A middle-aged couple is walking down the sidewalk as the husband bitches about the play they're on their way to see. The wife exposits that the director, her best friend's only son, invited them, so they're basically obligated to be there. As they get their tickets, the husband carps, "Why do people invite anybody to anything?" "I have no idea," is the response. Well, from what I've heard about the L.A. theater scene, it's just about the only way to get an audience to show up.
Cut to later, inside the theater, where we're somewhere in act four of an incredibly earnest production of The Seagull (I think?). The husband starts coughing in his seat. He tries to keep it together, but his wife quickly realizes there's something wrong. She starts unbuttoning his shirt to help him breathe, but his distress becomes louder, to the extent that the actors onstage are starting to get distracted. That's because they're bad actors, as we already saw before hubby started hacking. Pretty soon they're all just standing up there on their marks, staring blankly into the audience. Nobody has risen to help, but it's too late anyway, because the husband is already sitting dead in his seat. "Oh, no, Peter," wails the wife, sotto voce, because raising your voice during a play just isn't done. "What should we do?" asks one of the actors. Well, standing there isn't working out so well. And that's the final curtain for Peter Thomas Burns (1948-2005). Talk about a showstopper. But judging by what we saw of that production, I'd say he did the rest of the audience a favor. time, try to cack during the first act, okay?
Nate's asleep in bed, until he's awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of a phone ringing. Brenda's spot to him is empty, although some set dresser did a nice job of leaving a dent in her pillow where her fucked-up head would have been. Nate gets up and walks down the darkened hallway to Maya's room. Although I've never mentioned it before, Maya has one of those tabletop nightlights with a multicolored, rotating shade. Normally it's cute and soothing, but now that the many-hued light is illuminating the sinister spectacle of her mysteriously empty bed, it makes the abandoned room look like a bit like a portal into a hell dimension. Angel could have saved so much money on special effects if they'd just bought a few of those. Nate proceeds down the hallway and picks up the still-ringing phone in the living room, but nobody's at the other end. And then someone is, but it's just a staticky voice saying something unintelligible, like a telemarketer from beyond the grave. "Who is this?" Nate demands. "Where's my wife? And where's my daughter?" The mumbling just gets louder. It's creepy as fuck, and Nate's starting to panic. He slams down the phone, which immediately starts ringing again.
And Nate wakes up for real, to discover that his real phone is really ringing in real life. Did I forget to mention the eerie musical undertone during that last scene that totally gave it away as a dream sequence? Because it did, but it added enough eeriness to make up for it. And now it's stopped. Before answering the actual phone, Nate makes sure Brenda's still in bed to him (she is). You'll never guess who's calling this late; no, it's not Miss Othmar, Charlie Brown's teacher, it's Maggie, who's calling from her parked car again. I know they don't want to go to the trouble and expense of building a whole "Maggie's Apartment" set, but would it kill them to shoot her talking on the phone in front of a blank wall once in a while so we don't have to sit and wonder if she lives in a late-model sedan? She's crying into the phone, saying she didn't know who else to call. Nate asks Maggie what's going on. "Who is it?" mumbles Brenda groggily. It's just your husband's girlfriend, Brenda. Go back to sleep.
At a more civilized hour, David stands at the kitchen sink, chuckling at the severely defaced sports section from the newspaper. Keith approaches, asking if David's seen it. David quickly crumples it up and stuffs it in the garbage before Keith enters the room, and blames its absence on the paperboy. Still covering for the kids, I see. That's a healthy dynamic. And anyway, a sports fan who can't stand looking at the occasional Sharpie mustache on [insert your favorite Los Angeles-based professional athlete here] is no kind of sports fan. Keith says he's heading out for the day. "I hope you've been noticing how much I've been watching my temper," he adds. "Those boys aren't easy." David says he knows, since Keith reminds him every day. Calling Keith's attention to the sound of innocent, childish laughter from the other room, David says, "He's basically just a sweet little kid." Keith agrees, until the sound of innocent, childish laughter becomes mixed with the sound of naughty, manly grunts and groans. Whoops. Sounds like the kids got into the stash.
Out to the living room, where Anthony and Durrell are sitting in front of the TV in their pajamas and laughing their heads off at -- what else? -- gay porn. And they're not even to the good part of the movie yet, unless gay porn is a whole lot more chaste than I've been led to believe. Keith angrily turns off the TV. "Where did you find those?" he demands. David adds, "Those tapes were in a locked box underneath a pile of old Ralph Lauren sheets underneath our bed." "So then you know where I found them," Durrell cracks. David and Keith exchange a frustrated glance, but it looks like Keith is letting David handle this one. Which he does, wimpily, explaining that from now on, the contents of any locked boxes in the house that Durrell might happen to come across are private. "Fine," Durrell grumps, because nobody ever lets him have any fun. Anthony asks if they can get ready for school, and David shoos them off to get dressed. "That went well," David says hopefully to Keith, who doesn't say anything but looks like he couldn't agree less.
Claire's at her desk at work, and she's actually sprung for a new outfit. Now that the humor potential of the periwinkle suit has been exhausted, they've got her in conservative clothes in the wardrobe palette she usually wears. That's right, it's back to all puke-green, all the time. She concentrates on her monitor while behind her, her coworkers make plans to go to someplace called Doc's after work. And last week, we were led to believe that Nerd Drone is the only one in the office who's indiscriminately using the phrase "Yeah, baby," but since then the habit has spread like a cancer. To my horror and Claire's, Y-bombs are flying all over the place. Nerd Drone invites Claire to join them for drinks. "The bar in the mall?" Claire asks with too-cool-for-school incredulity and contempt. "That's just 'cause it's the closest place, and they have pitchers. Everyone from work goes there," Nerd Drone excuses, embarrassed. Claire has a real nametag on her cube wall now, by the way. Claire apologizes for her rudeness, but she still isn't joining them. Kirsten and Perky Cubemate lean on Claire, largely relying on an argument centered around whether she thinks her shit stinks, but she still declines. "Maybe another time," she says. She's just too punk rock for all this.
