looking at its frosted-glass door; the sign painter is just finishing lettering in: norville barnes, president.
she goes to the desk, takes out the appointment book, flips through it.
norville sits anxiously awaiting the verdict of amy who sits hunched over the ticker-tape machine, studying the emerging tape. amy finally looks up at norville and sadly shakes her head.
norville is nervously pacing. amy still studies the ticker- tape. once again she is forced to shake her head sadly.
the mean laugh. norville, behind his desk in long shot, laughing, as we begin to track in. there is something disconcerting about his laugh -- it is harder, more businesslike, colder than the dopey laugh that accompanied his elevation to the presidency. or perhaps it is only our imagination, for while still some distance away from him: