Gattaca Page #12

JEROME:

The Mission Director.

EUGENE:

(misinterpreting the deadpan remark)

You wish.

JEROME:

They found him in his office this morning--

beaten so bad they had to check his nametag.

Eugene takes in the news, a smile broadening across his face.

EUGENE:

What an act of benevolence--a service to the

community. So that's it. Now there's nothing

between you and ignition.

JEROME:

He was still warm when they confirmed.

EUGENE:

(confused by Jerome's attitude)

This calls for a celebration. Doesn't it?

JEROME:

The place is crawling with Hoovers.

EUGENE:

So what? You didn't kill him, did you?

Jerome shoots him a glance for the inappropriate remark.

JEROME:

That's not the point.

EUGENE:

(scoffing)

Hey, how much of you can be there? Even if the

"J. Edgars" do find something, in a week--

(glancing up to the night sky)

you'll be slightly out of their jurisdiction.

(gently chiding)

Come on, we've got to get drunk immediately.

JEROME:

(still tempering Eugene's enthusiasm)

You're going to have to earn your supper. I've got

my final physical tomorrow.

Jerome wheels Eugene's chair to a specially constructed platform

that allows the wheels to spin in mid-air. Jerome tapes an

electrode to Eugene's chest and attaches the wire to a slim

recording device. Eugene begins to spin the wheel of the chair

faster and faster. Jerome monitors Eugene's steady heartbeat

through a set of headphones.

INT. GATTACA AEROSPACE CORPORATION - COMPUTER COMPLEX. NIGHT.

The complex is virtually empty - only a handful of the hundreds

of PROGRAMMERS working late into the night. IRENE approaches

JEROME's work station on the pretext of delivering some

documents. Trying to act casually, she looks under the papers

on his desk, then opens the top desk drawer.

We see an EXTREME CLOSE UP of the comb lying there - the two

hairs trapped between the teeth of the comb. Irene removes one

of the follicles and drops it into an envelope she is carrying.

INT. 24-HOUR SEQUENCING LAB. NIGHT.

"SEQUENCING-WHILE-U-WAIT". Similar to a 1-hour photo lab, the

store - little more than a booth - displays a price list on the

wall. "FULL SEQUENCE - $80". IRENE waits in line with a cross-

section of other CUSTOMERS. She checks the contents of the

envelope that contains the hair.

The YOUNG WOMAN in line ahead of her allows the TECHNICIAN to

take a swab from her full lips with a Q-tip.

TECHNICIAN:

How old?

YOUNG WOMAN:

(confused)

Me?

TECHNICIAN:

(mustering patience, referring

to the Q-tip)

The specimen.

YOUUNG WOMAN:

(proudly)

I kissed him five minutes ago. A real good one.

Overhearing, several PEOPLE in the line snicker.

TECHNICIAN:

(long-suffering)

I'll see what I can do.

The technician hands the swab to an ASSISTANT. The Young Woman

is handed a number and takes a seat. Irene hands her envelope

over the counter. She too is handed a number. We follow

Jerome's follicle as another TECHNICIAN places it in an

analyzing machine.

INT/EXT. SEQUENCING LAB / PARKING LOT. NIGHT.

The TECHNICIAN returns the envelope to IRENE along with a

miniature compact disc.

TECHNICIAN:

(remarking on the profile result)

9.4...very nice.

Irene does not appear to share the technician's enthusiasm.

She emerges from the sequencing lab and enters her car. Taking

a palm-top computer from her purse, she inserts the disc into

the computer. Jerome's counterfeit genetic profile appears on

the screen. The details confirm her worst fears.

EXT. MICHAEL'S DINNER CLUB. NIGHT.

JEROME and EUGENE, dressed to the nines, pull up in the car

to a darkened doorway in a poorly lit street. A VALET appears

out of the shadows. Familiar with the car, he goes immediately

to the trunk to retrieve Eugene's collapsible wheelchair.

Jerome tips the valet - a credit card wiped through a device.

INT. MICHAEL'S DINNER CLUB. NIGHT.

The chic, elegant establishment inside belies its darkened

exterior. JEROME wheels EUGENE into a decadent dinner club

full of an odd assortment of people. They are immediately

greeted respectfully by MICHAEL, the owner and maitre d'.

Jerome and Eugene are obviously regulars.

MICHAEL:

Good evening, gentlemen. Your table is ready.

(referring to Jerome's mission)

Not long now, sir. You'll be upstairs

before you know it. We're going to miss you.

JEROME:

Not as much as I'll miss your Stroganoff.

I'd like to take one of your chefs with me.

INT. MICHAEL'S DINNER CLUB. NIGHT.

In a secluded booth JEROME and EUGENE toast from a bottle of

1999 vintage Bordeaux. Eugene drinks longer than Jerome.

Jerome dabs his mouth with a napkin. He fails to notice a

minute FLAKE OF SKIN dislodged from his chin. We follow the

flake as it comes to rest beneath the table.

LATER, Eugene and Jerome watch COUPLES dancing a samba on the

dance floor. A WAITER vacuums the table with a discreet,

handheld miniature vacuum while a WAITRESS clears the plates.

She accidentally drops a knife onto Eugene's leg.

WAITRESS:

(aghast at the sight of his lifeless legs)

I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?

EUGENE:

(smiling, a trace of bitterness)

Honey, if you'd hurt me, I'd be cured.

Eugene, the worse for drink, gropes for the waitress's leg but

she easily avoids his clumsy pass.

EUGENE:

You want to meet a real-life spaceman?

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