul Owen's body, which is lying in

a bathtub. He plays Huey Lewis, smokes a cigar, watches the

body dissolve.

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