The Game Page #3

CUT TO:

INT. VAN ORTON MANSION, DEN -- NIGHT

Nose-bleed-high ceilings. Cavernous fireplace. THREE TVs

in the ENTERTAINMENT WALL, the largest showing CNN.

Nicholas is seated in a chair facing his meal, pouring a

glass of champagne.

He toasts to no one, takes a sip. The PHONE RINGS.

Nicholas looks to it, hesitates. He hits SPEAKERPHONE.

NICHOLAS:

(to speakerphone)

Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

(from speakerphone)

Happy Birthday, Nick.

NICHOLAS:

(looks at watch)

Eleven forty. You almost didn't make

it this year.

Nicholas uses a REMOTE to MUTE BERNARD SHAW on the TV.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

Did you have a great birthday?

NICHOLAS:

Does Rose Kennedy have a black dress?

You know my parties. I went not

once, but twice through the

spanking-machine.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

I can only imagine. How are you?

NICHOLAS:

Connie asked me the same thing today.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

Connie, really? I always liked him.

NICHOLAS:

Anyway...

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

I just thought this... might be

difficult for you.

NICHOLAS:

Just another birthday.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

I meant because of your father.

NICHOLAS:

That's right. He was forty, wasn't

he? Hadn't thought about it, to tell

you the truth, thanks for the

reminder.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

Why do I call you... ?

NICHOLAS:

I honestly don't know. Listen, give

my best to Doctor Mel and Rachel....

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

Sue has a little brother on the way.

We just did the ultrasound.

NICHOLAS:

No kidding? An official nuclear

family. You must be pleased.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

We are. We couldn't be happier.

Nicholas smiles thinly, bored, waiting for more.

NICHOLAS:

Well, so... thanks for calling. I've

got some work here...

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

I should let you go.

NICHOLAS:

Take care of yourself.

ELIZABETH (v.o.)

You too, Nicholas. I mean that, I

really do.

NICHOLAS:

Um-hm. Good luck. Bye.

He PUSHES OFF the PHONE in the middle of her "goodbye." He

uses the t.v. remote to give BERNARD SHAW back his VOICE.

Nicholas eats, watching the news. He takes out the business

card Conrad gave him, looks at it, puts it on the table.

The card:
"Consumer Recreation Services."

Nicholas sits back, chewing. He stares at the ceiling.

FLASHBACK/GRAINY HOME MOVIES -- 1960'S -- DAY

SILENT IMAGES:
Nicholas' FATHER stands on the high balcony,

as before. He looks skyward one last time, then LAUNCHES

INTO SPACE... falling in EXTREME SLOW MOTION...

A head-first dive...

CUT TO:

INT. OFFICE BUILDING, 10TH FLOOR -- DAY

"DING," elevator doors open. Nicholas and TWO EXECUTIVES

are talking. As PEOPLE get on, the two executives get off.

EXECUTIVE 1

We're getting off here.

Nicholas follows. He and the executives huddle nearby.

NICHOLAS:

(voice low)

So, we understand each other?

EXECUTIVE 2

We do.

NICHOLAS:

Make it work on paper, and you can

count on my full support.

EXECUTIVE 1

Right-o. We'll talk. Soon.

They shake. The executives walk away. Nicholas returns to

elevator, pushes the button, waiting. He turns, noticing...

A massive WALL OF TRANSLUCENT GLASS marks the office of

"C.R.S." Modern. Activity beyond it.

Nicholas finds this disconcerting. He takes out his wallet,

digging up the C.R.S. business card, studying it... looking

again to the glass facade to double check.

He looks at his Rolex.

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLASS DOORS

Nicholas enters. A female RECEPTIONIST speaks into a

HEADSET/PHONE. EMPLOYEES mill about. UTILITY MEN sort

crawlspace wiring.

NICHOLAS:

(to receptionist,

shows "C.R.S." card)

Is this Consumer Recreation

Services... ?

The reecptionist takes the card. In the b.g., JIM FEINGOLD

pays a DELIVERY GUY for CHINESE FOOD.

