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Listen, the mud soup and the charcoal arugula are outrageous here. |
Yeah, well, you're late. |
Hey, I'm a child of divorce. Give me a break Hmmm, I see they've omitted the pork loin with lime jello. |
We should've gone to Dorsia. I could've gotten us a table. |
Nobody goes there anymore. |
So, wasn't Rothschild originally handling the Fisher account? How did you get it? |
I could tell you that, Halberstam, but then I'd have to kill you. |
And Cecelia, how is she? Where is she tonight? |
Cecelia is, well...you know |
Evelyn. Great ass. Goes out with that loser Patrick Bateman. What a dork. |
Another Martini, Paul? |
Paul, give me your Amex card. Good boy. Bateman slaps the card down, looks at the check. |
Twohundredandfifty. Very reasonable. Let's leave a big tip, shall we? My place hr a nightcap? |
No, man. I'm gonna bail. |
Come on, you dumb son of a bitch. I've got a preview of the Barneys catalogue and a bottle of Absolut waiting for us. |
You like Huey Lewis and the News? |
They're okay. BATEMAN Their early work was a little too New Wave for my taste. But then Sports came out in 1983, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. |
Hey, Halberstam? |
Yes, Owen? |
Why are there copies of the Style section all over the place? Do you have a dog? A chow or something? |
No, Owen. |
Is that a raincoat? |
Yes, it is. |
I'm so hungry. |
It's cold out, too, isn't it? |
I'm so hungry. |
Why don't you get a job? If you're so hungry, why don't you get a job? |
I lost my job... |
Why? Were you drinking? Is that why you lost it? Insider trading? Just joking. No, reallywere you drinking on the job? |
Gee, uh, that's too bad. |
I'm so hungry. |
Why don't you get another one? Why don't , you get another job? |
I'm not... |
You're not what? Qualified for anything else? |
I'm hungry |
I know that, I know that. Jeez, you're like a broken record. I'm trying to help you. |
I'm hungry. |
Listen, do you think it's fair to take money from people who do have jobs? From people who do work? |
What am I gonna do? |
Listen, what's your name? |
Al. |
Speak up. Come on. |
Al. |
Get a goddamn job, Al. You've got a negative attitude. That's what's stopping you. You've got to get your act together. I'll help you. |
You re so kind, mister. You're kind. You're a kind man. I can tell. |
Shhhh...it's okay. |
Please...I don know what to do. I'm so cold. |
Do ,you know how bad you smell? The stench, my God. |
I can't...I can't find a shelter |
You reek. You reek of...shit. Do you know that? Goddammit, Allook at me and stop crying like some kind of faggot. Al...I'm sorry. |
Listen, John, I've got to 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. |
I'm sorry to barge in on you like this. but I was supposed to talk to Luis Carruthers and he wasn't in and...well, you're here, so...I know how busy you guys can get. |
So, what's the topic of discussion? |
I've been hired by Meredith Powell to investigate the disappearance of Paul Owen. |
You're not with the FBI or anything, are you? |
Nothing like that. I'm just a private investigator. |
Ah, I see...Yes. Paul's disappearance...Yes. |
So it's nothing that official. I just have some basic questions. About Paul Owen. About yourself |
Coffee? |
No. I'm okay. |
Perrier? San Pellegrino? |
No, I'm okay. |
KIMBALL. |
Mr. Kimball a bottle of San Pelle |
Oh no, I'm okay. |
It's no problem |
Well, what's the topic of discussion? |
The disappearance of Paul Owen. |
Oh right. Well, 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. |
How old are you? |
Twentysix. I'll be twentyseven in October. |
Where did you go to school? |
Harvard. The Harvard Business School. |
Your address? |
Fiftyfive West EightyFirst Street. The American Gardens Building. |
Nice. Very nice. |
Thanks. |
Pardon me, but are you okay? |
Who do you ask? |
You seem...nervous. |
Bad habit. |
I know. I'm sorry. |
Would you rather I not smoke? |
No, I guess it's okay. |
You sure? |
No problem. |
What can you tell me about Paul Owen? |
Well... |
How well did you know him? |
I'm...at a loss. He was part of that whole...Yale thing, you know. |
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