American Psycho (2000) - Plot Summary Poster


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  • A wealthy New York City investment banking executive, Patrick Bateman, hides his alternate psychopathic ego from his co-workers and friends as he delves deeper into his violent, hedonistic fantasies.

  • Patrick Bateman is handsome, well educated and intelligent. He is twenty-seven and living his own American dream. He works by day on Wall Street, earning a fortune to complement the one he was born with. At night he descends into madness, as he experiments with fear and violence.


The synopsis below may give away important plot points.


  • A white background. Red drops begin to fall past the opening credits. The drops become a red sauce on a plate. A slab of meat is cut with a knife and garnished with raspberries, then placed on a table. The camera moves over various dishes, most of which are very small and look very expensive. The restaurant is furnished in pinks and greens, and everyone is well-dressed. Waiters tell customers ridiculously decadent specials like squid ravioli and swordfish meatloaf.

    The setting is New York City, sometime in the 1980s. The vice-presidents of Pierce and Pierce, a Wall Street financial institution, are seated around a table. They include Timothy Bryce (Justin Theroux), Craig McDermott (Josh Lucas), David Van Paten (Bill Sage) and Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale). Bryce says "This is a chick's restaurant. Why aren't we at Dorsia?" McDermott replies "Because Bateman won't give the maitre d' head." Bateman flicks a toothpick at him. They discuss various people in the restaurant, including who Bateman believes to be Paul Allen across the room. Van Paten returns from the bathroom and says that there's no good place to do coke in. They discuss the fact that Allen is handling the Fisher account, which leads McDermott to make racist remarks about Allen being Jewish. "Jesus, McDermott, what does that have to do with anything?" says Patrick. "I've seen that bastard sitting in his office spinning a fucking menorah." Bateman rebukes him. "Not a menorah. A dreidel, you spin a dreidel." McDermott replies "Do you want me to fry you up some potato pancakes? Some latkes?" "No, just cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks." "Oh I forgot. Bateman's dating someone from the ACLU!" Bryce calls Bateman the voice of reason. Looking at the check he remarks "Speaking of reasonable, only $570." They all drop their Platinum American Express cards on top of the bill.

    At a nightclub, Bryce takes some money out of a clip and gives it to a man in drag, who lets them inside. As some 80's pop music plays from overhead, the men dance while strobe lights flash and some women on stage wave around prop guns like something out of a grind house flick. Bateman orders a drink and hands the bartender a drink ticket, but she tells him drink tickets are no good and that he has to pay in cash. He pays, and then when she's out of earshot, he says "You're a fucking ugly bitch. I want to stab you to death, then play around with your blood." He takes his drink with a smile.

    The camera pans through Bateman's apartment the next morning. Everything is shades of white, with black counters and shelves. It is sparsely decorated, but looks expensive. "I live in the American Gardens building on West 81st street, on the 11th floor. My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 27 years old." He describes his diet and exercise routine, and his meticulous daily grooming rituals, which involves no less than 9 different lotions and cleansers. "There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman," he says while peeling off his herb-mint facial mask. "Some kind of abstraction. But there is no 'real me'. Only an entity. Something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there."

    Sweeping over the skyline of downtown New York, the song Walking on Sunshine starts playing. Walking down the hallway to his office, Bateman listens to this song on his headphones with absolutely no expression on his face. Someone passes by him and says "Hey Hamilton. Nice tan." Everyone in the hallway has expensive suits and slicked-back hair. He walks by his secretary, Jean (Chloe Sevigny), to his office door. She's dressed in a long coat and shirt that are too big for her. "Aerobics class, sorry. Any messages?" She follows him into his corner office. She tells him someone cancelled, but she doesn't know what he cancelled or why. "I occasionally box with him at the Harvard Club." She tells him someone named Spencer wants to meet for drinks. He tells her to cancel it. "What should I say?" "Just say no." He tells her to make reservations for him at a restaurant for lunch, as well as dinner reservations at Arcadia on Thursday. "Something romantic?" "No, silly. Forget it. I'll make them. Just get me a mineral water." She tells him he looks nice. Without looking at her, he tells her not to wear that outfit. "Wear a dress or a skirt. You're prettier than that." The phone starts ringing, and he tells her to tell anyone who calls that he isn't there. "And high heels." She leaves. He puts his feet up and starts watching Jeopardy on his office TV.

    A taxicab makes its way through Chinatown. Inside, Bateman is trying to listen to the new Robert Palmer album on his headphones, but his "supposed" fiancée Evelyn (Reese Witherspoon) keeps distracting him with ideas for their wedding. He says he can't take the time off work to get married. "Your father practically owns the company. You can do anything you like, silly. You hate that job anyway, I don't see why you don't just quit." "Because... I want... to fit... IN." The cab drives up to a restaurant called Espace. "I'm on the verge of tears as we arrive, since I'm positive we won't have a decent table. But we do, and relief washes over me, in an awesome wave." Bryce it already seated next to two punk-rock teens smoking cigarettes. "This is my cousin Vanden and her boyfriend Stash," says Evelyn. Bryce kisses Evelyn on both cheeks, and then starts kissing her neck, slightly crossing the line. Bateman looks at his blurry reflection in a metal menu. As they eat sushi, he remarks "I'm fairly certain that Timothy Bryce and Evelyn are having an affair. Timothy is the only interesting person I know." Bateman doesn't care because he's also having an affair with Courtney Rawlinson, her best friend. "She's usually operating on one or more psychiatric drugs, tonight I believe it's Xanax." She's also engaged to Luis Carruthers, "the biggest doofus in the business." Courtney and Luis are seated beside him, and Courtney, slurring her words, asks Stash whether he thinks Soho is becoming too commercial. "Yes. I read that," says Luis. "Oh who gives a rat's ass," says Bryce. "That affects us," says Vanden. "What about the massacres in Sri Lanka, honey? Don't you know that the Sikhs are killing like, tons of Israelis over there?" Bateman tells him there are more important problems to worry about than Sri Lanka. He tells them they include Apartheid, nuclear arms, terrorism, and world hunger. "We have to provide food and shelter for the homeless, and oppose racial discrimination and promote civil rights, while also promoting equal right for women. We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values. Most importantly, we have to promote general social concern, and less materialism in young people." Bryce almost chokes on his drink as he starts laughing. "Patrick, how thought-provoking," Luis says, feigning tears. Patrick takes a swig of his whiskey.

    It's nighttime. Patrick takes some money out of an ATM. A woman walks by and he starts following her. They stop at a crosswalk and he says "hello". She hesitantly says hello back. The sign changes to walk and they cross the street.

    The next day, Bateman argues with an old Chinese woman who runs a dry cleaners. Another Chinese man is looking at some bed sheets with a huge red stain on them. Bateman is trying to tell her that you can't bleach that type of sheet, and that they are very expensive. She continues to babble in a language he can't understand. "Lady, if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I will kill you." She is shocked, but still won't speak English. "I can't understand you! You're a fool! Stupid bitch-ee!" A woman comes in the door and recognizes him. Her name is Victoria. He says hi to her. "It's so silly to come all the way up here," she says, "but they really are the best." "Then why can't they get these stains out?" he says, showing her the sheets. "Can you get through to them? I'm getting nowhere." "What are those?" she says, looking wide-eyed at the stains. "Uh, well it's cranberry juice. Cran-apple." She looks skeptical. He tells her he has a lunch date in 15 minutes, and she tries to make plans with him. He tells her he's booked solid. "What about Saturday?" "Next Saturday? Can't. Matinee of Les Mis." He promises to call her, and then leaves.

