华尔街 剧本

“WALL STREET”

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY BY
STANLEY WEISER & OLIVER STONE

OAXATAL PRODUCTIONS, INC.
COPYRIGHT
APRIL 1, 1987
THIRD DRAFT
Rev. 4/2/87
Rev. 4/15/87
Rev. 4/20/87
Rev. 4/23/87

EXT. WALL STREET – EARLY MORNING

FADE IN. THE STREET. The most famous third of a mile in the
world. Towering landmark structures nearly blot out the
dreary grey flannel sky. The morning rush hour crowds swarm
through the dark, narrow streets like mice in a maze, all in
pursuit of one thing: MONEY… CREDITS RUN.

INT. SUBWAY PLATFORM – EARLY MORNING

We hear the ROAR of the trains pulling out of the station.
Blurred faces, bodies, suits, hats, attache cases float into
view pressed like sardines against the sides of a door which
now open, releasing an outward velocity of anger and greed,
one of them BUD FOX.

EXT. SUBWAY EXIT – MORNING

The bubbling mass charges up the stairs. Steam rises from a
grating, shapes merging into the crowd. Past the HOMELESS
VETS, the insane BAG LADY with 12 cats and 20 shopping bags
huddled in the corner of Trinity Church…

Bud the Fox straggling behind, in a crumpled raincoat, tie
askew, young, very young, his bleary face buried in a Wall
Street Journal, folded, ‘subway style’, as he crosses the
street against the light.

BUD
Why Fox? Why didn’t you buy…
schmuck?

A car honks, swerving past.

INT. OFFICE BUILDING – DAY

Cavernous modern lobby. Bodies cramming into elevators. Bud,
stuffing the newspaper into his coat, jams in.

INT. ELEVATOR – MORNING

Blank faces stare ahead, each lost in private thoughts, Bud
again mouthing the thought, “stupid schmuck”, his eyes
catching a blond executive who quickly flicks her eyes away.
Paranoia in the elevator. We quickly cut into private lives.

WORRIED MAN (V.O.)
… he’ll sue me, could be for 5-6
million, and he’ll get a million,
the house, they’ll impound my
paychecks…damn, damn, why did I
sign that contract?

BLACK BIKE MESSENGER (V.O.)
… gotta get Lola in the sack man,
take her to the Garden for the
Terrells, Jimmy give me the tickets
for 12 bucks, I pull the midnight
shift, I could do 60 bucks… wow,
check those legs out…

His eyes on the same blonde exec who looks away, self-
conscious about her legs. The elevator stops at a floor,
discards only one person. The doors close a little too slowly.

BLONDE EXECUTIVE (V.O.)
… jerk…
(shifts her thoughts)
call Hanratty. The decimal points
on the code are uncalibrated.
Hoskins. The signatures on the bank
draft. Boyle, that
bitch…insurance…tax form. Shit,
talk to Kahn.
(recalling)
That’s Hanratty, Hoskins, Bank,
Boyle and Kahn… H2B2K – shoot,
insurance and theatre
tix…H2B2K,I,T — and the cleaners!
repeat…

Catching the eyes of Bud Fox once again wandering to her.
Camera moving to Bud who looks away.

BUD (V.O.)
…sorry, what a fox… funny, the
most beautiful girls in the world
are always on the street or in
elevators, never get to talk to
them, shy … my looks, never had
confidence in them …
overcompensating work syndrome…
prove your worth with money…
‘cept I’m not making any money…
(pause, the elevator
at another floor, slow)
… wonder what all these people
are thinking about.

Camera moving slowly again over the eyes. The silence of
individual tension reigns over all.

ANGRY MAN (V.O.)
…Screw him! I’ll destroy that
sonufabitch… he thinks he can
break a contract with me he’s got
something to learn.

SECRETARY (V.O.)
…9:15!… he’ll kill me this
time, he will really kill me… oh
come on elevator!… why do you
stop on every floor…

As the elevator stops again to disgorge two people.

