American Psycho Page #9

A silence during which the sound of the air conditioner

becomes deafening.

KIMBALL:

So...there's nothing you can tell me about Paul

Owen?

BATEMAN:

He led what I suppose was an orderly life. He...

ate a balanced diet.

KIMBALL:

What kind of man was he? Besides...

(He hesitates tries to smile)

the information you've just given.

BATEMAN:

I hope I'm not being cross-examined here.

KIMBALL:

Do you feel that way?

BATEMAN:

No. Not really.

KIMBALL:

(As he writes without looking up)

Where did Paul hang out?

BATEMAN:

Hang...out?

KIMBALL:

Yeah. You know...hang out.

BATEMAN:

Let me think. The Newport. Harry's. Fluties. Endochine.

Nell's. Comell Club. The New York Yacht Club. The regular

places.

KIMBALL:

He had a yacht?

BATEMAN:

No, he just hung out there.

KIMBALL:

And where did he go to school?

A slight pause.

BATEMAN:

Don't you know this?

KIMBALL:

I just wanted to know if you know.

BATEMAN:

Before Yale? If I remember correctly, Saint Paul's...

Listen, I just...I just want to help.

KIMBALL:

I understand.

He makes another note.

KIMBALL:

Anything else you can tell me about Owen?

BATEMAN:

We were both seven in 1969.

KIMBALL:

(Smiles)

So was I.

BATEMAN:

Do you have any witnesses or fingerprints?

KIMBALL:

Well, there's a message on his answering machine saying he

went to London.

BATEMAN:

Well, maybe he did, huh?

KIMBALL:

His girlfriend doesn't think so.

BATEMAN:

But...has anyone seen him in London?

KIMBALL:

Actually, yes.

BATEMAN:

Hmmm.

KIMBALL:

Well, I've had a hard time getting an actual verification.

A Stephen Hughes says he saw him at a restaurant there, but

I checked it out and what happened is, he mistook a Hubert

Ainsworth for Paul, so...

BATEMAN:

Oh.

KIMBALL:

Was he involved at all , do you think, in occultism or Satan

worship?

BATEMAN:

What?

KIMBALL:

I know it sounds like a lame question, but in New Jersey I

know this sounds like a lame question, but last month-I don't

know if you've heard about this, but a young stockbroker was

recently arrested and charged with murdering a young Chicano

girl and performing voodoo rituals with various body parts-

BATEMAN:

Yikes! No. Paul wasn't into that. He followed a balanced

diet and-

KIMBALL:

Yeah, I know, and was into that whole Yale thing.

A pause - the longest so far.

BATEMAN:

Have you consulted a psychic?

KIMBALL:

No.

BATEMAN:

Had his apartment been burglarized?

KIMBALL:

No, it actually hadn't. Toiletries were missing. A

suit was gone. So was some luggage. That's it.

BATEMAN:

I mean no one's dealing with the homicide squad yet

or anything, right?

KIMBALL:

No, not yet. As I said, we're not sure. But...

basically no one has seen or heard anything.

BATEMAN:

That's so typical, isn't it?

KIMBALL:

It's just strange.

(He stares out the window, lost in thought)

One day someone's walking around, going to work, alive,

and then...

BATEMAN:

Nothing.

KIMBALL:

People just...disappear.

BATEMAN:

The earth just opens up and swallows people.

(He checks his Rolex)

KIMBALL:

Eerie. Really eerie.

Silence.

BATEMAN:

(Standing up)

You'll have to excuse me. I have a lunch meeting

with Cliff Huxtable at Four Seasons in twenty minutes.

KIMBALL:

Isn't the Four Seasons a little far uptown? I

mean aren't you going to be late?

BATEMAN:

Uh, no. There's one...down here.

KIMBALL:

Oh really? I didn't know that.

Bateman leads him to the door.

BATEMAN:

Yes. It's very good.

KIMBALL turns to face him.

