Chapter Fourteen

Okay, y'all are really going to have to bear with me tonight as I humbly bow to Key Grip and his superior wit in dealing with this show week after week. All in all, I have to say this was a pretty boring episode, judging from what I've been reading in Key Grip's recaps.

Previously on Boston Public, Milton "Governor Bush, Your Re" Buttle gets caught giving a hands-on tutoring to a student. Coach "Life of" Riley is fired by Vice Principal "I Had More Hair In Silence of the Lambs" Guber because he didn't break the sound barrier to report Buttle's butt. Lauren tediously slits and pins open the skin and color-codes all the offal innards of her relationship with Harry while fending off unwanted mea culpa from Guber. Buttle and Riley leave the hallowed halls of learning that is Winslow High.

Music to make us think this is an inner-city school beats itself up. Big bad-ass galoshes that can only belong a Big Bad-ass Principal stomp off nonexistent snow as their owner glares at the students around him. His Big Bad-ass glare finds Guber leaning face first into a locker. Guber whips around and says all normal-like, "Oh, Steven, you made it through the snow. Excellent." "Why was your head in a locker?" Harper asks. Guber explains that six teachers resigned that morning in protest over Coach Riley's dismissal, and he felt the need for a "quiet haven." It's not a big thing, since the six names Guber rattles off aren't anyone we've met or even heard of. Although Guber places a sympathetic hand on Harper's chest when he says, "McTavish." Whoosh! What was that? Oh, just the reference going over my head. Do you think it'll come back and explain itself? Doubtful. But movin' right along, doog-a-doon, doog-a-doon, we'll learn to share the load. We really need a map to keep this show on the road. Apparently, all the teachers buggered off to a rival high school that originally promised not to interfere. Louisa jumps out of Harper's office to tell them that the Boston Pops are on the phone for Guber. What, all of them? Guber and Harper tell her to stop yanking them. Apparently she's not, so Guber picks up his phone and is told that he won a contest to be guest conductor for the Pops. Guber feels a sudden and inexplicable urge to visit the powder room, but thinks better of it and shakily sits down instead. Never has Guber reminded me more of John Cage. What disappointed me most in this scene was not the fact that, all week, promos shamelessly misled the viewers into believing that the teachers resigning were characters we actually knew, nor was it the fact that David E. Kelley didn't bother to check that the Boston Pops are not even in residence until spring; it's not even the depressing truth that DEK gets paid godzillions to recycle idiosyncrasies in his character creations. What really disappointed me was that Guber had no sign of a dent in his face from the locker. It's going to be a really long night, isn't it?

Credits.

Lipschultz is in the Teachers-Only-But-That-Doesn't-Stop-All-And-Sundry-From-Barging-In Lounge, attempting to fix his morning cuppa. His efforts are thwarted when the dratted sugar dispenser's cap falls off and dumps the whole thing in his cup. Oh, sight gags, they justgag me. Two Spandex-Wearing-Cleavage-Bearing chicks cat-walk into the lounge, complaining loudly about the teacher shortage. Oh, it's Tina the dance squad coach and Jenna, the My-Ass-Is-Honey-e.e.cummings-Teacher we were introduced to last week. Since it's never been made totally clear that Tina even teaches anything, I'm not sure what she's yammering about. Jenna carps that she just got two new students in her A.P. Lit class, and then the dialogue turns into something so ridiculous I have to transcribe it. "One kid? God, you should see him, Tina. Six feet, lean, seventeen, probably hung like an elephant," Jenna juices. Tina snivels lasciviously as Lipschultz's ears flap to attention. Jenna continues, "I'm telling you with the money we get we should be able to take home a toy." Tina says, "I'd pick Brian Weld." "He's fifteen!" Jenna shrieks, but you know she's secretly kicking herself because she didn't call dibs on him first. "Whatever!" Tina tosses back, and they snicker like the teenagers they are. Yeah, whatever, Mary Kay LeTourneau-phytes. Lipschultz's rubber face screws up in a scowl as he watches them jiggle off.