BIKE MESSENGER (V.O.)
(pissed now at the elevator)
… come on man, time is money
man… One floor here I could do
eleven blocks…

BLONDE EXECUTIVE (V.O.)
H2B2K,I,T,CL,P,O,T2…
(pause, she looks
like she forgot something)

WORRIED MAN (V.O.)
…goddamn elevators!…people, too
many goddamn people in this world!

The elevator finally comes to a slow stop… They wait,
plead, beg, screech with the eyes.

The door at last opens. None of them acknowledging each
other, they all stampede out the door with an audible gasp
of release, a collective sign akin to making it to a urinal
after a punishing wait…

The elevator tension is over, but the killer grind continues.

INT. JACKSON, STEINEM INVESTMENT HOUSE – DAY

Credits continue to run. Bud moves past the functional
reception area, past CAROLYN, a cheerful young black girl.

CAROLYN
How you doing Buddy?

BUD
Great Carolyn, doing any better
would be a sin…

He slips off his overcoat, flicks some lint off his Paul
Stuart $500 suit, and enters the main trading room.

Brokers mill by their desks, gulping coffee, scanning the
papers, the quotrons. The digital clock by the big board
counter clicks to 9:26 am — four minutes until the market
opens. You can smell the hunger.

Bud takes a deep breath, tosses the newspaper away and
struts into the office — fuck it — it’s a new day.

MOVING past DAN STEEPLES, a flush-faced old-timer, a blue
and white Yale tie, with a carnation in his lapel.

BUD
Morning, Dan. What’s looking good
today?

STEEPLES
If I know I wouldn’t be in this
business. Get out while you’re
young, kid. I came here one day, I
sat down, and look at me now.

Past CHARLIE CUSHING, on the phone, a handsome chunk of man
with rugged good looks and Ivy League mannerisms.

BUD
…hey Chuckie, how’s the woman-
slayer?

CHARLIE
…still looking for the right 18
year old wife, how you doing, pal?

BUD
…if I had your looks, better.

CHARLIE
(used to it)
…takes years of genetics, pal,
and a Yale education… and the
right tailor.

BUD
…not that you learned anything,
Chunk.

Bud reaches his trading desk, whips open his briefcase and
pulls out a computer print-out of last night’s homework.

BUD
I gotta feeling we’re going to make
a killing today, Marv.

MARV (O.S.)
Yeah, where’s your machine gun.

BUD
Joke about it. I was up all night
charting these stocks. You want to
see this or what?

His associate, MARVIN, a manicky wise-guy, swivels over his
chair from a nearby desk. He gives the charts a quick read.

MARV
(scowling)
Looks bearish to me, buddy. You got
it all upside down.
(confidential)
Okay, I’m giving this to you and
you alone, ’cause I feel sorry for
you. Take the Knicks against the
Bullets, and my pick of the day —
Duke to beat the spread against
Wake Forest.

BUD
Thanks, Marv, with that I might be
able to qualify for welfare.

LOU MANNHEIM, strolls in, a dignified looking older broker
in his late 60’s, wearing an old brown brim hat with button
down white shirt, narrow tie, very much a picture from
another era… a kind humor in his eyes… but obviously
ailing in the legs and breath department.

BUD
(friendly)
You got a look in your eye, Mr.
Mannheim… You got something for
the small fry…

MANNHEIM
Jesus, can’t make a buck in this
market, country’s going to hell
faster than when that sonofabitch
Roosevelt was around… too much
cheap money sloshing around the
world. The biggest mistake we ever
made was letting Nixon get off the
gold standard. Putney Drug–you
boys might want to have a look at it.

MARV
Take 5 years for that company to
turn around.

MANNHEIM
…but they got a good new drug.
Stick to the fundamentals, that’s
how IBM and Hilton were built…good
things sometimes take time.

