Panic Room

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FADE IN:

EXT. MANHATTAN - DAY

The whole island, from the south. For a second. Literally.

EXT. NEW YORK SKYLINE - DAY

Closer, just the skyline. For another second.

EXT. UPPER WEST SIDE - DAY

Closer still, the Upper West Side. For another second. No

time to waste admiring the scenery.

EXT. WEST 83RD STREET - DAY

Race across a field of PEDESTRIANS to pick up three women

hurrying down the sidewalk. LYDIA LYNCH, a real estate

broker, vaults down the sidewalk, she's got a hell of a

stride. MEG ALTMAN, thirtyish, struggles to keep up with

her, she's tall, wafer-thin, pale as a ghost. SARAH, a nine

year old girl, flat out runs to keep up, dribbling a

basketball as she goes. The kid's athletic, much tougher

than Meg, who she resembles.

Lydia reads from a sheet she carries in her bouncing hands.

LYDIA:

-- seventeen feet wide, fifty-five

feet deep, forty-two hundred square

feet, four floors with a rentable

basement apartment, so five

altogether, courtyard in back --

MEG:

Could you slow down a little?

(looking back over her

shoulder)

Or we could wait for the car...

LYDIA:

No cars. Feet are faster.

MEG:

How many more do we have after this?

LYDIA:

None, there's nothing else, you know

how tight the market is.

MEG:

This is it? I told you on the

phone, I have to be moved in in two

weeks. Sarah, please don't bounce

that here.

SARAH:

Mom, it's the sidewalk.

LYDIA:

Oh, that miserable little prick is

already leaving.

They approach a row of brownstones, narrow four story

townhouses, nice looking buildings, a hundred years old or

more. EVAN, a sour-looking man, has just locked the front

door of number 26 and is coming down the steps. He sees them

coming.

EVAN:

One day you will learn to respect

other people's time, Lydia, one day

you --

LYDIA:

Evan, I am so sorry, you were a

saint to wait for us!

CUT TO:

INT. TOWNHOUSE - FOYER - DAY

Evan throws open the front door, revealing the airy foyer of

the townhouse. The place is completely empty. He talks

fast, races through the tour. The three of them come in,

Sarah still bouncing her basketball.

EVAN:

This is the middle of the house, the

entry floor, living room's over

there. The kitchen floor's below us

and there's two bedroom floors

above.

The front door closes behind them, with a THUD so

authoritative it seems to say no one's ever getting out. Meg

tries to get her daughter's attention, to tell her to stop

bouncing the ball in the house.

EVAN:

It's an enormous amount of space for

the money and I'll be perfectly

honest, the family is in no hurry

whatsoever.

Meg whispers Sarah's name, but Sarah still ignores her, goes

on bouncing the ball.

EVAN:

I don't have to tell you there is an

acute shortage of living space in

Manhattan right now and this is a

highly unique property.

LYDIA:

No ball, kid.

Sarah immediately stops bouncing. She wanders into the

living room, peers through the big French doors, which look

out over the courtyard area. There's another row of

brownstones on the next block, and all the patios back up to

one another. It looks tranquil out there, oasis in the city.

Sarah leans up against the door, sighs, her breath fogs the

window. There is a profound melancholy about her. Meg

watches her, tries to catch eyes with her in the reflection.

Can't.

Evan flings open the door of an old-fashioned cage-style

elevator.

EVAN:

Working elevator. Mr. Pearlstine,

the previous owner, was disabled the

last ten years of his life. Highly

unusual, the elevator, you will not

find this in ninety percent of

brownstones.

MEG:

Will they take asking price? I need

a two week escrow and I'm already

approved for the loan.

Lydia turns, gives Meg an "are you insane?" look.

EVAN:

What say we see the house before we

dicker, hmm?

(starting up the stairs)

I have to warn you, this is exactly

the response we expected to get.

It's a very emotional property.

As he disappears upstairs, Lydia turns to Meg, lowers her

voice.

LYDIA:

Who taught you to negotiate?

SARAH:

It's not like Saks', Mom, you don't

have to pay the price on the tag.

She gets in the elevator and RATTLES the door shut with a

bang. That kid's got an attitude. Meg takes a deep breath,

turns to Lydia. She brushes her hair behind an ear, we

notice her thin hand is shaking.

MEG:

I'm sorry. Apartments, and...

money, and... this is more my

husband's area.

She digs in her purse for a prescription pill bottle and some

water.

MEG:

Was. His area. I'm not very good

at...

Lydia watches as she swallows a pill, waiting for Meg to

finish her sentence. Not very good at what?

MEG:

Things, and if I can't prove to my

soon to-be ex-husband that I can

provide a suitable place for our

daughter to live in the next

fourteen days, it's going to get

ugly between us. Uglier.

Lydia just looks at her, no idea what to say. These two are

from different places.

EVAN (O.S.)

(from upstairs)

It would be so lovely if I could

shot the property before I leave!

CUT TO:

INT. TOP FLOOR BEDROOM - DAY

Evan, Lydia, and Meg poke their heads in a series of rooms,

one after the other, the tour flying by quickly. First, an

upstairs bedroom. Nice, roomy, looks out on the courtyard.

EVAN:

Top floor. Two bedrooms, one

bathroom.

INT. DEN - DAY

Another floor, another empty room. The trio passes through.

EVAN:

Third floor, spare bedroom, den,

what have you. Mr. Pearlstine used

it as an office.

LYDIA:

(low voice, to Meg)

He's talking about Bernard

Pearlstine.

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