    Patrick paces his apartment in his underwear, on the phone with Courtney Rawlinson (Samantha Mathis). A porno movie is playing on his TV. "You're dating Luis, he's in Arizona. You're fucking me and we haven't made plans. What could you possibly be up to tonight?" She says she's waiting for Luis to call. "Pumpkin you're dating an asshole. Pumpkin you're dating the biggest dickweed in New York. Pumpkin you're dating a tumbling, tumbling dickweed." She tells him to stop calling her pumpkin. He insists that they have dinner, and when she says no, he says he can get them a table at Dorsia. This perks her interest. He tells her to wear something nice. He calls the restaurant, and asks if he can make a reservation for two at 8:00 or 8:30. There is a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then the man on the other end starts laughing uncontrollably. Patrick hangs up.

    In a limo, Patrick listens to Courtney describe her day, while she is almost passing out from her medication. "Is that Donald Trump's car?" he asks, looking out the window. Patrick's face is blurred through the plastic divider of the limo. She tells him to shut up. He tells her to take some more lithium, or coke or caffeine to get her out of her slump. "I just want a child," she says, absently looking out the window. "Just two... perfect... children."

    At the restaurant, she nearly falls asleep at the table and Patrick touches her shoulder and wakes her up. "Are we here?" she asks sleepily. "Yeah," he says, sitting down. "This is Dorsia?" "Yes dear," he says, opening the menu which clearly says Barcadia across it. He tells her she's going to have the peanut butter soup with smoked duck and mashed squash. "New York Matinee called it a 'playful but mysterious little dish. You'll love it." He orders her the red snapper with violets and pine nuts to follow. She thanks him, and then passes out in her chair.

    A conference table at P&P the next day. Luis thanks Patrick for looking after Courtney. "Dorsia, how impressive. How on Earth did you get a reservation there?" "Lucky I guess," replies Patrick. Luis compliments him on his suit. "Valentino Couture?" "Uh-huh." Luis tries to touch it, but Patrick slaps his hand away. "Your compliment was sufficient Luis." Paul Allen comes up to them. "Hello Halberstram. Nice tie. How the hell are ya?" Narrating, Patrick explains that Allen has mistaken him for "this dickhead Marcus Halberstram." They both work at P&P and do the same exact work, and wear the same glasses and suits. "Marcus and I even go to the same barber. Although I have a slightly better haircut." Allen and Patrick discuss accounts. He asks him about Cecilia, Marcus' girlfriend. "She's great, I'm very lucky," replies Patrick. Bryce and McDermott come in, congratulating Allen on the Fisher account. "Thank you, Baxter." Bryce asks him if he wants to play squash. Allen gives him his card out of his case. An audible tremor goes through the room. "Call me." "How about Friday?" says Bryce. "No can do. I got an 8:30 rez at Dorsia. Great sea urchin seviche." He leaves. Bryce wonders how he managed to swing that. McDermott thinks he's lying. Bateman takes out his new business card, which reads "Patrick BATEMAN - Vice President". "What do you think?" "Very nice," says McDermott. "I picked them up from the printers yesterday." "Nice coloring," says Bryce. "That's 'bone'. And the lettering is something called 'silian rail'." "Cool Bateman. But that's nothing," says Van Paten, laying his card down next to Patrick's. "That is really nice," says Bryce. "Eggshell with romalian type. What do you think?" Van Paten asks Patrick. "Nice," Patrick says, visibly jealous. "How did a nitwit like you get so tasteful?" says Bryce. Biting his nails, Patrick can't believe Bryce prefers Van Paten's card. "You ain't seen nothing yet," says Bryce, taking out his own card. "Raised lettering, pale nimbus, white." Another tremor goes through the room. Holding back his rage, Bateman tells him it's very nice. "Let's see Paul Allen's card." Bryce takes it out of his pocket and hands it to Bateman. It shines with an ethereal glow in the dim light of the conference room, even though it is basically identical to the rest of their cards. Narrating, Patrick says "Look at the subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh my God. It even has a watermark!" He drops the card on the table. "Something wrong?" asks Luis. "Patrick? You're sweating."

    Nighttime. Patrick walks by a courthouse on his way home. Steam rises from underground vents. He walks through an alley, a black shadow under a pale streetlight. He stops and looks behind him, to see a homeless man by some piles of trash. "Hello. Pat Bateman. Do you want some money? Some food?" He starts taking out some money. "I'm hungry," says the bum. "It's cold out too isn't it? If you're so hungry, why don't you get a job?" The bum says he lost his job. "Why? Were you drinking? Insider trading? Just joking." He asks him his name, and the bum says his name is Al. "Get a god-damn job, Al! You have a negative attitude. That's what's stopping you." He promises to help him get his act together. Al tells him he's a kind man. He puts his hand on Patrick's arm, and Patrick pulls it off, visibly disgusted. "You know how bad you smell? You reek of shit. You know that?" He laughs, and then apologizes. "I don't have anything in common with you." He bends down and opens his briefcase. "Oh thank you mister, thank you. It's cold out here..." "You know what a fucking loser you are?" Patrick suddenly takes a knife out of the briefcase and stabs the bum three times in the stomach, than pushes the shocked man to the ground. The dog barks at Patrick, so he stomps it with his foot, hard enough to kill it. He picks up his briefcase and walks away down the alley.

    A health spa. A young Asian woman rubs some lotion on Patrick's face. She compliments him on his smooth skin. Later, another Asian woman gives him a manicure. "I have all the characteristics of a human being. Flesh. Blood. Skin. Hair. But not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed, and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside me, and I don't know why." He is lying in a tanning bed now. "My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip."

    A Christmas party. A short man in an elf costume hands out glasses of champagne. 'Deck The Halls' is playing in the background. Patrick takes one, scowling at the bizarre costumes. Someone comes up to him and calls him by the wrong name. "Hey Hamilton. Have a holly-jolly Christmas," says Patrick. "Is Allen still handling the Fisher account?" He points to Paul Allen across the room. "Of course. Who else?" Evelyn comes up to them. "Mistletoe alert! Merry X-mas Patrick. You're late honey." "I've been here the entire time, you just didn't see me." A man behind him puts cloth antlers on Patrick's head without him noticing. "Say hello to Snowball. Snowball says 'hello Patrick'", she says in a childish voice. "What is it?" Patrick looks with disgust at the creature in her arms. "It's a little baby piggy-wiggy, isn't it? It's a Vietnamese potbellied pig. They make darling pets. Don't you? Don't you?" Patrick looks ready to vomit as she pets the animal. "Stop scowling Patrick. You're such a Grinch. What does Mr. Grinch want for Christmas? And don't say breast implants again." Ignoring her, he goes to mingle with the rest of the party. 'Joy to the World' is playing. He says hi to Paul Allen. "Hey Marcus. Merry Christmas, how've you been. Workaholic I suppose?" He calls to Hamilton that they are going to Nell's bar, and that the limo is out front. Patrick says that they should have dinner. Paul suggests that he bring Cecilia. "Cecilia would adore it." "Then let's do it, Marcus." Evelyn comes up to them. Paul compliments her on the party, and then walks away. "Why is he calling you Marcus?" asks Evelyn. Ignoring this, Patrick says "Mistletoe alert!", and kisses her while waving a leafy branch.

