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#107 : Girls, Interrupted

Titre VF : Il n'y A Pas De Fin Heureuse

Ecrit par: Gina Fattore

Réalisé par: Tucker Gates


Hank se rend subitement compte qu'il a plus d'influence sur Becca qu'il ne le pensait jusqu'à présent. Sa noirceur déteignant sur sa fille, il tente de lui prouver que les "happy ends" existent en décrochant un travail à Karen et en leur préparant un repas comme s'ils étaient une vraie famille. Pendant ce temps, Charlie et Marcy s'essaient à un plan à trois avec Dani, l'assistante du premier. Mia, elle, se retrouve dans une drôle de situation avec son professeur.

Diffusions :

Etats-Unis 24 septembre 2007 Showtime
France 18 avril 2008 M6


4 - 1 vote


extrait épisode 107- Hank et Karen

extrait épisode 107- Hank et Karen


Scène extraite épisode 107- Hank et Becca

Scène extraite épisode 107- Hank et Becca


An Architect

An Architect


Happy Endings

Happy Endings


Photos promo

Photo de l'épisode #1.07

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Photo de l'épisode #1.07

Photo de l'épisode #1.07

Photo de l'épisode #1.07

Photo de l'épisode #1.07

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Photo de l'épisode #1.07

Plus de détails



episode 107


"Girls, Interrupted"


Written by Gina Fattore





BECCA's on the couch knocking out some homework. YUSUF ISLAM's by her side. She reads aloud frome one of her schoolbooks.

Becca: "Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to --"

Hanks walks in with a beverage.

Hank: Stop. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

He sits down next to her on the couch.

Hank: Centuries of halfway decent poetry to choose form and you're going with that?

Becca: I like it. It's short.

Hank: And...

Becca: Bleak.

Hank: And...

Becca: I saw it in a movie once.

Hank: Oh. Well then it must be good. Continue.

Becca: Well, it's basically about how nothing good ever lasts. How no mater what you do it all just turns to shit in the end. You know, like you and mom.

Hank: Trenchant, if profane, literary criticism.




Hank: (Cont'd.) But you know just because something is bleak doesn't make it true.

Becca: It feels true. You know, to a person who only gets to see her dog on alternating weekends.

Hank: Well, it's not. Don't ever think that. Happy endings may get a bad rap, but they do happen. and when they do, they're just as true as the unhappy ones.

Becca: So you're saying it's possible maybe one day you and Mom could get back together?

Hank: Anything's posible.

Becca: Yes, but is it realistic?

Hank: Who says we have to be realistic?

Becca: Mom.

Hank: Oh. Well, not to contradict dear old Mom, who is both wicked hot and wicked smart, but we don't. Have to be realistic, that is. Not when it comes to love.

Yusuf Islam hears someone on the stairs. Starts to GROWL.

Becca: Guess that's her.

Hank: Another weekend bites the dust.

The dog runs to the door. Becca starts to gather her stuff. Karen lets herself in.

Karen: (Out Screen.) Hello?

Hank: (Calling off.) In here.

Karen enters.

Karen: You ready, sweetie?

Becca: Yes.

Karen: The car is double-parked.

Hank: Then by all means skip the pleasantries. But, hey, don't forget to say good-bye to the dog. And while you're at it give Yusuf Islam a kiss, too. He tends to miss you when you're not around.

Becca gives Hank a squeeze. Then loves on the dog.

Hank: Okay, that's enough. You've made it clear you love him more than me. Now get out of here. And stay gold, Ponyboy.

As Becca and Karen leave, we cut to MAIN TITLES.



CHARLIE and MARCY do the usual power-couple, pre-work breakfast dance. He yells from inside the fridge.

Charlie: There is no fucking soymilk!

Marcy: Yeah, well, nut-up and learn to digest dairy. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Charlie: Nothing a brand-new gastrointestinal tract wouldn't fix.

Marcy: Bullshit. Here.

Marcy finds a new carton of soymilk and hands it to him.

Marcy: It's not vanilla, but you can punish me for that later. I'll dust off the whips and chains.