The stentorian voice of OFFICE MANAGER HIERONYMUS LYNCH
booms over the intercom.

We see him peering from behind the glass partition in hit
office; tall, balding with a perpetual worried look on his
face.

LYNCH
Attention. Please. Office Production
is down ten percent this week. I
recommend that you all go through
your clients’ investments for any
portfolio adjustments. And don’t
forget — double commissions today
on our ‘A’ or better bond funds.
(looking in Bud and
Marv’s direction)
Especially you rookies. Also,
remember, the sales contest ends
tomorrow.

Bud and Marvin roll their eyes. The digital clock flashes
9:30. The CREDITS close.

BUD
And they’re off and running!

The room rises to a subtle but new energy level with the
clatter of the ticker, speakers, teletype machines,
newsprinters’ Dow Jones and Reuters, phones ringing off the
hook. Brokers are shouting orders, running for tickets,
dodging each other; it’s a controlled riot.

BROKERS
Here’s a hot lead… Have I got one
for you…. sell … dump it all!!
… 500 at an eighth, an eighth!…
July fifties. April thirties…how
bout those Decembers? You see where
they’re going? … Morgan is
selling a billion one at the close.
Yeah. That’s right, they’re selling
all over the place… we’re still
long on the treasuries — $110
million. What about the Japs?
…Where am I?
(confused at all the
phone lights)
We gotta lot of lights here! Let’s
pick ’em up.

BUD
(on phone)
Jack, take 50 Gulf, with a 3/8 top,
forget the hundred. What about
Delroy? I can go long at 23, let’s
go long…Conwest Air — let me
check it…

He looks up at the TICKER… stock quotes whizzing by.

BUD (O.S. CONT’D)
Up an eighth. How many you want?
It’s on the floor.

He writes the order up.

A shot of CHARLIE CUSHING yawning as he half-listens to his
customer, resting the phone on his kneecaps.

DISSOLVE TO:

THE CLOCK… It’s 2.30 p.m. We hear the relentless clatter
of the board ticker, and the drone of disembodied voices,
blarihg market information out of squawk boxes.

Bud’s desk is now cluttered with order tickets, literature,
crumpled notes, beverage cups and a half-eaten sandwich.
He’s on the phone and from the look on his face, the caller
on the other end is breaking his balls. Marvin paces past,
making a dramatic phone pitch.

MARV
Dr. Beltzer has to have his
information this minute! It
concerns his future!

Bud waves Marvin away, answers his caller, trying to keep
cool, worried how as he sees Lynch, the office manager,
coming over.

BUD
Hey Howard, I thought you were a
gentleman. Sure it’s gone down a
little bit, but you got the tip
from your printer, I didn’t… Yeah
you did. That’s what you said.
(heated)
I didn’t tell you to buy it, why
would I tell you to sell it?
(screaming)
No, I can’t give it back! Give it
back to who? You own it!
(beat)
No, he’s out right now.

As he looks up and winks at Lynch, standing over him.

BUD
(cupping the receiver)
… That’s what you told us to say.

LYNCH
Give me that phone.
(takes receiver)
Yes, sir, this is the manager. What
seems to be the problem?

MARV
(into his phone)
What?… Well, how was I to know
you were in surgery? What am I
Marvin the mind reader here?

Bud whispers, tensely. Lynch listens.

BUD
He’s lying.

LYNCH
Okay, sir. I’ll discuss this with
the broker and I’ll get back to you.
You’re welcome.

Lynce hangs up and glares at Bud.

LYNCH
If I’m closing out this account. If
he doesn’t pay for it tomorrow, you
pay for it.

BUD
Mr. Lynch, I swear to you, he’s lying!

LYNCH
Fox, you’re making more problems
than you are sales.

BUD
I don’t think you’re being fair,
sir. You assigned me this guy, and
you know he’s got a history…

LYNCH
Somebody has to pay for that error.
And it’s not me.

