"25.000" "Our pasta this evening... is squid ravioli in a lemon grass broth... with goat cheese profiteroles, and I also have an arugula Caesar salad." "For entrees this evening, I have swordfish meatloaf with onion marmalade, rare roasted partridge breast in raspberry coulis with a sorrel timbale." "and grilled free-range rabbit with herbed french fries." "Our pasta tonight is a squid ravioli in a lemon grass broth." "God, I hate this place." "It's a chick's restaurant." "Why aren't we at Dorsia?" "Because Bateman won't give the maitre d' head." "Is that Reed Robinson over there?" "–Are you freebasing or what?" "That's not Robinson." "Well, who is it then?" "–It's Paul Allen." "–That's not Paul Allen." "Paul Allen's on the other side of the room over there." "Who's he with?" "Some weasel from Kicker Peabody." "They don't have a good bathroom to do coke in." "Are you sure that's Paul Allen over there?" "Yes, McDufus, I am." "–He's handling the Fisher account." "–Lucky bastard." "–Lucky Jew bastard." "–Jesus, McDermott, what does that have to do with anything?" "I've seen that bastard sitting in his office... talking on the phone to the C.E.Os, spinning' a fuckin' menorah." "Not a menorah." "You spin a dreidel." "Oh, my God, Bateman." "Do you want me to fry you up some fucking potato pancakes?" "Some latkes?" "No, just... cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks." "Oh, I forgot." "Bateman's dating someone from the A.C.L.U." "He's the voice of reason." "The boy next door." "Speaking of reasonable— Only $570." "That's not bad." "A little something for the purse." "Give her the 50." "Stoli on the rocks." "These aren't good anymore." "It's a cash bar." "That'll be $25." "You're a fucking ugly bitch." "I wanna stab you to death... and play around with your blood." "What can I get for you two?" "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." "I believe in taking care of myself, in a balanced diet, in a rigorous exercise routine." "In the morning, if my face is a little pufffy," "I'll put on an icepack while doing my stomach crunches." "I can do a thousand now." "After I remove the icepack, I use a deep-pore cleanser lotion." "In the shower, I use a water-activated gel cleanser." "Then a honey-almond body scrub." "And on the face, an exfoliating gel scrub." "Then I apply an herb mint facial masque, which I leave on for 10 minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine." "I always use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older." "Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion." "There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman." "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 may be you can even sense our life styles are probably comparable," "I simply am not there." "Good morning." "Good morning, Hamilton." "Nice tan." "Late." "Aerobics class." "Sorry." "Any messages?" "Ricky Harrison has to cancel." "He didn't say what he was cancelling or why." "I occasionally box with Ricky at the Harvard Club." "Anyone else?" "–Spencer wants to meet for drinks at Fluties, Pier 17." "–When?" "– After 6:00." "–Negative." "Cancel it." "–And what should I say?" "–Just say "no" –Just say "no"?" "Okay, Jean." "I need reservations for three at Camols at 12:30, and if not there try Crayons." "–Alright?" "–Yes, sir." "Oh, wait." "And I need reservations for two at Arcadia at 8:00 on Thursday." "Something romantic?" "No." "Silly." "Forget it." "I'll make them." "– No, I'll do it." "–No, no." "– Be a doll and just get me a mineral water, okay?" "–You look nice today." "Don't wear that outfit again." "What?" "I didn't hear you." "I said, do not wear that outfit again." "Wear a dress, a skirt or something." "–You don't like this, I take it." "Come on." "You're prettier than that." "–Thanks, Patrick." "–I'm not here." "And high heels." "I like high heels." "Feathered friends for 600." "During courtship, the male frigate bird... inflates to enormous size the red pouch found here." "And I want hundreds of thousands of roses." "And lots of chocolate truffles," "Godiva, and oysters in the halfshell." "I'm trying to listen to the new Robert Palmer tape, but Evelyn, my supposed fiance, keeps buzzing in my ear." "Annie Leibovitz." "We'll get Annie Leibovitz." "And we'll have to get someone to videotape." "Patrick, we should do it." "Do what?" "Get married." "Have a wedding." "No." "I can't take the time off work." "Your father practically owns the company." "You can do anything you like, silly." "–I don't want to talk about it." "–I hate that job anyway." "I don't see why you just don't quit." "Because I want to fit in." "Williams party." "I'm on the verge of tears by the time we arrive at Espace, since I'm positive we won't have a decent table." "But we do, and relief washes over me in an awesome wave." "Patrick, this is my cousin Vanden and her boyfriend Stash." "They're both artists." "The menu's in braille." "I see you've met everyone." "You look awful." "Okay." "Allright." "I'm fairly certain that..." "Timothy Bryce and Evelyn are having an affair." "Timothy is the only interesting person I know." "I'm almost completely indifferent as to whether Evelyn knows..." "I'm having an affair with Courtney Rawlinson, her closest friend." "Courtney is almost perfect looking." "She's usually operating on one or more psychiatric drugs." "Tonight, I believe, it's Xanax." "Mmm." "Oh." "More disturbing than her drug use, though, is the fact that she's engaged... to Luis Carruthers, the biggest doofus in the business." "Tell me, Stash." "Do you