Charlie: Very funny.

Marcy: Seriously. I've been a very naughty haus-frau. You almost died from malnutrition.

Charlie: These jokes are never gonna get old, are they?

Marcy: What is a marriage, if not an opportunity to mock someone through thick and thin while simultaneously exploring your deepest, darkest sexual desires.

Charlie: Yeah, well maybe some day soon we can lay off mine and start discussing yours.

Marcy: Yeah, like you could handle that...

Charlie: Try me.

Marcy: I wanna do it with a girl.

He chokes a bit on his granola.

Marcy: You all right there? I know you get that acid reflux.

Charlie: I'm good. Thanks. That's, that's something you fell you might enjoy?

Marcy: Yeah, sure. I hear it's nice, you know.




Marcy: (Cont'd.) Getting a little work done by someone who owns her own set of tools. But I wouldn't want to leave you out. Seems more, I don't know, honest that way.

Charlie: Honest... right.

Marcy: Okay then. Think it over.

Charlie: I will.

Marcy: Shit, I gotta go. And don't forget to call that guy about the fucking gutters.

She leaves to go about her day...



Charlie and Hank discuss the threesomme idea over lunch.

Charlie: Don't you see what this means? It's a gift from on-high, a cosmic get-out-of-jail-free card. The whole thing was her idea.

Hank: Yeah, I'd be a little worried about that if I were you.

Charlie: I do this, and the guilt I've been carrying around all these weeks -- the massive crushing guilt -- poof, it's gone. I'm absolved.

Hank: I know you Hebrews do things a bit differently, but last I checked menage a trois wasn't exactly a pit stop on the road to redemption.

Charlie: It could save the marriage.

Hank: So could buying a beach house. Or, hey, maybe adopt an incredibly good-looking African baby. I hear good things about that.

Charlie: Speaking of incredibly good-loocking african babies...

Charlie nods toward the door. Hank looks over and sees Hollywood helmer TODD CARR has just entered.

Hank: You have got to be fucking kidding me. That cocksucker?

Charlie: That cocksucker has the good taste to want to option your blog for a nice chunk of change, so play nice.

Hank: How the fuck do you option a blog? What is there to option? The title? The font?

Charlie: Todd...

Charlie stands to greet Todd. They ad-lib jovial greetings. Hank just stares.

Todd: Moody.

Hank: Carr. I'd stand, but that might expose my nether regions to attack.

Todd sits.

Todd: I got no beef with you, Moody. I'm here on business.

Hank: So I hear from the Fredo Corleone of agents. I just can't imagine what that business might be. Unless you're here to discuss custody of our retarded love child...

Charlie: Let the man speak, will ya? Todd's got a three picture deal at Paramount. He's loocking to get his sack back with some seriously edgy stuff.

Hank: Sorry, but my testicles aren't available for time-share.

Todd: Told you this was a waste of my fucking time.

Charlie: Hold on, hold on.

Todd: You know how much shit a guy like me has to take for directing some frothy little rom com? You think Antoine Fuqua returns my calls? But I did it, I knocked that motherfucker into the cheap seats, and I'm glad I did it. You know why?

Hank: Because it keeps the baby mammas in Juicy Couture? (Off his look.) Hey, I don't judge. I happen to have a little baby mamma of my own.

Charlie: It's true he does. And, hey, I'm sensing some common ground here. You remember Karen?

Todd: Sure, way too fucking hot to be with this mope.

Charlie: Well, Karen also happens to be a fan-fucking-tastic architect.

Hank: Don't tell me. He's lookin' for someone to pimp out the McMansion in Baldwin Hills?

Todd: For your information, Moody, I happen to own a John Fucking Lautner house.

Charlie: It's true. He does. The guy has a hard-on for architecture bigger than Brad Pitt's.

Hank: Color me impressed.

Todd: What? A black man can't love modernism? I don't know why I fucking bother with this shit.

Charlie: I like this. We're free associating here. The lines of communication are wide open.