Lynch walks off. Bud does some quick calculations in his head.

MARV
(reappearing)
Buddy, buddy, buddy; little
trouble, huh, today.

BUD
(devastated)
Howard the Jerk reneged on me. I’ve
got to cover his loss to the tune
of about seven grand! I’m tapped
out man, American Express got a hit
man looking for me.

MARV
Hey, things could be worse. It
could’ve been my money. Let me help
you out, rookie.

He takes out his wallet and loans Bud a hundred bucks.

BUD
Thanks Marv, I’ll make it good to
you.
(fervently)
You know what my dream is? One day
to be on the other end of that
phone…

MARV
Just put me on the institutional
side of the room where the real
cheesecake is. You forgetting
something?

Marvin points up at the clock. Bud looks up… it’s 2:40.
Bud quickly composes himself. He picks up the phone, dialing
purposefully.

MARV (CONT’D)
Buddy, buddy, when ya gonna realize
it’s big game hunters that bag the
elephants, not retail brokers. I
heard this story about Gekko… he
was on the phone 30 seconds after
the Challenger blew up selling NASA
stocks short.

BUD
Hello, Natalie — guess who? That’s
right, and you know everyday I say
to myself, today could be the day…
So what do you say… will you
marry me? Then please can you get
me through to Mr. Gekko?

MARV
(coaching)
It concerns his future!

BUD
Of course he’s busy, and so am I.
Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.
I know that if he could only hear
what I have to say… it would
change his life.

INT. GEKKO OFFICE – DAY

NATALIE, a classy attractive Englishwoman is on the phone
with Bud, somewhat amused by his manner. She is the personal
secretary to multimillionaire, Wall Street trader and
raider, Gordon Gekko. His windows look out on a panoramic
view of the city and East River.

NATALIE
Mr. Fox, I’ve told you before, I’m
sure you’re a good broker, but our
traders talk to the brokers, Mr.
Gekko only deals with investment
bankers. Yes, I shall give him your
message …

As they’re speaking, another SECRETARY leads two well-heeled
JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN past her desk. As she opens the door to
the inner office and ushers them inside, we catch a glimpse
of a figure, pacing back and forth, talking animatedly on
the phone by the huge corner window. HE IS GORDON GEKKO. We
hear a deafening ROAR as we:

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MCGREGOR’S BAR AND GRILL – NEAR LAGUARDIA AIRPORT –
TWILIGHT

In the background, a 747 ascends into the night sky,
climbing over the roof tops of weathered brick tract houses.
Bud, coat collar pulled up against the wind, crosses the
street, entering a neighborhood bar. We see an old maroon
Honda behind him.

INT. MCGREGOR’S – TWILIGHT

Dimly-lit, noisy, blue-collar airline bar. Machinists and
mechanics still in their overalls at the bar, drinking,
watching ESPN FIGHT NIGHT, on TV. Bud searches the crowd. A
group of middle-aged men wave him over, BLUESTAR AIRLINES
insignias on the pockets… CHARLIE DENT, a rugged, chain-
smoking ex-Marine Sergeant, and DOMINICK AMATO, a big strong
Italian greet Buddy as he comes over.

CHARLIE
Buddy boy, how ya doing?

BUD
Great Charlie, any better it’d be a
sin.

AMATO
(slapping Bud)
I hear all you guys on Wall Street
are millionaires, when you gonna
make us rich?

BUD
Gotta open an account to win the
lottery, Dominick. Give me 15,000,
you’ll have a condo in Florida next
Christmas.

CARL
… sure and we’ll own the airline.
If he makes anybody rich, let him
make himself rich, so’s he can pay
off his school loans.

As he signs an unemployment insurance form for one of his men.

BUD
… nice to see you in such a good
mood Dad, what’d Mom do, give you
fish for dinner? … You’re smoking
too much, how many times do you
gotta go to the hospital to …

Carl, inhaling his cigarette, grimaces formidably,
terminating the subject.