KIMBALL:

Listen, if anything occurs to you, any information

at all...

BATEMAN:

Absolutely, I'm 100% with you.

KIMBALL:

Great, and thanks for your, uh, time, Mr. Bateman.

Bateman closes the door firmly on KIMBALL. He closes his

eyes and leans against the door, sweating.

INT. BATEMAN'S APARTMENT - AFTERNOON

A perfectly lit kitchen still-life - a bottle of Evian,

a white porcelain plate on which sits a sliced kiwi, some perfect

green grapes, a few berries.

OFFSCREEN, the SOUND OF SCREAMS AND A CHAINSAW can be heard

from the living room.

The living room:
Bateman is maniacally doing abdominal

crunches as the television plays a video of Texas Chainsaw

Massacre. There is a pile of horror videos on his coffee table,

next to a copy of GQ.

LATER:

Bateman is sitting in his armchair, phone book in hand,

jerking off. He is squealing into the phone and breathing.

BATEMAN:

You like that, slut?

The person on the other end clearly hangs up.

CLOSE-UP on his fingers dialing the phone.

BATEMAN:

You want to know what I'm wearing? Sixty-dollar

boxer shorts by Ralph Lauren, a hundred-and-fifty-dollar white

cotton T-shirt by

Commes des Garcons.

(He snorts like a pig)

My Rolex cost-

Another hang-up. He dials again.

BATEMAN:

(Whipering)

I'm a corporate raider. I orchestrate hostile takeovers. What do

you think of that?

(Makes disgusting sucking noises and grunts)

Huh, b*tch?

GIRL (O.S.)

Dad, is that you?

Bateman hangs up, frustrated.

EXT. STREET/INT. LIMOUSINE - NIGHT

Bateman cruises around in the limo. It pulls up alongside

CHRISTIE, a pretty blonde hooker in shorts and leather jacket.

Bateman opens his window to speak to her.

BATEMAN:

I haven't seen you around here.

CHRISTIE:

You just haven't been looking.

BATEMAN:

Would you like to see my apartment?

Bateman flips on the light inside the limo. He's wearing a

tuxedo.

CHRISTIE:

(looking away to some dark corner)

I'm not supposed to.

Bateman is holding out a $100 bill, which Christie now

notices, then takes.

BATEMAN:

Do you want to come to my apartment or not?

CHRISTIE:

I'm not supposed to.

(She pockets the bill)

But I can make an exception.

BATEMAN:

Do you take American Express?

Christie is still looking out behind her.

BATEMAN:

Do you take American Express?

Christie looks at him like he's crazy.

BATEMAN:

I'm joking. Come on, get in.

As they drive uptown, Bateman dials the cell-phone. He

reads off a credit card number.

BATEMAN:

I'd like a girl, early twenties, blonde, who does

couples. Couples. Fifty-five West Eighty-First, the

American Gardens Building. Apartment 7C. And I really

can't stress blonde enough. Blonde.

He hangs up.

BATEMAN I'm Paul. My name is Paul 0wen, have you'got that?

You are Christie. You are to respond only to Christie. Is

that clear?

INT. BATEMAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Christie is in the bathtub, Bateman is pouring in white

milky bath oil.

BATEMAN:

That's a very fine Chardonnay you're drinking.

Long pause, in which Christie is luxuriating in the tub and

Bateman is casually touching her breast.

BATEMAN:

I want you to clean your vagina.

Christie reaches for a washcloth.

BATEMAN:

No. From behind. Get on your knees.

Christie shrugs.

BATEMAN:

I want to watch. You have a very nice body.

The doorman RINGS. Bateman answers.

BATEMAN:

Thank you. Send her up. Christie, get out and dry

off, choose a robe-not the Bijan and come and meet me and

our guest in the living room for drinks.

Bateman answers the door.

BATEMAN:

You've arrived! How lovely, let me take your coat.

I'm Paul. How good of you to come.

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