Skip to Marilyn's over-glossed lips saying incredulously, "The Boston Pops?" Guber says he never expected to win. "So you will conduct theBoston Pops?" Marilyn says, still not quite grasping it. Guber says he will conduct one piece at one of their rehearsals taking place that Thursday. Marilyn half-heartedly congratulates him and tries to move on, but Guber detains her, explaining, "My experience in conducting orchestras is limited to the one which lives in my own head. I was hoping -- maybe I could practice once or twice with your orchestra." "Oh. Well," is Marilyn's brilliant rejoinder. Clearly, though a post-treatment lobotomy patient could have seen what Guber was leading up to, Marilyn didn't see that one coming. "I just want to have some sense of -- I would be eternally grateful, Marilyn." "So you said yes?" Lauren asks Marilyn in another scene, breathless with her need to slam Guber because he once had the gall to stick his big toe in her Pool of Sacred Frigidity. Marilyn intimates that she doesn't see what harm it could do. Lauren moves in for the kill, telling her it's a big mistake not to say no outright. Marilyn asks why. "Because that's how it started with me and Guber," Lauren tells her. "How what started?" Marilyn asks. "His infatuation!" Lauren's tone implies she cannot fathom how Marilyn -- along with the rest of the English-speaking world and some of the more remote areas of Dehiwala -- wouldn't be keeping up on Lauren's oh-so-interesting love life. Lauren continues, "I mean, I was nice to the guy and he misinterpreted --" "Oh, come on!" Marilyn says dismissively. "I'm serious," Lauren says loudly as students mill around them. And they wonder how Cheryl Holt manages to find out their gossip for her website? They aren't even attempting to be discreet as they bandy about the vice principal's name -- which is not even some common name like "Smith" or "Bunting" so that when it's heard no one really makes note of it. The man's named at best for a movie candy and at worst for a slimy booger. "The man does not know how to handle a woman being nice to him," Lauren continues in her derisive tone. "He mistakes kindness for desire." Marilyn snorts, "He will not think I desire him, trust me." "Don't say I didn't warn you," Lauren says before smugging off.

"Calculus?!" Marla shrieks to Harper ("What is cal-coo-loose?" Ah, Lou Diamond Phillips, wherefore art thou?). Harper explains that with the teacher shortage, they all have to pick up the slack. Marla complains that she doesn't even know what calculus is. "Just give them an assignment," Harper tells her. "Can't you put me in something without numbers?" Marla whines. "I need you in McTavish's calculus class and you've gotta get in there now," Harper snarls. Yeah, because those calc kids can get kinda rowdy when left to their own derivatives. Marla continues to argue, asking why Harper can't teach it: "Don't you do budgets? That's got numbers." "Get in there," Harper growls. "Tired of getting bossed around, I'll tell you that!" is Marla's parting shot. Harry Senate approaches Harper and says, "Raymond Nunn." Well, Thelonious Monk to you too. Harper seems to understand his enigmatic code, because he groans and says, "Again?" Senate insists that "the guy is good!" and Harper asks why Nunn's unemployed if he's so good. "Well" Senate begins. "Uh-huh, that's what I was afraid of," Harper says. Lipschultz approaches and says, "Steven, I resign!" Harper sighs as the bell rings, "Why?" "I'm a fossil!" Lipschultz answers. "You're just figuring that out?" Senate mutters under his breath. Man, somebody poke him in the eye, please. He needs to respect those superior to him in age and acting ability. "Harry," Harper says warningly. Senate asks if he'll just meet with his unemployed friend. Harper gives in and says, "Scott Guber can. Get him in here this afternoon." "He's here now," Senate tells him as he walks off. "No promises!" Harper behind him. Harper turns back to Lipschultz, who asks, "What do you want with me?" "You just said you resign!" Harper tells him with barely controlled rage. "I did? I wonder why," Lipschultz says wonderingly as Harper walks away. "Why would I resign? It'll come to me," he decides and potters off.