CARL
…leave me alone willya. Only
thing makes me feel good anymore.
Spaghetti. She makes lousy
spaghetti…

BUD
It’s called pasta now Dad,
spaghetti’s out of date.

Bud sitting down next to him, pats him around the shoulder.
Dad, a sarcastic and gruff edge to him, makes a faint smile.
He has a genuine affection and pride in his somewhat
glamorous son.

CARL
… so am I. Whaddaya want, a beer?
(to waitress)
Hey Billie, bring another for the
kid, he looks good, doesn’t he?

Dominick and Charlie go off. A pause. Father and son sizing
each other up with a look.

CARL
… looks like you grown another
inch… but you don’t look so hot,
getting bags under your eyes,
starting to look old like me.

BUD
Ah, I had a tough day. Some jerk
D.K’d me and I gotta cover his loss.

CARL
Speak English will ya.

BUD
D.K. — didn’t know — who I was
when the options he bought took a
bath. He reneged on me.

CARL
(nods, satisfied)
I told you not to go into that
racket. You could’ve been a doctor
or a lawyer,

BUD
Coulda been a contender.

CARL (CONT.)
you coulda stayed at Bluestar and
been a supervisor in instead of
going customer relations by now,
‘stead of going off and bein’ a
salesman.

BUD
(an old story between them)
Look Dad, I’m not a salesman. How
many times I gotta tell you I’m an
account executive, and pretty soon
I’m going to the investment banking
side of the firm.

CARL
You get on the phone and ask
strangers for their money, right?
You’re a salesman.

BUD
(ticked)
Dad, it takes time. You gotta build
a customer list. I’m doing it. I
could make more money in one year
as a broker than five years at the
airline.

CARL
I don’t get it, you get a
scholarship to NYU, you get 35,000
the first year, and 50 last year,
where the hell is it?

BUD
50 K don’t get you to first base in
the Big Apple, Dad, not any more. I
pay 40% in taxes, I got a rent of
15,000, I got school loans, car
loans, food, park my car costs me 3
bills a month, I need good suits,
that’s $500 a pop, shoes…

CARL
So come home and live rent free,
‘stead of that cockroach palace you
live in. $50,000 Jesus Christ, the
world is off its rocker. I made
$37,000 last year and you…

BUD
It’s Queens, Dad and a 5% mortgage
and you rent the top room–I gotta
live in Manhattan to be a player,
Dad. There’s no nobility in poverty
anymore, y’know. One day you’re
going to be proud of me, you’ll
see…
(hurting)

CARL
(sees it)
It’s yourself you’ve got to be
proud of, Huckleberry, how much ya
need?

BUD
(beat)
Can you spare three hundred? Pay
you back next month, promise.

Dad reaches into his pocket, looks at his cash. It hurts.

CARL
…Got a 100 on me, you…

BUD
(embarrassed)
Not in here Dad… please. Later.

Dad shrugs, puts it away.

CARL
… it adds up Buddy, 300 here, 200
there. Your brother never…
(cuts off when he
sees Buddy’s face)
…well, I always said money is
something you need in case you
don’t die tomorrow…

BUD
(changes subject)
How’s Mom?

Another man comes over with a bandage around his head and a
compensation form for Carl to sign. (“Hey, chief”).

CARL
(with affection)
…same, pain in the ass, god bless
her, talks too much… gonna take
her to Florida next month… west
coast, near Tampa, like to get out
for good, but can’t afford it.

BUD
…Work okay?

CARL
(lights another
cigarette, grimaces)
…this drug testing is driving my
guys nuts. I got flagged for my
blood pressure pills. The only good
news is, we just met with the
comptroller over some union
stuff…’member that crash last
summer? and the investigation?
Well, the FAA is gonna rule it was
a manufacturing flaw in the door
latch mechanism. I kept telling ’em
it wasn’t maintenance, it was those
goddamn greedy manufacturers out in
Cincinnati. And I was right.