think Soho is becoming too..." "commercial?" "–Yes." "I read that." "–Oh, who gives a rat's ass?" "Hey, that affects us." "Well, what about the massacres in Sri Lanka, honey?" "Doesn't that affect us too?" "Do you know anything about Sri Lanka?" "How, like, the Sikhs are killing tons of Israelis over there?" "Come on, Bryce." "There are a lot more important problems than Sri Lanka to worry about." "–Like what?" "–Well, we have to end apartheid, for one, slow down the nuclear arms race, stop 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 rights 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." "Patrick, how thought provoking." "Hello." "Hello." "Bleaching?" "Are you trying to say "bleaching"?" "Oh, my God." "Two things." "One:" "You can't bleach a Cerruti." "Out of the question." "Two:" "I can only get these sheets in Santa Fe." "These are very expensive sheets, and I really need them cleaned." "Lady, if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I will kill you." "Now, listen." "I have a lunch meeting at Hubert's in 20 minutes with Ronald Harrison." "I need those sheets cleaned by this afternoon." "Listen, I can't understand you!" "This is crazy!" "You're a fool." "I can't cope with this stupid "bitchee"!" "Understand?" "Christ." "Patrick?" "Hi, Patrick." "I thought that was you." "Hello." "This is—" "Isn't it ridiculous, coming all the way up here?" "They really are the best." "Then why can't they get these stains out?" "I mean, can you talk to these people or something?" "I'm not getting anywhere." "–Oh, what are those?" "–Well, it's—" "–Cranberry juice." "Cranapple." "–Really?" "Listen, if you could talk to them, I would really appreciate it." "I'm really late." "I have a lunch appointment at Hubert's in 15 minutes." "Hubert's?" "That moved uptown, right?" "Oh, boy." "Listen, I've gotta go." "Thank you, Victoria." "Maybe we could do lunch one day next week." "I'm downtown quite often." "What about a Saturday?" "I'm at work all the time." "Next Saturday?" "Can't, I'm afraid." "Sure." "At a matinée of LesMis." "Listen, I really gotta go." "Oh, Christ." "I'll call you." "Okay." "Do." "Listen, you're dating Lewis, he's in Arizona." "You're fucking me, and we haven't made plans." "What could you possibly be up to tonight?" "Stop it." "I'm— On a lot of lithium?" "Waiting for Luis to call me." "He said he'd call tonight." "Pumpkin?" "Pumpkin, you're dating an asshole." "Mm-hmm." "Pumpkin, you're dating the biggest dickweed in New York." "Pumpkin, you're dating a tumbling, tumbling dickweed." "Patrick, stop calling me pumpkin, okay?" "I have to go." "Courtney?" "Hmm?" "Dinner." "I can't." "I'm thinking Dorsia." "Dorsia's nice." "Wear something fabulous." "Oh, yeah!" "Dorsia." "Um, yes, I know it's a little late, but is it possible to reserve a table for two at 8:00 or 8:30, perhaps?" "a facialat Elizabeth Arden, which was really relaxing." "And then, to the Pottery Barn, where I got this little... silver muffin dish." "Is that Donald Trump's car?" "God, Patrick." "Shut up." "You know, Courtney, you should take some more lithium or have a Diet Coke." "Some caffeine might get you out of this slump." "I just want a child." "Just two... perfect... children." "Are we here?" "Yeah." "This is Dorsia?" "Yes, dear." "Courtney, you're gonna 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." "And then the red snapper with violets and pine nuts." "I think that'll follow nicely." "Mmm." "Thanks, Patrick." "Patrick, thanks so much for looking after Courtney." "Dorsia." "How impressive." "How on Earth did you get a reservation there?" "Lucky, I guess." "That's a wonderful suit." "Don't tell me." "Don't tell me." "Let me guess." "Mmm, Valentino Couture?" "Uh-huh." "Hmm." "It looks so soft." "Your compliment was sufficient, Luis." "Hello, Halberstram." "Nice tie." "How the hell are you?" "Allen has mistaken me for this dickhead, Marcus Halberstram." "It seems logical because Marcus also works at PP, and in fact does the same exact thing I do." "He also has a penchant for Valentino suits and Oliver Peoples glasses." "Marcus and I even go to the same barber, although I have a slightly better haircut." "–How's the Ransom account going, Marcus?" "–It's, uh, all right." "Really?" "That's interesting." "It's not, uh, not great." "–Oh, well, you know." "–So, how's Cecilia?" "–She's a great girl." "–Oh, yeah." "I'm very lucky." "–Mm-hmm." "–Hey, Allen, congratulations on the Fisher account." "–Thankyou, Baxter." "–Listen, Paul." "Squash." "Call me." "How about Friday?" "No can do." "I got an 8:30 res at Dorsia." "Greatsea urchin ceviche." "Dorsia on Friday night?" "How'd he swing that?" "I think he's lying." "–Is that a gram?" "–New card." "What do you think?" "Whoa-ho." "Very nice." "Look at that." "Picked them up from the printer's yesterday." "Good coloring." "That's bone." "And the lettering is something called Silian Rail." "It's very cool, Bateman, but that's nothing." "Look at this." "That is really nice." "Eggshell with Romalian type." "What do you think?" "Nice." "Jesus." "That is really super." "How'da nitwit like you get so tasteful?" "I can't believe that Bryce... prefers Van Patten's card to mine." "But wait." "You ain't seen nothin' yet." "Raised lettering, pale nimbus... white." "Impressive." "Very nice." "Hmm." "Let's see Paul Allen's card." "Look at that subtle off-white coloring." "The tasteful thickness of it." "Oh, my God." "It even has a watermark." "Is something wrong, Patrick?" "You're sweating." "Hello." "Pat Bateman." "You want some, uh, money?" "Some