Panic Room

I wrote it all down: 4,200 square feet, four floors. Perfect.

Courtyard in back, south-facing garden. Perfect.

-Shouldn't we wait for the car service? -No, we'll sit in traffic forever.

-Is that the listing sheet? -There isn't one.

I heard about it this morning. It'll be gone soon.

-How many more? -None. You know the market is tight.

-Sarah, do you have to ride that here? -Mom, we're in the street.

Evan!

One day you will learn to respect people's time, Lydia.

You'll realize that the world does not stop and start at your convenience.

I'm so sorry.

I'm meeting Arthur Digby Laurence in 26 minutes...

...and if you think he's the kind of man who tolerates tardiness...

...you are sadly mistaken.

You're a saint to wait for us.

-Thank you. -Hello.

It's kind of between a townhouse and a brownstone.

We call it a "townstone."

Built in 1879, this is the middle of the house, the parlor floor.

Here is the living room. Formal dining is in the back.

Casual dining below on the kitchen floor...

...which was renovated in '94 with all the expected amenities.

Sarah.

There are two bedroom floors above.

My God, it's amazing.

Hey, kid. No scooter.

I don't have to tell you this amount of living space is uncommon in Manhattan.

It's got a yard. Sort of.

It is in a bit of disarray, but then again, 21-foot lot, 53 deep.

It allows for an expansive garden.

Working elevator.

The previous owner was disabled the last years of his life.

Highly unusual, the elevator.

You will not find this in 90 percent of brownstones.

Perhaps it's something of a fixer-upper, but we anticipate enormous interest.

It's a very emotional property.

Shall we have a look at the rest?

You should make an offer immediately.

Can I see it first?

There is nothing like this on the market right now.

You can't move from Greenwich to the Upper West Side...

...and expect to still have a house, a yard and a dog and cat, but here it is.

It's got everything you told me you wanted and more.

You'll have another family. You could have two.

It's a fortune.

Mom, it's not Barneys. You don't have to pay the price on the tag.

He can afford it.

It would be so lovely if I could show the property before I leave.

Hardwood floors throughout, as many as six working fireplaces.

This is the top floor. Two bedrooms. One at either end.

They share one small bath.

Originally, this would have been the servants' quarters.

The previous owner kept a small nursing staff.

I don't know if you have live-in help.

No, it's just the two of us.

Third floor, spare bedroom, den, or what have you.

Mr. Pearlstine used this as an office.

He's talking about Sidney Pearlstine, the financier.

May I ask what you do, Mrs...

Altman.

Actually, I'm going back to school. Columbia.

Her husband's in pharmaceuticals.

I didn't realize you were Stephan Altman's wife.

Yes, until recently.

Master bath.

Pearlstine's been in all the papers since he died.

His kids are suing each other over the estate.

He was a recluse. Rich, paranoid.

Now they can't find half his money.

I hardly see how gossip is germane to showing the property.

Stop calling it "the property." It sounds ridiculous.

Walk-in closet.

Could the little one please stop that?

Kid, no elevator!

And we emerge in the master suite.

That's strange.

What?

Is this room smaller than it should be?

You're the first person to notice.

On caravan, no one from our office had the slightest idea.

It's called a panic room.

-What? -A safe room.

-A castle keep in medieval times. -I've read about these.

They're in vogue in high-end construction.

One can't be too careful about home invasion.

This is perfect.

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night.

What will you do? Call the police and wait till Tuesday?

Traipse downstairs in your underthings to check it out? I think not.

Concrete walls. Buried phone line, not connected to the house's main line.

Call the police, nobody can cut you off. You have your own ventilation system.

A bank of surveillance monitors that covers nearly every corner of the house.

This whole thing makes me nervous.

Why?

Ever read any Poe?

No, but I loved her last album.

What's to keep somebody from prying open the door?

Steel.

Thick steel. Very thick steel.

Full battery backup, so even if the power's out...

...it's still functional.

Oh, my god. Old Sidney didn't miss a trick, did he?

Open it, please.

And with kids like he's apparently got, no wonder he wanted a place to hide.

Please open the door.

That is highly inappropriate.

Open the door, please.

My room. Definitely my room.

This is really dangerous.

-That door is a hazard. -Not at all.

Motion detector, like an elevator.

The door won't close if it's blocked. There's another one at your ankles.

It couldn't be safer.

I know they'll take asking price.

It's working. I hooked up the phone!

Good for you, Mom. Hooked up a phone.

579 what?

3000.

Patsy's Pizza. Please hold.

Hey. Enough.

Mind the pizza?

What do you mean?

Our first night. I should've thought of something special.

I like pizza.

Fuck him.

Don't.

Fuck her, too.

I agree.

But don't.

Don't you think this place has way too many stairs?

You didn't carry anything up them.

You never asked what I thought of this house.

I didn't want you to tell me you hated it.

-I liked our old house. -Well, so did I.

You know what I was thinking?

I was thinking we could stencil the whole bookcase.

We could cut the stencils, do it ourselves.

Go ahead.

Oh, damn.

I forgot to set up that tour of your new school.

Dad already did it. I'm going with him on Sunday.

Oh, yeah?

So I'll take a cab and meet him there.

Is that what he said?

Isn't that what's so great about Manhattan?

You don't have to drive me everywhere?

I'll ride with you.

Why'd you bring me here if I can't go anywhere on my own?

That's it. I quit.

I'm not fighting with you till tomorrow.

Come here.

It's disgusting how much I love you.

Tell me about it.

-Mom? -Yeah.

It's too dark.

Better?

That's better.

"Bypass non-ready zone."

"Bypass non-ready zone."

"Shunt. Enter."

"Bypass non-ready zone."

"Shunt."

"Enter zone number."

"Shunt again."

In the morning I got to figure out how to turn this thing off.

Go, go back.

Do it.

Come on. Come on. Jesus fucking Christ.

Amateur.

We got a problem! We need to talk!

It's about time. I'm freezing my tits off out there.

-Who is that? -This is Raoul.

Who the fuck is Raoul?

Raoul is okay. Raoul has experience.

-Where'd you get him? -Through some people.

Open the fucking door.

No shit.

What is this?

There's a girl on the top floor, a woman on the third. They're asleep.

They're not supposed to be here.

-This is your department, Junior! -They are not supposed to be here!

Videotape. We're on videotape.

We've been on videotape since we got here and the tapes are upstairs.

-14-day escrow. -You fucked me!

14-day escrow! That's almost 3 weeks! They should not be in for another week!

Exactly how is 14 days three weeks?

Business days. Escrow is always business days.

Five-day weeks always!

Right?

I'm out of here.

Just wait a minute. Wait a minute!

We can handle this. Can we still handle this?

It's just a woman and a kid?

-Unless Daddy comes home. -He's not.

They're divorcing. Daddy's banging some B model on the Upper East Side.

It's just her and the kid!

Now, can we do this?

Yeah, we can do it.

Not with people here. And not with me.

-Wait! Twenty minutes! -She'll call the police.