He gives the signed form back to the injured man. (Carl:
“Okay, Frank”)

BUD
That’s great Dad.

CARL
Damn right, it gets us out from
under suspension. We’ll get those
new routes to Pittsburgh and Boston
and the equipment we need. We’re
gonna compete with the big boys now.

BUD
(boasts)
Hey to Bluestar, as your broker all
I can advise is hold on to that
stock Dad…

They drink. Bud reflects a moment.

BUD
You sure about this FAA announcement?

CARL
About what?

BUD
The FAA announcement.

CARL
Sure I’m sure. Buddy, you got that
mischievous look in your eyes. You
used to smile just like that when
you were a baby sleeping, just like
that.

Bud’s mind racing elsewhere.

INT. BUD’S APARTMENT – UPPER WEST SIDE – NIGHT

A cramped studio facing an air shaft with bars on the window.
Moving across to the sound of the radio alarm going off and
the glib tones of a rock D.J. announcing the Met’s latest
streak … The walls are papered with stock analyses and
graphs, print out pages strewn across the floor. No other
semblance of a personal life except clothes haphazardly
tossed, Barron’s and Fortune magazines. A GIRL’s back is all
we see, sleeping naked on the bed.

Close on Bud’s IBM computer — his appointment calendar. Bud
focusing on an underlined notation: G.G.’s BIRTHDAY.

Bud stares at the clock: 4 a.m. He picks up a prospectus for
a chemical company, starts reading.

EXT. GEKKO BUILDING – MORNING

Bud, crossing lower Broadway, enters a magnificent towering
glass structure.

INT. GORDON GEKKO PENTHOUSE OFFICES – MORNING

NATALIE, Gekko’s British secretary, is completing shorthand
notes as the intercom buzzes. A logo for “GEKKO & CO. is
behind her.

RECEPTION
(off)
… I have a delivery here for Mr.
Gekko. It’s a personal item and the
gentleman says you have to sign for
it.

NATALIE
(frowning)
…all right, send him in…

INT. HALLWAY – MORNING

Bud, somewhat nervous, is led down an impressive hallway
hung with expensive modern art… past a huge Calder mobile
and a pool of some 15 traders on phones, quotron terminals
and keyboards… into Natalie’s outer office.

BUD
Hello, Natalie, you recognize the
voice? I’ll give you a hint, you’re
thinking seriously about marrying
me…

NATALIE
(recognizing the voice)
What are you doing here?

BUD
…And you’re even lovelier than I
pictured. I brought a birthday
present for Mr. Gekko.

NATALIE
First of all, Mr. Fox, you can’t
just come barging in here. And what
makes you think it’s his birthday?

Bud takes out an old crumpled Fortune magazine cover of
Gordon Gekko, entitled “Gekko the Great!”

BUD
It’s in the bible, see. You better
go buy him a present. Please,
Natalie. Let me give him the gift;
Cuban cigars–Davidoff, his
favorite and hard to get.

NATALIE
(sighs)
Stay here, I’ll see what I can do.

She takes the gift and enters Gekko’s office. Bud paces
nervously. Natalie re-appears, stern, but a note of
compromise in her voice.

NATALIE
Wait outside.

INT. GEKKO OFFICES – OUTSIDE RECEPTION AREA – DAY

Bud on the courtesy phone, hangs up, looks nervously at his
watch. Almost 12. He’s lost some two hours of business.
Natalie suddenly comes out, without a smile.

NATALIE
Five minutes…

Bud brightens, pumping himself in the mirror, muttering.

BUD
(to Natalie)
Well… life all comes down to a
few moments, and this is one of ’em…

He follows Natalie.