    A restaurant. Most of the tables are empty. Patrick takes his reservation under the name Marcus Halberstram. He is led to a table where Paul is already seated, and he is arguing with a waiter. "I ordered the cilantro crawfish gumbo, which is of course the only excuse one could have for being at this restaurant, which is, by the way, almost completely empty." Patrick ignores this and orders a J&B straight and a Corona. The waiter, who looks slightly effeminate and has a red bandana around his neck, starts to list the specials, but Paul cuts him off and orders a double Absolut martini. "Yes sir. Would you like to hear the specials?" "Not if you want to keep your spleen," says Patrick. The waiter leaves. "This is a real beehive of activity Halberstram. This place is hot, very hot," Paul comments sarcastically. "The mud soup and charcoal arugula are outrageous here," replies Patrick. Paul derides him for being late. "I'm a child of divorce, give me a break. I see they've omitted the pork loin with lime Jell-o." Paul says he could have gotten them a table at Dorsia instead. "Nobody goes there anymore. Is that Ivana Trump?" Patrick says, looking behind him. "Oh geez Patrick. I mean Marcus. What are you thinking? Why would Ivana be at Texarkana?" He asks how Paul ended up getting the Fisher account. "Well I could tell you that Halberstram... but then I'd have to kill ya!" He laughs. Patrick simply stares at him with a vicious smile.

    They pick at their meals. Patrick says "I like to dissect girls. Did you know I'm utterly insane?" Paul doesn't seem to hear him. He compliments him on his tan. When Patrick says he goes to a salon, Paul says he has a tanning bed at home. "You should look into it." Patrick can barely suppress his rage. Paul asks about Cecilia. "I think she's having dinner with Evelyn Williams." "Evelyn! Great ass. She goes out with that loser Patrick Bateman, what a dork!" Patrick chuckles with inner contempt. "Another martini Paul?"

    Patrick's apartment. Paul lounges drunk on a chair with a bottle of liquor on the floor beside him. Newspapers are taped to the floor of the living room. Patrick picks up a CD. "Do you like Huey Lewis and the News?" "They're OK," says Paul. Patrick continues "Their early work was a little too new wave for my tastes, but when 'Sports' came out in '83, I think they really came into their own. Commercially and artistically." He goes to the bathroom and puts on a raincoat. "The whole album has a clear crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism, that really gives the songs a big boost!" He takes a valium, washes it down, looks at himself in the mirror, and walks back into the living room. On his way back he grabs an axe. Moonwalking backwards, he says that Huey has been compared to Elvis Costello, but that Huey has a more cynical sense of humor. He puts the axe down and starts buttoning up the raincoat behind Paul. "Hey Halberstram," says Paul. "Why are there copies of the Style section all over the floor? Do you have a dog? A little chow or something?" He laughs. "No Allen." "Is that a raincoat?" "Yes it is!" He goes over to the CD player and presses a button. The song 'Hip to Be Square' starts playing. "In '87, Huey released this, Fore, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is 'Hip to Be Square'." He dances over to the kitchen where he left the axe. "The song is so catchy, most people probably don't listen to the lyrics, but they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself! Hey Paul!" Paul looks around too late to see Patrick charge at him with the axe. Screaming, he swings it into Paul's head splattering blood all over his own face. Paul falls to the floor, pouring blood all over the newspapers. Patrick yells "Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now you fucking stupid bastard!" He swings it down again, and again, screaming, decapitating him. "You... fucking... bastard!" He finally drops the axe and begins composing himself. He takes off the raincoat. He fixes his hair and lights up a cigar. 'Hip to Be Square' continues to play from the stereo.

    Patrick drags the body through the lobby of his building in a black bag. A trail of blood pours from the bottom of the bag. The doorman looks up at him, and then goes back to writing something. Patrick hails a cab outside, and starts stuffing the bag into the trunk. A voice says his name from the sidewalk. It's Luis. "Patrick. Is that you?" "No Luis. It's not me. You're mistaken." He introduces Patrick to an attractive Asian woman. "We're going to Nell's. Gwendolyn's father is buying it. Ooh. Where did you get that overnight bag?" He eyes the bag with the corpse inside it. "Jean-Paul Gaultier." Patrick slams the trunk and heads off.

    Later, he arrives at Paul's apartment. "I almost panic when I realize that Paul's place overlooks the park, and is obviously more expensive than mine." He finds his suitcases and starts to pack. "It's time for Paul to take a little trip." He throws some clothes in a suitcase, and then goes to the answering machine. In his best imitation of Paul's voice, he records "It's Paul. I've been called away to London for a few days. Meredith, I'll call you when I get back. Hasta la vista, baby." He takes the suitcase and leaves.

    In his office the next day, Patrick listens to the song 'The Lady in Red' by Chris De Burgh on his headphones. Jean comes in and tells him that there's someone named Donald Kimball there to see him. "Who?" "Detective Donald Kimball." He looks through the office window. "Tell him I'm at lunch." "Patrick, it's only 10:30. I think he knows you're here." "Send him in, I guess," he says resignedly. Jean goes to get him. Patrick picks up the phone and starts having a pretend conversation with someone, giving him advice on clothes and salons. "Always tip the stylist fifteen percent. Listen John I've gotta go. T. Boone Pickens just walked in. Heh, just joking. No, don't tip the owner of the salon. Right. Got it." He hangs up and apologizes to Kimball. "No I'm sorry, I should have made an appointment. Was that anything important?" Patrick gives a vague synopsis of the call. "Mulling over business problems, examining opportunities, exchanging rumors, spreading gossip." They introduce themselves to each other and shake hands. Kimball apologizes again for barging in. Patrick stuffs some magazines and his walkman into a desk drawer. "So, what's the topic of discussion?" Kimball explains that Meredith hired him to investigate the disappearance of Paul Allen. "I just have some basic questions." Patrick offers him coffee, which he turns down. He offers him a bottle of water, which he also turns down. Bateman presses the intercom button anyways and tells Jean to bring some water. "It's no problem." He asks what the topic of discussion is again, and Kimball repeats he's investigating the disappearance of Paul Allen. Jean comes in with a bottle, and Patrick quickly puts a coaster down before she can put it on the desk. He tells Kimball he hasn't heard anything. "I think his family wants this kept quiet." "Understandable. Lime?" offers Bateman. Kimball insists he's ok. He asks Patrick his age, where he went to school, and his address, the American Gardens building, which Kimball says is very nice. "Thanks," Patrick says smugly. Kimball asks what he knew about Paul Allen. "I'm at a loss. He was part of that whole Yale thing." Kimball asks him what he means. "Well I think for one that he was probably a closet homosexual who did a lot of cocaine. That Yale thing." Kimball asks what kind of person Paul was. "I hope I'm not being cross-examined here." "You feel like that?" "No. Not really." Kimball asks where Paul hung out. Patrick names some places including a yacht club. "He had a yacht?" "No, he just hung out there." "And where did he go to school?" "Don't you know this?" "I just wanted to know if you know." Patrick tells him St. Paul's, then says he just wants to help. "I understand." Patrick asks if he has any witnesses or fingerprints. Kimball tells him about the message on the answering machine, and that Meredith doesn't think he went to London. "Has anyone seen him in London?" "Actually, yes. But I'm having a hard time getting actual verification." He tells him that someone thought they saw Paul there but mistook someone else for him. Patrick asks whether the apartment had been burglarized. Kimball tells him about the missing luggage. Patrick asks whether the police had become involved yet, but Kimball says no. "Basically, no-one's seen or heard anything. It's just strange. One day someone's walking around, going to work, alive, and then..." "Nothing." "People just disappear," says Kimball with a sigh. Bateman says "The earth just... opens up and swallows them." "Eerie. Really eerie." Bateman excuses himself by telling Kimball he has a lunch appointment with Cliff Huxtable at the Four Seasons in 20 minutes. "The Four Seasons? Isn't that a little far up town? I mean, aren't you going to be late?" "No, there's one down here." Patrick promises to call him if he hears anything, and shows him the door.