Todd: You know why I wanted to work with you again, Moody? Because when you're not wallowing in narcissistic despair, you're the rarest thing this town has to offer: someone with some goddamn vision. Look me up for real if you ever decide to actually use it. Later, Runkle.

Todd walks off.

Charlie: Well done, my friend.

Hank: I feel like we bonded.



Charlie comes back after lunch in his usual dudgeon...

Charlie: Dani, who the fuck is answering my fucking... oh.

... and finds Marcy and DANI chatting like girlfriends.

Marcy: Where you been? I had a burst of inspiration. Come here, you.

Marcy greets him with a kiss.

Marcy: So I was talking to Dani here about our sexual problem.

Charlie: Our, uh --

Marcy: She's totally in.

Charlie: Excuse me?

Marcy: Her. Me. You. We had a little girl-to-girl chat on the subject. She agrees, you know. About the toolbox thing. Oh, shit. I said tool. And box.

Marcy cracks herself up. Charlie's panic rises.

Charlie: Uh, Dani, could you excuse us a second? My wife forgot to take her Librium this morning.

Dani: No problem, sir. Hold all your calls?

Charlie: Yes, Dani, hold all my calls.

Dani: Very good, sir.

Dani leaves. Marcy watches her go.

Marcy: "Hold all calls". She's very docile, that one. I think I like that.

Charlie: Wife, have you lost your fucking mind?

Marcy: What? This is perfect. It's exactly what we talked about.

Charlie: Talked, yes. As in hypothetical conversation. This is my fucking secretary!

Marcy: So?

Charlie: So if it goes badly, I'd have to fire her. Shit, it goes well, I'd have to fire her. Either way I'm out one fucking secretary.

Marcy: I thought you said she was god-awful?

Charlie: They're all god-awfull in the beginning. Then you train them, and they improve.

Marcy: What, like dogs? Come on. So all of sudden you're not going to do this for me? I helped you with your fantasy.

Charlie: Badly, yes. Look, can't you just pick someone else?

Marcy: Who?

Charlie: Someone. Anyone. Anya from the salon. Or, I don't know, Karen.

Marcy: The Prism Reaper? She's so tall and Presbyterian. I'd need an hour just to get the stick out of her ass. And possibly a stepladder.

Charlie: Very funny. The woman is a goddess. She's beautiful.

Marcy: Of course, she's beautiful. But I don't want to go where Hank has been. He probably left booby traps, like the Viet Cong. (Pleads.) Come on... please. For me. I want the little one. she looks like she knows things.

Charlie: Looks can be deceiving. I'm sure she's a very nice girl.

Marcy: A nice girl who didn't flinch when I asked her to come over tomorrow night and fuck the both of us. By the way, we cleared your schedule.



Hank pulls up in front of a SocCal modernist masterpiece such as the Sheats-Goldstein house. (Some might know it better as the house where the Dude meets Jackie Treehorn in The Big Lebowski.) It's a sunshine day. The house embodies all the promise of a California dream. And to complete the dream, Karen's in the passenger seat. For real.

Hank: You like?

Karen: Of course I like. Now would you mind telling me what the fuck we're doing here?

Hank gets out of the Porsche.

Hank: He's one of your guys, right. One of those guys from achitecture school that used to get you all juiced up. Thought you might like to see the place, all up close and personal like.

Karen: Hank, get back in the car. We'll get tasered by the Bel-Air Patrol.

Hank: Can't do that. We're expected. (Opens her door.) My lady...

Karen: What are you up to?

Hank: Nothing much. Just made a little deal with the devil.



Karen takes in the architectural splendor of the house with Todd Carr at her side. Hank brings up the rear -- a bored kid on a family vacation.

Hank: Not a lot of closet space, is there?

Karen: Hank never really got architecture as an art form. Too much compromise involved. Too many practicalities

Todd: Sure, I get it. The dude would rather hang out all alone in his ivory tower, right? Massaging those precious little words of his. Gettin' em all arranged in just exactly the right order. Like anyone gives a fuck if it's "and" insteand of "or".

