"The Game", early draft, by John Brancato & Michael Ferris
The Game
by
John Brancato & Michael Ferris
REVISED
October 19, 1995
A1. TITLES OVER "HOME MOVIES" from the 1960's -- FLICKERING, GRAINY,
HAND-HELD, KODACHROME COLORS. MUSIC OVER.
1. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - D A Y (HOME MOVIES)
A SEVEN-YEAR-OLD BIRTHDAY BOY with a blindfold spins round and
round, the HANDS of OTHER CHILDREN keep him spinning. MAIN TITLE.
It's a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. The dizzy boy is given
a strip of felt, and the CAMERA follows as he stumbles toward a
large cardboard donkey. He pins the tail on its nose.
2. QUICK, RAGGED CUTS-- the BOY blows out candles... opens gifts...
a CLOWN ties balloon animals. CHILDREN, MAIDS and BUTLERS hover
about; there's even a real-live PONY. The party take splace in the
gardens of a massive Pacific Heights MANSION.
3. THE BOY is SCHUYLER VAN ORTON (7), and this is his birthday
party. He's a serious-looking child, who adjusts his glasses as he
poses for a shot with his mother, MRS. VAN ORTON, a stiff-looking
society matron. A NANNY brings over an INFANT and gently places
the baby in Schuyler's arms. Schuyler is ultra-careful, over-
whelmed by the responsibility of holding his tiny BROTHER (DAVID).
4. THE BOY and the other children sit spellbound, watching a magic
show in the front GARDEN-- a MAGICIAN waves a colored handkerchief,
a DOVE FLIES OUT. CAMERA FOLLOWS the bird UP toward the house...
5. THE CAMERA FINDS MR. VAN ORTON, a pinched, depressive man of
about 40, wearing glasses. He stands on a high balcony at the top
story of the mansion, in a bathrobe, smoking a cigarette. The
unseen photographer ZOOMS IN jerkily on the man. When he realizes
he's being photographed, Mr. Van Orton turns his back and goes
inside the house. The film SOLARIZES and runs into LEADER--
CUT TO:
6. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - D A Y (PRESENT DAY)
TITLES CONTINUE. Early morning, the same mansion (ideally an
ornate Victorian or Arts & Crafts). The landscaping has changed,
there are some modern touches, such as an iron gate surrounding the
carriageway, a black 500-class MERCEDES in the drive.
MUSIC DOWN, SEGUE to a CNN NEWS BROADCAST OVER as the CAMERA MOVES
IN ON THE UPPER BALCONY where we'd seen Mr. Van Orton earlier...
it's now COVERED and GLASSED-IN. We move THROUGH THE GLASS...
7. I N T . M A S T E R B E D R O O M - D A Y
TRACK THROUGH a large master bedroom; neat, masculine and Spartan,
free weights, a treadmill. Atop the bed a LAPTOP COMPUTER runs
STOCK QUOTES. A LARGE-SCREEN TV plays UNWATCHED, a familiar CNN
ANCHOR (we'll assume BERNARD SHAW). The Bang & Olufsen CLOCK RADIO
CLICKS ON, 6:30 am; CLASSICAL MUSIC now DUELS with the TV report.
HAND-ANNOTATED PAPERWORK and STOCK READOUTS cover a NIGHT TABLE,
where the ringing multi-line TELEPHONE JOINS the cacophony.
END TITLES as we MOVE TOWARD a DOOR, it's open a crack-- from this
adjacent bath we hear the SOUND OF A SHOWER RUNNING...
8. I N T . M A S T E R B A T H R O O M - D A Y
In the steam-filled bathroom, we make out SCHUYLER VAN ORTON, now
38. He's handsome, fit and apparently in complete control of his
world. He steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around himself
and grabs the BATHROOM PHONE.
SCHUYLER (on phone)
Van Orton... Yes, it is my
birthday, Bob, is that why you
called...? Ah... No, I'm not
carrying Alan Baer another inch,
fuck him, BG Lumber is history...
As he speaks, he continues his morning ritual-- hair combing, Q-
tips, etc. (Schuyler is a man in almost constant motion.)
9. E X T. S A N F R A N C I S C O S T R E E T S - D A Y
The black Mercedes moves quickly through morning traffic.
10. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S C A R - D A Y
SCHUYLER is on his car phone, NEWS RADIO LOW in BG, maneuvering
aggressively through traffic. His laptop RUNS in the passenger
seat, its cellular antenna up.
SCHUYLER (on carphone)
Ignore the rumors, Alan, you know
me, of course I'm behind Baer-
Grace a hundred per cent... great,
see you at the shareholders'
meeting next month...
He hangs up and HONKS at another driver, displaying no emotion.
11. I N T . V A N O R T O N O F F I C E S - D A Y
TRACK WITH SCHUYLER through an elegant suite of offices. He passes
a discreet sign: "THE VAN ORTON GROUP." Schuyler is on a cell-
phone, carrying the laptop, trailed by MARIA, his middle-aged
secretary. She bears paperwork and patiently awaits his attention.
SCHUYLER (on cellphone)
I've got buyers for the BG paper mill,
goose the lawyers, final papers in
three weeks... sure it's sad, but an
old dog loses its teeth and pisses
itself, you put it to sleep...
As Schuyler walks, he's GREETED by passing UNDERLINGS, whom he
ignores. He SHUTS OFF the phone, Maria hands him a couple of
items, follows him into his office.
MARIA
Carol from the museum called.
She's sending architect's sketches
of the wing...
12. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S O F F I C E - D A Y
The office is large, tasteful, reeks of old money. A window
overlooks the San Francisco skyline and the Bay.
MARIA
That Business Week reporter called again--
SCHUYLER
Tell him to fuck himself. Nicely.
MARIA
(awkwardly)
--and, um, somebody who identified
himself as, um, P.P. Willy.
SCHUYLER FREEZES at this, stares at her.
MARIA
Sorry, I figured it was a crank, but
he swore you'd know who he was. He
wanted to meet you for lunch, I told
him you had appointments all--
SCHUYLER
Cancel. Cancel the whole afternoon.
MARIA
But you--
SCHUYLER
Do it. Did he leave a number?
MARIA
No. He just said he'd be at Leo's
in the Haight. At noon.
Maria hands him a slip of paper, lingers, awaiting explanation...
SCHUYLER
That's all, Maria.
She heads out quickly. Schuyler stares at the slip, then turns to
look out the window, lost in thought.
CUT TO:
13. I N T . L E O ' S - D A Y
A working class bar, an ALCOHOLIC or two, pinball machines.
SCHUYLER sits a table near a window, checking his watch, it's not
his kind of place. A WAITRESS arrives in a too-small uniform--
young, multiple earrings, CHRISTINE according to her name tag.
CHRISTINE
Can I take your order?
SCHUYLER
I haven't seen the menu.
CHRISTINE
Oh, right. Here, see ya.
She hands him a menu and starts off. Schuyler calls after her.
SCHUYLER
An iced tea, please--
She waves a hand, "yeah, right," without looking back. Schuyler
sighs and opens the menu. Suddenly, someone BACKHANDS the side of
his skull, he assumes a defensive posture. Schuyler sees his
LAUGHING brother: DAVID VAN ORTON.
DAVID
Yo, Sky. Happy birthday.
SCHUYLER
(rubs his head, annoyed)
Thanks, "Pee-pee." I never get
tired of that.
DAVID slides into the seat opposite him. He's in his early 30's,
good-looking but unkempt, wears bright, funky clothes, an earring
and a perpetual grin. There's an intense, edgy quality to him
which Schuyler has some trouble readjusting to.
SCHUYLER
Well... long time.
DAVID
Yeah, since Mom died-- what, five
years? So how you been?
SCHUYLER
Business as usual...
DAVID
How's Elizabeth? Any kids?
SCHUYLER
A little girl.
DAVID
Congrat--
SCHUYLER
It's not mine, she married a
pediatrician in Sausalito.
DAVID
You're divorced...
(off Schuyler's nod)
Too bad, she was actually interesting.
SCHUYLER
She stopped drinking, I guess
getting rid of me was the 13th step.
DAVID
So you're all alone in the House of Pain.
SCHUYLER
I redecorated. Where have you been?
DAVID
All over. Nowhere in particular.
Didn't your fucking gumshoes keep
you informed of my every movement?
SCHUYLER
I called them off two years ago,
David. You'd kicked the heroin, you'd
left the ashram, you were windsurfing
somewhere in Central America...
DAVID
It's gorgeous down there... you
should go sometime.
SCHUYLER
Look, are you in trouble, is there
anything you need? You can't have
gone through the trust fund...
DAVID
(looks at him, hurt)
That's not why I'm here, Sky, I
just wanted to see you... I even
brought a gift, for a change.
SCHUYLER
You didn't bake me a cake, did you?
DAVID
You can't still be mad about the
hash brownies...
Schuyler's unamused by the memory. David grins and pulls a small
envelope out of his pocket, tosses it on the table in front of him.
DAVID
Happy birthday, bro.
SCHUYLER
What is this.
DAVID
It's a bomb. Open it!
Schuyler shrugs, opens the envelope and shakes out--
A BUSINESS CARD in BLUE and ORANGE: "CONSUMER RECREATION SERVICES."
The C, R and S are HIGHLIGHTED, a PHONE NUMBER at the bottom.
SCHUYLER picks up the card, fingers it.
SCHUYLER
Consumer Recreation Services. OK...
DAVID
I can't tell you very much about it,
that'd ruin the surprise. Just
promise me you'll give 'em a call.
SCHUYLER
I don't get it.
DAVID
Just call 'em. OK look, it's simple,
really. They entertain you.
SCHUYLER
Is this an escort service?
DAVID
No, it's nothing like that.
They're a business, they're for
real... They guarantee just one
thing-- you won't be bored.
Schuyler gives him a bored, blank look. David throws up his hands.
DAVID
They make your life fun.
SCHUYLER
Fun.
DAVID
You've heard of it.
Christine the waitress has shown up with Schuyler's iced tea. She
puts it down hastily, spilling some across the table. Schuyler
shies away, grabbing a napkin and blotting it up before it can drip
into his lap. Cracking gum:
CHRISTINE
Sorry.
She moves off as Schuyler tries to order, raising a finger--
SCHUYLER
Just a cheesebur... how'd you find
this place?
DAVID
Old connection used to meet me
here. So you gonna call 'em?
SCHUYLER
(a sigh, carefully)
You know, David, this is sweet, but
it's an awfully busy time, I'm in the
midst of a delicate liquidation--
DAVID
(mimicking him bitterly)
"A delicate liquidation," God, you
would do this...