    Patrick does stomach crunches while watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and then does some jump-rope.

    Nighttime. A seedy part of town. A blonde woman in a blue coat, a hooker, stands in front of a warehouse on a street corner. She has a face that says she's been hooker for too long. A limousine drives up. Patrick rolls the window down as the car stops in front of her. "I haven't seen you around here," he tells her. "Well you just haven't been looking." "Would you like to see my apartment?" She is reluctant. He holds out some money and asks again. "I'm not supposed to, but I can make an exception," she says, taking the money. "Do you take a credit card? Just joking." He opens the door and invites her in. The car drives away.

    Patrick makes a phone call on a large cordless phone. "I'd like a girl, early 20's, blonde, who does couples. And I really can't stress blonde enough. Blonde." He hangs up. He tells her his name is Paul Allen, and that he's going to call her Christie. "You'll respond only to Christie, is that clear?" She nods.

    Patrick's apartment. Patrick pours some mineral water into a bathtub, where Christie is bathing and drinking champagne. "That's a very fine chardonnay you're drinking." The song 'If You Don't Know Me by Now' is playing in the background. Patrick is dressed in a suit and bow tie. "I want you to clean your vagina," he tells her. She puts down the champagne and picks up a bath sponge. "From behind. Get on your knees." He tells her she has a nice body, playfully splashing her with water. The phone rings. It's the second girl in the lobby downstairs. He tells the doorman to send her up. He tells Christie to dry off and choose a robe, then come to the living room.

    He opens the door for the second girl, and takes her coat. "I'm Paul. Not quite blonde, are you? More like dirty blonde. I'm going to call you Sabrina. I'm Paul Allen." He asks both girls if they want to know what he does for a living. They both say no, lewdly. "Well, I work on Wall Street. At Pierce and Pierce. Have you heard of it?" Sabrina shakes her head, and Patrick clenches his jaw. "You have a really nice place here Paul," says Christie. "How much did you pay for it?" "Well actually Christie, that's none of your business. But I can assure you, it certainly wasn't cheap." Sabrina starts to take out a cigarette. "No! No smoking in here." He offers them chocolate truffles. "I don't want to get you drunk, but uh, that's a very fine chardonnay you're not drinking." He goes over to the stereo and puts on a Phil Collins CD. "I've been a big Genesis fan ever since the release of their 1980 album, 'Duke'. Before that, I really didn't understand any of their work. It was too artsy. Too intellectual. It was on Duke where Phil Collin's presence became more apparent." He goes and stands in the doorway of the bedroom, invitingly. "I think Invisible Touch is the group's undisputed masterpiece." The girls follow him into the bedroom. "It's an epic meditation on intangibility. At the same time it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding three albums." He tells Christie to take off the robe, which she does. "Listen to the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks, Collins and Rutherford. You can practically hear every nuance of each instrument," he says, setting up a video camera on a tripod. He tells Sabrina to remove her dress. "In terms of lyrical craftsmanship, and sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism. Sabrina, why don't you dance a little? Take the lyrics to 'Land of Confusion'. In this song, Phil Collins addresses the abuse of political authority. 'In Too Deep' is the most moving pop song of the 1980s," he continues, wrapping a scarf around Christie's neck while Sabrina dances in her lingerie. "About monogamy and commitment. The song is extremely uplifting. Their lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I've heard in rock." He turns the camera on and points it towards the bed. "Christie, get down on your knees so Sabrina can see your asshole. Phil Collin's solo career seems to be more commercial, and therefore more satisfying in a narrower way. Especially songs like 'In the Air Tonight' and 'Against All Odds'. Sabrina, don't just stare at it, eat it. But I also think Phil Collins works better within the confines of the group than as a solo artist. And I stress the word 'artist'." He goes to the stereo and switches CDs. "This is 'Sussudio', a great, great song. A personal favorite." He walks back to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt.

    He has sex with both women at once. He flexes his muscles and admires himself in the mirror while doing them doggy-style. He makes them look into the camera. They do oral sex, then missionary. Patrick flexes his muscles in the mirror again. Christie rolls her eyes. They do more doggy-style.

    Patrick sleeps with a woman on either side of him. He awakens some time later. Christie's arm touches his. "Don't touch the watch." He gets up and goes over to the dresser. The women get up and start to dress. He opens a drawer to reveal a collection of scissors, carving tools and other sharp objects. He takes out a coat hanger. "Can we go now?" asks Christie. "We're not through yet."

    Some time later, he pays them and shows them the door. They take the money quickly and appear to be in tears. Sabrina's nose is bleeding. They leave and he closes the door behind them.

    McDermott, Van Paten and Bateman are seated in a bar lounge with drinks in front of them, discussing women. "If they have a good personality and they are not great looking, who fucking cares?" says McDermott. "Well let's just say hypothetically, what if they have a good personality?" replies Bateman. There is a moment of silence, and then all three men burst out laughing. "There are no girls with good personalities!" they say in unison, high-fiving each other. Van Paten says "A good personality consists of a chick with a little hard body who will satisfy all sexual demands without being too slutty about things, and who will essentially keep her dumb fucking mouth shut." McDermott continues: "The only girls with good personalities who are smart or maybe funny or halfway intelligent or talented, though god knows what the fuck that means, are ugly chicks." Van Paten agrees. "And this is because they have to make up for how fucking unattractive they are." Bateman asks them if they know what Ed Gein said about women. Van Paten: "Ed Gein? Maitre d' at Canal Bar?" "No. Serial killer. Wisconsin. The 50's." "What did Ed say?" "He said 'When I see a pretty girl walking down the street, I think two things. One part wants me to take her out, talk to her, be real nice and sweet and treat her right.'" McDermott: "And what did the other part of him think?" "What her head would look like on a stick!" Bateman laughs heartily, but Van Paten and McDermott just look at each other nervously. Luis comes up to their table and says hello. He takes out his new business card and asks their opinion on it. It is a nice looking card with gold lettering. Van Paten says it looks nice. McDermott is uninterested. Bateman swallows as a dramatic crescendo of music starts. Luis leaves and walks up the stairs. Bateman watches him go and Luis gives him look back over his shoulder. Van Paten asks about dinner. "Is that all you ever have to contribute?" snaps Bateman. "Fucking dinner?" McDermott tells him to cheer up. "What's the matter? No shiatsu this morning?" Bateman pushes his hand away as he tries to touch his shoulder. "Do that again and you'll draw back a stub." McDermott tells him "Hang on there little buddy," but Bateman stands up and goes up the stairs behind Luis.