RECEPTIONIST:

(into PHONE)

You shouldn't feel this reflects

negatively upon yourself.

(to Nicholas)

Just a moment.

(back into phone)

We hope we haven't caused you any

inconvenience. Thank you for

considering C.R.S.

She studies the card, hangs up and motions to Feingold, a

bald, amiable engineer-type who passes with his food bag.

RECEPTIONIST:

Mister Feingold... could you assist

this gentleman?

Feingold spins on his heels, looking, walking over with his

hand out. Nicholas shakes.

FEINGOLD:

Jim Feingold, V.P., E.D.A.

Engineering and Data Analysis.

NICHOLAS:

I'm not quite sure how this works.

My brother...

FEINGOLD:

Oh, here we go...

Feingold takes the card the receptionist offers, examines

it, turns it over: finds FOUR NUMBERS on the back.

FEINGOLD:

(of the numbers)

Excellent. Let's get started.

Nicholas picks up his briefcase to follow Feingold.

INT. C.R.S. OFFICES -- DAY

Big operation. Feingold leads past partitioned cubicles

that seem to go on forever. C.R.S. WORKERS abound.

TELEPHONE CO. WORKMEN operate on the phones.

FEINGOLD:

Sorry about about all the hullabaloo.

We're still moving. Stick with me...

I've got an office around here

somewhere.

Feingold reaches open BOXES, begins collecting pages from

each, loading up on all sorts of forms. he holds out his

leaking, greasy food bag to Nicholas.

FEINGOLD:

Mind holding this... ?

Nicholas reluctantly takes it, keeping it at arms length.

INT. FEINGOLD'S OFFICE -- DAY

Feingold types at his computer. Nicholas stands, looking

through the pile of forms on a clipboard.

FEINGOLD:

(TYPES in keyboard)

V-A-N... O-R-T-O-N...

(studies screen)

A gift from Conrad Van Orton.

Interesting...

NICHOLAS:

What is?

Feingold picks up his Chinese food, eats using chop-sticks.

The BOX features a grinning CARTOON PANDA mascot,

FEINGOLD:

(still studying screen)

Your brother was a client with our

London branch. We do a sort of

informal scoring. His numbers were

outstanding.

(holds up box)

Sure you're not hungry at all... ?

Tung Hoy, best in Chinatown...

NICHOLAS:

No, thank you.

FEINGOLD:

(eating, mouth full)

You need to fill out those forms.

Application, psych-tests: M.M.P.I.

and T.A.T. For the financial

questionnaire, don't answer anything

you don't feel like. We'll run a

T.R.W....

Nicholas looks through the densely written forms.

NICHOLAS:

(reading FORM)

"I sometimes hurt small animals.

True or False?" "I feel guilty when

I masturbate..."

Nocholas looks up, skeptical. Feingold shrugs, embarrassed.

FEINGOLD:

I don't write the questions. I just

review them.

NICHOLAS:

What's all this for?

FEINGOLD:

We want a sense of your overall

capabilities, limitations, turn-ons,

turn-offs...

NICHOLAS:

No, I mean, what is it FOR? What

are you selling?

FEINGOLD:

Oh... it's a game.

NICHOLAS:

A game?

FEINGOLD:

Tailored specifically to each

participant. Think of it as a great

vacation, except you don't go to it,

it comes to you.

NICHOLAS:

What kind of vacation?

FEINGOLD:

It's different every time.

NICHOLAS:

(patience waning)

Humor me with specifics.

FEINGOLD:

We provide whatever's lacking.

NICHOLAS:

And if nothing's lacking?

FEINGOLD:

May I make two suggestions... ?

NICHOLAS:

Do you really expect me to

participate without knowing a single

thing?

FEINGOLD:

First, admit to yourself that it

sounds intriguing. Second, you don't

have to decide today. Take the silly

tests, fill out the forms. One day,

the game begins. You either love it

or hate it. Decide then. We're like

an experimental Book-of-the-Month-

Club; drop out at any time with no

further obligation.

(smiles)

That was my sales pitch.

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