Ruth's back with her knitting circle, yammering manically about how much she loves being alone and how she's keeping herself busy with all stuff going on around town that she's suddenly freed up to attend. She learned all about Kabbalah last week, and she's going to a Jay McInerney reading at Dutton's in Brentwood for the twentieth anniversary of Bright Lights, Big City (dear God, I'm old). I was going to make a crack here about how she's acting like she's never been single before, but then I realized that before George there was all the juggling between Arthur and Nikolai and Begley and whomever else I'm forgetting, even going back to before Late Nate was Late. So if Ruth ever spent any significant time without a date, I can't recall it. Victoria, of course, claims to have known McInerney's old coke dealer. "Sweet guy," she says. I assume she means the coke dealer and not McInerney (I'm kidding. I haven't heard anything). While looking at her calendar, Ruth realizes that Victoria's "get-together" is the night, and offers to bring her famous potato salad. Is Ruth aware that L.A. has a higher standard for "famous" than other places? Victoria assures Ruth that everything's taken care of. And, scene. By the way, the knitter who always says everything twice was there, but she didn't say anything this week, twice or otherwise. Probably because that would have required Ruth to take a breath.
Brenda's at a maternity store, trying to decide between two ugly mommy tops. One is an ugly plain brown poncho, and the other is an ugly floral poncho. Her cell phone rings and she answers it while the saleslady steps away. We don't hear the other end of the conversation, but Brenda's expression goes from blissful to near-tragic in the space of a few "yeah"s. The saleslady comes back after Brenda's off the phone, asking her if she's decided (get it? "Have you decided?" that'll be important later). Brenda says she'll come back, and hits the door with no more ugly tops in her wardrobe than she owned when she came in.
Over at Fisher & The Guy Who's Always Sneaking Out For The Day, David and Nate whisper about the intake that just showed up without an appointment. Nate explains that the deceased is a friend of Maggie's from church. That's why she was crying last night? I thought George was dead or injured or crazy again or something. "Maggie's a Quaker?" David says with some surprise. Nate confirms it. What surprises me is that Maggie was so broken up about somebody from church that she couldn't have known for more than a couple of months. "George was a Quaker?" David asks. (Here's where I deleted the line, "Only after his ECT sessions." What? I deleted it!) Nate explains that Maggie converted when she got married. "What exactly are Quakers?" Nate asks. Rather than admitting he doesn't know, David begins, "They're very peaceful…" Nate scoffs that everyone knows that, and starts to answer his ringing cell phone as David asks where Rico is. "He said he had something important to do," Nate says. See?
Two guesses who Nate's and Brenda's respective phone calls were from, because we cut right to Brenda and Nate at the obstetrician's office. They're holding hands as the OB explains that even though the test came back positive for a serious disorder like Down's syndrome or spina bifida, "over 95% of babies who test positive have neither of those two things." "So what's the point of the test?" Nate asks. Excellent question. You'd get better results by flipping a coin. Although I guess negative results would have told them for sure. But there's still a way to be certain; the OB wants Brenda to get an amniocentesis the day. "No need to panic yet," she says. "Yeah, right," Brenda says sarcastically, for some odd reason not all that jazzed about having a giant needle jabbed into her abdomen. What a killjoy.
So what's the important thing Rico had to do? Vanessa, of course. She's sitting on the sofa at home and flipping through a magazine when he comes in the front door and slips off his suit jacket. He says he got off work for a few hours, "because I knew it was your day off." Vanessa complains about the errands and tasks filling her "day off" (just like they do everyone's day off) as Rico comes up behind her and kisses her on the neck. She shrinks from him like he's contagious as he claims he's trying to relax her. "I can relax myself," she says shortly. Hmm, what kind of magazine is she reading there? Did she get it from David's house? She then gives Rico some boring household task to take care of, which, in case you forgot, is the entire reason she let him move back home in the first place. "Sure," says Rico, disappointed. On the bright side, at least now Rico won't get busted from showing up back at work with JBF hair.
Claire's in the kitchen at home, browsing through the fridge while Ruth gives her a hard time about not going out with her coworkers. "Sometimes you think you're better than anybody else," Ruth says. "Well, you're not." Claire sings the song of the newbie office worker, saying she had no idea that doing nothing all day could make her so tired, and slams the fridge door. Ruth looks up sharply, but doesn't say anything. The truce holds. Claire says she wanted to try to do some work tonight anyway. Ruth asks what she's working on, and Claire confesses that she's totally blocked. Although she uses a lot more words, the last few of which are, "It's kind of the loneliest feeling in the entire world." She looks at Ruth expectantly, hoping for some support. Which, disappointingly, comes in the form of "Oh." Just then the phone rings, and Ruth goes off on a rather dated rant about telemarketers before answering and discovering that the caller is actually George, who wants her to come over tonight. Claire blatantly eavesdrops as Ruth shortly agrees to come over the day instead. "Is he okay?" Claire asks after Ruth hangs up. Ruth says she's sure George is fine, and she doesn't want to get sucked into whatever's going on with him. "I have my own life now." Keep selling that, Ruth; someone will buy it eventually. Claire says that maybe George is just lonely. Ruth comments, "You seem a lot more sympathetic to him now than you were when he was living here." "It's always easier to be nice to people when you don't have to see them," remarks Claire. It's also easier to be nice to them when they don't bogart your stash. Claire leaves the kitchen so that maybe it'll be easier to be nice to her mother.
