PHILADELPHIA

Andrew WHIPS AROUND to face them.

                              ANDREW
                    I was just about to take a
                    break. Good evening, Charles.

CHARLES WHEELER, also in tuxedo, remains in shadow.

                              WHEELER
                    Andy? Could you step into my
                    office for a sec?
                         (deadpan)
                    I feel like firing someone
                    tonight.

Andrew throws an arm over Seidman's shoulder.

                              ANDREW
                    We're gonna miss you around
                    here, Bob...

                                        CUT ON LAUGHTER TO:

THE RECEPTION AREA (INT./NIGHT): A DOMINO'S PIZZA DELIVERY
MAN, waiting for clearance from a SECURITY GUARD, on
Andrew's dim and quiet floor, WATCHES AS...

Seidman, Kenton and Andrew follow Charles Wheeler up a wide,
carpeted staircase. Wheeler finishes a story and everyone
LAUGHS...

                                                  CUT TO:

A BOX OF CIGARS BEING HANDED AROUND (INT./NIGHT) ...

                              SEIDMAN
                    Andy's expressed a keen interest
                    in the Kronos Inc. situation,
                    Charles. Is that correct, Andy?

The lawyers have gathered in Wheeler's spacious office, with
its floor-to-ceiling view of the Philadelphia skyline.

                              ANDREW
                    The fate of the participants
                    interests me, yes sir.

Wheeler, Kenton and Seidman proceed with the male ritual of
preparing cigars to be smoked: snipping the ends with a brass
clip, rolling them over their tongues to wet them, sliding the
cigars in and out of their rounded mouths.

Andrew, holding a cigar but NOT preparing to light it, watches
with a not completely concealed twinkle in his eye.

Wheeler leans back in his chair, swirling a brandy snifter.
He exhales cigar smoke with a great deal of pleasure.

                              KENTON
                    It's good to be King, hey
                    Charles?

                              WHEELER
                    Kings are out of fashion. I'd
                    rather be thought of as a
                    benevolent tyrant.
                         (prompting Andrew)
                    It's an anti-trust action.

                              ANDREW
                    It is, and it isn't, Charles.
                    Macrosystem's new software
                    copies all the best-known
                    elements of Kronos' spreadsheet
                    program. If they're allowed to
                    sell it, Kronos will get undersold
                    right out of business. For me, the
                    legal principle, involved is
                    copyright infringement.

                              WHEELER
                    Bearing in mind that Bill
                    Wright, the chairman of
                    MacroSystems, is a close, personal
                    friend of mine... which side of
                    this mess would you desire to be
                    on, Andy? And don't allow my very
                    tight, personal relationship with
                    Bill to influence your answer in
                    any way.

Andrew knows this is a test. And he loves it.

                              ANDREW
                    Sorry, Charles, but...

Andrew is distracted -- BY A LIGHT FALLING ACROSS HIS FACE.

                              ANDREW (CONT.)
                    I'd like to see Kronos win.

Walter Kenton has shifted a lamp, so that its LIGHT FALLS
ACROSS ANDREW'S FACE, REVEALING: a faint purple blotch
about the size of a quarter, much like the blotches we saw
on the HISPANIC PATIENT in Andrew's doctor's office.

                              KENTON
                    Why, Beckett?

                              ANDREW
                    Because they deserve to, Walter.

Andrew lifts his hand, finding that his hair has been pushed
back, revealing the blotch.

He stands, nonchalantly running a hand through his hair to
cover the blotch.

                              ANDREW (CONT.)
                    If MacroSystems wins, an energetic,
                    young company will be destroyed,
                    five thousand Americans will be
                    out of work. Moreover, the laws of
                    copyright and anti-trust were
                    enacted to prevent exactly the
                    kind of bullshit Macrosystems is
                    trying to pull.

                              SEIDMAN
                    Andy, do you know who reps Kronos
                    Inc.?

                              ANDREW
                    Bailey, Brackman.

                              WHEELER
                    Get with the program, Andy. As
                    of this evening, about 8:05 this
                    evening, right after the soup
                    course... Kronos Incorporated is
                    represented by Wyant Wheeler
                    Hellerman Tetlow and Brown. Or,
                    more specifically, senior
                    associate Andrew Beckett.

A moment before it sinks in, then: Andrew clenches his fist
in a victory salute.

                              ANDREW
                    Yes!

                              SEIDMAN
                    You'll have to get right on it,
                    Andy, we're up against the
                    statute of limitations.

An ASSOCIATE LAWYER in shirtsleeves taps on the office door.

                              ASSOCIATE LAWYER
                    Tokyo on four, Bob.

                              SEIDMAN
                    Great. Excuse me, fellas.
                         (picking up a phone,
                         speaking Japanese)
                    Connichiwa. Itsumo osewa ni nari
                    mashita. Arigato gozaimasu.

Andrew offers his hand to Walter Kenton.

                              ANDREW
                    Thanks, Walter.

                              KENTON
                    What's that on your forehead,
                    pal?

                              ANDREW
                    Whacked with a racquetball.
                         (taking Wheeler's hand)
                    I appreciate your faith in my
                    abilities.

                              WHEELER
                    Faith, Andy, is the belief in
                    something for which we have no
                    evidence. It doesn't apply to
                    this situation.
                         (slapping his shoulder)
                    Go home. I mean, get back to
                    work.

Andrew and Wheeler are eye-to-eye, an intimate moment.

                              ANDREW
                         (warmly, softly)
                    Thanks, Charles.

                              WHEELER
                         (with a father's
                         affection)
                    No sweat, buddy.

Smiling, Andrew exits the office.

CLOSE ON WALTER KENTON, THINKING...