SCHUYLER
David--
DAVID
We can't get together once without
you making me feel like shit. That's
important to you, isn't it?
SCHUYLER
What are you talking about?
DAVID
Forget about it, don't bother.
David slumps in his seat, won't meet Schuyler's eyes.
SCHUYLER
Are you still on medication...?
David glares at him. With the impeccable timing of all waitresses,
CHRISTINE appears, chipper.
CHRISTINE
You guys know what you want?
DAVID
Go away.
She curls her lip and departs before Schuyler can open his mouth.
He sighs, resigned to the idea of not eating. Calmly:
DAVID
I just thought you'd like it. I did,
it was a blast, best thing that ever
happened to me. And for your
information, I'm not on anything
anymore, I'm not even seeing a
shrink, I'm in a better place than
I've ever been, I'm even happy-- but
that's something else I wouldn't be
able to explain to you.
SCHUYLER
OK, OK, I'll give them a call...
DAVID
Whatever.
SCHUYLER
Look, take a pill. Just be normal
for thirty seconds and tell me what
this is. I hate surprises.
DAVID
I know.
David WINKS, puts a finger to his lips-- not another word.
CLOSE as Schuyler slips the brightly-colored CARD into his pocket.
CUT TO:
14. E X T . V A N O R T O N O F F I C E B U I L D I N G - N I G H T
ESTABLISH the moonlit exterior of an older, classy building in
downtown San Francisco. MOVE IN on a high window, one of the few
LIT at this hour. We hear the SOUND OF A PHONE CHIRPING OVER.
lS. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S O F F I C E - N I G H T
COMPUTERS run, stacks of PAPERWORK, etc. PHONE continues to RING.
FIND SCHUYLER as he punches the SPEAKER:
SCHUYLER
Van Orton.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
Hello, Schuyler.
ELIZABETH is Schuyler's ex-wife-- an earnest woman, a stranger to
subtlety. STAY WITH SCHUYLER, who half-smiles, looks at his watch.
SCHUYLER
Eleven forty, you almost didn't
make it.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
I always call on your birthday.
How was it?
SCHUYLER
Oh, the usual, big party, circus
clowns, naked lady in a cake...
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
(slight chuckle; serious)
How are you, Sky?
She has the concerned, forthright tone of a "recovery person,"
someone who's been through a lot of therapy and wants to reach out.
Schuyler GRIMACES, then mimics the tone:
SCHUYLER
I'm just fine. How are you?
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
It wasn't a trick question.
Thirty-eight, I thought that might
be a-- a difficult year for you...
SCHUYLER
Hm? Just another birthday,
another year closer to death.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
I meant-- because of your father.
SCHUYLER
Oh that's right, I guess he was 38,
wasn't he? I hadn't thought about
it, to tell the truth, but thank you
for the reminder.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
Why do I call you...
SCHUYLER
I honestly don't know, but it's a
nice change of pace from talking
to your attorneys. So, still
working at the hospice?
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
Mm-hmm, couple days a week...
SCHUYLER
Great, that's great. Well, give my
regards to Dr. Mel and the baby--
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
She has a little brother on the
way... we just did the ultrasound.
SCHUYLER
Really. Congratulations-- two
kids, an official nuclear family,
you must be very happy.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
We are, Sky. Very happy.
SCHUYLER
Well, you deserved someone who
wanted the same things you did--
ELIZABETH
Are you? Happy?
SCHUYLER hates this question. He quickly changes the subject.
SCHUYLER
Speaking of little brothers, I saw
David today.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
Really?
SCHUYLER
He asked about you. He's on a new
kick, some personal improvement cult.
I'm gonna check it out, I'm sure he's
getting fleeced again.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
Who knows, maybe it'll be good for
you. Send David my love.
SCHUYLER
Right. Well, thanks again for
calling, Elizabeth, take care.
ELIZABETH (on speaker)
You too, Schuyler-- I mean that--
SCHUYLER
Mm, good luck, bye.
He PUNCHES off the phone in the middle of her "Good-bye." Schuyler
returns to his work, as if the call hadn't taken place-- but a few
seconds later, we see his concentration is completely shattered, he
leans back in his SQUEAKING deskchair.
CUT TO:
16. E X T . P A C I F I C H E I G H T S - N I G H T
SCHUYLER'S MERCEDES cruises on the hilly streets, past impressive
mansions on all sides, a CRESCENT MOON overhead.
17. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S C A R - N I G H T
CLASSICAL MUSIC plays. SCHUYLER drives, looking unsettled.
18. E X T . P A C I F I C H E I G H T S - D A Y (60'S/FLASHBACK)
POV DRIVING SHOT, from the backset of a LIMOUSINE. PERIOD CARS,
FASHIONS, etc. MUSIC CONTINUES OVER.
19. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S C A R - N I G H T
SCHUYLER changes the RADIO STATION, trying to drown out his
thoughts with LOUD ROCK AND ROLL.
20. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - N I G H T
THE ELECTRIC GATE slides open, and Schuyler's Benz pulls in.
21. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - D A Y (FLASHBACK)
A LIMOUSINE pulls into the ungated carriageway. THE BACK DOOR
OPENS and SCHUYLER (7) emerges from the backseat, carrying
elementary schoolbooks. As he approaches the front steps, he looks
upward at something, blinks and squints.
ANGLE UP-- MR. VAN ORTON, in his robe, stands on the balcony
railing, looking up at the sky. He turns his gaze slowly downward.
YOUNG SCHUYLER is puzzled, gives his dad a tentative wave.
MR. VAN ORTON waves back, his eyes dead, expression blank.
YOUNG SCHUYLER opens his mouth to call to his father-- instead we
hear an URGENT ELECTRONIC BEEPING--
22. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S K I T C H E N - N I G H T
A MICROWAVE OVEN BEEPS that the meal is "READY." SCHUYLER opens
the door, takes out his upscale junk food, grabs a fork.
23. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S D E N - N I G H T
ON A BIG-SCREEN TV, a CNN NEWSCAST shows a FIRE OUT OF CONTROL.
MOVE FROM THIS through the manly, book-lined den. The house is
traditional, opulent, densely decorated with "good pieces"-- and it
feels like a mausoleum.
FIND SCHUYLER peeling open the plastic food container. He sits in
a leather armchair. A BOTTLE OF DOM PERIGNON sits on the coffee
table, near a champagne flute glass, a CUPCAKE with a CANDLE in it.
The LAPTOP computer is RUNNING.
ON TV, BERNARD SHAW comes out of the story.
BERNARD SHAW (TV)
--for the residents of the
Crescent Heights project, a truly
tragic day is over at last--
SCHUYLER
I'll drink to that.
SCHUYLER raises his champagne glass to the TV, his birthday done.
Then he toasts in the direction of a FRAMED PICTURE on the coffee
table-- a WEDDING PHOTO OF SCHUYLER and ELIZABETH.
BERNARD SHAW (TV)
--up next, the latest in sports.
For all of us here at CNN, thank
you for watching--
SCHUYLER reaches for the REMOTE CONTROL. He settles back on the
sofa, CHANNEL HOPPING. He despairs of this quickly, points the
remote at his own head-- CLICK, CLICK. He closes his eyes.
24. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - D A Y (FLASHBACK)
MR. VAN ORTON stands on the edge of the balcony, waving as before.
He looks skyward one last time, then suddenly LAUNCHES HIMSELF INTO
SPACE in a head-first dive. We hear what sounds like a SCREAM--
CUT TO:
25. E X T . C R S B U I L D I N G - D A Y
--it's a CAR HORN. The vehicle passes to reveal SCHUYLER striding
toward a postmodern building in the financial district; a ramp
leads to a parking garage beneath. Casually dressed, he glances up
at the facade for a few moments, then goes in.
26. I N T . C R S L O B B Y A N D A T R I U M - D A Y
The very new, dramatic structure is built around a central twelve-
story atrium narrowing to a SKYLIGHT above. There's still some
minor construction underway on the ground floor, scaffolding about.
Schuyler crosses to a bank of lobby elevators.
27. I N T . C R S E L E V A T O R - D A Y
Schuyler looks out the glass elevator as it rises vertiginously.
HIS POV as the atrium shrinks below him.
28. I N T . C R S O F F I C E S - D A Y
Partitioned work areas, terminals, clutter and disarray. Office
doors open off a reception area. CRS EMPLOYEES move about
hectically. Schuyler enters, wanders about for a moment, confused.
A friendly female RECEPTIONIST glances up from her desk.
RECEPTIONIST
Can I help you?
SCHUYLER
Is this Consumer Recreation
Services? I have an appointment,
the name's Van Orton.
The woman flips through an appointment book with a logo, CRS. IN
BG, JIM FEINGOLD pays a CHINESE DELIVERY GUY for a BAG OF FOOD.
RECEPTIONIST
Hm... I don't seem to--
SCHUYLER
Schuyler Van Orton, I called last week.
The woman shakes her head. FEINGOLD slows as he crosses past
Schuyler, carrying the bag. He's 30-40, a no-nonsense engineer,
looks a bit dull, but he exudes competence and trustworthiness.
FEINGOLD
Problem?
RECEPTIONIST
This gentlemen says he has an
appointment, but...
Feingold glances at Schuyler, shrugs.
FEINGOLD
Van Orton, huh? I'll take him.
(shakes his hand)
Jim Feingold, v. p. in charge of
engineering and data analysis.
The man leads Schuyler to a row of open boxes on the floor, looks
in a couple, then finds what he's after. He snatches up a couple
of pages, hands them to Schuyler. Then he finds a clipboard on the
floor, tosses it to him like a frisbee.
FEINGOLD
Sorry about the chaos, we're still
in the process of moving...
follow me, I've got an office
around here someplace.
He reaches into a box of PENS, passes one to Schuyler.
CLOSE ON PEN-- the CRS LOGO.
CUT TO:
29. I N T . F E I N G O L D ' S O F F I C E / H A L L W A Y - D A Y
A modern, dramatic office. Swoopy furniture, imposing ART, all
very cool-looking. Feingold moves behind the desk, unpacks a
couple of white cartons.
FEINGOLD
I can't remember the last time I ate
in a restaurant, all I do is work...
SCHUYLER sits on a couch, looking at the forms.
SCHUYLER
I know what you mean. Look-- what
is all this?
The fast-talking Feingold moves energetically through the office,
occasionally picking at his food or poking at the air with
chopsticks-- he's a bit hyper and fidgety in general.
FEINGOLD
Application, MMPI and TAT tests,
financial statement...
(indicating food)
Want some? Tung Hoy, best in Chinatown...
