The Game

EXT. MANSION -- DAY -- HOME MOVIES

A stately mansion. A perfect lawn. A BUTLER carries a

birthday cake with sparking sparklers...

Past wealthy MEN in crewcuts and thin ties, WOMEN in cat-eye

sunglasses. Everyone sings (silent) "Happy Birthday"...

CHILDREN follow the cake, in dresses and suits, gathering

round NICHOLAS VAN ORTON, 7, guest of honor, who wears a

blindfold. MOTHER comes to remove the blindfold and

Nicholas ogles the cake, laughs. He reaches for a sparkler.

STEP PRINT:
Mother intercepts, fussing, fixing his hair...

Nicholas' FATHER sits near, smoking, nodding. He's intense,

thin, wearing a party hat. He notcies the camera without

mugging for it, bends to snuff his cigarette in an ashtray.

SPLICE-JUMP TO/STEP PRINT: a Harlequin CLOWN ties balloon

animals. Nicholas assists, distracted by the inattentive

children who look into the camera and pull hair and stand on

their chairs...

Men are drinking, storytelling, laughing. A fraternity...

The women are elsewhere, doing movie-vamp poses for the

camera, blowing cigarette smoke, brightly dressed, eyelids

blue and green, lipstick perfect...

Servants clear the table. Father holds a piece of untouched

cake. A man talks to him, but Father stares off, lost in

thought. He's forgotten the party hat on his head...

STEP PRINT:
Mother puts her arms around Father and makes him

face the camera. He leans in, posing dutifully.

SPLICE-JUMP TO:
a nanny in uniform, ILSA, holds an INFANT

(CONRAD) to the camera, places the baby in Nicholas' arms.

STEP PRINT:
Nicholas is gentle, overwhelmed by cradling his

tiny brother.

SPLICE-JUMP TO:
children play tag. Across the lawn, Father

heads to the house. He looks back, walks backwards.

STEP PRINT:
he gives a small wave, continuing away...

Kids chase past. Nicholas and two other kids huddle, arms

locked, spinning round and round, till they stumble

different directions, falling, laughing, dizzy...

Nicholas gets up, wearing a PUPPET on each hand.

STEP PRINT:
He walks CLOSE and peers in the camera, steps

back, happily talking. We can't hear because it's SILENT...

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. VAN ORTON MANSION, BATHROOM -- MORNING

The emotionless face of NICHOLAS VAN ORTON, just today 40,

looks upon itself in a mirror. He brings an electric shaver

across his chin, shuts it off, wipes his face with a towel.

INT. VAN ORTON MANSION, MASTER BEDROOM -- MORNING

Nicholas crosses. The bedroom is spacious, devoid of

clutter. A weight-machine in a far corner. A big T.V.

shows CNN with no sound.

At a bedside table, Nicholas picks up a heavy, gold ROLEX,

sliding it on, checking the time. 6:32.

INT. VAN ORTON MANSION, KITCHEN -- NIGHT

Nicholas stands at the kitchen islandm his tie thrown over

his shoulder, eating breakfast. ILSA, now elderly, is

across the way doing dishes.

The only sounds are the tiny clicks of Nicholas' knife and

fork against his plate. He's reading a German newspaper.

Nicholas jabs the last piece of egg, skewers the last bit of

ham and last square of toast. Plate's clean.

He sips his last swallow of juice, dabs his mouth with a

napkin, picks up his briefcase and heads to a back door.

NICHOLAS:

(without looking)

Thank you.

ILSA:

Have a nice day.

EXT. VAN ORTON MANSION, BACKYARD -- MORNING

Nicholas walks down a garden pathway to a three-car garage.

He looks at his Rolex.

CUT TO:

INT. NICHOLAS' BENTLEY -- MORNING

Bentley Continental Coupe. Quiet. Nicholas drives, begins

humming, barely audible. A Prince song, "Erotic City."

NICHOLAS:

(sings, to self)

...until the dawn... making love till

cherry's gone..

(humming, quiet)

... Erotic City, you and me...