Hank: Hey, you guys got me all wrong. I try to live in an ivory tower, but a tide of shit is constantly beating at its walls.

Karen: Don't be impressed. He stole that from Flaubert.

Hank: And I got plenty more where that came from. You know, Todd. If you don't mind my asking...




Hank: (Cont'd.) How much a place like this set you back?

Todd: That feeling you get from real architecture -- you can't put a price on that. Makes your heart soar, lifts your soul... (To Karen.) You know what I mean.

Karen: Of course. Increases the daily joy of life. I think Ruskin once said without architecture there'd be no remembering.

Todd: (Smiles.) I like that. That's nice.

Hank: So what? Like four, maybe five million?

Karen: Well, it's really magnificent, Todd. It's always been a dream of mine to see inside this house. Thank you so much for taking the time to show me around.

Todd: It's gonna be even more magnificent once I restore everything it to its original condition. And make the whole place greener and more energy efficient. Hank said you're some kind of genius at that. That's why I'm really hoping you'll take the job.

Karen: The job?

Karen looks at Hank.

Hank: Oh did I forget to mention? Todd here is looking to hire an architect.



Hank and Karen exit the house and walk back to the car.

Hank: So? What's it gonna be? Would you rather jump my bones now or hold out for a situation with a little more back support? (Off her look.) Come on. Admit it. I did good for a change.

Karen: You did. You made me very happy. The only thing that would make me happier is if you weren't so fucking smug about it.

Hank: I'm humanitarian. I relish the happiness I give others.

Karen: Come on, take me home. I want to celebrate.

Hank: I'm up for that. What say we hit El Pollo Loco?

Karen: I meant with Becca.

Hank: Her too. The crazy chicken does not discriminate.

Karen: Wait -- shit, it's Wednesday. Well, whatever. We'll celebate some other time. When Bill gets back.

Hank: Unacceptable. Can't have you sitting home all alone on the night of your big victory.

Karen: So you'd switch nights with me?

Hank: Sadly, no. But I will repeat my original offer that we all three lay down the carbs together -- man, woman, and child.

Karen: Hank...

Hank: Come on. You said you want to celebrate. So let's celebrate. Invite me over. I'll cook for you.

Karen: You can't cook.

Hank: That, my friend, is what they call the soft bigotry of low expectations. I have my one dish.

Karen: Cheese sensation?

Hank: Don't knock the haute cuisine of Long Island. Come on. It'll be like old times.

Karen: Yes, but which ones?

Hank: The good ones. Like when we lived on Charles Street, amongst the gays.

Karen: You hated apartment.

Hank: Yes, but you loved it. Just like you love fucked-up architecture like this and David Hockney and gigantic fucking earrings and the complete and utter cliche of driving west on Mulholland at sunset. You think I don't know these things, but I do. (Off her look.) I'm in, aren't I?

Karen: Drive the car.

Hank: Yes, ma'am.



Charlie and Marcy are incredibly tense as they wait for Dani to arrive. Charlie pours himself a drink.

Marcy: How do I look?

Charlie: Good. You look good.

Marcy: Does she like nuts? Maybe we should offer her some mixed nuts?

Charlie: I don't know.

Marcy: What? You think she could be allergic?

Charlie: I don't know. How the fuck should I know something like that?

Marcy: You work with people, you know. These things come up in casual conversation. "None for me thanks I have a nut allergy".

Charlie: Look, I'm sorry. We don't have that kind of relationship. I don't know very much about this girl.

Marcy: Other than you think she's fucking hot.

Charlie: I don't know how I'm supposed to respond to that. What do you want me to say? What?! You want me to say I love you, this is fucking crazy, let's not do this?

Marcy: Don't yell at me, ass-wipe. I'm nervous enough as it is.

Charlie: Yes, and isn't that a sign?

Marcy: A sign of what?

Charlie: A sign that we shouldn't go through with this. I mean what we have, all of this, this is pretty great, right? And who knows if we'll be the same afterward?

Marcy: The same? I thought the same was the problem.