(as Schuyler shakes his head)
The tests serve a threefold purpose.
First off, are you right for us?
Are we right for you? Unfortunately,
there's a limited number of slots--
SCHUYLER
Let's back up here--
FEINGOLD
(over him)
B, we need an idea of your abilities
and limitations, what turns you on,
and off. Numero tres, our insurance
company requires it.
(a beat, studying Schuyler)
You're familiar with our service,
aren't you?
SCHUYLER
Not at all. What are you selling?
FEINGOLD
Well... it's a game.
SCHUYLER
A game.
FEINGOLD
Recharges the batteries, gets you
off the treadmill, it's an
experience. Sort of a-- vacation
for the guy who's been everywhere.
SCHUYLER
This really doesn't sound like my
sort of--
Feingold sits on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, nodding and
smiling condescendingly-- he raises a hand to stop Schuyler.
SCHUYLER
What's so amusing?
FEINGOLD
Nothing. I know who you are.
You're David Van Orton's brother,
he got you in here.
SCHUYLER
So.
FEINGOLD
(remembering fondly)
David was-- impressive, one of the
better I've seen. But frankly, I
can see you're not the type.
SCHUYLER
The type.
FEINGOLD
You know, a player.
SCHUYLER
I'm not a player.
FEINGOLD
I don't mean anything personal by it--
I know you're an important guy,
powerful guy, you're used to being on
top. It's just, this isn't for
everyone. Not everyone can handle it.
SCHUYLER
(nearly losing it)
What kind of fu-- game is this?
FEINGOLD
The ultimate fucking game. I wish I
could tell you more, but it's
different every time.
(rising)
Thanks for coming in--
SCHUYLER
(doesn't move)
I'm not an idiot. I see what you're
doing. First the vague yet intriguing
pitch, then I'm supposed to feel like
my manhood's in question because I'm
not up for, what, some motivational
role-playing fantasy nonsense--
FEINGOLD
Interesting, you don't know the first
thing about it but you've already
decided what it is... Listen, I
don't wanna waste any more--
SCHUYLER
Please, Jim, cut the hard-to-get
shit. I've got the afternoon
free, I'll take your silly tests.
Feingold cocks his head, reappraising him. Then, with a smile, he
calls to an attractive young WOMAN passing in the hall; Schuyler,
meanwhile, flips through the pages of the tests.
FEINGOLD
Ms. Nelson, are you busy? We need
someone to run Mr. Van Orton.
MS. NELSON
This way, sir...
As she leads Schuyler out the door, Feingold WINKS at him.
FEINGOLD
I'll catch up with you after the physical.
Schuyler reacts-- a physical? He throws up a hand and follows the
woman into the hall. Alone now, Feingold cracks a fortune cookie
and glances at the slip of paper inside. He furrows his brow with
concern at the fortune-- then tosses it aside.
CUT TO:
30. CRS OFFICES - SERIES OF SHOTS
During the following QUICK CUTS, SOUNDS will be layered in and
CONTINUE over one another, e. g. the SOUND of a scraping pencil,
the BLIPS of machinery, HEAVY BREATHING, MURMURING VOICES of
TECHNICIANS giving instructions...
A. X-CLOSE: A #2 pencil FILLS IN box after box on a long MMPI
form. CLOSE on a couple of these: "I sometimes hurt animals... I
feel guilty when I masturbate..." each followed by TRUE and FALSE
boxes.
B. A WHITE-WALLED ROOM: Schuyler concentrates on a drawing held by
a stone-faced PSYCHOLOGIST, a TAT test; he laughs as he speaks into
a tape-recorder, analyzing the pictures.
C. X-CLOSE: The DRAWING, a large ant with an apron feeding a TV
dinner to a human child. The card moves just as we register it to
reveal another DRAWING of a smiling man toppling backwards in a
chair, perched on the edge of a cliff.
D. A LAB: Electronic MONITORS and PRINTERS record Schuyler's EEG
and EKG. We see him on a doctor's table, wearing a medical gown
with the CRS logo. He's hooked up to the wires, a female
TECHNICIAN studying the readouts while a NURSE takes his blood
pressure.
E. X-CLOSE: The traveling trace of intersecting colored waves.
F. A DARKENED ROOM: Schuyler in FG, still in the gown, watches a
screen as images FLASH-- geometric SHAPES, WORDS, PHOTOS. His
finger hovers over a bank of three buttons, he presses different
ones from time to time. There's a MIRROR to one side of the room--
G. X-CLOSE: A COMPUTER SCREEN shows green columns of NUMBERS--
SCHUYLER'S NAME is steady at the top of the screen, with an account
number. CAMERA MOVES FROM THE SCREEN to show an unseen COMPUTER
OPERATOR watching Schuyler through the one-way glass.
The CACOPHONY of the MONTAGE ends abruptly as we CUT TO:
31. I N T . C U B I C L E - N I G H T
Schuyler, in the gown, sits on an examination table with his hands
in his lap in a small, featureless cubicle-- he seems vulnerable,
looks around blankly. To himself, irritated and bemused:
SCHUYLER
David, you suck.
FEINGOLD BURSTS IN, a slew of COMPUTER PRINT-OUTS under his arm.
FEINGOLD
Sorry to keep you waiting,
a client's head exploded...
(grins)
You can get dressed, we're done.
He throws open a closet door. Schuyler reaches inside for his
clothes, which are neatly folded and on hangers. Feingold turns
his back on him as he DRESSES, perching on the examination table
and studying the unburst print-outs.
FEINGOLD
Looks promising at this point.
You test well, you're in decent
shape for someone in your tax
bracket... Hm, some resistance to
the psych questions, but we got
the general idea...
He heads out, beckons for Schuyler to follow.
32. I N T . C R S M A I N F L O O R - N I G H T
Feingold leads him through the office-- SECRETARIES and other
WORKERS pack up at the end of the day.
FEINGOLD
We design the game around your
schedule, you're free to give it
as much or as little time as you
wish. And of course, you can call
it quits at any point.
SCHUYLER
This was actually a gift. Did my
brother pay in advance?
FEINGOLD
You'd have to ask our billing
department... the price varies. But
our service comes with a guarantee.
If you're not satisfied, there's no
charge. And we've never had an
unsatisfied customer...
SCHUYLER
You mean dissatisfied.
FEINGOLD
(looking at a form)
Mm, that's right-- you're a left-
brain word fetishist.
SCHUYLER
I get that all the time.
Feingold smiles tightly and leads Schuyler back into his office.
33. I N T . F E I N G O L D ' S O F F I C E - D A Y
CLOSE ON PAPERWORK as it's dropped on the desktop.
SCHUYLER, CRS pen in hand, looks at this dubiously.
SCHUYLER
So I'm supposed to sign up for a
game when I don't know the rules,
I don't know the object, I don't
know how much it costs...
FEINGOLD
It's a leap of faith. But at this
stage, there's no commitment-- we
just need to process your
application. And if you qualify,
you're in for the ride of your
life. What have you got to lose?
Schuyler CLICKS the ballpoint pen, they both lean over the papers.
FEINGOLD
Initials-- initials-- sign here.
Schuyler's about to sign when Feingold grabs his wrist.
FEINGOLD
In blood.
(a WINK)
---Just kidding.
CLOSE, as Schuyler SIGNS on the dotted line.
FEINGOLD snatches up the forms, suddenly seems in a hurry for
Schuyler to go.
FEINGOLD
Very good, Mr. Van Orton. Please,
keep the pen.
Schuyler shrugs, sticks it in his breast pocket, starts out.
SCHUYLER
When can I expect to hear--
FEINGOLD
We'll be in touch.
Feingold gently shuts the door on schuyler's face.
S C E N E 3 4 D E L E T E D
CUT TO:
35(NEW). I N T . R A C Q U E T B A L L C O U R T / C O R R I D O R - D A Y
WHAM, a BALL SLAMS against a wall.
THROUGH A WINDOW, we see SCHUYLER playing violently, pumping
sweat... he's alone. We hear the sound of a PHONE CALL OVER:
SCHUYLER (V. O.)
David, where the hell are you, we
were supposed to meet at the club--
DAVID (V. O.)
Oh, shit, sorry Sky, I spaced--
next Tuesday?
SCHUYLER (V. O.)
I'll be in Seattle.
DAVID (V. O.)
Buy you lunch soon as you get
back, I swear...
Fed up with playing alone, Schuyler lets the ball bounce, exits the
court and heads for a LOCKER ROOM down the hall...
SCHUYLER (V. O.)
I checked out CRS by the way--
DAVID (V. O.)
Hey, great, you gonna go for it?
SCHUYLER (V. O.)
Haven't decided yet...
S C E N E 3 6 D E L E T E D
37(NEW). E X T . C O U N T R Y C L U B B A R - D A Y
SCHUYLER, in casual clothes, hair still wet from a shower, comes
out of a locker room area toward an outdoor BAR by a SWIMMING POOL
at this upscale country ciub. He passes PETE and JOHN, two middle-
aged RICH MEN sitting at a table near the bar; he overhears a
snippet of their conversation--
JOHN
--like fuckin' wildfire, just
opened an office in Frisco here--
PETE
I played my game in New York...
What do you think John, will CRS
ever go public?
JOHN
(laughs)
Not likely, would you?
Schuyler slows down, eavesdropping, then moves toward the bar,
addresses the BARTENDER with a nod toward John and Pete.
SCHUYLER
New members?
BARTENDER
I believe so.
SCHUYLER
This round's on me.
Schuyler moves casually toward the men--
DISSOLVE TO:
38(N). SAME LOCATION, LATER, the bartender brings another round of
drinks to the table, Schuyler and the men have been chatting a
while, all seem relaxed. Pete, the friendlier (drunker) of the
two, puffs a CIGAR as he speaks:
PETE
...last time I played Pebble, I swore
I'd never pick up a club again...
The others CHUCKLE knowingly. Schuyler sips his drink, blinking
and coughing discretely at the smoke; there's a slight pause.
SCHUYLER
Great thing about golf, the way it
takes you out of your life...
Speaking of games-- I take it you
two are familiar with CRS...?
JOHN
Uh-oh. Time to piss...
He slides off his stool. Pete studies Schuyler, sizing him up.
PETE
Why do you ask, Schuyler?
SCHUYLER
I couldn't help overhearing--
PETE
We don't usually talk about it.
SCHUYLER
I only bring it up because, well,
I recently tested for it.
PETE
Did you? Kudos.
SCHUYLER
I just wasn't sure if they're for
real, whether it's worth it--
PETE
Worth it... Gee, I dunno... they did
save my fucking life...
SCHUYLER
Sorry?
PETE
Look, I don't know you, you don't know
me, but... I hit a certain point,
nothing meant anything. My work, the
wife and kids-- hell with 'em, I was
sick of it all, y'know? But CRS... they
changed everything. "Are they for
real?" Who cares, maybe nothing is.
(raises his glass)
To reality.
Schuyler raises his glass, numbed by this outpouring. Pete drains
his drink, chuckling to himself. His friend comes back, looking
concerned, takes the man's arm.
JOHN
C'mon Pete.
PETE
(winks at Schuyler)
Good luck, pal. You'll need it.
Schuyler stares after the two men dubiously as they move off.
CUT TO:
39. I N T . L A W F I R M C O N F E R E N C E R O O M - D A Y
A slick, designery conference room, filled with BABBLING LAWYERS--
at the head of the table stands BOB PLYMPTON, a trustworthy man in
his late 50's. MURMURING CONTINUES during Plympton's address.
PLYMPTON
Excuse me. Excuse me! Postponing
the Baer-Grace meeting is out of
the question. Schuyler gets on a
plane for Washington tomorrow
morning at seven with every
contract, every side agreement,
the complete closing package!
Schuyler has been going through paperwork in the back of the room,
he steps forward during the above.
LAWYER
But there's simply no--
THWAP! Schuyler DROPS the stack of papers on the table, SILENCE.
SCHUYLER
No is not an option. If you fail
to recognize that, I'll find ten
other law firms in the yellow
pages that can get the job done--
CHIRP. Schuyler's CELL-PHONE has started RINGING during the above.
He finally removes it from his pocket and moves to a quiet corner.
SCHUYLER
(impatient)
Yes.
QUIET COMMOTION resumes IN BG during the following. On the other
end of the line, there's the bland, bureaucratic VOICE of CYNTHIA:
CYNTHIA (filter)
Mr. Van Orton?
SCHUYLER
Yes, who is this?
CYNTHIA (filter)
This is Cynthia at CRS...
SCHUYLER
What?! How did you get this number?
CYNTHIA (filter)
I'm just calling to inform you
that we've finished processing
your application--
SCHUYLER
I'm in a meeting--
CYNTHIA (filter)
--and I'm afraid you didn't qualify.
SCHUYLER
--so I don't have time for--
(beat, then quickly)
Excuse me, what was that?
CYNTHIA (filter)
Well... your application was rejected.
SCHUYLER
...Why?
CYNTHIA (filter)
Oh, I'm afraid I don't have that
information, but-- many applicants
don't meet the criteria. We
apologize, we hope it hasn't
caused you any inconvenience--
SCHUYLER
This is absurd--
CYNTHIA (filter)
Thank you for thinking of CRS.
CLICK and a DIAL TONE. Schuyler shuts the phone and replaces it in
his pocket, his mind suddenly far away from the meeting at hand.
PLYMPTON, a wel1-meaning man with a fatherly attitude toward
Schuyler, steps close to him and speaks quietly, concerned:
PLYMPTON
Bad news, Sky?
SCHUYLER
No, nothing. Sorry, Bob.
(loudly, to boardroom)
So were there any more questions, or
may I assume it's under control...
CUT TO:
40. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - N I G H T
SCHUYLER pulls up in his MBZ, the electric gate glides shut. He
gets out of the car and SETS THE ALARM. He heads for the front
steps of his home-- then freezes, blinks--
ON HIS DOORSTEP lies a body, face-down, apparently a WINO, in a
tattered, filthy overcoat.
FLASH CUT TO:
41. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - D A Y (FLASHBACK)
SAME ANGLE, QUICK SHOT of the body of MR. VAN ORTON, sprawled
across the steps in much the same position as the wino, flat on his
stomach, head twisted at a grotesque angle. His bathrobe is even
similar in color to the wino's overcoac.
CUT BACK TO:
42. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - N I G H T
SCHUYLER shakes off the memory, looking alarmed. He calls out:
SCHUYLER
Hello! What are you doing here?
THE BODY doesn't stir. He approaches gingerly.
SCHUYLER
Wonderful. You OK? You dead?
He crouches by the wino, winces at a strong smell, covers his nose.
He reaches out to touch the body, but hesitates, pulls back. Alive
or dead, he doesn't want to have anything to do with this person.
SCHUYLER
Shit, shit, shit...
The "wino" suddenly SPRINGS UP like a jack-in-the-box, bending
backwards impossibly at the hips. Schuyler lets out a CRY and
scrambles back toward his car.
THE HEAD swivels to face him-- it's a grotesque HARLEQUIN, its head
made of COLORED GLASS, LIT from within. The MOUTH DROPS OPEN and a
tongue in the shape of a corkscrew SPRINGS OUT.
A SMALL KEY ON A HOOK dangles from the tip of the tongue. One of
the harlequin's glass eyes WINKS.
SCHUYLER stares in amazement for a few moments.
CLOSE on the dangling KEY as Schuyler fingers it. The key catches
the light and we see the letters "CRS" embossed on it.
42B(NEW). I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S F O Y E R - N I G H T
THE DUMMY is dumped in a straight-back chair in the foyer.
SCHUYLER takes a step back and studies it. He crosses its legs,
smirks and shakes his head, ascending the stairs.
CLOSE ON the disturbing empty stare of the DUMMY...
CUT TO:
43. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S B A T H R O O M / B E D R O O M - N I G H T
CLOSE ON SCHUYLER'S EYE as he blinks and removes a CONTACT LENS. A
NEWSCAST is barely audible in BG.
WIDER, Schuyler, squinting, in a bathrobe, enters from the bathroom
off the bedroom, putting his contact lens case into a toiletries
case. He's been packing a leather GARMENT BAG, which hangs from a
door, slips the toiletries into a "side pouch. The TV PLAYS in BG,
Bernard Shaw delivering the news.
BERNARD SHAW (on TV)
...the bill goes before the House
next week, where it's expected to
meet stiff opposition--
(beat, touches his ear)
Wait, this just in...
This gets Schuyler's attention, he squints toward the television.
BERNARD SHAW (cont., on TV)
The U. S. geological service has
detected a massive disturbance in the
earth's crust deep beneath the northern
segment of the San Andreas fault...
SCHUYLER scrambles for his glasses, as Shaw struggles to continue.
BERNARD SHAW (cont., on TV)
...they have issued a warning that a
major earthquake of magnitude eight
or greater is likely to hit the San
Francisco Bay area within...
(a beat)
Oh my God, the next fifteen minutes--
SCHUYLER sits on the bed, breathes hard, stares at the tube.
BERNARD SHAW (cont., on TV)
There is no time for an evacuation.
The federal government has issued
the following instructions for all
residents of central and northern
California...
SCHUYLER is freaking out, paces frantically, moves toward a phone--
who's he going to call? He makes a low MOAN.
SHAW'S voice CRACKS, he speaks very rapidly.
BERNARD SHAW (cont., on TV)
Locate emergency shut-offs for all
power and gas--
SCHUYLER starts moving out of the room--
BERNARD SHAW (cont., on TV)
Wait, there's no time for that-- just
stay away from windows and doors--
SCHUYLER doubles back, avoiding a window, his panic mounting--
BERNARD SHAW (cant., on TV)
Find a heavy piece of furniture such as
a desk or table and get under it--
SCHUYLER looks around, sees no such appropriate spot in the room.
BERNARD SHAW (cant., on TV)
If no such furniture is immediately
available, go to a window or doorway--
SCHUYLER blinks, hesitates starts to move toward the doar--
BERNARD sHAW (cant., on TV)
But first turn off all power and gas.
Crouch in a comfortable position, put
your head between your knees and cover
it with your arms--
SCHUYLER, confused, crouches as instructed--
BERNARD SHAW (cant., on TV)
Then KISS YOUR LILY-WHITE ASS GOODBYE!
On this last line, Shaw's voice starts to ECHO and CHANGE.
SCHUYLER rises, staring at the TV, mouth agape.
SHAW WINKS. His VOICE is utterly transformed.
BERNARD SHAW (on TV)
Howdy Sky.
HIS FACE RIPPLES and MORPHS into a SKULL, it's becoming clear that
this is a computer-generated Bernard shaw.
CYBERSHAW (on TV)
Que pasa?
As CYBERSHAW speaks, his face will continue to transform, sometimes
back to a recognizable human state, other times into abstract
images, a talking piano, a dog, etc.
CYBERSHAW (on TV)
Welcome to the Game!
Congratulations on your decision
to let Consumer Recreation
Services entertain you.
The combination of relief, amazement and anger is a bit much for
Schuyler to absorb. Smiling sickly:
SCHUYLER
Fuckers!
CYBERSHAW (on TV)
This might be a good time to lay out
a few ground rules, help you enjoy
your adventure. You've received the
first key. There will be others.
Pay attention-- you never know where
you'll find 'em, you never know when
you'll need 'em, so keep 'em with
you at all times...
As he speaks, Schuyler reaches for the gold key on his bedside
table. He starts putting it onto his keychain.
ON TV SCREEN-- below CyberShaw, a PHONE NUMBER SCROLLS PAST.
CYBERSHAW (on TV)
You might want to write this number
down, it's the CRS hotline, operators
are standing by to assist... but
please don't call to ask what the
object of the game is-- figuring that
out is the object of the game...
SCHUYLER has snatched up the CRS pen to write down the number-- it
doesn't work. SWEARING, he tosses it aside, grabs another.
ON TV, CyberShaw MORPHS back into the original Bernard Shaw.
There's a quick VISUAL GLITCH on the tube as the original TV feed
resumes-- Bernard Shaw is delivering a normal news story.
BERNARD SHAW (on TV)
--reaction on wall Street was muted
following the Fed's announcement of...
SCHUYLER is taken with the display of electronic pyrotechnics, in
spite of himself. He hits the speaker button on his phone, dials.
OPERATOR VOICE (filter)
You've reached CRS...
SCHUYLER
Yeah, this is pretty impressive
but listen--
OPERATOR VOICE (filter)
Our office is closed. Please call
back during business hours.
(BEEP)
SCHUYLER
My name is Schuyler Van Orton, my
game just started. Look, this is a
bad time, I'm about to leave town--
A DIAL TONE, CRS doesn't take messages. Schuyler sighs, HANGS UP.
44. E X T . V A N O R T O N H O U S E - N I G H T
SCHUYLER crouches by a coaxial cable line emerging from the side of
the house. He fingers a box with a miniature LOOP and RABBIT EAR
ANTENNA that's been spliced into the line with a tiny S-shaped
WIRE. He starts to unscrew it, then thinks twice, heads back in.