    Putting on his leather gloves, he enters a bathroom with nice wallpaper and gold mirrors. He slowly walks up behind Luis who is using a urinal. Hands shaking, he slowly puts his fingers around Luis' neck. Luis turns around, looks at Patrick's hands, takes off one of his gloves, and plants a kiss on the back of his hand. "God. Patrick, why here?" Patrick is too shocked to say anything and he can't bring himself to kill Luis. "I've seen you looking at me. I've noticed your... hot body," Luis says, rubbing a finger over Patrick's mouth. "Don't be shy. You can't imagine how long I've wanted this, ever since that Christmas party at Arizona 206. You know the one where you were wearing that red striped paisley Armani tie..." Patrick walks over to the sink in a daze and starts washing his hands, with his gloves still on. He looks like he's about to cry. Luis walks up behind him. "I want you. I want you too!" Patrick starts walking towards the door. "Patrick?" "WHAT IS IT?" he yells. "Where are you going?" "I've got to return some videotapes."

    He rushes down the stairs. He runs into a man holding a tray of glasses. Looking up the stairs, he sees Luis make a 'call me' gesture with his hand. He leaves without saying a word to McDermott or Van Paten.

    Patrick walks down the hall to his office. He stops. Kimball is leaning over Jean's desk, talking to her about any reservations Paul Allen might have made. "I've been wanting to talk with you, come into my office," Patrick says, shaking his hand. "Jean. Great jacket. Matsuda?"

    Inside his office. "Do you remember where you were the night of Paul's disappearance?" asks Kimball. "Which was on the 20th of December." "God. I guess I was probably returning videotapes." He looks at his datebook. "I had a date with a girl named Veronica." "That's not what I've got," says Kimball. "What?" "That's not the information I've received." "What information have you received? I could be wrong." "When was the last time you were with Paul Allen?" "We'd gone to a new musical called 'Oh Africa, Brave Africa'. It was laugh riot. That was about it. I think we had dinner. I hope I've been informative. Long day. I'm a bit scattered." "I'm a bit scattered too. How about lunch in a week or so, when I've sorted out all of this information?" Patrick says okay. Kimball asks him to sort out exactly where he was on the night of the disappearance. "Absolutely. I'm with you on that one." Kimball takes a CD out of his briefcase. "Huey Lewis and the News! Great stuff! I just bought it on my way over here! Have you heard it?" Patrick is stunned, and terrified of possibly becoming friends with this man. "Never. I mean I don't really like singers." "Not a big music fan, huh?" "No I like music, just they're... Huey's too black sounding for me." "To each his own." Kimball closes his briefcase. "So, lunch next week?" "I'll be there."

    Patrick and Courtney are having sex. Patrick orgasms, then rolls off her. He pulls a stuffed black cat from underneath himself, putting it on Courtney's lap. He gets off the bed and starts getting dressed in front of a mirror. "Will you call me before Easter?" she asks. "Maybe." "What are you doing tonight?" "Dinner at uh, River Cafe." "That's nice," she says, lighting a cigarette. "I never knew you smoked." "You never noticed. Listen, Patrick, can we talk?" "You look... marvelous. There's nothing to say," he says, shutting her out. "You're going to marry Luis." "Isn't that special... Patrick? If I don't see you before Easter, have a nice one okay?" she asks, with a hint of depression in her voice. "You too." He starts to leave. "Patrick?" "Yeah?" "Nothing..." He leaves.

    A club. Androgynous men and women pack the dance floor. The song 'Pump up the Volume' is playing. Bryce is telling Bateman about STDs while in line to use private stalls for drugs. "There's this theory now that if you can catch the AIDS virus by having sex with someone who is infected, you can catch anything. Alzheimer's, muscular dystrophy, hemophilia, leukemia, diabetes, dyslexia!" "I'm not sure but I don't think dyslexia is a disease," says Bateman. "But who knows? They don't know that. Prove it." Bryce snorts some white powder. "Oh God. It's a fucking milligram of sweetener." Patrick sniffs some. "I want to get high off this, not sprinkle it on my fucking oatmeal." "It's definitely weak, but I have a feeling if we do enough of it we'll be okay," says Bateman. Someone leans over the divider. "Could you keep it down? I'm trying to do drugs!" "Fuck you!" says Bryce. Bateman tells him to calm down. "We'll do it anyway." "That is if the faggot in the next STALL thinks it's okay!" "Fuck you!" says the man. "Fuck YOU!" says Bryce. "Sorry dude. Steroids. Okay let's do it."

    A club balcony. The song 'What's On Your Mind' is playing. Three blonde women are seated across from Patrick. One of them asks where Craig went. Bryce tells them Gorbachev is downstairs and McDermott went to sign a peace treaty. "He's the one behind Glasnost." Bryce makes a 'he went to get cocaine' gesture to Bateman by tapping his nose. "I thought he was in mergers and acquisitions," she says. "You're not confused are you?" asks Bryce. "No, not really." Another woman says "Gorbachev is NOT downstairs." "Karen's right, Gorbachev is not down stairs. He's at Tunnel." Bateman tells one of the girls to ask him a question. "So what do you do?" "I'm into uh, well murders and executions mostly." "Do you like it?" "Well that depends, why?" "Well most guys I know, who work in mergers and acquisitions, really don't like it." He asks her where she works out.

    On the street, Patrick and the girl are talking. "You think I'm dumb don't you. You think all models are dumb." "No. I really don't." "That's okay. I don't mind. There's something sweet about you." They both get in the back of a cab. Somewhere a car alarm is going off.