food?" "–Is this what you need?" "–I'm-I'm hungry." "Yeah." "Cold out too, isn't it?" "Why don't you get a job?" "If you're so hungry, why don't you get a job?" "I lost my job." "Why?" "You drinking?" "Is that why you lost it?" "Insider trading?" "Just joking." "Listen, what's your name?" "Al." "Hmm?" "Speak up." "Come on." "Al." "Get a goddamn job, Al." "You got a negative attitude." "That's what's stopping you." "You gotta get your act together." "I'll help you." "You are so kind, mister." "You're a kind— You're a kind man." "It's okay." "I can tell." "Please, you gotta tell me what to do." "You gotta help me." "I'm so cold, I'm hungry." "You know how bad you smell?" "You reek of shit." "Do you know that?" "Al." "I'm sorry." "It's just that—" "I don't know." "I don't have anything in common with you." "Oh." "Oh, thankyou, mister." "Thankyou." "I'm cold out here." "You know what a fucking loser you are?" "What?" "What beautiful skin you have, Mr Bateman." "So fine, so smooth." "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 of me, and I don't know why." "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." "Hey, Mc Cloy, what do you say?" "Hey, Hamilton." "Have a holly, jolly Christmas." "Is Allen still handling the Fisher account?" "Ofcourse." "Who else?" "Mistletoe alert." "Merry Xmas, Patrick." "Merry Xmas, Harry." "Merry Christmas." "You're late, honey." "Oh, yes, you are." "I'm not late." "I've been here the entire time." "You just didn't see me." "Say hello to Snowball." "Snowball says, "Merry Christmas, Patrick."" "What is it?" "It's a little baby piggly-wiggly, isn't it?" "It's a Vietnamese potbellied pig." "They make darling pets." "Don't you?" "Don't you?" "Stop scowling, Patrick." "You're such a grinch." "And what does Mr Grinch want for Christmas?" "And don't say breast implants again." "Allen." "Marcus." "Merry Christmas." "How you been?" "Workaholic, I suppose?" "Haven't seen you in a while." "Hey, Hamilton." "We're goin' to Nell's." "Limo's out front." "We should have dinner." "Maybe you could bring—" "Cecilla?" "Yes, Cecilla." "Oh, Cecilla would adore it." "Well, then, let's do it, Marcus." "Great party." "Thanks." "Patrick, why is he calling you Marcus?" "Mistletoe alert." "Marcus Halberstram for two at 7:00." "No, I want to know, okay?" "I came here for the cilantro crawfish gumbo, which is, after all, the only excuse one could have for being in this restaurant, which is, by the way, almost completely empty." "I'm very sorry, sir." "JB straight, and a Corona." "Would you like to hear— Double Absolut martini." "Yes, sir." "Would you like to hear the specials?" "Not if you want to keep your spleen." "This is a real beehive of activity, Halberstram." "This place is hot." "Very hot." "Listen, the mud soup and charcoal arugula... are outrageous here." "Yeah, well, you're late." "Hey, I'm a child ofdivorce." "Give me a break." "I see they've omitted the pork loin with lime Jell-O." "We should've gone to Dorsia." "I could've gotten us a table." "Nobody goes there anymore." "Is that Ivana Trump?" "Oh, geez, Patrick." "I mean, Marcus." "What are you thinking?" "Why would Ivana be at Texarkana?" "So, uh, wasn't Rothchild originally handling the Fisher account?" "How'd you get it?" "Well, I could tell you that, Halberstram, but then I'd have to kill you." "I like to dissect girls." "Did you know I'm utterly insane?" "Great tan, Marcus." "I mean, really impressive." "Where do you tan?" "Salon." "I've got a tanning bed at home." "You should look into it." "And, uh, Cecilla." "How is she?" "Where is she tonight?" "Cecilla's, uh— Well, you know Cecilla." "I think she's having dinner with, um, Evelyn Williams." "Evelyn?" "Great ass." "Goes out with that loser Patrick Bateman." "What a dork." "Another martini, Paul?" "You like Huey Lewis and the News?" "Um, they're okay." "They're early work was a little too new wave for my taste." "But when Sports came out in '83," "I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically." "The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism... that really gives the songs a big boost." "He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor." "Hey, Halberstram?" "Yes, Allen?" "Why are there copies of the Style section all over the place?" "Do you— Do you have a dog?" "A little chow or something?" "–No, Allen." "–Is that a raincoat?" "Yes, it is." "In '87, Huey released this—" "Fore, their most accomplished album." "I think their undisputed masterpiece is "Hip To Be Square."" "The song's 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!" "Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now, you fuckin' stupid bastard!" "You fucking bastard!" "He was completely naked and standing up on the table." "He had no clothes on what so ever, and he—" "Patrick?" "Patrick." "Is that you?" "No, Luis, it's not me." "You're mistaken." "This is my very good friend, Patrick Bateman." "Where are you going?" "We're going to Nell's." "Gwendolyn's father is buying it." "Ooh." "Where did you get that overnight bag?" "Jean-Paul Gaultier." "When I get to Paul Allen's place," "I use the keys I took from his pocket... before disposing of the body." "There is a moment of sheer panic... when I realize that Paul's apartment overlooks the park... and is obviously more expensive than mine." "I calm myself and move into the bedroom, where I find his suitcase and start to pack." "It's time for Paul to take a little trip." "Where do I send the bastard?" "Dallas?" "Paris?" "Singapore?" "London?" "I'll send the asshole to London." "Hi." "This is 