WIDER, as Schuyler enters his mansion, a GIBBOUS MOON OVERHEAD.
CUT TO:
45. E X T . S E A - T A C A I R P O R T - D A Y
Mist in the air, a jet taxis to a terminal.
46. I N T . S E A - T A C T E R M I N A L - D A Y
SCHUYLER comes out of the gate with the garment bag and a
briefcase. He joins up with a DRIVER carrying a sign that says VAN
ORTON, the man takes his bag for him.
SCHUYLER
I'm expecting a package with some
documents. Did it arrive?
The man shakes his head, Schuyler, exasperated, whips out his cell-
phone and dials. As he and the driver move through the CROWD, they
pass a red-eyed, dredlocked, homeless-looking RASTA MAN in a
BRIGHTLY COLORED outfit with knit cap, hassling other TRAVELERS.
He turns his attention to Schuyler and begins walking alongside.
RASTA MAN
Ay mon, got sometin' fo you mon.
DRIVER
(to the rasta)
Get lost, pal.
RASTA MAN
No can do.
SCHUYLER (on phone)
Bob, it's Sky, what the hell is
going on? No, the papers aren't
here, you'll have to fax signature
copies straight to the BG offices
now. Yeah I'll hold.
The driver and Schuyler climb into a little white people mover
cart, the driver starts forward, BEEPING at folks in the way. The
rasta man continues to badger Schuyler.
RASTA MAN
You want what I got, mon.
SCHUYLER
(hand over the phone)
No thank you.
RASTA MAN
Dere are many paths to
enlightenment, but you must choose
one and stay on it-- or you will
surely die in the darkness--
SCHUYLER
I'll take my chances.
The rasta man jogs alongside, holds up a stained, newsprint
religious TRACT, Schuyler glances at it without taking it--
CLOSE-- we see the words "CRISIS, REVELATION, SOLUTION." The
letters C, Rand S are printed in a different color from the rest.
WIDER-- Schuyler ignores the tract, he's talking to Bob again on
the phone. The driver SPEEDS UP as they pass a guard, entering a
restricted access area.
SCHUYLER (on phone)
What?! Fire their asses, that's it.
The Rasta Man runs out of breath as the cart SPEEDS UP. He calls
after Schuyler:
RASTA MAN
Jah Love mon, dat's the key, dat's the key...
47. E X T . S E A - T A C T E R M I N A L - D A Y
Cold and bleak. The little white truck emerges from the terminal,
crosses the tarmac, heading toward an IDLING HELICOPTER, where is
stops. From the chopper, ALAN BAER emerges-- he's an elderly,
muscular man, bluff, once blue-collar. He gives Schuyler a firm
handshake. They have to SHOUT over the WHIRRING BLADES:
SCHUYLER
Alan! What's wrong with a car--
BAER
I'm giving you an overview of our
little operation! You gotta see the
new breed of high yield saplings...
SCHUYLER looks uncomfortable with this prospect. The driver is
already loading his bag into the chopper. Baer claps a hand on
Schuyler's shoulder, leading him under the wash, into the chopper.
THE RASTA MAN is walking slowly across the tarmac nearby. He
watches the HELICOPTER ASCEND with a half-smile.
48. I N T . H E L I C O P T E R - D A Y
SCHUYLER and BAER in the back of the chopper.
BAER
How was your flight?
SCHUYLER
Fine.
Schuyler looks out the window.
SCHUYLER'S POV - On the PASTA MAN in his colorful clothes, now
holding up a dangling KEY on a chain. Moments later, he's
invisible in the MIST.
ON SCHUYLER, looking disappointed, and annoyed with himself-- he
realizes he's missed something. He reaches into his pocket as Baer
DRONES ON beside him. Schuyler pulls out his KEYS, fingers the
gold one with the CRS logo, thinking.
DISSOLVE TO:
49. E X T . M O U N T A I N S - D A Y
The HELICOPTER swoops low over a beautiful FORESTED MOUNTAINSIDE.
DISSOLVE TO:
50. I N T . B A E R - G R A C E O F F I C E S - D A Y
PAN from a WINDOW. Outside, we see a sign-- BAER-GRACE LUMBER--
and the helicopter, now idle on a pad. MOVE PAST a HUMMING FAX
MACHINE, find Schuyler addressing Alan Baer across a table. A
couple of other LUMBER EXECS are present. Everyone wears a
stricken expression, Schuyler's tone is matter-of-fact.
BAER
You've been planning this for months,
haven't you? Sandbagging me like
this, selling us for scrap...
SCHUYLER
BG lumber is not profitable and
hasn't been for years, my duty is to
salvage what I can. These are the
closing papers, in ten minutes I'm
going to present the sale terms to
the shareholders and elect my new
management team.
As he speaks, Schuyler moves to the fax machine. A TRANSMISSION
has come through, he picks up the sheaf of papers.
BAER
I was friends with your father, you
bastard, I watched you grow up, and
now you kick me in the balls--
Schuyler squints at the papers in his hand, flipping through them.
CLOSE, the entire transmission has been GARBLED. The words all
BLEED TOGETHER incomprehensibly, it looks like a child's scribbles.
BAER (O.S.)
That's not how you play the game.
SCHUYLER turns on him, a suspicion forming...
BAER
You could've fucking told me!
SCHUYLER
What game?
Schuyler studies the SENSELESS PAGES for a moment then puts them
down, shaking off his apprehensions.
SCHUYLER
Never mind... we'll just have to
go with the earlier draft.
In BG, one exec picks up a page, WHISPERS to an ASSISTANT, who
moves out of the room. Schuyler moves to his briefcase. It's
LOCKED. He starts patting his pockets.
BAER
Can't find your keys?
Baer has a malevolent expression. Schuyler looks at him.
SCHUYLER
Where are they.
BAER
Up your ass?
A couple of execs stifle chuckles. Schuyler's suspicions mount.
SCHUYLER
Up my ass, very funny...
His eyes drift to a piece of CORPORATE STATIONARY on the table in
front of him. He picks it up:
INSERT - UNDER BAER-GRACE LETTERHEAD we see a handscrawled note:
"CRS CALLED." We don't see what's written below.
SCHUYLER is reeling, paranoia confirmed.
SCHUYLER
I don't-- OK. OK, you're with CRS...
Baer stares at him blankly. Schuyler puts a hand over his eyes,
seems disoriented, trying to piece it all together.
SCHUYLER
So the game, it's just a screen, to
blow this deal...
BAER
I'm not following you.
SCHUYLER
Like hell you aren't. How did you
get my brother involved, that's
unforgivable.
The assembled execs are looking at Schuyler in utter confusion. As
he speaks, the ASSISTANT returns with some PAPERWORK. Schuyler
stares at him menacingly. Hesitantly:
ASSISTANT
Um... sorry to interrupt. We've
been having some trouble with this
fax, so they re-sent the material.
It's all OK now.
The assistant comes over, cheerfully places the crucial documents
in front of Schuyler. The assistant fishes in his pocket.
ASSISTANT
Oh and Mr. Van Orton-- are these
yours? The pilot found 'em on the
floor of the chopper...
Schuyler gingerly takes the KEYS which the assistant holds out,
looks from them to the paperwork. Then he glances back at the
handwritten note on the table:
INSERT NOTE: It actually reads "CBS CALLED." (Schuyler's thumb or
a Post-It note covered the base of the B before, making it look
like an R.) It continues "Re: Interview with Alan B. on Sun..."
SCHUYLER takes a breath, reassembles his composure and consults his
watch. He rises, anxious to put the last few minutes behind him.
SCHUYLER
Everything seems to be in order.
Please disregard my last comments.
The shareholders meeting is about
to get underway... Shall we?
He heads for the door. As he leaves, the execs exchange looks.
CUT TO:
51. I N T . S E A - T A C T E R M I N A L - N I G H T
Schuyler wanders through the terminal, carrying his bags, glancing
periodically at the DEPARTURES monitor and the clock. His manner
now has changed, he eyes every PASSERBY, especially the ODD ONES.
P. A. VOICE (filter)
Flight 177 to San Francisco is now
boarding at Gate 14...
Suddenly a leg is thrust out from behind an advertising kiosk,
Schuyler TRIPS and goes sprawling. The Rasta Man steps out, now
wearing SUNGLASSES with PINK LENSES.
RASTA MAN
Shit mon sorry oughta pay more attention.
Schuyler gets up, dusts himself off. As calmly as possible:
SCHUYLER
Listen, I quit.
RASTA MAN
Free at last... you won't be
needin' this, then.
He snatches up the briefcase, dances back a few paces. Schuyler
speaks as if to a child.
SCHUYLER
No, cretin. I'm quitting the game.
The rasta man keeps backing away, puts a hand to his ear.
RASTA MAN
Wha's that, mon? I didna hear you.
Schuyler is pursuing the man, walking faster and faster.
SCHUYLER
I said I-- shit!
The rasta turns and RUNS, Schuyler bolts after him, unable to
believe this is happening. They draw a lot of looks during the
brief chase through the terminal, the suited businessman, garment
bag flapping behind him, in pursuit of the crazy rasta.
RASTA MAN
Help, help! The mon is crazy!
He runs into a MEN'S ROOM, Schuyler follows a moment later.
52. I N T . A I R P O R T M E N ' S R O O M - N I G H T
Schuyler has the rasta cornered now-- but he doesn't have the
briefcase. Both are out of breath. PISSING MEN look wary.
SCHUYLER
Where is it?
RASTA MAN
Got something better.
The rasta men holds out a SHINY KEY on a chain. Schuyler narrows
his eyes, he's trying not to lose control of his temper.
SCHUYLER
I realize you're just some bit
player, but I'd like you to get a
message to your employers. This
bullshit is interfering with my
work, it's breaking my concentration
and I can't allow that to happen--
THE RASTA makes a sad face, SNIFFLES, still dangling the key.
SCHUYLER
If I take that stupid key, will you
give me back my briefcase and go away?
The rasta nods with a big grin. Schuyler steps forward, hand
extended. The rasta flings open the door of a STALL beside him and
hurls the key into the TOILET. Instinctively, Schuyler moves to
grab it, reaches into the toilet, pulls out the chain, his hand and
sleeve DRIPPING. The key is missing from the end of the chain.
SCHUYLER
What the fuck am I doing?!
RASTA MAN
Don' worry, mon, it's a world a shit.
He drops the rasta schtick, speaks with an Ivy League accent:
RASTA MAN
So try looking at it through rose-
colored glasses... here.