    Patrick is lounging on the sofa in his office. He has sunglasses on. Between his fingers is a lock of blonde hair. Jean knocks on his door, and he quickly stuffs the hair into his shirt pocket. He picks up a paper and starts twirling a pen. She enters slowly, wearing a baggy brown coat and beige shirt. "Doin' the crossword?" she asks. Every line of the crossword is filled in with either 'meat' or 'bones'. She asks him if he needs any help, but he ignores her. She puts something on his desk. As she walks back to the door, he says "Jean, would you like to accompany me to dinner? That is, if you're not doing anything." She says she doesn't have any plans. He sits up and crosses his legs. "Well! Isn't this a coincidence. Listen, where should we go?" She says she doesn't care where. "How about anywhere you want?" he tells her. "I don't know Patrick, I can't make this decision." "Come on!" he says, chuckling and pointing his pen at her. "Where do you want to go? Anywhere you want, just say it, I can get us in anywhere." She thinks for a minute. "How about..." Patrick flips through his Zagat booklet. "Dorsia?" Patrick looks up. "So. Dorsia is where Jean wants to go." "I don't know, we'll go wherever you want to go." "Dorsia is fine." He picks up a phone and dials the restaurant. "Dorsia, yes?" says the man on the other end. Can you take two tonight at, oh, say nine o'clock?" "We're totally booked." "Really? That's great." "No I said we are totally booked!" "Two at nine? Perfect! See you then!" He hangs up. Jean gives him a quizzical look. "Yeah?" he asks, taking off his sunglasses. "You're... dressed okay." "You didn't give a name." "They know me," he lies. "Why don't you meet me at my place at 7:00 for drinks?" She smiles and starts to leave. "And Jean? You might want to change before we go out."

    Jean looks out the window of Patrick's place. A telescope is pointed out the window. She's dressed in a pretty green strapless dress. "Patrick it's so elegant. What a wonderful view." Patrick gets some frozen sorbet out of the fridge. Next to the sorbet is a severed head wrapped in plastic. "Jean, sorbet?" "Thanks Patrick. I'd love some." He gives it to her. "Do you want a bite?" "I'm on a diet, but thank you," he says. "No need to lose any weight. You're kidding right? You look great," she tells him. "Very fit." "You can always be thinner... look better." "Well, maybe we shouldn't go out to dinner. I don't want to ruin your willpower." "That's alright. I'm not very good at controlling it anyway." He goes over to a kitchen drawer and starts running his finger over some steak knives. "So, what do you want to do with your life? Just briefly summarize. And don't tell me you enjoy working with children." She tells him she'd like to travel and maybe go back to school. "I don't really know. I'm at a point in my life where there seems to be so many possibilities." Patrick runs his hand across some stainless steel meat cleavers on a triangular base. "I'm just so unsure." He asks her if she has a boyfriend. "No, not really." "Interesting." "Are you seeing anyone? I mean, seriously?" she asks. "Maybe. I don't know. Not really," he says with a smile. "Jean, do you feel, fulfilled? I mean, in your life?" "I guess I do. For a long time I was too focused on my work. But now I've really begun to think about changing myself, developing and growing." Patrick reaches into a closet and takes out some silver duct tape. "Growing. I'm glad you said that. Did you know that Ted Bundy's first dog, a collie, was named Lassie?" he laughs. "Who's Ted Bundy?" "Forget it." "What's that?" "Duct tape. I need it for... taping something." "Patrick, have you ever wanted to make someone happy?" She starts to put her spoon down on his coffee table. "No! Put it in the carton!" "Sorry." He takes something else out of the closet and walks behind her. She repeats her question. "I'm looking for uh..." He holds up a nail gun and points it at the back of her unsuspecting head. "I guess you could say I just want to have a meaningful relationship with someone special." His finger moves toward the trigger. The phone rings, and the answering machine picks it up. It's Evelyn. "Patrick... Patrick! I know you're there. Pick up the phone you bad boy. What are you up to tonight?" He puts the nailgun down behind the couch. "It's me. Don't try to hide. I hope you're not out there with some number you picked up because you're MY Mr. Bateman. My boy next door." Jean sips some wine, looking at Patrick as she listens. "Anyway you never called me and you said you would, and I'll leave a message for Jean about this tomorrow to remind you, but we're having dinner with Melania and Taylor, you know Melania she went to Sweetbriar. And we're meeting at the Cornell club. So I'll see you tomorrow morning honey!" Patrick winces. "Sorry I know you hate that. Bye Patrick. Bye Mr. Big Time CEO. Bye bye." She hangs up. Jean says "Was that Evelyn? Are you still seeing her?" He doesn't answer. "I'm sorry. I have no right to ask that. Do you want me to go?" "Yeah," he finally says. "I don't think I can control myself." "I know I should go. I know I have a tendency to get involved with unavailable men." She asks him if he wants her to go. "I think if you stay, something bad will happen. I think I might hurt you. You don't want to get hurt, do you?" "No, I guess not. I don't want to get bruised." She gets up and starts leaving. On her way out, she reminds him that he has a dinner date with Kimball the next day. "Thanks. It slipped my mind completely."

    A crowded restaurant. Bateman and Kimball sit across from each other, eating some beef dishes. "So. The night he disappeared. Any thoughts about what you did?" asks Kimball. "I'm not sure. Uh, I had a shower, and some sorbet?" "I think you're getting your dates mixed up." "Well, where do you place Paul that night?" He tells Patrick that according to his datebook, Paul had dinner with Marcus Halberstram, thought Marcus denied it. "Does Marcus have an alibi?" "Yes. I've checked it out, it's clean. Now, where were you?" "Well, where was Marcus?" "He wasn't with Paul Allen. He was at Atlantis with Craig McDermott, Fredrick Dibble, Harry Newman, George Butner, and... you." Patrick looks up. "Oh right, yeah, of course." Kimball makes a 'slipped your mind' gesture. "We had wanted Paul Allen to come, but he had made plans. And I guess I had dinner with Victoria the following night." Kimball says "Personally, I think the guy just went a little nutso, split town for a while, maybe he did go to London. Sightseeing, drinking, whatever. Anyway, I'm pretty sure he'll turn up sooner or later. I mean, to think that one of his friends killed him for no reason whatsoever would be too ridiculous. Isn't that right Patrick?" he says with an eerie smile. Patrick smiles back faintly.

    Patrick takes a limo to the part of town where he met Christie. She's standing on the same corner. He rolls down the window and calls out to her. "I'm not so sure about this," she tells him. "I had to go to emergency last time." He promises that this won't be anything like last time. She says no. "Just come in the limo and talk to me for a minute. The driver is here. You'll be safe." He holds out some money. Reluctantly, she takes it and gets in. He hands her a drink. "Nothing like last time. I promise," he repeats. "Alright." He tells her she's looking great, and asks how she's been. "I might need a little surgery after last time. My friend told me I should maybe even get a lawyer." "Lawyers are so complicated," he says, writing her a cheque. She takes it and bolts from the car. The car keeps pace with her as she walks. Bateman rolls down the window and whistles at her, waving more money. She stops and looks at the wad. She tries to grab it, but he pulls his hand back. He opens the car door again, moving over to let her get back in. "Half now, half later." He closes the door. He tells her her name is Christie again, and that they are meeting a friend of his named Elizabeth. "She'll be joining us in my new apartment shortly. You'll like her. She's a very nice girl."

