The Game Page #4

Nicholas thumbs thru the forms one last time...

NICHOLAS:

How long will these take?

FEINGOLD:

An hour for those... maybe another

for the physical.

NICHOLAS:

Physical?

FEINGOLD:

Cursory examination. Turn-your-head-

and-cough sort of thing. You'll be

out of here in no time.

Feingold takes out a ballpoint pen, clicks it and offers it

to Nicholas. Nicholas takes it.

On the pen, in tiny letters: the C.R.S. LOGO.

CUT TO:

TESTING MONTAGE -- VARIOUS C.R.S. OFFICES -- DAY

- Nicholas fills out an APPLICATION of endless questions.

- A #2 pencil fills in circles on a long M.M.P.I. form.

CLOSE ON:
"I often feel someone is following me.

True/False." "I hate vegetables. True/False." "Vegetables

hate me. True/False."

- WHITE ROOM. A stone-faced PSYCHOLOGIST holds up CARDS.

Nicholas gives his unenthusiastic interpretation into a TAPE

RECORDER, checks his Rolex.

One CARD shows a large ant in an apron feeding a TV dinner

to a human child. That card is replaced by another of a man

slipping head over heels on a banana peel.

- Nicholas wears HEADPHONES, facing a TECHNICIAN, raising a

finger on his left fist or right fist for each low BEEP.

Nicholas sighs, can't believe he's doing this.

INT. C.R.S. OFFICES, EXAM ROOM -- MONTAGE CONTINUES

Electronic MONITORS and PRINTERS record Nicholas' EEG and

EKG. He's on an exam table, wearing a paper gown, covered

in SENSORS and WIRES, talking on a C.R.S. telephone.

NICHOLAS:

(into phone)

... cancel. Push Cooper back to

Wednesday afternoon.

A TECHNICIAN studies readouts. A NURSE takes BLOOD PRESSURE.

MARIA (v.o.)

(from phone)

Mister Sutherland called about

Baer/Grant Publishing.

NICHOLAS:

(into phone)

Tomorrow. Hold on...

(to NURSE)

How much longer?

NURSE:

Almost done.

NICHOLAS:

I heard that two hours ago.

The nurse smiles, pumping up the blood-pressure cuff.

Nicholas returns to the phone.

- DARK ROOM. Images FLASH on a screen: SHAPES, CURSE WORDS,

PICTURES of U.S. PRESIDENTS, INSECTS...

In flickering light, Nicholas, still in his gown, watches

with THREE BUTTONS before him, pushing one from time to

time. Frustrated, he looks around. He stands and turns...

Directly into the projector's bright BEAM OF LIGHT.

NICHOLAS:

Hello... ? Anyone there?

(squints, holds up hand)

Hello?!

CUT TO:

INT. C.R.S. OFFICES, EXAM ROOM -- DAY

Nicholas dresses, alone, pulling up his pants. He notices

above:
a MIRRORED DOME in the corner, obviously a camera.

Nicholas pulls on his jacket as Feingold arrives.

FEINGOLD:

Sorry to keep you waiting.

NICHOLAS:

Don't worry. It's been terrific

spending the entire day with your

"crack team".

FEINGOLD:

It's all down to this...

Feingold holds out a CLIPBOARD with PAPERWORK in it.

Nicholas takes it, studies it, wary.

FEINGOLD:

An insurance company requirement. It

states that you are aware "the game"

exists and that you are a willing

participant in said game, so on and

so forth.

Nicholas flips a page and Feingold leans over, pointing.

FEINGOLD:

(of the paperwork)

One guarantee. Payment's entirely at

your brother's discretion and, as a

gift, dependent on your satisfaction.

NICHOLAS:

(still reading)

You mean, I don't like it, he doesn't

pay?

FEINGOLD:

It's never happened. We've never had

an unsatisfied customer.

NICHOLAS:

You mean, dissatisfied.

FEINGOLD:

(glances at form)

That's right -- you're a left-brain

word fetishist.

Nicholas uses the C.R.S. pen to sign. Feingold turns pages.

FEINGOLD:

Initials... initials, and...