From the Fisher kitchen to the David and Keith kitchen. David's sitting at the breakfast nook with Durrell and Anthony, trying to help the former with his homework and not seeming any more eager to admit his ignorance of integers than he was of Quakers. Anthony's got his headphones on, and he's humming along to the crap music he's listening to while the other two try to concentrate on Durrell's math. David pulls the headphones off rather more firmly than necessary, and Anthony immediately shrinks in fear. "Am I in trouble?" he asks worriedly. Aww. David says he's not, but suggests listening to his music in the other room. Anthony promises to be quiet, but then almost immediately breaks his promise by pointing out that something's burning. David rushes to the pot on the stove. The phone rings, and Durrell excitedly asks to get it. David says of course, since Durrell lives there, which takes all the fun out of it for Durrell. At least until he actually answers. "It's your lover," he tells David. "Do I have a lover?" Anthony asks, to snickers from Durrell. David tells Durrell to just say "Keith" from now on. "Yes, Master," Durrell says. His delivery is more genie than house slave, but still earns him a snappish reply from David, who's probably a little touchy about that. While all this is going on, we see Keith on the other end of the line at the Pasqueasel's house, listening in puzzlement as David kicks the boys out of the kitchen. Keith explains to David that he has to "work late," by which he means "chauffeur the Pasqueaslets somewhere." David grumpily says he'll see Keith later, and hangs up. Then he goes over to the table to gather up the kids' stuff, which is when he sees a flyer poking out of Durrell's backpack. He pulls it out and we get a good look at it. It looks like some kind of show; the top reads, "The Franklin Hills Elementary Fifth Graders Proudly Present" and "Friday, April 15 at 11:00 a.m." at the school auditorium on the bottom, but I'm confused by the title: "Celebration of Biodiversity." Must be one of Chekhov's lesser-known works. While David's examining it, Durrell comes back in to the kitchen and yells at him for his nosiness. "I thought we had rules about other people's private stuff!" Durrell bitches. He grabs the flyer out of David's hand and stomps out, leaving David standing there thinking that his own private stuff is way better.
Up in the Claire, a collection of art supplies is laid out on the table: pens, paper, sketchpad, blotter, a bunch of things I don't recognize, even a candle. Everything you need to make great art. Except the artist herself, who's sacked out on her bed watching Extreme Makeover or something. You ever think we'd still be in the dark ages if Leonardo da Vinci had had TV?
Someone's set up a fancy deep-focus shot at Nate and Brenda's. In the extreme foreground we have Nate's giant head looking for boobies in the latest National Geographic, with Brenda hunched over her laptop at the dining room table in the middle background, and the kitchen waaaaaay in the back so it looks like it's in my neighbor's basement. No birds in there that we can see. Nate finally decides he's had enough of this artful composition, and turns to ask Brenda what time he needs to leave work the day. Brenda says she doesn't care, and we now see that she's surfing a moms' message board. Nate says he means what time are they going in for the amnio. Brenda announces that she's decided the amnio isn't such a good idea. Annoyed, Nate gets up and comes into the dining room, not noticing or not caring that she's tipping the monitor in towards herself secretively. He says he thought they decided, but Brenda cuts him off and says she doesn't want it. "You know, they can cause miscarriage," she points out. In as many as one in 200 cases, according to some CDC numbers I looked up. Brenda wants to wait until later, when they can find out more using regular ultrasound. Nate insists that they should know about any problems now. "Why?" asks Brenda. "So that we can take care of it," Nate says. Dammit, Nate, you had me and then you lost me. Obviously she's freaked out about this already; tell her you're both better off knowing what to expect, what to prepare for. Which is true. You're not going to get your way here by putting therapeutic abortion on the table in the first round. Which I'm not sure I'd be on board with anyway. Take into account the fact that Brenda's probably still not convinced you even want the kid, and you've got a wide row to hoe here. Brenda pissily asks what "take care of it" means. "Come on, you know what it means," Nate squirms, not meeting her eyes. Weasel. Brenda says she's having the baby no matter what: "If there's a problem, we'll deal with it then." "If that's how you feel," Nate says. Brenda asks if that's how Nate feels. "I don't know," Nate says in that tone that really means, "Fuck no, it fucking isn't fucking how I fucking feel. Fuck." Fade to white/Nate's not so bright.
The gigantic Keithmobile pulls into a seedy back alley somewhere as Keith wonders what the big deal is about Durrell failing to invite them to his show. David says going to stuff like this is part of being a parent, though he admits that Durrell threatened to kill them if they went. As they talk, David's getting a big garbage bag out of the back of the car, and he says he couldn't sleep thinking about all the porn in the house. Which is a blatant set-up for what happens now: he heaves the bag towards the nearest Dumpster, but it tips back out, spilling its bountiful gayload all over the pavement. Keith and I crack up. "Help me, you asshole," David snaps at Keith. I don't have to help, so I keep laughing. As David tries to sweep videos, books, and magazines back into the bag, he wonders about Durrell's reasons for not inviting them. "This one, we're keeping," is Keith's answer as he slips a DVD into his jacket. David wonders if Durrell's ashamed of having gay parents. Keith surveys the scene and says, "He's not the one that's ashamed about us being gay." David insists this is about porn. Keith thinks Durrell just doesn't want them to see him screw up. David says to hurry: "We've got another huge bag in the back." Snerk. You suppose the kids rode to school in the car with all that stuff?
Ruth's in her kitchen sniffing mayonnaise. Seriously, that's what she's doing. Rico comes in and asks what big occasion is meriting the batch of famous potato salad that Ruth is whipping up. Ruth tells Rico about Victoria's party, and mentions Victoria's old sitcom. Rico comments, "I saw that show once or twice. Seemed sort of stupid." Ruth snaps that Victoria's a friend, and Rico apologizes. Whatever. I used to have tons of actor friends, and I mocked the shit they were in all the time. Which, come to think of it, might by why I used to have tons of actor friends. Oh, well. At least I developed valuable skills that I'm now using before your very eyes. Rico asks how Ruth is doing as a singleton, and she starts in again on her busy calendar of cultural events. She even invites him to the McInerney reading the day. Rico passes, saying he's going to be too busy sneaking out of work tomorrow. Or something like that. Ruth hands him a forkful of salad and asks if there's too much dill. As Rico raises the fork to his lips, Ruth says he must be happy to be back with Vanessa. Rico confesses that Vanessa never wants to have sex with him. "I can't get her to look at me with that same hunger she used to have." Aw, Rico. Maybe she's just out of crackers. He continues, "The most horrible part is when I look at her? I still get so fucking hard." Ruth suggests masturbation, and reveals that "There were long periods in my marriage to Nathaniel when he was constantly masturbating." LALALALA-I'MNOTLISTENINGTORUTHANDRICO! Rico yells that he wants passion. "I want my wife to want me so bad that every time I walk by, she wants to squeeze my ass and grab my--"
An abrupt cut to a different angle in the suddenly silent kitchen leaves us wondering just how much of the last few seconds Rico fantasized. He says distractedly, "Uhh, yeah, too much dill." D'oh!