Charlie: What problem? There's no problem.

Marcy: Says the man who hasn't fucked his wife in six weeks. Will you quit pretending there's no fucking problem?

Charlie: You're exaggerating, okay? It has not been that long.

Marcy: Look, if people didn't do things that made them nervous, nobody would pay shitloads of money to get hot wax poured over their private parts. Nervous is the only way you can tell you're fucking alive.

Charlie: So you really want to do this?

Marcy: I started it, didn't I?

Charlie: Yes, and it's not too late for you to end it.

The doorbell rings.

Marcy: You want to get that or should I?



Hank's kitchen is Martha Stewart's worst nighmare. Cigarette butts foat in dirty dishes. Warren Levon's "Werewolves of London Blares" on the hi-fi. Some sort of cheesy baked-casserole-type dish cools on the counter. Meet Cheese Sensation. It's slightly burned.

Hank enters from the bedroom -- freshly showered, running late. He turns off the stereo, gathers his man-cessories (wallet, keys, etc.), grabs the world's nastiest dish towel, picks up the piping-hot Cheese Sensation...

... and then his cell phone RINGS. He juggles some stuff, picks it up.

Hank: I'm on my -- Oh, Mia... how are you? You.... Yes, I'm sure you do need help.... Wow. Great story. Sounds tragic. And kinda familiar. Oh, that's right. I heard it all last week. Ciao.

He hangs up. Thinks a second. Looks down at his phone. It starts to RING again. He rejects the call. Turns the phone OFF this time. There will be no more of that.



There are so many candles burning it looks like lesbians live here. that, and Dani is right in the middle of helping Marcy take her shirt off.

They look great together -- the blonde, the brunette -- 100% male fantasy.

Marcy: You doin' okay over there?

Now we find Charlie over on the sidelines. Enjoying the view.

Charlie: Oh, just fine, thanks.

Dani starts to take her own shirt off. From Charlie's POV, this is pretty friggin' spectacular. Until...

Marcy: Oooh, hey, where'd you get that bra, It's really --

Charlie clears his throat.

Marcy: Sorry. My bad. Mood killer.

Dani doesn't say anything. Goes back to the task at hand. Once both girls are stripped down to their lacy underthings, they attempt some kissing and touching.

It goes well. They try some more. That works too. Wow. These girls are way into each other. Not giving poor Charlie any love.

He watches. And watches. Makes a move to service himself. And just when things are getting good:

Marcy: You're not gonna fist me or anything, are you? Because I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Charlie: Marce...

Marcy: What?

Charlie: A little less talking might be nice.

Marcy: Everybody's a fucking critic.

Dani: (To Charlie.) You weren't gonna touch that thing were you?

Marcy: Oh, don't worry, honey. I'll only take a second.

Charlie: Hey, put me in, coach, I'll --

Marcy: Okay, okay. (Turns to Dani.)




Marcy: (Cont'd.) You think we should, I don't know... include him somehow?

Dani: It's your fantasy.

Marcy looks from Dani to Charlie. Thinks a second. A long second.

Charlie: Hello?

Marcy: I'm thinking. I mean, shit, I can sleep with you any night of the week.

Charlie: This is not supposed to be this way.

Dani: It's a fantasy. It's not supposed to be at all.



Hank heads up the walk, Cheese Sensation in hand. Karen comes out of the house in a panic. Becca hangs back in the doorway, watching them.

Karen: Oh thank god. You're here. You can stay with Becca. I've gotta go.

Hank: Go? Go where?

Karen: Mia called me. She's in some fucked-up situation with her teacher. She's drunk or on something. I don't know. I don't have time to explain. I gotta go.

Hank: No, wait, I'll go.

Karen: What? Why would you -- how is this your problem?

Hank: Look, I met that guy. He's a sex crime waiting to happen. Hold on one second.

Hank rushes over to Becca, hands her the casserole dish.

Hank: 20 minutes, 350. Save some for me.

Becca: Why are you going?

Hank: I have to.

Becca: No you don't. It's just Mia. Last I checked you guys weren't blood-related.