    Paul Allen's apartment. Patrick breaks open a capsule of ecstasy onto a spoon, and puts it into a bottle of wine. A redhead woman in a white silk shirt and black jacket is sitting on the couch across from Christie. She tells her she looks familiar. "Did you go to Dalton? I think I met you at a surf bar, didn't I. It was spicy. Well maybe not spicy but it was definitely a surf bar." She talks on and on in a self-important tone, neither Patrick or Christie really listening to her. Christie tells Patrick that this place is nicer than his other one. "It's not that nice," he says. She asks where he and Elizabeth met. She says it was at the Kentucky Derby in 86. "You were hanging out with that bimbo Alison Poole. Hot number." "What do you mean? She was a hot number." "If you had a platinum card she'd give you a blowjob. Listen, this girl worked at a tanning salon, need I say more?" She sips her wine. She asks what Christie does. "She's my... cousin. She's from... France," says Bateman. Elizabeth asks for the phone to call someone. She asks if Christie summers in Southampton. The person she's calling doesn't answer. "Elizabeth, it's 3 in the morning." "He's a god damn drug dealer, these are his peak hours." She says that the wine tastes weird. She leaves the man a message on his answering machine. She looks at Bateman when she can't remember where she is. "Paul Allen's." "I want the number idiot. Anyway I'm at Paul Norman's and I'll try you again later, and if I don't see you at Canal Bar tomorrow I'm going to sic my hairdresser on you." She hangs up. "Did you know that guy who disappeared, didn't he work at Pierce and Pierce? Was he a friend of yours?" He says no. She asks if he has any coke. He shakes his head. "Or a Halcyon? I would take a Halcyon." "Listen," he says. "I would just like to see the two of you *get it on*." They stare at him. "What's wrong with that? It's totally disease-free." "Patrick you're a lunatic." He asks her if she finds Christie attractive. "Let's not get lewd. I'm in no mood for lewd conversation." He says he thinks it would be a turn-on. She asks Christie if he does this all the time. Christie remains silent. He tells her to drink her wine. "You're telling me you've never gotten it on with a girl?" he asks Elizabeth. "No. I'm not a lesbian. Why would you think I would be into that?" "Well, you went to Sarah Lawrence for one thing." "Those are Sarah Lawrence GUYS, Patrick. You're making me feel weird."

    Some time later, the drugs having kicked in, and Elizabeth and Christie are feeling each other up on the couch. Patrick says wistfully "Did you know that Whitney Houston's debut LP, called simply 'Whitney Houston', had four number-one singles on it? Did you know that Christie?" Elizabeth starts laughing. "You actually listen to Whitney Houston? You own a Whitney Houston CD? More than one?" she laughs, falling off the couch. "It's hard to choose a favorite amongst so many great tracks. But 'The Greatest Love of All' is one of the best, most powerful songs ever written, about self-preservation, dignity, its universal message crosses all boundaries and instills one with the hope that it's not too late to better ourselves." Elizabeth is still laughing. "Since, Elizabeth, it's impossible in this world we live in to empathize with others, but we can always empathize with ourselves. It's an important message, crucial really, and it's beautifully stated on the album."

    All three have sex, Patrick on top of both of them. He moves his face down to Elizabeth's torso, and she starts giggling. Christie rolls out from underneath them. She watches them as they fool around under the sheets, and she starts gathering her clothes. A stain begins to form on the sheets: Blood. Elizabeth is screaming. Patrick looks up at Christie with blood on his mouth and a crazed look on his face. Christie runs out of the room, and Patrick chases her naked. She runs to a door and throws it open, to reveal a closet with two dead women in plastic bags hanging on coathangers. The full horror of Patrick's existence finally revealed to her, she lets out a bloodcurdling scream. She enters another room and almost vomits. Spraypainted on the wall is the words 'DIE YUPPIE SCUM' and the room is covered with blood and faeces. She backs out and sees Patrick turn the corner naked wielding a chainsaw. She cuts through a maze of doors and finally runs into a bathroom. She falls into a pool of blood next to another dead, naked woman. Patrick runs in, covered in Elizabeth's blood and starts biting her leg. She kicks him in the face and runs. "Not the face! Not the fucking face you piece of bitch trash!" She runs through the living room and out into the hallway, pounding and screaming on neighbours' doors, but to no avail. Patrick runs after her, stark nude, and chainsaw in hand. She runs down a circular set of stairs. Patrick reaches the top and holds the chainsaw out over the gap, waiting for the right moment. When she nears the bottom, he lets go, and the chainsaw falls end over end, finally hitting its target. He screams in victory. The chainsaw has impaled Christie through the back.

    Patrick doodles a woman impaled with a chainsaw with a crayon on a paper tablecloth. He hasn't touched his dessert. Evelyn is sitting next to him, asking him to commit to their relationship. The restaurant is crowded with middle-class looking people. "I think Evelyn, that uh, we've lost touch." "Why, what's wrong?" she asks, waving to someone. A woman flashes a gold bracelet to her, and she mouths "It's beautiful. I love it." "My need to engage in homicidal behaviour on a massive scale cannot be corrected, but uh, I have no other way to fulfill my needs. We need to talk. It's over, it's all over," he tells her, scratching a red X over his drawing. "Touchy touchy. I'm sorry I brought up the wedding. Let's just avoid the issue, alright? Now, are we having coffee?" "I'm fucking serious. It's fucking over, us, this is no joke, uh, I don't think we should see each other any more." "But your friends are my friends, and my friends are your friends. I really don't think it would work." She tries to brush some food away from the corner of his mouth, but her stops her. "I know that your friends are my friends, and I've thought about that. You can have 'em." She finally understands. "You're really serious, aren't you? What about the past? Our past?" "We never really shared one," he replies. "You're inhuman." "No. I'm-I'm in touch with humanity." She starts crying. "Evelyn I'm sorry, I just uh... you're not terribly important to me." She cries so loudly that the whole restaurant turns to look at her. "I know my behaviour can be *erratic* sometimes..." "What is it that you want?" she cries. "If you really want to do something for me then stop making this scene *right now*!" he snaps. "Oh God I can't believe this," she weeps. "I'm leaving," he says. "I've assessed the situation and I'm leaving." "But where are you going?" "I have to return some videotapes."

    Evening. Patrick stops near the lobby of a building to use an ATM. He sticks his card in the machine. Looking down he sees a stray cat. "Here kitty kitty." He picks up the cat and starts petting it. A message comes on the screen of the ATM: 'FEED ME A STRAY CAT'. He tries to put the cat in the card slot of the ATM, but it pushes itself away. He pulls out a 9mm pistol and points it at the cat's head. A woman in a fur coat sees this. "Oh my God. What you doing? Stop that!" He shoots her in the chest and she falls to the ground. He lets the cat go. A siren is heard a block away, and a police car pulls up at the other end of the lobby. He takes his card and walks away. He tries to steal a car, but every car on the street is locked, and he only winds up setting off all their car alarms. He kicks the back of a Porsche and runs. Two police cars cut him off on the next street. They get out, guns drawn. "Drop the weapon! Drop it now! Get on the ground!" He starts to put his hands up, then turns the gun on the officers. They exchange gunfire. He runs behind a parked car for cover, firing and hitting one of them. He fires five more shots, and both police cars explode in a massive fireball. Stunned by his luck, he looks at the gun, then at his watch, and walks away. He breaks into a run, under the support columns of a skyscraper. He walks into the lobby of an apartment. "Burning the midnight oil, Mr. Smith? Don't forget to sign in," says the man at the desk. He pulls out the gun and shoots him in the head. He runs past the elevators. One of them opens and a janitor gets out. He goes around a revolving door, back into the lobby, shoots the janitor, then out the other side. He runs into another lobby. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he goes up to the desk. Smiling at the doorman, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen, signs in, and goes up in the elevator, crying.