Rico's not the only one having fantasies, judging by the self-portrait of the artist as a young suicide that Claire's currently doodling on her napkin in the break room at work. She's sitting with Perky Cubemate, who's currently regaling Nerd Drone with some boring story about the bar from last night. Nerd Drone loves it, of course. A slick, young-looking guy in a suit comes in and asks Perky Cubemate for some figures by the end of the day. Perky Cubemate: "5:00 okay?" Slick guy: "Yeah, baby." He notices Claire's doodle over her shoulder, and she quickly tucks it away, embarrassed. He introduces himself to Claire as Ted, and Nerd Drone explains that Ted's the company's lowest-paid lawyer. A lofty distinction, that. Of course, it will no doubt immediately make him Claire's favorite lawyer. It comes out that Ted was also at the bar the night, and he says he'll try to make it again tonight. He leaves the room, and Claire looks after him speculatively. Oh, no, baby. On second viewing, Lawyer Ted isn't as good-looking as I originally thought. Maybe Claire's just looking for someone who isn't revealed to be a total train wreck inside of five minutes. I give this guy ten.
While putting something in the fridge at home, Brenda's attention is caught by the two blurry ultrasound photos stuck there with magnets. Aw, I remember when we used to have ultrasound pictures of M. Tiny on our fridge. Now we hang the actual kid there. We had to buy much stronger magnets, but it's totally worth it. Brenda picks up the phone and asks somebody to meet her for lunch.
Cut to Brenda at a restaurant later, sitting alone at a table and looking bored. She does that thing where you check your cell phone to make sure you didn't miss a call, a nice little modern "I'm beginning to think I'm being stood up" bit of business. Finally she happens to look out a window, where her mother has finally shown up. And she's saying a rather passionate goodbye to some gray-haired man we've never seen before. Finally, she enters the restaurant alone, giddily apologizing for her lateness and pleading paperwork. "Yeah, so I see," Brenda says sarcastically. Ma Chenowith turns to check Brenda's sightline out the window, and realizes her daughter must have caught the whole scene. Apparently the dude is some bigwig therapist or something. Ma says they ran into each other at a party, and "one thing led to another. You know how that is." "No, not really," says the woman who's had more sexual partners than she can name, and not just because she never learned some of their names. Rather than pointing that out, Ma just asks Brenda not to judge. She wonders if anyone else saw them, and we learn that unlike the rules Ma had in her marriage to Pa Chenowith, Olivier has some "antiquated" ideas about relationships. Like "don't bring home a teeming crop of groin-cooties"? I'm antiquated that way myself. Brenda sarcastically says that people are strange. Instead of calling the Pentagon to have them reposition a surveillance satellite to knock Brenda off her high horse, Ma just says, "Let's try and have some nice girl-time, shall we? Isn't that why you called?" Brenda says it is, and I wonder why, if that's what she wanted, she didn't call someone else. A point that is driven home when Ma offers Brenda the number of a personal trainer who will fix the "havoc" that the pregnancy is going to wreak on Brenda's body. "I can't wait," Brenda says, rather than pointing out how much Nate is looking forward to her ass-tattoo of his name going up a few font sizes.
David and Nate are just finishing up with giving Mrs. Corpse of the Week and Maggie a tour of the facilities. Mrs. CotW wants to be sure there won't be another funeral going on in the other room. David brightly says that "I can assure you, you won't hear anything during your 'silent centering time.' Except a few grumbling tummies, I suppose." David titters at that, all by himself. And then he leads Mrs. CotW off to fill out some forms so Nate can be alone with his sweetie. He asks for clarification on the "silent centering time" thing. "Silent worship," Maggie corrects. "We believe that God is within all of us. If we get together and are silent, hopefully we each hear something from God." Nate asks what happens if you don't, and Maggie says she just makes something up. Ah, so she's a Quaker faker. Sorry. Don't email me. "How do you know God's not telling you what to make up?" Nate asks seriously. Maggie asks him if something's wrong. Oh, like Nate would ever dream of burdening Maggie with his problems.
Meanwhile, their respective parents are hanging out in George's apartment. Ruth is sitting on the edge of the couch with her coat on and her purse strap over her shoulder, so it's no surprise when she tells George to drop the small talk and cut to the chase. He starts into a big speech, and she says she's not getting back together with him. But he says he knows, and he wants a divorce. "Well, of course that's what I want too," she claims. All they have to do is live separately for six months and then file the papers. But George doesn't want to wait that long. To Ruth's growing incredulity, he says one of them can fly to Haiti for the weekend and take care of it faster, saying it'll be "better for [their] psyches." "You want to fly to Haiti for a quickie divorce just for our psyches?" Ruth asks. George gets even more serious, and drops the bomb that he's engaged. Ruth's mouth drops open with a nearly audible clang, and then the only way she can close it is to suck on her bottom lip while George tells her all about his new fiancée, a professor he met at work. "We were both raised in Missouri," George concludes. So, clearly, it was meant to be. Where's she been all his life? Ruth says she should have expected this: "Boy, I am some fool all right." I feel her there; nobody said George had to stop at seven wives, did they? George says he's in love. Ruth gets up to go, and George offers to talk about her feelings. "Strangely enough, I don't think I have any," she says, and leaves. Poor Ruth. How can she run away if he won't chase her?