Hank feels like shit. Recognizes the familiar embrace of rock and hard place.

Hank: Sweetie, we'll be right back, I swear. Your mom just needs some backup here --

Karen: I do not need --

Hank: -- Trust me. You're not prepared to handle this guy alone.

Hank and Karen rush away. Becca sighs. Looks down at the Cheese Sensation. It doesn't seem so fuckin' sensational.



Later in the threesome. Charlie's managed to get in the game. Dani goes over to her bag. Charlie and Marcy exchange looks, not sure what's about to happen. She pulls out a shiny silver chain with nipple clamps at either end.

In case anybody's keeping track, the basic point of the device is that the more you pull the chain, the tighter the clamps get. Dani hands it over to Marcy.

Dani: Here. Do with it what you will. (Looks at Charlie.)




Dani: (Cont'd.) Or maybe you can dish it out but you can't take it?

Marcy: It's not going to hurt, is it? Feels like it might hurt.

Dani: That's kind of the point, isn't it?

Marcy toys around with one end of the nipple clamp, tests its strength on her finger, etc. Dani attaches the other end to one of Charlie's nipples.

Dani: He's done some pretty bad things, this guy. Deserves to be punished for them.

Marcy: Things like that?

Dani: Oh, you know. The usual.

Dani finishes tightening the clamp on Charlie.

Dani: There, what do you think?

Marcy: Oh, man, I gotta get a picture of this. This is fucking awesome.

Marcy moves away to get her camera -- Charlie lets out an unholy SCREAM.

Charlie: Motherfucking ---

Marcy: Shit, what ---

Charlie: You're attached to the fucking --

Marcy looks down, realizes the other end of the clamp has somehow gotten shnagged on her lacy underwear.

Marcy: Oh, fuck. Sorry. I --

She moves back toward him, all super helpful and such.

Charlie: Don't fucking move! Just take the thing off your fucking --

Marcy: I'm trying. It's caught on the...

And as pandemonium ensues...



NICK LOWRY answers the door to Karen and Hank.

Nick: Finally. You guys gotta get this fucking jailbait out of my house.

Karen rushes over and finds MIA on the couch. Scantily clad. All limp and lifeless.

Karen: Mia, Mia, we're here, sweetie. (Looks into her eyes.) Oh, shit. She took something, didn't she? This is not just alcohol.

Hank takes a look. Gives Mia a good shake.

Hank: Mia! Mia, wake up!

Mia: (Smiles.) Hank. You came.

Karen: What the fuck is she talking about?

Hank: She's confused, okay? Mia, come on, keep those eyes open.

Karen: (Looks around.) Where's her shirt, you fucking animal? Did you give her something?

Nick: Do I look like I need some fucking date-rape drug? For Christ sake, it's just Valium.




Nick: (Cont'd.) The girl's got a whole goddamn fucking Rite-Aid in her purse.

Mia: (Groggy.) It's all good.

Hank: Mia! Don't fuck with me. How many did you take?

Mia holds up four fingers. Smiles.

Karen: What'd she say?

Hank: Four.

Nick: See. No one's gonna off themselves with four. It's all an act. You know how fuckin' popular this is with the young ladies? This Virgin Suicides shit. Although in her case, we may be too late.

Karen: You think this is funny? This is someone's child here, you fucking asshole. And they trusted you to --

Karen gets up in Nick's face. Mia groans in Hank's arms.

Hank: Hey, Cassius Clay. A little help.

Nick: Look, lady, you think I wanted Sylvia Plath to come over here and go all fucking Bell Jar on me? I'm the one being manipulated here. I mean, she comes up to me after fucking debate practice --

Karen: Oh, I'm gonna fucking --

Just as Karen goes for Nick's jugular, Mia HURLS violently onto the floor at Hank's feet.

Karen: Shit! Is she okay?

Karen rushes over, takes Hank's place at Mia's side.

Hank: I'd say she's much improved.

Nick: Oh, no, man. She did not just --

Hank: I see towo. How many you see?