He takes off his sunglasses, folds them and tucks them in the
pocket of Schuyler's suit. Then he reaches above him and pulls
down the briefcase, which was perched on top of the stall.
Schuyler grabs it from him, raises his voice:
SCHUYLER
I told you, this is over! I quit!
RASTA MAN
They all say that at first.
He gives Schuyler a hearty SLAP on the back and strolls off,
HUMMING. Schuyler leans against the wall, shaking his head. He
puts down his luggage, pulls the sunglasses from his pocket.
CLOSE ON SUNGLASSES-- there's the image of a tiny GOLD KEY embossed
on each of the arms.
SCHUYLER puts them on, looks around for a moment, catches a GLIMPSE
of himself in the mirror-- he looks silly. He quickly takes them
off. As Schuyler heads out the door we see him from behind... the
Rasta has slapped a colorful SIGN that reads "KICK ME" on his back.
CUT TO:
53. E X T . L E O ' S - D A Y
THE NEON SIGN FIZZLES in front of this low-rent establishment.
54. I N T . L E O ' S - D A Y
BELLS RING and LIGHTS FLASH as a DRUNK plays a PINBALL MACHINE with
a lot of body English. SCHUYLER, stuck at a table right next to
the machine, winces at the noise, checks his watch and rises. He
makes his way through the lunch hour CROWD to the bar, leans toward
the bartender, a gravelly-voiced woman-- RONNIE.
SCHUYLER
I was supposed to meet someone
here, a David Van Orton-- I was
wondering if he'd left a message.
RONNIE
'Fraid not, sorry.
He drums his fingers, then whips out a CELLPHONE, spins around
quickly as he starts to dial--
--and SMACKS into Christine the waitress as she emerges from the
kitchen carrying a tray--
--SCHUYLER gets hit in the chest with a TRAY OF DESSERTS, colorful
JELLO, CREAM PIE, etc. He stands there, stunned and DRIPPING.
CHRISTINE
Fuck me!
She starts picking up plates and silverware, oblivious to
Schuyler's own plight; Ronnie charges out from behind the bar.
After the first shock, Schuyler CHUCKLES with annoyance. He wipes
the phone clean, pocketing it.
SCHUYLER
Oh this is cute. Very cute.
RONNIE
What happened here, you OK?
CHRISTINE
It was an accident--
SCHUYLER
No it wasn't.
Ronnie gives Christine a look as she starts wiping at Schuyler with
a rag. He picks at his chest, examines the WHIPPED CREAM, tastes
it. Schuyler addresses the kneeling Christine:
SCHUYLER
What's next, a giant banana peel?
CHRISTINE squints up at him, puzzled.
CHRISTINE
Huh? Oh I get it-- you're nuts.
RONNIE
Chrissy, just apologize...
CHRISTINE
Dickhead here was on the phone, he
walked right into me!
SCHUYLER
Drop the act, you've been waiting
all day for this moment.
CHRISTINE
Shut the fuck up.
RONNIE
Go home, you're fired.
CHRISTINE
What?...
RONNIE
You heard me.
CHRISTINE
Fuck you too.
She THROWS a plate on the ground, it shatters, then storms off into
the kitchen. Schuyler CHUCKLES angrily, pushing through the slop
on the floor with his shoe, looking for something.
SCHUYLER
Let's get this over with... Where's
the next key? Does she have it?
Ronnie stares, uncomprehending... Schuyler goes after Christine.
55. I N T . L E O ' S K I T C H E N - D A Y
He crosses past a short-order COOK in the grimy industrial kitchen,
pulling a cube of JELLO out of his lapel pocket. He finds
Christine in an alcove with a couple of lockers, as she finishes
changing into her street clothes. Her brown uniform hangs from a
locker door, the nameplate "CHRIS" prominent.
CLOSE as his fingers touch the CRS of CHRIS-- they even look a bit
brighter than the H and the I.
SCHUYLER
I wish you people could be a
little more subtle.
CHRISTINE notices him for the first time.
CHRISTINE
Asshole, just send me the goddamn
dry-cleaning bill. Could you--?
She waves a hand at him, "go away" and ducks out of view, finishing
dressing into punk-grungy street clothes. She SLAMS the locker,
starts to push past him, pulling on her backpack bag.
SCHUYLER
Don't you have something for me?
CHRISTINE
Uh-huh sure, here you go.
She puts her hand into her side pocket, pulls it out with her
middle finger extended, moving away from him in a hurry.
Schuyler's face falls-- he made another mistake.
SCHUYLER
Wait, you really work here--
CHRISTINE
Not anymore, thanks to you.
She's out the SWINGING kitchen door. Schuyler absorbs his blunder
for a moment, then hurries after her.
56. E X T . L E O ' S - D A Y
Schuyler catches up as Christine hurries toward a MUNI station,
LIGHTING a cigarette. A few PEDESTRIANS come off the steps from
the arriving elevated train in this residential SF neighborhood.
SCHUYLER
Slow down-- you don't understand, I
thought it was a gag.
CHRISTINE
No, you don't understand. I carry
mace and I know how to use it.
She reaches into her purse/backpack, Schuyler backs off.
SCHUYLER
I was only trying to apologize.
CHRISTINE
Shit, it's in here somewhere--
SCHUYLER
Fine.
He starts to move away, then they both hear GASPING O. S.--
ON THE STEPS, a HEAVY MAN, 60, in a coat and tie has collapsed,
struggling for breath, very pale. Christine and Schuyler are the
only pedestrians around now.
CHRISTINE
Shit--
She rushes to help the guy, loosening his tie-- he JOLTS.
SCHUYLER looks up at them dubiously, brushing a scrap of food still
clinging to his suit.
CHRISTINE reaches in to clear the guy's throat, starting CPR. She
shoots a look at Schuyler.
CHRISTINE
You got a fucking phone, call an
ambulance!
Schuyler approaches slowly, pulling out his phone, studying the guy as
Christine gives him mouth-to-mouth.
SCHUYLER
This is just too weird-- it can't
be real--
CHRISTINE
You really are insane!
SCHUYLER leans close to look at the man.
ON THE MAN'S FACE-- sweating, contorted, unnaturally pale, his eyes
rolling back as he GAGS his last...
CHRISTINE grabs the phone away from Schuyler, dials.
CHRISTINE
We need an ambulance, guy's having a
heart attack near the MUNI station at
5th and Market--
(to Schuyler)
What's the number on this thing?!
SCHUYLER
I don't give it out--
(off her horrified look)
731-5723--
CHRISTINE
731-5723-- yeah, thanks--
She stuffs the phone in a pocket and pumps the man's chest, returns
to the mouth-to-mouth. Schuyler looks around uncomfortably,
starting to believe this is a real heart attack.
SCHUYLER
Is there anything I can do?
CHRISTINE ignores him, all attention on saving this guy's life...
56A. WIDE as an AMBULANCE pulls up, SIREN BLARING. A couple of
MALE PARAMEDICS hurry out with a stretcher.
ON THE STEPS, the two PARAMEDICS lift the unconscious HEAVY MAN
onto the stretcher while Christine and Schuyler stand aside. Both
have small EARPIECES that look like hearing aids, with wires into
their clothes. Throughout the following, there's a lot of MEDICAL
BUSINESS-- feeding the victim OXYGEN, giving him INJECTIONS, etc.
PARAMEDIC #1
(to Schuyler)
Could you come with us, help us
fill out a few forms--
SCHUYLER
No! I have work to do--
CHRISTINE
I'll go.
She climbs into the back, they start to shut the doors.
SCHUYLER
Wait a minute, you've got my phone--
He climbs in to get it back, they SLAM THE DOORS and start moving.
THE AMBULANCE peels out. We now see the LOGO on the back:
"CITYWIDE RESCUE SYSTEMS," with the C, R and S in RED.
57. I N T . A M B U L A N C E - D A Y
The PARAMEDICS are intent on the gasping man. The SIREN BLARES, a
bit MUFFLED in here. Schuyler, looking out the back, is extremely
pissed, makes a fist and almost punches the wall of the ambulance.
CHRISTINE
Chill, will you?!
SCHUYLER
I don't want to be here.
CHRISTINE
Neither do I, now siddown, get
outta their way!
A BUMP almost sends him flying atop the stretcher. Schuyler sits
near Christine on a ledge near the back doors. Petulant:
SCHUYLER
I'd like my phone back please.
CUT TO:
58(NEW). I N T . H O S P I T A L E N T R A N C E / G A R A G E - D A Y
An UNDERGROUND RAMP, signs reading "EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY," a set
of DOORS leading into the lobby of an EMERGENCY ROOM; MEDICAL
PERSONNEL visible inside, INJURED PEOPLE, etc., a few PEOPLE mill
outside the doors.
THE AMBULANCE SCREECHES to a stop, the back doors fly open, the
PARAMEDICS wheel out the dying man and rush into the entrance,
automatic doors OPEN and CLOSE for them. Schuyler and Christine
climb out, disoriented, walking more slowly to the doors. The
AMBULANCE pulls away behind them. Schuyler nearly slips in a
mysterious dark PUDDLE.
SCHUYLER
Oh, this day keeps getting better.
CHRISTINE
What is your problem, you think
the whole fucking world revolves
around you?
As she says this, she walks right into the ELECTRIC DOORS, which
fail to open for them.
THEIR POV-- THROUGH THE DOORS the gathered STAFF and PATIENTS all
turn at once to regard Christine and Schuyler. They GRIN and WINK.
ON SCHUYLER AND CHRISTINE, who barely get the chance to register
this before--
THE LIGHTS GO OUT... PITCH BLACKNESS and SUDDEN SILENCE. We hear
only SCHUYLER'S BITTER LAUGHTER. Dialogue OVER DARKNESS:
SCHUYLER
As a matter of fact...
CHRISTINE
What the fuck is going on?!
We hear RUSTLING in a purse, but still see next to nothing.
SCHUYLER
It's a little hard to explain...
CHRISTINE
Try!
We hear the STRIKING OF A MATCH, there's some ORANGE LIGHT--
CHRISTINE holds the match. The whole area is DESERTED, except for
the two of them. SCHUYLER kicks at the glass doors-- they're not
going to give, nothing is visible beyond them.
SCHUYLER
I seem to be playing a game. This
is supposed to be funny--
CHRISTINE
I don't get it.
SCHUYLER
--a challenge, a puzzle.
CHRISTINE
OK, I'm puzzled. Where are we?
SCHUYLER has found a STEEL DOOR with a GLOWING RED SIGN: EMERGENCY
USE ONLY. He yanks it open and a PAIL swings down, dumping WATER
on his head. He's facing a BRICK WALL through the door.