And back to the funeral home, where Nate has apparently already spilled everything to Maggie. She tells him everything will be okay, even if it's not. Wow, being a Quaker sounds easy. Nate asks, "How can you of all people say that?" There he goes again. Maggie tells Nate about her son's terminal illness; the fear, the shots, the screaming, the useless operations, "but all the horrible things don't take away from what he gave me…he was here such a short time, and I feel incredibly lucky that I got to know him." Nate doesn't look convinced.
Keith's over at the Pasqueasel's house, trying to get the regular kid's take on parents going to school functions. But there aren't any of those in the house, so he's asking the Pasqueaslets instead. They support Keith's opinion that they should respect Durrell's wishes, although they use a lot of psychobabble in the process. "I gotta write these things down for David," Keith says, groping in his pockets for pen and paper. Female Pasqueaslet says she'll take care of it. Keith thanks her. Those kids are weird.
Everyone's clearing out of Claire's office amid a hail of "Yeah, baby"s. Claire gets Nerd Drone's attention on his way out and asks if everyone's going to Doc's again. He looks pleasantly surprised that she's deigning to join the unwashed.
Victoria's party is of course at her beautifully designed home with indirect lighting and impeccably-dressed people everywhere, mingling to the sound of mellow jazz piano. Victoria either still has sitcom money, or that yarn store is some kind of front for McInerney's old coke dealer. Ruth arrives in the midst of this scene, and she probably would look a little less out of place if she weren't also carrying a ginormous aluminum-foil tub of famous potato salad. She looks like she's about to turn around and head right back out the door until Victoria calls out to her, saying she's excited for Ruth to meet "my friend Mitchell." She asks about the huge tray, and Ruth starts to say it's nothing. Victoria interrupts, "Your famous potato salad, now I remember." Victoria nicely leads Ruth over to the buffet table and makes room among all the dainty canapés and horvy-dorvys before taking the tray, setting it down, pulling off the cling wrap, and planting a serving spoon in it like the American flag at Tranquility Base. "Now start mingling," she orders. "No one's going to bite you. But maybe if you're lucky, someone will." Oh, that Victoria. She's so saucy.
Turns out Doc's is not only a mall bar, it's also got a mechanical bull that some blonde is riding as Claire and Kirsten watch. I'm surprised they didn't make this place a karaoke bar, but then Claire's not exactly in a position to mock karaoke after last week, is she? "You know, I'm really not drawn to mechanical animals," says Kirsten. Claire agrees. And now they've bonded. We see that Claire and Kirsten are in a little grouping of two at one part of the round table, while Perky Cubemate, Nerd Drone, and someone else are at the other, but not talking as far as we can see. It's a loud enough bar that the two groups can't hear each other, but even if it weren't, they probably still couldn't, because they're on TV and sound travels differently there. Kirsten asks if Claire's in a relationship, and Claire says she just broke up with someone she was living with. "And now I hear he's left town. Probably to go to some overpriced loony bin. He's kind of a nutjob," Claire cackles. Kirsten doesn't look amused. Chastened, Claire says she doesn't know why she said that, and that Billy's a great guy. To her credit, she blames herself, saying she wasn't ready for "something with challenges." Well, okay, if it's a "challenge" to be able to tell that your live-in boyfriend is off his meds when he suddenly can't tolerate things like, you know, clothes. "And he's in a different place than me," Claire adds. "He's older." Kirsten says she's also seeing someone older. "Well, a year and a half older." Kirsten plays coy while we all wait for Claire to figure out that Kirsten's talking about Lawyer Ted. Who's currently at a different table waaaay over at the other side of the bar with the other lawyers, by the way. Surprised, Claire remarks that she's never seen the two of them together, and Kirsten says they're trying to be discreet. And then she recounts a sequence of events that indicates that their "relationship" basically amounts to the fact that she and Lawyer Ted have had a couple of clandestine gropes. Claire sips her beer, suddenly understanding why Kirsten didn't laugh when she said "nutjob." "So now you're dating?" Claire asks. "I think we will be soon," Kirsten says excitedly. Claire says she gets it. I think we all get it. And just in case you didn't, the song playing in the bar is Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'."
Over at the party, Ruth's already met Victoria's actor friend Mitchell, who looks a little like Barney Miller but taller. She's trying and failing to keep up with his conversation about sitcoms, and somehow manages to be embarrassed at not knowing who Jennifer Love Hewitt is. I think I could live being with that kind of embarrassed. "Well, uh, Mitchell," Ruth says. "Yeah," Mitchell says. And then he just walks away from her. Snerk. Ruth looks forlorn standing there all alone until Other Knitter With Lines comes over to greet her and say, "You look so forlorn standing here all alone." She wants to help Ruth troll for "some nice, quirky guy" (because George's problem was that he just wasn't "quirky" enough), but Ruth isn't up for it: "I am seven million years old. And I have this emptiness that won't go away. I've gone everywhere and I've done everything." Her voice rises as she continues to bemoan her singleness, which has stretched out over more than half an episode now. "I just want to be left alone so I can shrivel up in peace! Please!" "Okay," Other Knitter With Lines chirps nervously, and leaves Ruth to her shriveling. Ruth turns and spots her famous potato salad, which is still sitting on the buffet table having yet to be indulged in by a single person, famous or otherwise. The symbolism does not escape her.
Cut to Ruth shoveling the potato salad down Victoria's toilet. Which takes some doing, because that's a big pan. She flushes, closes the lid, and gets the hell out of there before the thing can back up on her. I can't wait until the knitting circle, where Victoria recounts the nightmarish tale of how the entire party flooded with raw sewage shortly after Ruth's departure, and an emergency plumber had to come over and Victoria simply had to insist that he go home and change into overalls at once and then come back and take everything apart and snake it all out and work all night earning triple overtime and then at the end he came up to her with a sludge-spattered, five-figure statement and pronounced, "Too much dill."
