Serendipity Page #5

- We're going to New York?|- Yeah. Yea!

# I want you|to get together #

# I want you|to get together #

#I want you|to get together#

# Put your hands together|one time #

# I want you|to get together #

# I want you|to get together ##

Hey! Excuse me.

- Why so tense?|- Because you're|freaking me out, all right?

- Is there another space|you can be in?|- Oh. Excusez-moi.

- Uh-huh.|- And what is it you do?

Why, my sales clerk friend,|I happen to write for|a little publication.

Maybe you've heard of it.|It's called the New York Times.

- Oh.|- Yeah.|-[Phone Ringing]

[Ringing]

Hello. Who?

Dean? And who may|I say is calling?

Huh? Hang on.|Your editor.

Hi. No.

Didn't get a chance|to write that one. Uh--

Didn't write|that one either.

Uh, with all due respect, sir,|they'll all still be dead tomorrow.

Okay. Thank you.|Bye-bye.

- You write for the obituaries.|- Absolutely. Yeah.

- You must be very proud.|- Uh-huh. I'm the one|with the last word.

- Not tonight. I don't think so.|- Yes, I am. Absolutely.

- Fat chance. Last line.|- Still talking. Yeah, right here.

[Yelling]

I don't know. I don't know.|My eyes are killing me.

- Tell me these numbers match.|- I'll tell you.

- Let me see.|- Don't do that.

- Ah-ah!|- Is it 0293?

- You got it?|- I think you found her.

Too bad the last name's|completely smudged out, though.

Well, it's his fault.|It was his thumb.

When he grabbed it, his thumb|went right across the name.

Completely. I'm kidding.|It was smudged in my hand.

- Would you stop it?|- It's just a little joke.|That's carbon paper for you.

I guess that's why|America rejected it.

- What's that address?|Is that her address?|- That's seven years ago, man.

So go to the building|leasing office...

and you'll find out|who lived there seven years ago.

It ain't rocket science.

Thank you.

- Hi.|- Hey.

- Where to?|- Yeah, where are we going?

- Uh, okay, take us...|anywhere in New York.|- Excuse me?

Anywhere. Wherever|you feel like going.

- That's not a destination, lady.|- Wait. You didn't make reservations?

- Um, okay, Eve, please|don't get mad at me.|- What?

Oh, no.|I cannot believe this.

I need|a borough here, ladies.

I was gonna tell you|when we got on the plane.

You know what?|That's really sneaky of you, Sara.

- I'm not a bloody psychic.|- Eve, wait!

Wait!

- Eve. Eve!|- You tricked me.

I knew you wouldn't come|if I told you the truth.|I needed my best friend with me.

What are you doing, Sara?

Honestly, Sara, I don't|understand you anymore, okay?

Please, tell me something.

Tell me anything that makes|just a little bit of sense.

I've just spent|the entire flight...

staring into the sky,|thinking.

Not about my fiance,|but about this mystery guy...

I met a million|and a half hours ago.

A guy I don't even remember,|except for this...

vague picture I have|inside my head.

It was just a few seconds.|A fragment, really.

And it was like...

in that moment,

the whole universe existed|just to bring us together.

That's why I'm here.

That's why I'm gonna let fate|take me wherever it wants to go.

Because when all this is over,|at least I'm never gonna have|to think of him ever again.

Let's just pray|he's a bald fascist...

who picks his nose|and wipes it under the car seat.

- Hi.|- Hi.

Could you hold on?

Where are you going?

You better be buying me one|frigging big birthday cake,|that's all I gotta say.

Could I get your|destination, please?

- The Waldorf, I guess.|- Finally she gets it.

Okay, we are going...|that way.

And I'm gonna follow.

You can do it yourself. Just open up|the computer and look into it.

- I'm not even sure that I can|give you this information.|- If you can't, why can't you?

Because I'm just a temp, okay?|I don't know the rules.

Couple of months out of college,|you're acting like you're|part of the establishment.

No, no, no, no, no--|What about privacy law, huh?

Forget about privacy laws.|You know what privacy laws do?

- No.|- They protect millionaires.|Do you know who those are?

- Who?|- Tell him who they are.

- Tell him.|- Kids your age.

Pimple-faced college dropouts who|have made unhealthy sums of money...

forming Internet companies|that create no concrete products,

provide no viable services and still|manage to generate profits...

for all of its lazy, day-trading,|son-of-a-b*tch shareholders.

Meanwhile, as a tortured member|of the disenfranchised proletariat,

you find some altruistic need|to protect these digital|plantation owners?

Wow. Come on.

Come on.

- You guys want the tenant|on record in 1994?|- December, to be exact.

- There's your tenant.|- Sebastian Mig-non?

No. Mignon.|It's French.

No, we're looking|for someone named Sara.|You got the right one?

- Maybe he was her boyfriend.|- Thanks.

- You did the right thing.|Really, you did.|- Goodwork, pal.

You got it.|M-I-G-N-O-N.

You got it?|There you go.

- Thank you so much, Sally.|You gotta love her.|- Where is he?

- Brooklyn.|- Okay, let's, uh--|let's grab a subway.

Wait a minute. Wait. Aren't you|forgetting about something?

- What?|- Wedding rehearsal.|Bachelor party.

- Plenty of time.|Plenty of time. Come on.|- You sure?

- Yes. Gotta go to Brooklyn.|Come on.|- [ Barks ]

[ Gasps ]|Prada!

Oh, my God!

Ooh! Prada!

Ooh, I love this stuff.

- That's $20.|- Twenty bucks?

Eve, that's|a horrific knockoff.

At least my fake says "Prada."|Yours says "Prado."

Yeah? Well,|I say for a dollar,

I can buy a little|Magic Marker and fix that.

I'll take it.|Twenty bucks?

Right back here.|Here you go.

Two buckets of balls for the price|of one at the Chelsea Piers today.

- So where are we going to now?|- I don't know.

- Lady, lady, you're a golfer?|- I feel like I feel something.

- Two for the price of one.|- Right where I'm standing.|Hey! Who are you?

Can you believe that?|Two bucket of-- Whoa!

- Will you help me up, ma'am?|Yeah, yeah, help me up.|- Oh, my God.

- Are you okay?|- Is the ball okay?

- Yeah, the back of the head.|Is that all right?|- Oh, my. Goodness gracious.

- I'm all right.|Can you get the flyers?|- Here you go.

- Taxi!|- Sara!

They should|make pills for this.

He's gotta be here.

He's got to be here.|I can feel it.

- Excuse me. Miss?|- Yeah?

- You're blocking my shot.|- Oh.

Oh. Sorry.

This is Nick Roberts,|ESPN News, New York City.

- Oh!|-[Eve] Do you know|who plays golf?.

Guys who are too fat|to play tennis.

Like that guy.

[Man #1]|Well, this is a special occasion.

After all, how many times in your|life is your son gonna get married?

[Man #2]|Well said.

- You wanna know|why I love this game?|- No. Why?

I'll tell ya.

You can take years off from playing|and still come back strong.

Well, me, I haven't played|in over five years.

You're kidding.

- Ow!|- Ooh!

- Are you all right?|- I'm okay.|- Sorry up there.

- Eve, look out!|- Go.

- Oh!|- Oh, my God, I'm so sorry.|I'm, so sorr-- Are you okay?

[ Sara ] Please say something.|Say something.

[ Eve ]|I think I swallowed a filling.

Thank you for letting us in.|Now, Mr. Mignon,

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