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." "What is it?" "Patrick." "Yes, Jean?" "There's a Mr Donald Kimball here to see you." "Who?" "Detective Donald Kimball." "Tell him I'm at lunch." "Patrick, it's only 10:30." "I think he knows you're here." "Send him in, I guess." "Now, John, you've gotta wear clothes in proportion to your physique." "There are definite do's and don'ts, good buddy, of wearing a bold-striped shirt." "A bold-striped shirt calls for solid-colored... or discreetly patterned suits and ties." "Yes, always tip the stylist 15 percent." "Listen, John, I've gotta go." "T. Boone Pickens just walked in." "Just joking." "No, don't tip the owner of the salon." "Okay, John?" "Right." "Got it." "Sorry about that." "No, I'm sorry." "I should've made an appointment." "Was that anything important?" "Oh, that?" "Just mulling over business problems, examining opportunities, exchanging rumors, spreading gossip." "Hi." "I'm Donald Kimball." "Hi." "Pat Bateman." "Nice to meet you." "Sorry to barge in on you like this." "I know how busy you guys can get." "So, what's the, uh, topic of discussion?" "I've been hired by Meredith Powell... to investigate the disappearance of Paul Allen." "I see, yeah." "Paul's disappearance, yeah." "So it's nothing that official." "–I just have some questions about Paul Allen and yourself. –Coffee?" "–No, I'm okay." "–Apollinaris?" "No, I'm okay." "Can you bring Mr—" "Kimball." "No, I'm okay." "Mr Kimball a bottle of Apollinaris." "It's no problem." "So, what's the topic of discussion?" "The disappearance of Paul Allen." "Uh-huh, right." "Well, I, um, haven't—" "I haven't heard anything about the disappearance or anything." "Not on page six, at least." "–I think his family wants this kept quiet." "–Understandable." "Lime?" "–No, really, I'm okay." "–You sure?" "I can always get you a lime." "Just some preliminary questions that I need for my own files, okay?" "Shoot." "Hold old are you?" "Twenty-seven." "Where did you go to school?" "Harvard." "Then Harvard Business School." "Your address?" "The American Gardens Building, West 81st Street." "–Nice." "Very nice." "–Thanks." "What can you tell me about Paul Allen?" "I'm at a loss." "He was part of that whole Yale thing." ""Yale thing"?" "–Yeah, Yale thing." "–What do you mean, "Yale thing"?" "Well, I think for one that he was probably a closet homosexual... who did a lot of cocaine." "That "Yale thing."" "What kind of man was he, besides the information you've just given?" "–I hope I'm not being cross-examined here." "–You feel like that?" "No, not really." "Where did Paul hang out?" "Hang out?" "Yeah, you know, hang out." "Let me think." "Um, the Newport, Harry's," "Fluties, Indochine," "Nell's, the Cornell Club, the New York 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." "Before Yale, if I remember correctly, St Paul's." "Listen, I just— I just wanna help." "I understand." "Do you have any witnesses or fingerprints?" "Well, there's a message on his answering machine that says he went to London." "–Well, maybe he did, huh?" "–His girlfriend doesn't think so." "–But has anyone seen him in London?" "–Actually, yes." "Hmm." "But I've had a hardtime getting actual verification." "A Stephen Hughes said he saw him at a restaurant there." "But I checked it out, and what happened is... he mistook a Herbert Ainsworth for Paul, so—" "–Had his apartment been burglarized?" "–No, actually, it hadn't." "Toiletries were missing, a suit was gone, so was some luggage." "That's it." "I mean, no one's dealing with the homicide squad yet or anything, right?" "No, not yet." "As I said, we're not sure." "Basically, no one's seen or heard anything." "So typical, isn't it?" "It's just strange." "One day, someone's walking around, going to work, alive, and then—" "Nothing." "People just disappear." "The earth just..." "opens up and swallows them." "Eerie." "Really eerie." "Listen, you'll have to excuse me." "I have a lunch meeting with Cliff Huxtable at Four Seasons in 20 minutes." "The Four Seasons?" "Isn't that a little far uptown?" "I mean, aren't you gonna be late?" "No, there's one down here." "Oh, really?" "I didn't know that." "Yeah, it's very good." "Listen, if anything else occurs to you, any information—" "Absolutely." "I'm 100 percent with you." "Great." "And thanks for your time, Mr Bateman." "Bye-bye." "Good-bye." "I haven't seen you around here." "You just haven't been lookin'." "–Would you like to see my apartment?" "–I'm not supposed to." "Do you wanna come to my apartment or not?" "I'm not supposed to, but I can make an exception." "Do you take a credit card?" "I'm joking." "Come on." "Get in." "I'd like a girl." "Early 20s." "Blonde, who does couples." "Couples." "And I really can't stress blonde enough." "Blonde." "I'm Paul." "My name's Paul Allen." "You got that?" "You're Christie." "You're to respond only to Christie." "Is that clear?" "That's a very fine chardonnay you're drinking." "I want you to clean your vagina." "No." "From behind." "Get on your knees." "You have a very nice body." "Mm-hmm?" "Thank you." "Send her up." "Christie, get out and dry off." "Choose a robe— not the Bijan— and come and meet me and our guest in the living room for drinks." "You've arrived." "How lovely." "Let me take your coat." "I'm Paul." "How good of you to come." "Not quite blonde, are you?" "More dirty blonde." "I'm gonna call you Sabrina." "I'm Paul Allen." "So." "Don't you wanna know what I do?" "No." "No, not really." "Well, I work on Wall Street... for Pierce  Pierce." "Have you heard of