Claire's at the bar paying for the pitcher of beer. She looks a little reluctant to go back to the "yeah, baby" table, where her coworkers are still partying like it's 1997. That hesitation is her downfall; Lawyer Ted is suddenly there at her elbow with his bottle of Budweiser. At least, unlike Nerd Drone, he's able to resist the temptation to crow, "Whazzuuuup?" Ted tells Claire he's done some research; he knows she's an artist who had a show and everything. "Pretty impressive," he says. Claire tries to play modest, and asks if Lawyer Ted always wanted to be a lawyer. Lawyer Ted, who's clearly not on his first Bud, says he just took the easiest path. "I like being a lawyer. It's just one part of my life." Claire lies that it sounds interesting. "If you're really interested, maybe some time I can show you the other part." He says this with a grateful glance at his beer for making that cheesy line possible. Claire says she's going to head back to her table, and invites Lawyer Ted to join them. He says he should get back to his own table. What's the matter, Lawyer Ted? Afraid you won't be able to get Budweiser in a pitcher?
I bet you're wondering how the Pasqueaslets' advice went over with David. Let's find out. As Keith reds in bed while David folds laundry, the latter says, "I don't care what those two freaks of nature said. I am going to this assembly tomorrow and that's that." He insists that kids should have someone rooting for them in the audience. And then he goes into a whole story about how when he was a sailor in Anything Goes in seventh grade (which I would say is kind of an ambitious production for middle-schoolers, if my sister hadn't just gone to a grade-school production of that show in New Jersey a couple of months ago), his dad couldn't come because he was busy with a whole family of plane crash victims. And he recounts the Fisher ritual of going out to Marie Callendar's for Boston cream pie after school functions. Which they did on this occasion without Late Nate, but it wasn't the same. Keith still thinks the Pasqueaslets have a point. David quickly escalates the disagreement, saying Keith will take any excuse not to be a parent; he's never around, and when he is he barely talks to the kids. Keith says he's not allowed to. David says he just doesn't want Keith yelling at them. "I'm doing this all alone without getting any credit for being a single parent." Because that's what gets single parents through the day, David. Credit. Keith says if that's how David feels, he can go by himself. David asks if Keith feels anything for the kids. "Don't you have a soul?" "That's a terrible thing to say about your partner," Keith says, wounded. "Yeah, well, it's a terrible thing to feel about your partner," David snaps.
Here's another terrible thing to think about your partner: Is he almost done fucking me yet? And yet that's clearly exactly what Vanessa's thinking right now. She lies under Rico, looking bored and rolling her eyes while he makes all these disgusting O noises. She's not just thinking of England here; she's thinking of England, the colonies, the subcontinent, and Hong fucking Kong. He finally collapses on top of her and moans, "Whew, that was amazing." "That's nice, sweetie," Vanessa responds, looking at the ceiling. Rico rouses himself to kiss her shoulders, then her décolletage, and then begins to head for points south. Vanessa puts the kibosh on that right quick. "No, I'm good," she insists. And she wiggles out from under him to lie with her back to him. Rico regards her in confusion. Try bringing in another water bottle, Rico.
Nate and Brenda are in their bathroom, getting ready for bed, while Brenda tries to get Nate to share her righteous indignation over her mother's cheating on Olivier. "Don't you think she's depressing?" Nate thinks what's depressing is "living with some asshole who pontificates about art all the time." In other words, he approves. Or he's just jumping on any opportunity to disagree with Brenda, which also works, as we'll soon see. Brenda asks about Penelope. Like all of us, Nate asks who Penelope is. Brenda was suggesting it as a name for the baby if it's a girl. But Nate doesn't want to talk about baby names, and he's not especially nice about it either. I think Brenda could really relieve some of the tension here by suggesting the name "Corky."
Brenda follows him into the bedroom, where he goes on to bitch about how pretentious Penelope is. Brenda knows what the real issue is: "You want me to go to a doctor, make sure everything's all right with the baby, and if it isn't you want me to kill it?" Nate would really rather she didn't put it that way, but that's what he wants. "And I don't see what's wrong with that," he continues. "We can try again." Brenda sits own on the bed with her back to him as he goes on to tell her about his conversation with Maggie. Except it's not the conversation with Maggie that we saw. He puts all the emphasis on the difficulty and sacrifices and financial problems, the last of which she never said a word about. Which is tacky, but I think it would almost be tackier for him to let his crush talk him into something that his wife couldn't. "Did she regret having him?" Brenda says. Even Nate can't tell a lie that blatant, preferring to dodge the question. "You and I aren't Maggie," he says. "She's better than we are." "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Brenda snaps. Yeah, Nate. Are you ignoring the symbolism behind the fact that wonderful, perfect Maggie triggered a dream about you losing your family by calling in the middle of the night? Rather than addressing the question, Nate says it would be unfair to Maya to bring a sick child into the house. "I think Maya would love whoever this child is. She's a very loving person," Brenda insists pointedly. "Oh, unlike me?" Nate bitches. Brenda gets up, goes into the bathroom, and slams the door. Fade to white/another fight.
Ruth gets ready to go with her purse, her copy of Bright Lights, Big City, and a good long look in the mirror. Bye, Ruth! Say hi to Jay McInerney for me! And his coke dealer! I actually know a guy whose literary agent was also McInerney's agent, who was the basis for the BL, BC movie character played by…Kiefer Sutherland. It's the recapper's circle of life.
Brenda washes dishes at home. Is her internship over, or did she keep upsetting patients so much that Jackie offered her a raise to stay home? Just as Brenda's about to launch into a crying jag, a cheery Ma Chenowith comes right in the front door, giving Brenda only as much time to pull herself together as it takes Ma to work her way back to the kitchen. Which is a little longer than usual, since she's carrying a giant, elaborately-wrapped present. "You popped in unexpectedly to drop off an expensive gift?" Brenda snarks. Ingrate. Ma explains that Olivier was getting suspicious about how long lunch took, so she needs Brenda to cover for her. Hence the bribe, which will thereby forever taint every baby picture and memory in which it appears. "Why don't we just open this up and you can tell me why the baby won't like it," Ma says. And then Brenda can't hold back the tears any longer, because the reason the baby won't like it is because the baby won't like anything, because the baby is going to be a deformed mutant whose father hates it.
