Episode Report Card Niki: B | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Kind Of Blue
By Niki | Season 3 | Episode 3 | Aired on 10.11.2001
"Do you want some water?" Lily asks. Jake barks out a condescending laugh and insists that he's okay, adding, "You're just like your dad. You love to worry."
Back on the Stool, Soliloquy Jake's not holding it together too well. He looks like I did this past weekend, actually, when I woke up after a solid night of debauchery. His cheeks puff out and he doubles over. He manages to groan, "Excuse me!" before rushing off-screen to unleash the dragon.
Back at the restaurant, Jake tries to figure out what to do with himself, and finally decides he's going to go splash some water on his face. Lily watches him stagger off, concerned. "I'm worried about him," she admits to Judy. "Am I still allowed to do that?"
Cut to Rick and some short guy who looks like The Critic, but with glasses. It's Fleisher, the hotelier. They're climbing an elaborate staircase in an empty old hotel. Fleisher leads Rick to a balcony that overlooks the main foyer, grandly informing him that Theodore Dreiser wrote Sister Carrie in that very hotel. He's adamant that, unlike that book, the hotel will not be depressing. He snaps his fingers and says, "When I heard 'Dreiser,' I got the vision. Every single one of my hotels, from Boston to Seattle to South Beach, they all started with the vision." He sees this one full of books, and every room will have a desk -- "ha ha!" -- and paper and a fountain pen designed by Sam, "which you can take home with you for ninety-six bucks." He pulls up his hands, which have been hanging limply from his wrists while he's rattled on, and holds them up, proclaiming, "And it will be called --" "The Dreiser," Rick blurts. Fleisher drops his hands and snarks, "Who are you? Sam says you're great. Sam's great. Sam must know." He folds his arms and demands, "Are you great?" Rick squirms: "Well, I'm no Stanley Tigerman." Fleisher blandly informs him that Tigerman designed his lake house. Rick tries to continue with some pathetic line about being a "working artist," but Fleisher's cell phone rings. He tells Rick he'll be with him in a minute, studies the call display on his phone, decides the caller can "go to hell, go to hell, go to hell," and flips the phone closed without answering. He turns his attention back to Rick, saying, "Rick Sammler," as if it finally rings a bell. He chuckles as he puts it all together and announces, "You were involved with the late, great Miles Drentell, right?" Rick reluctantly admits it. Fleisher wags a finger at him: "And you got indicted." Rick denies it. Fleisher mutters an understanding "I've been indicted; it happens." Rick firmly insists that it did not happen to him.