INT. GORDON GEKKO’S OFFICE (BUD’S POV) – DAY

Furnishings in hypermodern gray and black lacquer, Modern
Art ranging from black field paintings by Ad Reinhardt to
the smashed dishes of Julian Schnabel. Nautilus equipment,
hi-tech gadgets are in evidence, including a splendid Howard
Miller World Time Clock, and a world map…

Three of Gekko’s people, young MBA’s dressed for success,
are scattered about the room, on phones, calculators, coming
in and out.

GORDON GEKKO aka Gekko the Great as the media calls him,
dressed in a custom English suit, paces on the phone with
the restlessness of a caged tiger, a 50-foot extension cord
attached to his blinking 130 line silver-plated telephone.
On his ears is a headset.

He is carrying on overlapping conversations with a myriad of
bankers, partners and lawyers; pausing to issue commands to
his aides while keeping his eye on the stock prides spitting
across a bank of quotron monitors, carrying everything from
New York Exchanges to London, commodities, gold, and
currency values. A second Secretary and sometimes Natalie
exit and enter with various messages written on a piece of
paper, indicating a waiting party on the phone. Gekko often
shakes his head “no”.

GEKKO
(on phone)
… what the hell is going on? I
just saw 200,000 shares move, are
we part of it, we better be, pal,
or I’m gonna eat your lunch for
you… get on 1.
(switches lines)
Sorry, love it at forty. It’s an
insult at fifty. Their analysts
don’t know preferred stock from
livestock…
(a beat, mischievous smile)
wait for it to head south, then
we’ll raise the sperm count on the
deal… right. Get back to me….
(to Alex, an aide
listening an the
other line)
This is the kid that’s called me 59
days in a row. Wants to be a player
(to Bud)
There oughta be a picture of you in
the dictionary under persistence.
(back to phone)
Look, Jerry, I’m looking for
negative control, no more than 30
to 35%, just enouqh to block
anybody else’s merger plans and
find out from the inside if the
books are cooked. If it looks as
good as on paper, we’re in the kill
zone. We lock and load pal…get on 3.

ALEX DE BETANCOURT, a tall handsome Frenchman, jots a note
and follows Gordon over to line 3. Gekko’s dark intent eyes
fixing briefly on Bud who stands waiting in the corner. He
motions him to sit.

GEKKO
(new line)
Yeah, Billy, who’s your buyer?…
No, not interested.
(eyes an Quotron, to
Ollie, a trader)
Ollie, start calling a the
institutions, start with Marx at
Janson Mutual, then Reardon. Get me
that California retirement money,
baby! And we’re on our way!

OLLIE
You got it, G.G.

OLLIE, a gigantic 200 pound man wearing pink suspenders,
rises and walks to another phone, past Bud…

GEKKO
(back on line with
Billy, listening)
… check the arbs for MacDonald’s.
Yeah, I’m having a Mac attack.
20,000 shares. For about 30 minutes.
Lunch? Are you joking — lunch is
for wimps. Get back to me…
(to Alex)
4.

Bud’s eyes on the framed “tombstones” from the Wall Street
Journal commemorating Gekko’s successful deals; they hang
like scalps from the walls. Gekko’s eyes drifting to Bud, a
friendly easy smile for a flick of an instant, he has
genuine charm in his manner and though ultrafast verbally,
projects calm and confidence at the center. A man who
obviously loves what he does, to some small degree is
flashing his stuff for the outsider.

GEKKO
(line 4)
Look Harold, they’re vulnerable,
alright, but we don’t want ’em to
think they’re under accumulation.
Go slow. Call Geneva and the
Bahamas for me, will ya? We feint
towards it but we wait…

ALEX
What about tipping off Yurovich?

GEKKO
(grimaces)
If I ever need surgery, get me the
heart of an arb like Yurovich, it’s
never been used…Happy Holideals
Harold…

Hangs up, eyes to Bud. His headset comes off.

BUD
(nervous)
How do you do Mr. Gekko. I’m Bud Fox.