CHRISTINE can't help but LAUGH, then YELPS in pain as the match
burns her fingers. LIGHTS another. Schuyler flips open his phone.
SCHUYLER
Damn it, no signal.
CHRISTINE
Here's a lightswitch--
SCHUYLER
I wouldn't--
She flips it on, A BLINDING STROBE FLASHES for a few seconds-- both
CRY OUT-- then the BULB EXPLODES in a shower of sparks.
SCHUYLER
I don't know the rules, if there are
any, but it seems the obvious move
usually backfires...
CHRISTINE
Of course. I have no idea what
you're talking about.
They've taken a few steps forward, exploring the DARK. She LIGHTS
a cigarette with the next match, nearly running into ANOTHER DOOR.
She RATTLES it-- locked.
CHRISTINE
Son of a bitch.
SCHUYLER
I think I have a key.
Schuyler pulls out his keyring and tries the gold CRS key-- nope.
SCHUYLER
Damn it...
(a beat, thoughtful)
Wrong key...
CHRISTINE
Last match.
In the matchlight, we see Schuyler fumbling in his pockets, pulling
out the ROSY SUNGLASSES from the Rasta. He puts them on.
CHRISTINE
Too bright for you, is it?
SCHUYLER'S POV as the last MATCH GOES OUT-- CHRISTINE GLOWS RED in
the matchlight for a moment, then as soon as it goes out, we see a
GLOW of FLUORESCENT PAINT on the ground... a series of STRIPES and
ARROWS in DIFFERENT COLORS, GLOWING. These start PARALLEL near
where he stands, then RADIATE in different directions. CHRISTINE
is but a SILHOUETTE against the COLORED LINES.
SCHUYLER
I can see now. Grab my arm.
CHRISTINE
No way! You're crazy!
CHRISTINE moves away from him.
SCHUYLER
Stay on the path!
A BURST OF FLAME erupts from the GROUND close enough to scare the
shit out of CHRISTINE, who SCREAMS. SCHUYLER hurries toward her.
The FLAMES VANISH, she lurches in a differrent direction--
SCHUYLER
Christine, don't move!
CHRISTINE
Leave me alone!
She LOSES HER FOOTING on a slippery surface, falls, sliding down a
gentle SLOPE.
CHRISTINE
Help!
SCHUYLER follows. FALLING himself. They try to reach toward each
other for purchase, but it's no good, the slope is getting steeper.
58A. In a moment SCHUYLER tumbles on top of Christine in a four-
foot deep round CHILDREN'S POOL, but it isn't full of water.
There's a bit of BLACK LIGHT here, enough to make out--
--COCKROACHES, thousands of them, a TEEMING ROIL OF INSECTS in a
CHURNING LIQUID. There's a BUZZING NOISE, both SCREAM.
CHRISTINE
Aaggh! BUGS!!
SCHUYLER quickly helps lift Christine out. She starts to pull him
upward, but--
SCHUYLER
Where are the glasses?!
CHRISTINE
Fuck the glasses!
SCHUYLER
We can't get out of here without them!
He steels himself and rummages amidst the bugs, about to get sick,
finally coming up with the glasses. He shakes them free of INSECTS
and clambers out to join Christine, who's GASPING and brushing the
bugs off of her. SCHUYLER puts on the glasses and holds up a BUG.
SCHUYLER
They're rubber. Hold onto me,
I'll get us out of here.
CHRISTINE
Ha!
SCHUYLER
Fine, stay.
CHRISTINE
No!
She grabs his arm; both are now covered in MUCK from the bug soup.
SCHUYLER
What's your favorite color?
CHRISTINE
...Blue?
He takes off the glasses, puts them on her. She looks around.
HER POV-- the RAINBOW of COLORED LINES on the FLOOR...
CHRISTINE
Wow... OK, this is kinda cool. Hey!
SCHUYLER slips the glasses off her, puts them back on.
SCHUYLER
Sorry, it's my game. But we'll
take blue.
HIS POV-- a BLUE LINE moves in a snaking path ahead of them, going
in circles now and then, INTERSECTING or moving PARALLEL to other
colors, up a series of ramps. This space sometimes resembles a
PARKING GARAGE, scmetimes a SEWER or a STEAM TUNNEL.
CHRISTINE keeps a hand on Schuyler as he follows the path.
CHRISTINE
Talk about the blind leading the
blind... what's your name anyway?
SCHUYLER
Sky Van Orton.
CHRISTINE
Sky? Were your folks hippies or
something?
SCHUYLER
Far from it.
CHRISTINE
I'm Christine Kaminsky.
SCHUYLER
Nice to meet you.
58B. LATER, CHRISTINE almost hugs Schuyler now, as they move in a
seemingly random pattern in the darkness.
SCHUYLER
It's a company called Consumer
Recreation Services, CRS. I never
know what's gonna happen next.
CHRISTINE
Well, who does.
SCHUYLER
Until recently, I had a pretty
good idea... Duck.
The BLUE LINE has led them into a NARROW TUNNEL, soon they're
crawling on hands and knees.
CHRISTINE
So are you like a serious masochist,
or just really, really bored?
SCHUYLER
I'm sorry, you shouldn't have been
dragged into this.
CHRISTINE
Well... I have to tell you
something. Some guy came into
Leo's yesterday, showed me your
picture, offered me 250 bucks to
spill that food on you.
SCHUYLER
Ah.
CHRISTINE
Said it was a practical joke. I
figured what the hell, I can use
the money-- I got him up to 500.
I hated that fucking job anyway--
SCHUYLER
Wait, so the heart attack, you
knew that was a joke too--
CHRISTINE
No! It scared the shit out of me--
SCHUYLER
But that CPR routine--
CHRISTINE
I used to be a lifeguard.
SCHUYLER
(points)
We're getting somewhere...
The TUNNEL has opened up again. There's even a tiny bit of VISIBLE
LIGHT now. He takes off the glasses, gives them to her.
HER POV-- the COLORED LINES are all joining up from different
directions. A few steps onward they all converge at a point, like
the spokes of a wheel, at a WHITE SPOT on the ground...
SCHUYLER AND CHRISTINE look around, then Schuyler points upward--
A WHITE RING overhead... it looks like the underside of a MANHOLE
COVER, with an illuminated CIRCLE OF LIGHT around the rim, a halo.
CHRISTINE
How do we get up there?
SCHUYLER steps on the circle of WHITE-- it's a BUTTON. A ROPE
LADDER drops down.
59. E X T . W A L K W A Y - E V E N I N G
A MANHOLE COVER slides aside, SCHUYLER climbs out and helps
Christine up. It's a short, covered WOODEN WALKWAY in an alley.
CHRISTINE
Well, that was pointless... but
different... kind of fun...
SCHUYLER
Mm, a different kind of fun.
What's your middle name?
CHRISTINE
Louise... why?
SCHUYLER points to some GRAFFITI-- a HEART with "SVO + CLK."
SCHUYLER
You're supposed to be here... they
picked you for a reason.
CHRISTINE
But-- why?
They start to move shakily down the CONSTRUCTION WALKWAY, both
bedraggled, covered in goo. HANDBILLS cover one wall.
SCHUYLER
Probably knew you'd play Good
Samaritan for that guy, drag me
along-- but they could have hired an
actor for that, less of a risk...
ON THE WALL, a series of HANDBILLS say, "AREN'T YOU FORGETTING
SOMETHING?" SCHUYLER puzzles over these as they move, gets to one
last one-- "BEHIND YOU, STUPID."
SCHUYLER looks back toward the end of the alley--
A YELLOW DUMPSTER with the logo, "CONSOLIDATED REFUSE SUPPLY" and
the smaller image of a KEY. SCHUYLER moves quickly to it, throws
open the lid.
ANGLE IN DUMPSTER-- a MOUNTAIN of SHREDDED PAPER.
SCHUYLER rolls his eyes, sorting through it. Christine approaches.
CHRISTINE
This is really sick. I think
they're trying to fix us up.
SCHUYLER
Maybe you can't play alone--
CHRISTINE
Who says I want to play?
(a sigh)
OK, what the fuck are you doing in
the dumpster.
SCHUYLER
There's something in here I need.
He climbs inside, dives in... and pops up again in a moment with--
CLOSE-- A Z-SHAPED WINDOW CRANK. Sure enough, there's a KEY
embossed on the side.
SCHUYLER climbs out again, brandishing the small crank.
CHRISTINE
What's that for?
SCHUYLER
I imagine I'll find out.
60. E X T . C R S B U I L D I N G - E V E N I N G
SCHUYLER pockets the crank as he and CHRISTINE emerge from the
alley. PEDESTRIANS give them a wide berth. To a PASSERBY:
CHRISTINE
What are you looking at?
Schuyler heads straight for the CRS doors, the large numbers 636
printed above-- it's LOCKED. He tries his little GOLD KEY on a
deadbolt, it's USELESS of course.
SCHUYLER
This is their offices. We must
have been in their garage... my
office is just a few blocks from
here, we can get cleaned up there.
He walks a few steps on, she stands still for a moment, then nods
agreeably and follows.
CUT TO:
61. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S O F F I C E - N I G H T
START ON THE SKYLINE-- SCHUYLER moves from the window, as we hear a
DOOR OPEN. CHRISTINE emerges from the attached dressing area and
bath, toweling damp hair, in an oversized Harvard sweatshirt and
gym shorts, with a large plastic bag containing her filthy clothes.
She looks good, clearly she put some effort into her make-up.
CHRISTINE
Your turn.
SCHUYLER
(moving past her)
Find everything you need?
CHRISTINE
You're outta conditioner.
SCHUYLER
My apologies, I'll have it taken care
of. Help yourself to the fridge.
He points to a MINI-FRIDGE, shuts the door, a moment later we hear
WATER RUNNING. She looks around the office, letting down her
facade. She seems quite impressed, and intimidated, by the place.
She looks back toward the bathroom door-- maybe this guy isn't so
bad after all. From this point, she takes a more seductive tack.
62. I N T . D R E S S I N G A R E A / B A T H - N I G H T
LATER, Schuyler has cleaned up, is finishing dressing, pulling a
pair of jeans over boxer shorts, tucking in a sport shirt.
Christine talks through the closed door.
CHRISTINE (O. S.)
So um... how rich are you anyway?
SCHUYLER
(amused)
Rich enough. Bit forward, aren't you?
CHRISTINE (O. S.)
Well, what exactly do you do?
SCHUYLER
Manage investments, some venture
capital, I'm on the board of a number
of publicly traded companies...
CHRISTINE (O. S.)
So you just like, move money around?
63. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S O F F I C E - N I G H T
Schuyler emerges, shoes in hand.
SCHUYLER
Basically. Beats working, huh?
Christine sits on his desk, with her bag slung over her shoulder,
eating an APPLE. She slides off the desk, flirting rather bluntly.
CHRISTINE
You don't look so bad, without the tie.
SCHUYLER
Look, I hope you haven't been too
put out... I could probably get
you another job, I have a stake in
a couple of restaurants--
CHRISTINE
I'm not much of a waitress, really.
Y'know, today's been kind of--
SCHUYLER
Can you type?
CHRISTINE
Kind of a turn-on, you know?
(getting no response)
I didn't mean-- just, the danger...
Like fucking in a graveyard.
SCHUYLER
Mm. So where do you live?
Christine realizes her come-on is falling flat, she pulls back,
tossing her unfinished apple in the trash.
CHRISTINE
Out in Concord, with my folks,
unfortunately. They're never
gonna believe that I've been
hanging out with a guy like you.
SCHUYLER
What do you mean?
CHRISTINE
Nothing, just-- most of the guys I
see have tats, y'know?
(off his confused look)
Tattoos...
SCHUYLER
Of course. We'd better head
downstairs, the limo's waiting.
Christine nods disappointedly as Schuyler moves to the door.
CUT TO:
64. I N T . L I M O - N I G H T
Schuyler and Christine ride in silence in the back seat.
CHRISTINE
Mind if I smoke in here?
SCHUYLER
Yes.
(leaning forward)
Up here on the left.
As the limo pulls over, he and Christine turn to each other. It's
a somewhat awkward moment.
CHRISTINE
So what's our next move? I mean, in
the game. Obviously we need to figure
out what that crank thing is for--
SCHUYLER
I'm not playing anymore.
CHRISTINE
(disappointed)
Why not?
SCHUYLER
I have a life. Jack'll take you
home, or wherever you want to go.
CHRISTINE
Yeah, maybe I'll get in a little
ballroom dancing before bed--
The limo has stopped now. Schuyler has started to open the door.
CHRISTINE
Wait, what about your clothes?
SCHUYLER
Forget it.
CHRISTINE
C'mon it's a brand new sweatshirt.
So saying, she pulls it off. She's wearing a black bra... a ROSE
is tattooed on her shoulder. Schuyler can't help but react. She
thrusts the shirt at him, he's half out of the car.
SCHUYLER
No, it's not-- just-- back from
the cleaners.
CHRISTINE
(throatily)
You dry clean your sweatshirts...
He nods slightly... as he reaches to take it--
--CHRISTINE leans forward, cups the back of his head and gives him
a LONG, HARD KISS.
JACK THE DRIVER, middle-aged and trustworthy, turns and catches a
glimpse of this, quickly turns away.
CHRISTINE breaks the kiss, sinks back against the red leather seat,
waiting for Schuyler to make the next move.
CHRISTINE
See ya.
Schuyler nods again, torn. She's looking at him expectantly. He's
clearly aroused, but this is such an inappropriate female. Sadly,
he waves a hand.
SCHUYLER
Good night.
65. E X T . L E O ' S - N I G H T
Schuyler shuts the door, sweatshirt in hand, the dome light slowly
DIMS OUT out on the crestfallen Christine-- we see her mouth a
CURSE. Schuyler moves toward his MBZ, the limo IDLING. He's about
to get inside when he sees a TICKET IN AN ENVELOPE under the
windshield wiper. He SNORTS-- insult to injury-- tosses it on the
dash as he climbs in.
66. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S M B Z - N I G H T
He sits behind the wheel, watching the lights of the limo
disappear. He sniffs the sweatshirt a moment, then STARTS at the
sound of a MOTOR STARTING across the street.
ANGLE THROUGH SIDE WINDOW-- an MBZ the same year, model and color
as Schuyler's-- pulls away from the curb, Schuyler gets a glimpse
of something REFLECTING STREET LIGHT in the window of the car-- a
gun? A camera with a long lens? The car makes a quick U-turn and
drives in the same direction as the limo.
SCHUYLER, curious, STARTS THE ENGINE as if to pursue. Then he
glimpses the envelope on the dash out of the corner of his eye. He
doesn't put the car in gear, picks up the envelope instead...
CLOSE ON ENVELOPE-- The words "OPEN ME" are printed in BLOCK
LETTERS on the outside. He opens it quickly-- there's no ticket
inside, but he shakes out a RAINBOW-COLORED CONDOM in a clear
wrapper and a NOTE in KIDNAPPER LETTERS: "BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY."
SCHUYLER frowns at this and throws the note aside. He flips on the
WINDSHIELD WIPERS (it's started to DRIZZLE) and pulls out.
POV THROUGH WINDESIELD-- A DARK FIGURE runs from the curb by Leo's,
right in front of the car, SCHUYLER SLAMS on the BRAKES--
--It's DAVID. He hurries around to the passenger door and jumps
in, looking haggard, scared, a man on the run.
DAVID
Drive. Anywhere.
SCHUYLER
Jesus, David, you scared the shit
out of me--
DAVID
I'm sorry Sky, just drive, please--
SCHUYLER pulls forward.
SCHUYLER
Where were you today?
DAVID
I almost didn't make it at all. I
been in the bar for hours, waiting
for you to come back to your car--
Jesus, I can't believe I did this to
you, I'm so sorry--
SCHUYLER
Slow down, take a breath-- what
are you talking about?
DAVID
The game! It just doesn't stop!
I thought I'd finished playing a
long time ago, I paid the bill,
then it started all over again,
they won't leave me alone--
SCHUYLER
(slowly, evenly)
Calm down. What are they doing to you?
DAVID
Everything. It just doesn't stop.
SCHUYLER
Look. That's crazy. Yes, it's a
pain in the ass, but why would they
keep playing once you paid them?
DAVID
I don't know! I paid them MORE to
make it stop, God help me I even
gave you to them... but they won't
leave me alone!
He sees the crumpled note on the floor, picks it up--
DAVID
What's this?
SCHUYLER
It was on my windshield--
DAVID
Oh shit, oh SHIT they must be
following us--
He cranks his neck around, looking for pursuers. Schuyler looks at
him for a beat-- BANG! He almost loses control of the wheel.
SCENES 67-71 DELETED
72. E X T . C I T Y S T R E E T - N I G H T
A TIRE HAS BLOWN. Schuyler drives ON THE RIM, struggles to get
over to the curb, BRAKES hard and stops.
73. I N T . S C H U Y L E R ' S M B Z - N I G H T
David's losing it, looking around.
DAVID
They're shooting at us!
SCHUYLER
David, get a grip, it's just a
flat tire!
He picks up the phone, punches buttons, gets nothing.
SCHUYLER
Damn it, the phone's not working--
DAVID
Of course not.
SCHUYLER
(climbing out)
Fine, I'll change the fucking
thing myself.
DAVID
Just hurry-- I'll pop the trunk.
David reaches for the glovebox.
SCHUYLER
No, you can't do it from--
CLOSE ON GLOVEBOX-- it POPS OPEN and KEYS SPILL OUT. There are at
least fifty of them jammed in there, all kinds, silver and gold...
and all have CRS stamped on them.
SCHUYLER leans closer, intrigued. David's eyes go wide as he
fingers a few of these keys.
SCHUYLER
What the fuck are those--
DAVID
(whirling on him)
Like you don't know. Sonofabitch,
they got to you first, didn't they?
SCHUYLER
Um, David-- hello?
74(NEW). E X T . G O L D E N G A T E P A R K - N I G H T
David gets out of the car in a hurry, amidst the greenery in the
park. RAINING HARDER now.
DAVID
It's more than that isn't it? You're
part of it, you're one of them! Of
course, it makes perfect sense!
SCHUYLER
They planted those keys! I don't
know what the hell they're for--
Schuyler tries hard to be rational, but David is over the edge.
DAVID
You're behind the whole thing aren't
you? You and your sick fucking
friends set it up--
SCHUYLER
What?! What friends? Get a grip,
David-- why would I do that?
DAVID
I don't know, out of boredom, to
get back at me--
SCHUYLER
For what?!
DAVID
For being a weirdo, for trying to
be happy? Well, congratulations,
you win. Now make it stop!
SCHUYLER
(grabbing him)
I can't! Listen to me--
DAVID
Fuck you!
David SLUGS HIM in the face, Schuyler staggers back, clutches his
BLEEDING nose. David runs, full tilt, into the woods near the
Japanese Tea Garden.
SCHUYLER pursues amidst the trees and vegetation, running out of
breath, calling after David, who's vanished. He leans against a
tree, PANTING, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a SCRAP OF TISSUE
from his pocket. He hears a PHONE RINGING, moves toward it,
emerging through bushes near the ACADEMY OF SCIENCE...
He pauses at the RINGING PAYPHONE. He decides not to pick it up,
looking around at the deserted MUSEUM BUILDINGS and hurrying toward
civilization. He passes other PAYPHONES en route to the park
exit... each one STARTS RINGING as he approaches it. He moves
faster, freaked. At the edge of the park, he snatches one up--
SCHUYLER (on phone)
What have you done to my brother,
you bastards?! This is over, I'm
not playing anymore--
(beat)
Hello, is anyone there--
PHONE VOICE
If you'd like to make a call,
please hang up and dial again-- if
you need help--
SCHUYLER slams the phone down. He dabs his nose one more time,
tosses the paper scrap into the trash.
CLOSE ON SCRAP-- "CRS" with the emergency NUMBER, the blue ink has
BLED with the rain and Schuyler's BLOOD...
SCENE 75 DELETED
76(NEW). E X T . F U L T O N S T R E E T - N I G H T
POV THROUGH CAR WINDSHIELD, as Schuyler emerges from the park. The
car suddenly MOVES FORWARD--
WITH SCHUYLER. He walks to the curb, distractedly raises a hand
for a cab, which pulls up instantly. He climbs in.
77. I N T . C A B - N I G H T
An aged, battered CAB; PLEXIGLAS between the CABBIE and the back.
SCHUYLER
Six three six Mission, please.
The cabbie nods and hits the gas.
78. E X T . S A N F R A N C I S C O S T R E E T - N I G H T
The cab roars down the street, KICKING UP WATER from the gutters.
79. I N T . C A B - N I G H T
Schuyler bites his cuticle, not watching where they're going; the
windows are wet and fogged. Then he looks out, narrows his eyes
and RAPS on the PLEXIGLAS PARTITION.
SCHUYLER
You're heading the wrong way.
CABBIE (filter)
Relax, pal, you'll get where
you're going.
The cab | 