                                        CONTINUOUS CUT TO:

ANDREW STEPPING INTO THE EMPTY CORRIDOR, TAKING A FEW STEPS
away from Wheeler's office (INT./NIGHT), then...

... DOING a JOYFUL END ZONE DANCE, running in place the way
football players do when then score a touch down, saying
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" to himself, soundlessly.

The SOUND OF CLANGING METAL interrupts Andrew: HELENA, a
maintenance worker is emptying a trash can. She's seen his
little dance and starts to laugh.

Smiling, Andrew puts the unlit cigar into his mouth, WINKS
at Helena and says:

                              ANDREW
                         (in a funny, kind of
                         medieval way)
                    It's good to be King.

                                                  CUT TO:

ESTABLISHING: ANDREW'S LOFT BUILDING (EXT. DAY)

TITLE: "Ten days later."

                                                  CUT TO:

CLOSE ON ANDREW'S FACE MARKED WITH FOUR BLOTCHES (WE'RE IN
Andrew's loft -- INT./DAY)

It's a mirror image. The BLOTCHES vary from the size of a
dime, to the size of a half-dollar. He looks awful.

A YOUNG, BLACK WOMAN'S FINGER applies makeup to Andrew's
face, trying to cover the blotches. This is his friend
CHANDRA.

                              CHANDRA (O.S.)
                    You want to apply the foundation
                    as evenly as you can, Andy. You
                    don't want to look like you've
                    thrown it on with a spoon.

                              ANDREW (O.S.)
                    Uh huh.

CAMERA PULLS BACK REVEALING Andrew sitting at a table in his
loft, a towel around his neck, protecting his shirt from makeup.
Chandra applies the makeup gently, supervised by another friend
named ALAN. (Andrew's loft has been turned into a lawyer's
command post: stacks of books, documents, etc.). A third friend,
BRUNO, sits in the corner, flipping through channels on the TV.

                              CHANDRA
                    Okay. You try.

Andrew tries applying makeup to his face.

                              ANDREW
                    Chandra? Don't you think this
                    color's a little... orange for me?

                              CHANDRA
                    Tahitian Bronze works best on
                    lesions.

                              ALAN
                    Think of it as the "I just back
                    from Aruba" look.

IN THE BACKGROUND: Andrew's fax machine receives a fax in
Andrew's "work area": desk, personal computer, etc.).

                              BRUNO
                    I got it.

Bruno removes the fax from the machine, walking it over to
Andrew, handing Andrew the fax, while munching an apple.

                              ANDREW
                         (giving the fax
                         a quick scan)
                    Thanks, Bruno.
                         (to Alan and Chandra)
                    I've been out of the office four
                    days. I don't want them to
                    think I've been to the beach.
                         (searching for something)
                    Okay. Check this out.

Andrew puts on a pair of big glasses with tortoise shell
frames, meant to help conceal the blotches.

                              ANDREW (CONT.)
                    Hides everything, right? What
                    do you think?

                              CHANDRA
                    You know who you look like,
                    Andy? That actor, in that
                    movie. Not the one where he was
                    autistic, the one where he
                    dressed up like a lady on a soap
                    opera...

                              ALAN
                    Dustin Hoffman.

                              ANDREW
                         (horrified)
                    Tootsie!

                              BRUNO
                    Right.

                              CHANDRA
                    You want to try Light Egyptian?

Suddenly, Andrew winces, gripping his gut.

                              CHANDRA (CONT.)
                    What?

                              ANDREW
                         (clearly in pain)
                    Excuse me a sec...

Andrew starts out of the room -- suddenly HAVING TO RUN.

                              CHANDRA
                    Just like my cousin Fredo.

CAMERA HOLDS ON Chandra, Alan and Bruno. SOUND OF BATHROOM DOOR
slamming shut.

Bruno saunters across the room and knocks on the bathroom
door.

                              BRUNO
                    You okay, Andy?

                                        CONTINUOUS CUT TO:

TIGHT SHOT ON ANDREW, FACE TWISTED IN PAIN (INT./DAY) ...

Andrew rests his head against the wall, sweat covering his
face. A storm of fire has passed through him, and he's hoping
it's over for now.

                              ANDREW
                    I think I need to go to the
                    hospital.

                                                  CUT TO:

MIGUEL ALVAREZ RUNS URGENTLY DOWN SPRUCE STREET, DODGING
traffic as he crosses Eleventh Street, toward Jefferson
Hospital (EXT./DAY). He hustles up the ramp toward the
Emergency Entrance...

                                                  CUT TO:

MIGUEL SHOVES THROUGH GLASS DOORS, INTO THE BUSTLING
Emergency Room (INT./DAY), FINDING

ANDREW sitting on a gurney, holding a cotton ball against
his arm, where blood has been drawn, wearing a blanket over
his shoulders, fighting chills.

Chandra and Bruno are waiting with Andrew. They exchange
quick hugs with Miguel and Andrew, ad libbing greetings and
goodbyes.

                              ANDREW
                    Thanks, you guys.

                              MIGUEL
                    Yeah. Thanks, guys.

Miguel puts his arms around Andrew.

                              ANDREW
                    Gillman's out of her office today.
                    I told her to take a day off, and
                    she did, can you believe it? Did
                    you get someone to cover your
                    class?

Miguel touches Andrew's face, checking for fever.

                              MIGUEL
                    Don't worry about it. They took
                    blood? A specimen?

Andrew holds an empty specimen cup.

                              ANDREW
                    Aren't you giving an exam?

                              MIGUEL
                    I said, don't worry about it.

Miguel places a gentle kiss on Andrew's sweaty forehead.

                              MIGUEL (CONT.)
                    You got a fever, baby.

Suddenly, the facade cracks and TEARS STING Andrew's eyes.