Showtime! The grade school auditorium is packed with parents, including David and Keith. As they get into their seats, David thanks Keith for coming. "Yeah, well, I've always wanted to see a musical celebration of biodiversity," Keith says. Chekhov wrote a musical? David advises Keith to "scrunch down" if Durrell looks in their direction. Turns out David didn't tell Durrell they were coming. "Why not?" Keith asks. "Because I'm scared of him?" David duhs. Heh. The lights go down to polite applause. The fifth-grade class files out onto the stage, all dressed in various plant and animal costumes. Durrell's in the back row, looking not very scary at all in a cardboard elm tree costume. All the kids sing as the opening number begins: "We are plants / We are animals / We are people and we share this land." Ah, California. Creating tomorrow's tree-hugging hippies today.
That was all the time it took for Brenda to tell Ma all about the current brouhaha with Nate, because they've now relocated to the living room sofa so Ma can "comfort" her daughter. "All couples have these kind of disagreements," she says. "You think I didn't want to abort you and Billy?" Brenda's shocked expression makes it clear that yeah, she pretty much always thought that. Stupid girl. Ma says that Pa Chenowith talked her out of it both times. A loose consortium of millions of Six Feet Under viewers instantly starts raising funds for a time machine so they can go back and shout Pa down. Ma tells Brenda that she and Nate have to be on the same team, and Brenda should look at it from his point of view: "Life is so fucking hard, even when it's easy, so why not try and make it less challenging when we can?" Brenda considers that. Which is surprising, because this philosophy of making life easier runs completely counter to nearly everything we've ever seen her do or say.
Hey, Cynthia Stevenson! I haven't seen her in, like, forever. She's awesome. She's on the phone on hold in some nice wood-paneled office, when there's a soft knock on the door. "Is someone there? Hello?" she asks. The door opens to reveal Ruth, who says she was supposed to go to a Jay McInerney book signing, but when she got in the car she "drove over here and looked you up in the directory and now here I am." At first I was thinking that Ruth just wandered into the first psychiatrist's office she saw, but I was wrong. So wrong. Not that that would have been a bad idea. Ruth comes the rest of the way into the office and introduces herself. "I'm Ruth. George Sibley's wife. You're his fiancée, right?" Cynthia Stevenson nervously (and awesomely) says to her phone, "No, I'm still here, but I think I need to call you back." I'm sure Ruth just wanted to stop by and say howdy, right?
Biodiversity! It's the part of the show where the kids are singing their solos. The kid playing the part of the mountain finishes up, to polite applause. And then Durrell steps forward in his elm tree costume and raises his arms like branches for his verse, which he sings fairly well for a fifth-grader: "I am an elm tree / don't overplant me / I need to be surrounded by other trees / or else I'll die of Dutch Elm Disease." More applause. Chekhov's so heartbreaking sometimes. David goes into a flashback of himself in a little-boy/sailor costume, alone on stage in the spotlight and singing "Blow, Gabriel, Blow" from Anything Goes. Except it's adult David in the flashback and not a seventh-grade David. And also, Blow, Gabriel, Blow is a full-chorus number and not a solo for one sailor, if memory serves. Not that it matters; it's all just a metaphor for how all parents try to avoid the mistakes their parents made with them, while working in an excuse to let Michael C. Hall sing again. I don't know why it even had to be Anything Goes, unless it was to make a gay character sing about someone with a man's name blowing something. ["'Unless'?" -- Sars] We come back to the present with David applauding madly and grinning like the creepy guy on those "natural male enhancement" commercials long after everyone else has stopped clapping. At least he waited until his own foster kid was done before he tuned out. Keith snaps him back to reality, and he apologizes. And then he dies of a coughing fit. Not really.
"Why did you even have a bomb shelter?" Cynthia Stevenson wails at Ruth. Bwah! Sounds like Ruth brought her up to speed. Ruth tells her weepy successor that George "barricaded himself down there, looking like some kind of mountain man. When they pulled him out and put him in the mental hospital, that's when the really crazy stuff began." Cynthia Stevenson begs Ruth to stop. "I knew he seemed a little too good to be true…I was just so happy to meet someone who said he wouldn't mind having children." Now it's Ruth's turn to be horrified. Completely forgetting the saintly Quaker who's been dangled in our faces all season, she sits down to Cynthia Stevenson to rifle her purse for Kyle's phone number to demonstrate what a lousy father George is. Better yet, Ruth could just give Kyle Cynthia Stevenson's address and then sit back and wait for the deliveries of poo. While Ruth is searching, it occurs to Cynthia Stevenson that maybe Ruth is the crazy one and she's making all this up. "Do I look like a crazy person?" Ruth demands, offended. "A little," Cynthia Stevenson says. Ruth says she's just trying to protect Cynthia Stevenson, but Cynthia Stevenson isn't ready to let go of the George she thinks she knows: "Maybe you're just some bitter, angry psychopath," she suggests. "I am not angry," Ruth says angrily, and angrily picks up the vase on the coffee table in front of her and angrily smashes it. And then angrily walks out without another word. Okay, she might be a little angry.
Brenda comes in to the funeral home, where the chairs in the chapel have been arranged in a rough circle for the Corpse of the Week's funeral. There are Quakers in the chairs, too, but they aren't making any more noise than the chairs are. Brenda passes by the open doorway, marveling that there could be people in the world who don't have to be talking every minute. There's obviously no place for Nate in this environment, so she proceeds to the room, where Maggie is talking to Nate with her hand on his arm. But they're talking really quietly, so at least he's meeting her halfway. And judging by Brenda's face, now is when she begins to think that something's up between those two. Not after they came out of the bedroom together at his birthday party, not after he invited her over for dinner for no reason, not after she called their house in the middle of the night, and not after Nate said Maggie is "better than we are," but now, when they're just standing there talking. Sometimes I think that one of the overarching themes of this show is "other people's self-absorption is the only reason we ever get away with anything."