Nick: Two what? I gotta clean this shit up. My mom loves this rug.

Hank takes Nick down. Shoves his face in the pool of sick

Hank: Yeah, there's another one. And I see you guys had sushi.

Nick: Shit, Moody, now I'm gonna hurl.

Hank: (To Karen.) What say we get the fuck out of here?

Karen: With pleasure.

They bundle Mia up and leave.



Charlie holds a bag of frozen vegetables to his chest. Marcy fills out insurance forms.

Marcy: Who's your primary care guy?

Charly: How should I fucking now? Jesus, are these people ever going to get around to sewing me up? I'm in considerable fucking pain here.

Marcy: I'm sorry, okay? I said it a thousand times. I've always been bad with mechanical things.

Charlie: Tell that to my missing nipple. You took off like twelve layers of skin.

Marcy looks Charlie straight in the chest.

Marcy: Sorry, nipple. (Then.) Now that I've maimed you, where am I gonna rest my head? That was y favorite spot.

Charlie softens a bit. Puts his arm around here. She is pretty fucking adorable.

Marcy: Some fantasy, huh? How the fuck did we end up here?

Charlie: You know, I think on some level you're trying to punish me. I think you're both trying to punish me.

Marcy: For what?

Charlie: Shit. You know. Everything. Husband stuff.

Marcy: Not me, dick-wad. Her. Why would she want to punish you? What the fuck does she care? She barely knows you.

Charlie: I'm her boss, okay? I make her do humiliating things all day. You think she likes that?

Marcy: Well, she doesn't seem like she dislikes it.

Charlie: Honestly, I wouldn't know. I really don't --

Marcy: Know her that well. So you keep telling me. Is there something you're not --

Charlie: Ow, ow, ow...

Marcy: What?

Charlie: You leaned wrong.

Marcy readjusts her position.

Marcy: Better?

Charlie: Better.

They settle for a beat. Then:

Marcy: She is an interesting girl, that one. Fatastic ass.

Charlie: Hmmm...

As they wait for medical attention...



Hank waits in the hallway. Karen comes out of Mia's room. Closes the door.

Hank: She okay?

Karen: I think so. She's gonna feel like seven kinds of shit tomorrow though.

Hank: You gonna tell him?

Karen: I have to, right? Wouldn't you want to know?




Karen: (Cont'd.) If it wer your 16-year-old daughter spending all her time hanging out with some creepy, old pervert who's dying to get his mitts all over her.

Hank: You know, the situation here may not be exactly as it seems.

Karen: Oh, what, you're on the pervert's side?

Hank: Always. Someone has to stick up for the creepy common man.

Karen: Let this be a lesson to you, Hank Moody.

Hank: Me? Why?

Karen: Don't look so fucking serious all of a sudden. I'm just teasing you. You're a good father, Hank. sexiest fucking thing about you.

Hank: Guess things didn't exactly work out as planned tonight...

Karen: They never do. (Looks at Becca's room.) Say good night if you want.



Becca's in bed, listening to her iPod with her eyes closed. It's dark. Hank watches her for a beat. She opens an eye.

Becca: Dad?

Hank: Hey. What are you listening to there? A little falling-asleep music? Joni Mitchell, Blood on the Tracks...

Becca: Death Cab for Cutie.

Hank: Wow. You really know how to hurt a guy. Hey, sorry our big night got ruined.

Becca: It's okay. I'm used to it.

Hank: I'll make it up to you, I swear.

Becca: I know.

Hank: Do you?

Becca: Sure. You never mean to let me down. But you do.

Hank: Yeah. I guess I do.

Becca: You know, it's all well and good to talk about happy endings... but if a person can't deliver... if he keeps screwing... well, eventually I guess you kinda just have to say... fuck you. Or words to that effect.

Becca takes a crisp, clean five-dollar bill off her night stand. Hands it to Hank.

Becca: You can keep the change.

She turns away from him. Conversation over. The silence is like a sucker punch to the soul. Hank does the only thing a sucker can do; He sucks it up.






Source :

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