it?" "You have a really nice place here, Paul." "How much did you pay for it?" "Well, actually, that's none of your business, Christie." "But I can assure you, it certainly wasn't cheap." "No." "No smoking." "Not in here." "Varda truffle?" "I don't want you to get drunk, but that's a very fine chardonnay you're not drinking." "Do you like Phil Collins?" "I've been a big Genesis fan eversince 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 Collins' presence became more apparent." "I think Invisible Touch is the group's undisputed masterpiece." "It's an epic meditation on intangibility." "At the same time, it deepens and enriches... the meaning of the preceding three albums." "Christie, take off the robe." "Listen to the brilliant ensemble playing... of Banks, Collins and Rutherford." "You can practically hear every nuance of every instrument." "Sabrina, remove your dress." "In terms of lyrical craftsmanship and sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism." "Sabrina, why don't you, uh, dance a little." "Take the lyrics to "Land of Confusion."" "In this song, Phil Collins... addresses the problems of abusive political authority." ""In Too Deep" is the most moving pop song of the 1980s... about monogamy and commitment." "The song is extremely uplifting." "Their lyrics are as positive and affirmative... as, uh, anything I've heard in rock." "Christie, get down on your knees... so Sabrina can see your asshole." "Phil Collins' 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." "I also think that Phil Collins works best... within the confines of the group than as a solo artist." "And I stress the word "artist."" "This is "Sussudio."" "A great, great song." "A personal favorite." "Look at the camera." "Christie, look at the camera." "Don't touch the watch." "Can we go now?" "We're not through yet." "If they have a good personality and they are not great looking, then who fucking cares?" "Let's just say hypothetically, okay?" "What if they have a good personality?" "I know." "I know." "There are no girls with good personalities." "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." "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." "Absolutely." "And this is because they have to make up... for how fucking unattractive they are." "–Do you know what Ed Gein said about women?" "–Maitre d' at Canal Bar?" "–No, serial killer, Wisconsin, in the 50s." "–And what did Ed say?" ""When I see a pretty girl walking down the street, I think two things." ""One part of me wants to take her out and talk to her, be real nice and sweet and treat her right."" "–And what did the other part of him think?" "What her head would look like on a stick." "Hi, guys." "I wanna get your opinion on something." "It's my business card." "I decided to get a new one too." "Oh, it's—" "Very nice, Luis." "Thank you." "Listen, what about dinner?" "Is that all you ever have to contribute, Van Patten? "What about fucking dinner"?" "Cheer up there, Bateman." "What's the matter?" "No shiatsu this morning?" "Keep touching me like that, you'll draw back a stump." "Hold on there, little buddy." "Excuse me." "God." "Patrick." "Why here?" "I've seen you looking at me." "I've noticed your... hot body." "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 you were wearing that red-striped paisley Armani tie." "I want you." "I want you too." "Patrick." "What is it?" "Where are you going?" "I've gotta return some video tapes." "Patrick!" "Okay, London the—" "London, there's, um, a reservation— Any Paul Allen?" "No." "A reservation, but— Kimball!" "I've been wanting to talk with you." "Come into my office." "Jean, greatjacket." "Matsuta?" "Do you remember where you were the night of Paul's disappearance, which was on the 20th of December?" "God." "I guess I was probably returning video tapes." "I had a date with a girl named Veronica." "That's not what I've got." "What?" "That's not the information I've received." "Well, I— Wait." "–What information have you received?" "–Let me see." "Well—" "You were with— Well, 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 a laugh riot." "That was about it." "I think we had dinner at Orso's." "No, Peto— No, Orso's." "I hope I've been informative." "Long day, a bit scattered." "I'm a little spent now too." "But how about lunch in a week or so... when I've sorted out all this information?" "Great." "Yes, I'd like that." "And if you could try and pin down where you were... the night of Paul Allen's disappearance, it would make my job a lot easier." "Absolutely." "I'm with you on that one." "Huey Lewis and the News." "Great stuff." "I just bought it on my way here." "You heard it?" "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." "So, lunch next week?" "I'll be there." "Oh!" "Oh!" "Will you call me before Easter?" "Maybe." "What are you doing tonight?" "Dinner at, uh, River Cafe." "Au Bar afterwards, maybe." "That's nice." "I never knew you smoked." "You never noticed." "Listen, Patrick." "Can we talk?" "You look... marvelous." "There's nothing to say." "You're gonna marry Luis." "Isn't that special?" "Patrick?" "Yes, Courtney?" "If I don't see you before Easter, have a nice one, okay?" "You too." "Patrick?" "Yeah?" "Nothing." "There is this theory now— Listen to me." "There is this theory now that if you can catch the AIDS virus... by having sex with someone who's infected, then you can catch anything." "Alzheimer's, muscular dystrophy, hemophilia, leukemia, diabetes, dyslexia." "I'm not sure, but I don't think dyslexia is a virus." "But who knows?" "They