Nate and Maggie come over to greet Brenda, who frostily says hello. Maggie excuses herself to the funeral. Now that Nate's alone with his wife, he says, "Sort of a bad time, but I can talk for a second. What's up?" Way to cover up your guilt by acting like an officious prick there. ["'There'?" -- Sars] Brenda starts her big speech, about how it's come down to a choice between her marriage and her child and "it seemed reckless to risk my marriage over taking some stupid test." "Great!" says Nate happily. Idiot. First of all, we can all see that there's a giant, pregnant "but" coming, and secondly, nothing about this situation is great. One doesn't celebrate getting one's way in these circumstances, you clod. Brenda's voice rises as she continues that now that she's there, she realizes that "We've been so separate for a long time." Nate looks guilty now, not bothering to deny it. Brenda thought it was her fault, but now she thinks it's Nate. He tries to calm her down. "How can I make you feel better?" Nate says. "What do you want me to do?" Brenda tells him to just do what he wants for once in his life. "Not what you think people want or what you should do. 'Cause I don't give a fuck any more." Nate tells her to wait, but she storms out anyway, having won another glorious victory in her lifelong campaign against silence.
Claire comes into the break room at the office, where Lawyer Ted is reading the paper and totally blocking the coffee machine. He obliviously makes her say "excuse me" so she can get at the java, and he moves about two feet away. Apropos of nothing, Claire admits that she was in fact an artist before she started working there. She explains that she dropped out of art school to spend more time creating, but she's been uninspired. "And now it sort of feels like maybe that's over, which is kind of scary." She says that that's how she's always defined herself, but it's also "freeing in a strange way." She says that's to answer Lawyer Ted's question from last night. Lawyer Ted says he's glad she told him. "Why?" Claire asks. "I don't know," Lawyer Ted says, with a big goofy smile that means "because it means I have a better chance to get into your pants than I thought." On that subject, he brings up Kirsten. "She and I had sex once, and we made out once, and that was that." Ah, disclosure. Very big with lawyers. He pleasantly takes his coffee and his leave. I kind of hope he's actually an undercover narc or something.
Rico comes home for lunch. Vanessa's already there, also having lunch. And reading a magazine again. "I'm not going to try to make love to you again, if that's what you're afraid of," he tells her grumpily. She just rolls her eyes at him. He asks what's going on; if they're back together, what about sex? Well, that's just it, Rico. Vanessa didn't say, "Let's get back together." She asked you to move back in because "the boys need you." Now she says, "You got what you're wanted, you're back in your house, what's the big fucking deal?" Rico rocks back at her anger. "Wow. You obviously still hate me." Yeah, it's so obvious that it's taken him this long to figure it out. Of course, this is Rico we're talking about. Vanessa doesn't deny it. Rico asks why she asked him to move back in if that's how she feels. I'd actually like to hear the answer to this. Rico might have agreed to move home to be a dad without husband privileges. Vanessa either doesn't realize that, or she didn't want to take the chance that he'd say no. Normally I'd say it's kind of tacky of her to let him think he's getting a full reconciliation when she doesn't have any intention of letting that happen, but it's not like she went all that far out of her way to deceive him. And it's still less tacky than cheating with a stripper. Vanessa looks guilty, and I settle in to hear her explanation. And then we cut away from them for the rest of the episode. What?
Ruth gets home, to find that George is already banging on the door to the back porch. "What gives you the right to say those things to my fiancée?" he yells at her through the storm door. "It's none of your business." "It was my business when I had to clean up your goddamn mess," Ruth hollers back. George: "You don't want to live with me; you don't want to let me go! What the hell do you want?" Ruth screams, "I don't know! I'm completely out of control, doing crazy things!…All I know is I hate you and I wish you would leave!" She stomps up the stairs while George yells at her to come back.
"You dickwads went to my show!" Durrell accuses, holding up a flyer. He thinks he's pissed? My son got circumcised that day. Have some perspective, punk. David admonishes him for his language, and adds, "That was in my private Kenneth Cole shoebox. You know what we said about private things." I love how brand names convey an extra layer of privacy for David. A locked Ford Explorer Eddie Bauer edition would be like a bank vault to him. Durrell looks defeated, then asks if he was okay in the show. David excitedly says that Durrell was "an incredible elm tree. I totally believed you." Durrell smiles and starts to leave the room. Keith, who's been lurking in the background this whole time, calls, "Hey, what about me? Don't you want to know what I thought?" Durrell rolls his eyes and comes back. "You were amazing," Keith says, and suggests they go celebrate with some pie at Marie Callendar's. "Marie Callendar's is stupid," Durrell says. "Yes, that's true," Keith agrees, and tells Durrell to go get his brother and they'll go wherever Durrell wants. Durrell happily complies, and Keith and David share a warm smile. Aww. The moral? Always ignore what people tell you they want.
Nate stands in the doorway of the chapel, watching the silent worship. He thinks for a minute, then, because it's not like he has anyplace else to be, decides to try it himself. He closes his eyes. And he sees a vision of Brenda walking back into the maternity shop she was shopping at in the beginning of the episode. The ugly floral top she didn't buy is in the window now, probably to frighten birds and prevent them from crashing into the glass. Nate opens his eyes and looks at Maggie, who looks back at him from her chair with her typically ambiguous expression. And then, without closing his eyes again, Nate has a vision of Brenda coming out of the maternity shop, now wearing the ugly floral top. So Brenda's decided. Has Nate?
By the way, props to whoever took this week's minimalist closing theme music and mixed "We are plants / we are animals" in there. Nice touch. Now if you wouldn't mind taking a week or two off from getting songs stuck in my head, I'd really appreciate it.