Nicholas changes lanes, HONKING the HORN, impassive. We can

BARELY HEAR the BEEPING in here. He glances back.

He drives, adjusts his mirror. Resumes humming.

CUT TO:

EXT. VAN ORTON BUILDING -- MORNING

Distinctive SAN FRANCISCO skyline on the horizon.

Nicholas' building is a brownstone bookended by skyscrapers.

Old money dwarfed by new. The Bentley arrives...

INT. VAN ORTON BUILDING, UNDERGROUND GARAGE -- MORNING

The Bentley moves past a valet station. One VALET follows.

The Bentley takes its place. A brass plaque reads:

"NICHOLAS VAN ORTON, Van Orton Enterprises." The valet

opens the car door for Nicholas.

CUT TO:

INT. VAN ORTON OFFICE -- MORNING

Two objects on Nicholas' desk: phone and laptop computer.

He's on the phone, operating the laptop with one hand.

Business talk, mile-a-minute.

MALE VOICE (v.o.)

(from phone)

... might be perched up on majority

shares, but you're not the only one

who gets hurt if the actuals crash.

Forecasts were f***ed to begin with.

NICHOLAS:

(into phone)

The moment Baer/Grant's P and L

report is placed in my hand, I will

be speed dialing your number.

Empty walls. No distractions. MARIA, the proper executive

assistant, stands practically at attention.

MALE VOICE (v.o.)

Is that a promise?

NICHOLAS:

I'm sorry... I'm unfamiliar with the

term.

MALE VOICE (v.o.)

What if Alan calls me with a sob

story about substantiation procedure?

NICHOLAS:

Take evasive action: have your

secretary say you're in a meeting.

Goodbye, Jack.

MALE VOICE (v.o.)

Yeah.

Nicholas hangs up, shuffling computer windows: stock quotes,

pie-charts, graphs, lists. Maria refers to an index card.

MARIA:

Invitations:
the Museum Gala.

NICHOLAS:

No.

NICHOLAS:

The Fitzwilliam Botanical Garden

Annual Fundraiser.

NICHOLAS:

No.

NICHOLAS:

The Hinchberger wedding.

NICHOLAS:

Let me think...

(sits back, eyes closed)

Hordes of men in tuxedos. Everyone's

droning. Ludwell's trying to break

the ice by reciting an off-color

limerick...

MARIA:

(impatient)

I'll send your regrets. Honestly,

why must I even bother?

NICHOLAS:

Because, if you don't know about

society, you don't have the

satisfaction of avoiding it.

A KNOCK and a female ASSISTANT enters. There's a lot more

NOISE and ACTIVITY behind her.

ASSISTANT:

Elizabeth on line three.

Nicholas taps his fingers on his lips, considering.

MARIA:

Your ex-wife.

NICHOLAS:

I know who she is.

(to assistant)

Take a message.

ASSISTANT:

Um... Happy Birthday, sir.

Nicholas squints.

MARIA:

(icily)

Thank you, Maggie.

The assistant backs out. Nicholas returns to his computer.

NICHOLAS:

I don't like her.

MARIA:

I wouldn't mention the following,

except he was very insistent. It's

obviously some sort of prank...

NICHOLAS:

What?

MARIA:

A gentleman left a message requesting

a lunch, but I assured him...

NICHOLAS:

What gentleman, Maria?

MARIA:

A Mister... Seymour Butts.

Nicholas looks up. He sits back, lost in thought.

NICHOLAS:

(to himself)

"Under the Bleachers"... by Seymour

Butts.

MARIA:

Pardon me? I'm afraid I don't...

NICHOLAS:

Cancel lunch. Make reservations at

Campton Place for me and Mr. Butts.

Maria nods, heading out, high heels clicking as she crosses.

NICHOLAS:

And, put the reservation in my name.

CUT TO:

INT. CAMPTON PLACE RESTAURANT -- DAY

Upscale. Quiet. Nicholas is in a booth facing the rear,

studying a thick FINANCIAL STATEMENT, making tiny notations.

A WAITRESS arrives.

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