Harper walks into the head office to the strains of Beethoven's 5th Symphony. Oh, do we even need to ask? Nope. Guber is strenuously waving his arms around, sweat standing out on his brow as he conducts the orchestra that lives and eats its meals in his head. Harper bangs on Guber's office door. Guber clicks off his mental orchestra and tries to compose himself. "Steven, hello!" "Have we lost them?" Harper asks. Guber thinks Harper's referring to his marbles as he stammers out, "I beg your pardon?" "The students, the teachers, did we lose them by firing Kevin Riley?" Harper asks. Guber reminds him that it's only been six thus far. Harper says he doesn't mean the ones who quit and asks again, "Have we lost them?" Guber tells him, "We'll get them back," in a buck-up-little-big-bad-ass-principal-man tone of voice. Harper nods and walks out.

"Guber, his name is Guber!" some spiky-haired kid is saying to Senate. They dressed him in an orange shirt with a brown tie and made him straddle atop, rather than sit at, a desk, so we know he's unconventional, hip, and quirky. "He's the assistant principal. He has no sense of humor," Senate tells him. "Chocolate-covered peanut," chortles Senate's friend. Senate tells him he's got Harper "poised" to hire him. "So all you gotta do is not screw it up with Guber." "This is your idea, it ain't mine," Senate's friend says. Great -- another teacher who understands the value of speaking correctly. Lauren slides into the room, treating each of them to her winning smile. "Hey!" she says, perking like Maxwell House. Senate looks uncomfortable as he points to his friend and says, "Oh, hey, Lauren. This is Raymond Nunn, he's, ah --" "Yeah, I hear you're interviewing," Lauren interrupts her boyfriend. Raymond corrects her by saying, "Harry wants me to interview but I don't think I'd cut it at this place." For some reason, Harry gets even more nervous and stammers, "What-what are you talking about?" "You know," Raymond says. Yes, but we don't, so please explain all the humid nuances of Senate's deep, dark past to us. Raymond and Senate argue. It ends with Raymond thanking Senate for the opportunity and Senate telling him he's an idiot. "I can't have an opinion," Raymond says, more as a statement than a question. "An opinion to stay unemployed? No," Senate tells him. Who died and made him despot? Sheesh! I'd hate to be his friend if he's always that bossy. Raymond grabs his coat and turns to Lauren. "It was nice to meet you. Laurie, was it?" "Lauren," Senate corrects him. Lauren's face falls. Oh, I cannot believe she's seriously going to make an issue out of the fact that he got her name wrong. "Lauren," Raymond repeats, "thanks again, Harry." "Yeah," Harry whispers. Raymond struts out.

Senate turns to Laura, who closes her gaping carp mouth and tries to act nonchalant. "This is your fun drinking buddy?" she asks, attempting to sound careless but actually sounding accusatory, "the one you went to New York with over New Year's?" "Yeah, he's crazy," Senate tells her, playing with some things on his desk. "He's a good guy, though." "He's never heard my name before," Lori states. God, I know it's hard with that largish ego you seem to carry around under your stringy blonde hair, but please do make some attempt to get. Over. Yourself. Doesn't she want to know what makes Raymond not want the teaching job? Senate tries to assure her that Raymond has heard her name before, "he just doesn't remember half the things I tell him." "Right," Lora says, nodding her head and pressing her crimson lips together sarcastically. "Well, anyway, I just stopped by to say hi," she says, leaving. "Hi," Senate says meekly, EVEN THOUGH HE HAS NOTHING TO BE MEEK ABOUT! "Hi," Lorraine says, putting all sorts of meaning, insinuations, layers, and spins into that one syllable as she walks out. Right there she totally reminds me of Jaime Pressly from Jack & Jill, or as some of us briefly knew her, "Ferretina." It's not a nice comparison. I just know and dread that this thing she has about Raymond's not knowing or not remembering her name is going to get so much worse.