    He reaches his office. He looks out the window, then hides from the searchlight of a passing police helicopter. Still crying, he makes a phone call. An answering machine picks it up. "Harold, it's Bateman. You're my lawyer so I think you should know, I've killed a lot of people. Some girls in the apartment uptown uh, some homeless people maybe 5 or 10, um an NYU girl I met in Central Park. I left her in a parking lot behind some donut shop. I killed Bethany, my old girlfriend, with a nail gun, and some man, some old faggot with a dog last week. I killed another girl with a chainsaw, I had to, she almost got away and uh someone else there I can't remember maybe a model, but she's dead too. And Paul Allen. I killed Paul Allen with an axe in the face, his body is dissolving in a bathtub in Hell's Kitchen. I don't want to leave anything out here. I guess I've killed maybe 20 people, maybe 40. I have tapes of a lot of it, uh some of the girls have seen the tapes. I even, um..." He almost can't say it. "I ate some of their brains. I tried to cook a little." He starts laughing. "Tonight I, uh, hahahaha... I just had to kill a LOT of people!" Crying again. "And I'm not sure I'm gonna get away with it this time. I guess I'll uh, I mean, ah, I guess I'm a pretty uh, I mean I guess I'm a pretty sick guy." He's smiling. "So, if you get back tomorrow, I may show up at Harry's Bar, so you know, keep your eyes open." He hangs up and tries to compose himself. The helicopter can still be heard buzzing around but is getting fainter.

    Morning. He showers and picks a suit from his walk-in closet. He goes to Paul Allen's place, putting on a surgical mask because of the smell of the bodies he left there. Opening the door, he finds the place empty and repainted white. Three people are talking in one of the rooms, and the floor is lined with cloth and there is a ladder and some other redecorating equipment. He heads towards the closet where he left two bodies. It contains only paint cans, ladders and buckets. He takes off the mask, stunned. "Are you my 2:00?" asks a well-dressed 40-something woman behind him. "No." "Can I help you?" "I'm looking for Paul Allen's place. Doesn't he live here?" "No he doesn't. Did you see the ad in the Times?" "No. Yeah. I mean yeah. In the times." "There was no ad in the times. I think you should go now." He asks what happened here. She tells him not to make any trouble, and tells him again that he should leave. He starts to leave. "Don't come back," she warns. "I won't. Don't worry." He closes the door behind him.

    Outside, Bateman calls Jean from a payphone. He downs the rest of a bottle of pills while he waits for her to pick up. She answers. "Jean... I need help." He sounds distraught. "Patrick is that you? Craig McDermott called, he wants to meet you, Van Paten and Bryce at Harry's Bar for drinks." "What did you say you dumb bitch..." he croaks. "Patrick I can't hear you." "What am I doing?" he laughs. "Where are you Patrick? What's wrong?" He starts crying. "I don't think I'm going to... make it, Jean. To the uh, office, this afternoon." "Why?" She sounds worried. "JUST... SAY... NO!" he screams. "What is it? Patrick, are you alright?" "Stop sounding so fucking SAD! JESUS!" he screams, laughing. He hangs up, then tries to compose himself.

    Jean goes to Patrick's desk. She opens a drawer and finds a leather notebook. The first few pages have regular appointments. One page has a drawing of someone getting killed with a shotgun in the mouth.

    Patrick reaches Harry's Bar. He straightens his dishevelled hair and goes inside. Bryce, Van Paten and McDermott are sitting and drinking. McDermott tells him he looks wild-eyed. "Rough day at the office?" Bryce is drinking mineral water. "He's a changed man! But he still can't get a reservation to save his life." Bateman tells them he isn't going anywhere unless they have a reservation. They discuss various restaurants. Bateman spots his lawyer, Harold Carnes, across the room, and excuses himself. His lawyer is telling someone how the Japanese will own most of the country by the end of the '90s. "Shut up, Carnes, they will not. So uh, did you get my message?" "Jesus yes! That was hilarious! That *was* you, wasn't it! Bateman killing Allen and the escort girls. That's fabulous. That's rich." He asks him what he means. "The message you left. By the way Davis, how's Cynthia? You're still seeing her, right?" "What do you mean?" "Nothing. It's good to see you. Is that Edward Towers?" He starts to walk away but Bateman stops him. "Davis. I'm not one to bad-mouth anyone. Your joke was amusing. But come on man. You had one fatal flaw. Bateman is such a dork, such a boring, spineless lightweight. Now if you said Bryce, or McDermott, otherwise it was amusing. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must be going." For some odd reason, Carnes keeps calling Patrick "Davis". Patrick angrily stops him again. "I did it, Carnes! I killed him! I'm Patrick Bateman! I chopped Allen's fucking head off," he whispers with tears in his eyes. "The whole message I left on your machine was true." Carnes tries to leave again. "No! Listen, don't you know who I am? I'm not Davis, I'm Patrick Bateman!" He no longer sounds sure who he is. "We talk on the phone all the time. Don't you recognize me? You're my lawyer." He tells Carnes to listen carefully. "I killed Paul Allen. And I liked it. I can't make myself any clearer." Carnes tells him that that isn't possible. "And I don't find this funny anymore." "It never was supposed to be! Why isn't it possible?" "It's just not." "Why not you stupid bastard?" says Patrick. "Because I had dinner with Paul Allen in London twice, just ten days ago." "No you... didn't." Patrick is stunned. He begins to doubt whether he actually killed Allen or not or all those other people. Maybe it was all a fantasy. Maybe Patrick Bateman's real name is Davis. Carnes excuses himself again and he lets him go.

    Jean continues to look with horror through Patrick's notebook. A crude drawing of a woman getting her limbs cut off with a chainsaw. A naked woman nailed to boards. The more pages she turns, the worse the images get. Page after page is filled with shocking fantasies of rape, murder and mutilation of women.

    Patrick returns to the table. The guys are watching President Ronald Reagan talking about Iran-Contra on TV. "How can he lie like that?" says Bryce. Van Paten continues to ask where they have reservations, even though he isn't really hungry. "How can he be so fucking... I don't know, cool about it?" "Some guys are just born cool I guess," says Van Paten. Bateman starts laughing. "Bateman? What are you so fucking zany about?" "Ha ha, I'm just a happy camper! Rockin' and a-rollin'!" Turning back to Reagan on the TV, Bryce says "He presents himself as this harmless old codger, but inside... but inside..." "But inside doesn't matter,"

    A baffled Bateman narrates: "Inside, yes? Inside? Believe it or not Bryce, we're actually listening to you," says McDermott. Bryce asks Bateman what he thinks. "Whatever." Van Paten says he doesn't like dry beers and needs a scotch. Bateman looks over the faces of the people in the room as he narrates. "There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others, and no one to escape. My punishment continues to elude me. My confession has meant nothing."

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