(another page)

Sign here.

Nicholas is about to sign when Feingold grabs his wrist...

FEINGOLD:

In blood.

(laughs)

Just kidding.

Nicholas signs. Feingold tears out a few PINK TINTED COPIES

and hands them to Nicholas, kind of in a hurry now.

FEINGOLD:

Your copies, thank you. Keep the

pen. We'll let you know.

Feingold exits, gives a thumbs-up and a WINK, shuts the

door. Nicholas is a bit bewildered. He continues dressing.

NICHOLAS:

(muttering to self)

... grown man just winked at me.

INT. ATHLETIC CLUB, RACQUETBALL COURT -- NIGHT

WHAM! -- a blue racquetball BALL SLAMS a wall...

THRU A WINDOW:
Nicholas plays, alone, sawtting violently at

the ball. We HEAR a PHONE CONVERSATION in VOICE OVER:

CONRAD (v.o.)

What about Monday or Tuesday?

NICHOLAS (v.o.)

Bad for me.

CONRAD (v.o.)

How 'bout tonight?

NICHOLAS (v.o.)

Unfortunately I'm working all

evening. Wednesday's the only

possibility right now...

CONRAD (v.o.)

Okay.

NICHOLAS (v.o.)

Dinner?

CONRAD (v.o.)

Fine. I get to pick the restaurant.

NICHOLAS (v.o.)

By the way, I went to C.R.S...

CONRAD (v.o.)

Really? What'd you think?

NICHOLAS (v.o.)

They seemed disorganized.

Nicholas finishes playing, exits. The ball keeps bouncing.

CONRAD (v.o.)

Well, the office is new. When I did

it in London, they'd been around

awhile. You gonna do this?

NICHOLAS (v.o.)

Haven't decided yet.

CUT TO:

INT. ATHLETIC CLUB, LOCKER ROOM -- NIGHT

Carpeted floors and mahogany lockers. Nicholas sits at his

locker, wet, in a monogrammed robe, toweling his hair.

VOICES can be HEARD O.S.: BUSINESSMAN 1 and BUSINESSMAN 2.

BUSINESSMAN 1 (o.s.)

... getting in on the ground floor of

the next Disneyland.

BUSINESSMAN 2 (o.s.)

C.R.S. will not go public. They're

family owned.

BUSINESSMAN 1 (o.s.)

Stranger things have happened.

BUSINESSMAN 2 (o.s.)

No, they haven't, actually.

Nicholas leans to look around a locker. Businessman 1 and 2

dress, two fat-cats. Nicholas leans back, still listening.

BUSINESSMAN 1 (o.s.)

They just opened here.

BUSINESSMAN 2 (o.s.)

The game in San Francisco? You see,

they're doing fine without any of us.

INT. ATHLETIC CLUB, LOUNGE/BAR -- NIGHT

Nicholas enters, looking around, spotting Businessman 1 and

2 across the room. He gets the BARTENDER'S attention,

motioning to the businessmen.

NICHOLAS:

New members?

BARTENDER:

I believe so, sir.

NICHOLAS:

This round's on me.

Nicholas moves casually toward the men...

INT. ATHLETIC CLUB, BAR/LOUNGE -- TIME CUT

LATER. Another round arrives at the table where Nicholas

and Businessman 1 and 2 chat. The businessmen smoke cigars.

BUSINESSMAN 1

... last time I played Pebble, I

swore I'd never pick up a club again.

NICHOLAS:

Speaking of games... I couldn't help

but overhear you talking about C.R.S.

Businessman 1 and 2 share a furtive glance. Nicholas

discretely waves cigar smoke out of his face.

NICHOLAS:

I only mention it because I took the

test this afternoon, down on

Montgomery Street.

BUSINESSMAN 2

Did you? Kudos.

BUSINESSMAN 1

So, yours hasn't started?

NICHOLAS:

Not yet. I was hoping you could tell

me... uh...

(almost embarrassed)

What is it?

Businessman 1 and 2 smile. Shared enlightenment.

BUSINESSMAN 1

(to Businessman 2,

knowingly)

Ahh, what is it?

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