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
Cut to a close-up of Jake's face, as a pair of hands poke and prod at his eyes, pulling the lids wide open. Jake rambles about how great Judy is, and the doctor asks whether Jake has "any cause for undue anxiety these days." Jake makes an attempt at a joke and then admits, "A friend of mine is having a baby soon. Mine. Quite soon." The doctor looks up from the stethoscope he's got planted against Jake's chest and says, "Great." Jake lies, "Oh, yeah. Absolutely, it is." The doctor asks how long ago Jake had a physical. "Recently," Jake fibs. "How recently?" the doctor wants to know.
Soliloquy Jake's wired up to a heart monitor, speed-walking his ass off. He pants, "You know, unless it's absolutely necessary, you don't really think about your heart."
"Ten years," Jake flinches. The doctor lowers his clipboard with a concerned, "Really?" He does the old, "I don't want to worry you, but is there any history of heart disease in your family?" Jake jumps as a nurse enters the room, and stammers that his family "is Swedish. They live forever." The doctor claps a reassuring hand on Jake's shoulder and says, "Now, Nikki's going to draw some blood, and I think we should do a stress test and a chest x-ray." I don't care what anyone says, I'm taking that as a shout-out. Draw some blood, indeed. Jake wants to know when this is going down, and the doctor solemnly lets him know, "Immediately." He promises to be right back and leaves Jake alone to be poked and prodded by Nikki. Jake looks like he might pass out.
Rick, meanwhile, is doing some heavy sweating of his own. He's pacing around the lobby of the old hotel as Fleisher orders, "Try his cell phone." Rick fudges that Sam's out of range. Fleisher could give a rat's ass. He orders Rick to try again, glances at his watch, and announces that he has to be at O'Hare in fifty-six minutes to fly to Aspen and buy some property. Fleisher descends the staircase, trailing a lackey just like Miles used to do, and chit-chats with Rick about skiing. When he reaches Rick's level, he cuts the bullshit, asking, "So, have you seen Sam's sketches?" Rick lies that he has, "and they're terrific." Fleisher sees right through him and mocks, "Ah, 'terrific'! A Jimmy Stewart word, 'terrific.' Rick, Rico, whatever the hell Sam calls you. Do not tell me about these terrific sketches, because you have not seen them." He barks at the lackey to get Rick a latte, ignoring Rick's feeble assertion that he doesn't want one. The lackey hustles out of the room and Fleisher busies himself putting on his scarf and gloves. He turns to Rick and says, "Rick, fact: I like you. And I don't usually like people like you. You're not big. And I like big people. This job could make you big, and then I could really like you. It could never end. It would never end. You wanna be big?" Rick's about to answer, but Fleisher cautions him there's no right answer. Rick's ballsy reply is, "I wouldn't mind." Fleisher seems to get a kick out of its quaintness. "Let me tell you something about your friend," he says. "Sam, Sam thinks that this is a game and we're playing it together. But this isn't a game. I don't like games. I win games. And Sam has already lost. Which, for me, is the thing I like most about Sam. But I don't like him enough to keep him in this game, unless he comes through. Rick, Rick? You've been given a very lucky break. Now, use it! My grandfather used to say that luck is like a clock. It ticks. You tell your putzy little friend that he's got two days to come up with something good, or it's stopped ticking and he's fired, along with you. Which is something I'm sharing with you now, Rick, because I like you." Rick, suitably chastised, says that he understands. Fleisher's not finished with the lesson, though, and continues, "Key part of the vision? Every chance is your last. I live by that. You should, too. You could have nine hotels, be living on a private island, instead of standing here like a schmuck with a cell phone." Fleisher snaps a pair of magnetic sunglasses against his frames, holds out his hand, and advises, "Be big, Rick. It's more fun." After a brief handshake, he turns on his heel and strides for the door. Rick stares after him like a schmuck with a cell phone and no private islands.