don't know that." "Prove it." "Oh, God." "What?" "It's a fucking milligram of sweetener." "I wanna 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." "Can you keep it down?" "I'm trying to do drugs." "Fuck you!" "Calm down." "Let's do it anyway." "That's right." "That is if the faggot in the next stall thinks it's okay!" "Fuck you!" "Hey, fuck you!" "Sorry, dude." "Steroids." "Okay, let's do it." "Where did Craig go?" "Well, Gorbachev is downstairs." "McDermott went to sign a peace treaty... between the United States and Russia." "He's the one behind Glasnost." "–He said he was in mergers and acquisitions." "–You're not confused, are you?" "No, not really." "Gorbachev is not downstairs." "–Karen's right." "Gorbachev's not downstairs." "He's at Tunnel." "Ask me a question." "So, what do you do?" "I'm into, uh, well, murders and executions, mostly." "–Do you like it?" "–Well, it depends." "Why?" "Well, most guys I know who work in mergers and acquisitions really don't like it." "So, where do you work out?" "You think I'm dumb, don't you?" "What?" "You think I'm dumb." "You think all models are dumb." "No." "I really don't." "That's okay." "I don't mind." "There's something sweet about you." "Doin' the crossword?" "You need any help?" "–Jean?" "–Yes, Patrick?" "Would you like to accompany me to dinner?" "That is, if you're not doing anything." "Um, no." "No, I don't have any plans." "Well, isn't this a coincidence?" "Listen, where should we go?" "Anywhere you want." "Let's not think about what I want." "How about anywhere you want?" "I don't know, Patrick." "I can't make this decision." "Come on." "Where do you wanna go?" "Anywhere you want, just say it." "I can get us in anywhere." "What about..." "Dorsia?" "So," "Dorsia is where Jean wants to go." "Well, I don't know." "We'll go wherever you wanna go." "Dorsia is fine." "Dorsia." "Yes?" "Yeah, can you take two tonight at, oh, let's say 9:00?" "We're totally booked." "Really?" "That's great." "No, I said we are totally booked." "Two at 9:00?" "Perfect." "See ya then." "Yeah?" "You're... dressed okay." "–You didn't give a name." "–They know me." "Why don't you meet me at my place at 7:00... for drinks." "And Jean, you'll wanna change before we go out." "Patrick, it's so elegant." "What a wonderful view." "Jean, sorbet?" "Thanks, Patrick." "I'd love some." "Do you want a bite?" "I'm on a diet." "But thank you." "You don't need to lose any weight." "You're kidding, right?" "You look great." "Very fit." "You can always be thinner, look better." "Well, maybe we shouldn't go out to dinner." "I don't wanna ruin your will power." "No, it's all right." "I'm not very good at controlling it anyway." "So listen." "What do you really wanna do with your life?" "Just briefly, summarize." "And don't tell me you enjoy working with children, okay?" "Well, I'd like to travel and maybe go back to school, but I don't really know." "I'm at a point in my life where there seems to be so many possibilities, but I'm— I don't know— I'm just so unsure." "Do you have a boyfriend?" "No, not really." "Interesting." "Are you seeing anyone?" "I mean, seriously?" "Maybe." "I don't know." "Not really." "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, you know, developing and growing." "Growing." "I'm glad you said that." "Did you know that, uh, Ted Bundy's first dog, a collie, was named Lassie?" "Had you heard this?" "Who's Ted Bundy?" "Forget it." "What's that?" "Duct tape." "I need it for, uh, taping something." "Patrick, have you ever wanted to..." "make someone happy?" "What?" "No!" "Put it in the carton." "Sorry." "Jean?" "What?" "Uh, make someone happy?" "Have you ever wanted to?" "I'm looking for, uh," "I guess you could say I just wanna have a meaningful relationship... with someone special." "Hmm." "Patrick?" "Patrick?" "I know you're there." "Pick up the phone, you badboy." "What are you up to tonight?" "It's me." "Don't try to hide." "I hope you're not with some little number you picked up because you're my Mr Bateman." "My boy next door." "Anyway, you never called me and you said you would, and I'll leave a message for Jean about this, too, to remind you, but we're having dinner with Melania and Taylor." "You know Me lania." "She went to Sweet Briar." "And we're meeting at the Cornell Club, so I'll call you tomorrow morning, honey." "Oops." "Sorry." "I know you hate that." "Bye, Patrick." "Bye, Mr Big Time C.E.O. Bye-bye." "Was that Evelyn?" "Are you still seeing her?" "I'm sorry." "I have no right to ask that." "Do you want me to go?" "Yeah." "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." "I mean, do you want me to go?" "I think if you stay, something bad will happen." "I think I might hurt you." "You don't wanna get hurt, do you?" "No." "No, I guess not." "I don't wanna get bruised." "You're right." "I should go." "Oh." "Don't forget you have a lunch date tomorrow with Donald Kimball at Smith and Wolenski's." "Thanks." "It slipped my mind completely." "So, the night he disappeared— any new thoughts about what you did?" "Not sure." "Um, I had a shower... and some sorbet?" "I think you're getting your dates mixed up." "But how?" "Where do you place..." "Paul that night?" "According to his date book, and this was verified by his secretary, he had dinner with Marcus Halberstram." "And?" "I questioned him." "–Marcus?" "–Yes, and he denies it, though, at first, he couldn't be sure." "But he denied it." "Yes." "Well, does Marcus have an alibi?" "Yes." "He does?" "You'resure?" "I checked it out." "It's clean." "Now, where were you?" "Where