GEKKO
So you say. Nice to meet you; hope
you’re intelligent. Like these,
how’d you get these?
(indicating cigars)

BUD
(tries a smile, awkward)
…got a connection at the airport.

Gekko notes the answer, wrapping the cuff of a state-of-the-
art, automatic blood pressure monitor around his arm and
starts pumping it up. His aides continue on the phones.

GEKKO
So what s on your mind kimosabe?
Why am I listening to you? Got to
monitor my blood pressure, so
whatever you do, don’t upset me.

BUD
Oh no, no…

GEKKO
(demonstrating it)
Within 45 seconds, a microprocessor
computes your systolic and
diastolic pressure. Has an LCD
readout, and it’s cost effective —
less than one visit to the doctor.

BUD
I just want to let you know Mr.
Gekko I read all about you at NYU
Business, and I think you’re an
incredible genius and I’ve always
dreamed of only one thing — to do
business with a man like you…

GEKKO
(smiles, impatient
with the speech)
So what firm you with, pal?

BUD
Jackson, Steinem…

GEKKO
(nods)
…going places, good junk bond
department, you got the financing
on that Syndicam deal.

BUD
…Yeah, and we’re working on some
other interesting stuff.

GEKKO
(fishing)
…A cosmetics company by any
chance? What are you, the 12th man
on the deal team? The last to know?

BUD
(smiles)
Can’t tell you that, Mr. Gekko.

GEKKO
So whatta you got for me, sport?
Why are you here?

Bud opens his attache case and rifles out a handful of
briefs. Gekko noting the blood pressure reading and taking
the cuff off his arm. Ollie, the big trader, ambles back in,
says something to the third aide, a young intelligent-
looking woman SUSAN TURNER.

BUD
Chart break-out on this one
here…uh Whitewood-Young
Industries…low P.E. Explosive
earnings. 30% discount from book.
Great cash flow. Coupla 5% holders.
Strong management.

GEKKO
It’s a dog, what else you got,
sport, besides connections at the
airport?

NATALIE
Mr. Stevenson in San Fransisco.

Gekko takes the call, cutting Bud off.

GEKKO
He respond to the offer? What? What
the hell’s Cromwell doing giving
lecture tours when his company’s
losing 60 million a quarter? I
guess he’s giving lectures on how
to lose money…if this guy opened
a funeral parlor, no one would die,
this turkey’s totally brain
dead…Well Christmas is over and
business is business.
(simultaneous to Ollie)
Keep buying. Dilute the sonofabitch.
Ollie I want every orifice in his
body flowing red.

OLLIE
(laughs, on the phone)
He’s flowing, Gordo. Piece of cake.

Gekko hanging up and buzzing an aide. Throws out an aside to
Bud.

GEKKO
…doesn’t look like it but the
best trader on the street…
(to Susan)
Sue get the LBO analysis on Teldar
Paper and bring it here…what else?

Bud shifting, uncomfortable as Gekko finally swivels his
attention back to him.

BUD
(coming right back)
Tarafly…Analysts don’t like it. I
do. The breakup value is twice the
market price. The deal finances
itself. Sell off two divisions,
keep…

Aiex, knowing the stock, sneers, shares a look with Gekko
who looks up at Bud with the first sign of interest.

GEKKO
(laughs)
Not bad for a quant, but a dog with
different fleas.
(checks his hi-tech watch)
Come on, tell me something I don’t
know. It’s my birthday, pal,
surprise me…

As he opens a birthday card and feeds it into the SHREDDER
that sits next to his desk over the waste basket. The sound
it makes is soft and menacing. Buddy knows its fourth down
and long, Gekko’s attention is shifting to the quotron. In
frustration, Bud blurts it out.

BUD
(standing)
Bluestar Airlines.

The camera moves on him now, sudden, more intense, in a
sense trapping him.

GEKKO
…rings a bell somewhere. So wha

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