SHIVERS Page #7

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They are both watched by the only other occupant of the sauna,

Benda Sviben, now a full-fledged resident of Starliner Towers.

She is huddled in a corner, very shy and looking particularly

thin, mousy, and ineffectual in the presence of the other

two full-bodied women.

Betts is in the middle of giving Janine advice about Tudor's

disease.

BETTS:

...probably nothing at all. It's

probably just a bunch of, I don't

know, fatty cysts. You can have them

removed in a doctor's office. Has

Nick seen a doctor?

JANINE:

He hates doctors. Doctors and lawyers.

He never goes to doctors.

BETTS:

Well, look. How's this? You go on

down to the clinic and tell that

nice Dr. St. Luc...

(pauses to work it

out)

...you tell him that Nick's ill,

he's got these lumps, and he can't

get out of bed. Tell him to come

when you're sure Nick'll be home.

And don't tell Nick anything. Let

the two of them fight it out.

JANINE:

(not displeased with

the idea)

He'll be really mad.

BETTS:

(with a conspiratorial

smile)

So? You'll find out what's wrong and

then you'll be able to relax a little

bit. Let him be the uptight one for

a change.

She stretches out full length on the bench, her toes bumping

Benda's thigh. Betts notices Benda for the first time.

BETTS:

(to Benda)

Oops, sorry. Hi. Haven't seen you

here before, have I?

Benda draws her towel around her, wide-eyed, completely

intimidated by Betts. She manages a nervous smile.

INT. TUDOR'S OFFICE -- AFTERNOON

Tudor's secretary, a lumpy and motherly lady named Mrs.

Wheatley -- she has a nameplate on her desk -- is shuffling

some papers when the telephone rings.

Her small cubicle of an office is appended to Tudor's only

slightly larger office in a huge downtown office building.

The door leading to Tudor's office is closed.

MRS. WHEATLEY

Ashen & Gaunt, Insurance Appraisals.

Mr. Tudor? One moment, please. I'll

buzz him.

She places the caller on 'hold' and presses the inter-office

buzzer. She directs her attention for a moment to the papers

on her desk. When, after a pause, she notices that Tudor

hasn't answered the phone, she releases the caller from 'hold'

and picks up the receiver.

MRS. WHEATLEY

I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I'll

put you on 'hold' again and see if I

can find Mr. Tudor.

Mrs. Wheatley pushes the 'hold' button and gets out of her

chair. She knocks gently on the door.

MRS. WHEATLEY

Nicholas? There's a call for you.

Perplexed by Tudor's failure to respond, Mrs. Wheatley

gingerly opens the door.

MRS. WHEATLEY

Nicholas? It's that man whose

Lamborghini caught fire on St.

Catherine Street and burned to the

ground. He's very angry...

She catches a glimpse of Tudor rolling around on the floor

behind his desk, his swivel chair tipped over on to its side.

MRS. WHEATLEY

Nicholas! What happened?

She rushes over to Tudor and helps him to his feet. Tudor is

breathing heavily and has to support himself by leaning on

the desk while Mrs. Wheatley straightens up the chair for

him.

Tudor collapses into the chair, mumbling and rolling his

head from side to side. Mrs. Wheatley pulls a Kleenex from

her sleeve and dabs away a small trickle of blood coming

from one corner of Tudor's mouth.

MRS. WHEATLEY

We're going to get you to a hospital.

That's what we're going to do.

TUDOR:

(beginning to come

around)

No, no. I'll be all right. I'm all

right.

Mrs. Wheatley shows Tudor the spot of blood on her Kleenex.

MRS. WHEATLEY

Do you see this? This is blood. It

came from your insides. That means

it's serious. Probably an ulcer. You

executives are all the same.

Tudor shoves her hand away and sits straight at his desk,

still pretty wobbly.

MRS. WHEATLEY

(smoothing the hair

back from Tudor's

forehead in a very

motherly fashion)

Now, Nicholas, it doesn't cost

anything to be sure everything's all

right. I think you should definitely

go to the emergency ward and...

TUDOR:

(abruptly, swiveling

away from Mrs.

Wheatley's hand)

Call me a cab, will you please, Mona?

I'm going home for the day.

MRS. WHEATLEY

Nicholas, I think...

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