was Marcus?" "He wasn't with Paul Allen." "Who was he with?" "He was... at Atlantis... with..." "Craig McDermott, Frederick Dibble, Harry Newman, George Butner... and... you." "Oh, right, yeah." "Of course." "We had wanted Paul Allen to come, but he had made plans." "And I guess I had dinner with Victoria the following night." "Personally, I think the guy 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?" "Christie." "Christie." "I'm not so sure about this." "I had to go to Emergency after last time." "This won't be anything like last time." "I promise." "I don't think so." "Just come in the limo and talk to me for a minute." "The driver's here." "You'll be safe." "Nothing like last time." "Promise." "All right." "So, you're looking great." "How have you been?" "Well, I actually might need surgery after last time." "Really?" "My friend told me I should maybe even get a lawyer." "Lawyers are so complicated." "Don't do that." "Here's a check." "Uh-uh." "Half now, half later." "Okay, your name is Christie." "We're meeting a friend of mine, Elizabeth." "She'll bejoining us in my new apartment shortly." "You'll like her." "She's a very nice girl." "You look really familiar." "Did you go to Dalton?" "I think I met you at Surf Bar, didn't I?" "With Spicey?" "Well, maybe not with Spicey, but definitely at SurfBar." "You know, SurfBar." "Anyway, Surf Bar sucks now." "It's terrible." "Went to a birthday party there for Malcolm Forbes." "Oh, my God, please." "This is nicer than your other apartment." "Oh, it's not that nice." "Where did you two meet?" "Oh, God." "We met at... oh, God, at the Kentucky Derby in '85, or '86." "You were hanging out with that bimbo Allison Poole." "Hot number." "What do you mean?" "She was a hot number." "If you had a platinum card, she'd give you a blowjob." "This girl worked in a tanning salon." "What do you do?" "She's my... cousin." "Uh-huh." "She's from..." "France." "Where's your phone?" "I've gotta call Harley." "Where do you summer, South Hampton?" "–No." "–Oh, God, it's his machine." "It's 3:00 in the morning." "He's a goddamn drug dealer." "These are his peak hours." "Don't tell him you're here." "Why would I?" "This tastes weird." "Harley, it's me." "I need your services." "Translate that howeveryou want." "–I'm at— –Paul Allen's." "Who?" "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 night I'm gonna sic my hairdresser on you." "Did you know that guy who disappeared?" "Didn't he work at Pierce  Pierce?" "Was he a friend of yours?" "No." "Do you have any coke?" "Or Halcyon?" "I would take a Halcyon." "Listen." "I would just like to see... the two of you..." "get it on." "What's wrong with that?" "It's totally disease free." "Patrick, you're a lunatic." "Come on." "Don't you find Christie attractive?" "Let's not get lewd." "I'm in no mood for a lewd conversation." "Come on." "I think it'd be a turn-on." "Does he do this all the time?" "Christie, you're not drinking your wine." "Are you telling me you've never gotten it on with a girl?" "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." "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?" "You actually listen to Whitney Houston?" "You own a Whitney Houston CD?" "More than one?" "It's hard to choose a favorite among so many great tracks." "But the "Greatest Love Of All" is one of the best, most powerful songs... ever written... about self-preservation... and dignity." "It's universal message crosses all boundaries... and instills one... with the hope that it's not too late... to better ourselves." "Since, Elizabeth, it's impossible in this world we live in to empathize with others, we can always empathize with ourselves." "It's an important message." "Crucial, really." "And it's beautifully stated on the album." "–Not the face!" "You bitch, not the fucking face, you piece of bitch trash!" "I want a firm commitment." "I think, um, Evelyn, that, uh, we've lost touch." "Why?" "What's wrong?" "My need to engage in homicidal behavior... on a massive scale cannot be corrected, but I have no other way to fulfill my needs." "We need to talk." "Talk about what, Patrick?" "It's over, Evelyn." "It's all over." "Touchy, touchy." "I'm sorry I brought up the wedding." "Let's just avoid the issue, all right?" "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 anymore." "But your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends." "I really don't think it would work." "You have a little something—" "I know that your friends are my friends, and, uh— and I've thought about that." "You can have 'em." "You're really serious, aren't you?" "Yes, lam." "–What about the past?" "Our past?" "–We never really shared one." "You're inhuman." "No." "I'm in touch with humanity." "Evelyn, I'm, uh, sorry." "I just, uh—" "You're not terribly important to me." "Oh, no!" "No." "No, Patrick." "I know my behavior can be..." "erratic sometimes." "What do you want me to do?" "What is it that you want?" "If you really wanna do something for me, then stop making this scene right now." "Oh, God, I can't believe this." "I'm leaving." "I've assessed the situation, and I'm going." "Where are you going?" "I'm just leaving." "But where?" "I have to return some videotapes." "Here, kitty, kitty." "Oh, my God." "What are you doing?" "Stop that." "Drop the weapon!" "Drop it now!" "Get on the ground!" "Put your—" "Burning the midnight oil, Mr Smith?" "Hey, now don't forget to sign in." "Howard, it's Bateman." "Patrick Bateman." "You're my lawyer, so I think you should know I've killed a lot of people." "Some escort girls in an apartment uptown, uh, some homeless people, maybe five or ten, an N.Y.U girl I met in Central Park." "I left her at a parking lot behind some doughnut shop." "I killed Bethany, my old girlfriend, with a nail gun." "And-And-And then some man, s-s-some old faggot with a dog." "Last week, I, uh—" "I killed another girl with a chain saw." "I had to." "She almost got away." "And—" "Someone else there." "I can't remember, maybe a model— She's dead too." "And, uh, Paul Allen." "I killed Paul Allen with an ax in the face." "His body is dissolving in a bathtub in Hell's Kitchen." "I don't wanna leave anything out here." "I guess I've killed maybe... 20 people." "Maybe 40!" "I have tapes of a lot of it." "Some of the girls have seen the tapes." "I even, um," "I ate some of their brains... and I tried to cook a little." "Tonight, I, uh—" "I just had to kill a lot of people!" "And, um," "I'm not sure I'm gonna get away with it... this time." "So, uh— I mean," "I guess..." "I'm a pretty, uh—" "I mean, I guess I'm a pretty sick guy." "So, if you get back tomorrow," "I may show up at Harry's Bar." "So, you know, keep your eyes open." "Okay." "Oh!" "Are you my 2:00?" "No." "Can I help you?" "I'm looking for..." "Paul Allen's place." "Doesn't he..." "live here?" "No, he doesn't." "You sure?" "You saw 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." "But I think—" "I wanna know what happened here." "Don't make any trouble, please." "I suggest you go." "Don't come back." "I won't." "Don't worry." "Patrick Bateman's office." "Jean?" "I need help." "Patrick, is that you?" "Jean, I'm not—" "Craig McDermott called." "Wants to meet you, David Van Patten and Tim Bryce at Harry's." "Oh, God." "What did you say, you dumb bitch?" "Patrick, I can't hear you." "What am I doing?" "Where are you, Patrick?" "What's wrong?" "I don't think I'm gonna make it, Jean, to the, uh, office this afternoon." "Why?" "Just say no!" "What is it, Patrick?" "Are you all right?" "Stop sounding so fucking sad." "Jesus!" "That's a table for three." "Bateman, you're looking wild-eyed." "Rough day?" "Hey, look." "Bryce is back and he's drinking mineral water." "He's a changed man, except for he still can't a reservation to save his life." "Why don't you just try 150 Wooster?" "I'm not going anywhere unless we have a reservation." "Le Cirque, Flamingo East, OysterBar." "Come on, faggots." "Let's get a "res."" "Keep your shirt on." "Maybe lose the suspenders." "Need a reservation for 8:30." "Excuse me, gentlemen." "Right back." "10:00 would not be any good." "No." "Just fucking call them." "Give me the phone." "I'll do it." "I'll call you back." "Face it." "The Japanese will own most of this country by the end of the '90s." "Shut up, Carnes." "They will not." "So, uh, Harold, did you get my message?" "Jesus, yes." "That was hilarious." "That was you, wasn't it?" "Yeah, naturally." "Bateman killing Allen and the escort girls." "That's fabulous." "That's rich." "What exactly do you mean?" "The message you left." "By the way, Davis, how's Cynthia?" "You're still seeing her, right?" "W-Wait, Harold." "What do you mean?" "Excuse me." "Nothing." "It's good to see you." "Is that Edward Towers?" "Carnes, wait." "Uh—" "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 Mc Dermott." "Otherwise, it was amusing." "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be going." "Wait." "Uh— Stop." "I did it, Carnes." "I killed him." "I'm Patrick Bateman." "I chopped Allen's fucking head off." "The whole message I left on your machine was true." "Excuse me." "I really must be going now." "No." "No, listen." "Don't you know who I am?" "I'm not Davis." "I'm Patrick Bateman." "We talk on the phone all the time." "Don't you recognize me?" "You're my lawyer." "Now, Carnes, listen." "Listen very, very carefully." "I killed Paul Allen, and I liked it." "I can't make myself any clearer." "But that's simply not 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?" "Because I had dinner with Paul Allen... twice in London just ten days ago." "No, you... didn't." "Now, if you'll excuse me." "We've seen the results of that mistrust... in the form of lies, provisions in the States." "We need to find a way to cooperate while realizing foreign policy... can't be run by committee." "And I believe there's now the growing sense... that we can accomplish more by cooperating." "And in the end, this maybe the eventual blessing in disguise... to come out of the Iran-Contra mess." "How can he lie like that?" "How can he pull that shit?" "What shit?" "Now, where do we have reservations at?" "I'm not really hungry, but I'd like to have reservations someplace." "How can you be so fucking," "I don't know, cool about it?" "Some guys arejust born cool, I guess." "Bateman?" "–What are you so fucking zany about?" "–I'm just a happy camper." "Rockin' and a rollin'!" "Oh, brother, look." "He presents himself as this harmless old codger, but inside— but inside—" "But inside doesn't matter." "Inside?" "Believe or not, Bryce, we're actually listening to you." "Come on, Bateman." "What do you think?" "–Whatever." "–Whose moronic idea was it to order dry beers?" "I need a scotch." "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." "I want no one to escape." "But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis." "My punishment continues to elude me... and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself." "No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling." "This confession has meant... nothing." "Word." "Come on." "⬄24000÷1001⬄"