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Props to Glark for filling in for me last week. This is the longest break I've ever had during the regular season. I wonder if I still remember how to write a recap. Well, we'll see.
Previously on The West Wing: Babish and C.J. ran down the many ways in which Abby broke laws and contributed to the MS coverup.
We're outside the First Bedroom looking in the window through a gauzy curtain. Jed's sitting in a wing chair reading a newspaper. He's wearing a tuxedo, but his jacket's off. Abby's bustling around the room in a long brown satiny gown with translucent sleeves in a gold mesh-y fabric, which, unfortunately, doesn't suit her very well. It's a gorgeous dress, but it emphasizes all the wrong aspects of her figure; it could probably only be carried off by a much taller and probably thinner woman. I'm sure it was meant to make her look movie-star glamorous, but instead it comes off as matronly. There's too much fabric, (especially swaddled around her butt), it's cinched and pinched in all the wrong places, and it just does nothing for her. I think it's supposed to be all very John Singer Sargent but the effect is more Elizabeth II. Her hair is straight, but it has a rough, straw-like texture and line to it that is not fetching. ["She's got that same intentionally-split-endy effect going on that Amy's been saddled with, like, it's not 1981, and neither of them is Joan Jett, so put down the razors, hair people." -- Wing Chun] I don't get it, because I think Stockard Channing is very attractive and I've seen her look fabulous many times, but it's almost never the case on this show for some reason. And I'm not inclined to blame the costume people, because they usually manage to make Donna and C.J. look stunning in evening wear on this show. What gives? Anyway, Abby asks Jed if he likes her earrings; like any man who's been partnered with a woman for more than a few minutes and who has two brain cells to rub together, he replies, without looking, that he does. She, of course, would actually like him to look at them. He ascertains, without looking up, that they aren't new, she's worn them before, so he loves them. She abandons the typically fruitless female endeavour of soliciting worthwhile fashion input from her husband. (Believe me, I've been down this road with Professor Frink many a time. And I'd complain, but how can you complain about a guy who genuinely thinks -- however misguidedly -- that you look perfect no matter what you're wearing, and therefore has no useful critique to offer?)
Abby bustles back into the bathroom or dressing room or whatever as Jed fires off a crossword clue: "'Laissez-faire doctrine': fifteen letters." Abby calls out: "Social Darwinism." Jed argues that can't be the answer, because it's not a doctrine, it's a force of nature. I think I want my living room to be the colour of their bedroom; maybe not that gold, or that dark, but that warm. Oh yeah, the show. Jed says the answer is "libertarianism." Except that's only fourteen letters, dude. Abby claims she'll be ready in two minutes. Jed mildly says, "Take your time." Abby: "Passive aggression is not going to get me out the door any faster." Jed: "BooBoo, I gave up on getting you out the door in the late '70s. Plus it's your birthday: you're old, and you don't move around that fast." She points out that "libertarianism" only has fourteen letters; Jed replies, "I know, so I'm shading in the extra box." Not, apparently, a Grand Wizard of the crossword puzzle. So there's something Jed isn't good at. She adds that it's not her birthday. Jed says it's her birthday week, a week of festivities, like "Mardi Gras, or Lent." And damn lawtalkin'guy anyway, for getting the last RDC Challenge, which was "giving up ______ for Lent," and which I suggested, before I even had this perfect chance to use it. Abby perfumes herself lavishly as Jed fires another clue: "Three letters: 'It may be bitter.' Tea, right?" Abby asks, "Why 'tea'?" Jed: "'Cause 'woman' doesn't fit." Oh, ho ho! Chortle. Abby: "'End,' you idiot. Bitter end." You know, I guess a lot of couples relate this way, by calling each other insulting names in a joking way and telling each other to shut up, but it always makes me slightly uncomfortable. Even if Frink and I are having a huge argument (which in his typical way he prefers to refer to as "spirited debates"), we don't call each other insulting names and we don't abandon rules of general kindness and civility just because we're disagreeing. I guess it works for some people, though.
“ Jed then asks if, when the medical board pronounces their verdict on Abby's hearing, they slap the results up on an x-ray light board and point out the flaws in her testimony, along the lines of tumours in a lung. I'd think that was some pretty thin ice to be skating around on that carelessly. ”
Jed then asks if, when the medical board pronounces their verdict on Abby's hearing, they slap the results up on an x-ray light board and point out the flaws in her testimony, along the lines of tumours in a lung. I'd think that was some pretty thin ice to be skating around on that carelessly. Abby replies in a fake-o voice: "That...that's funny! The other twenty-three jokes weren't funny. Well, it's not that they weren't funny, it's just that they weren't ha-ha funny, you know? But twelve years of medical school, my life, my work, my future, everything, up on the x-ray board, that's comedy!" She walks into a closet off the bedroom. Jed: "See, I know it sounds like you're praising me..." Abby, from offscreen: "Oh, shut up!" He claims it's not her life or twelve years of anything -- that they're going to give her the very least that they can. Abby: "They can't give me the very least they can give me. The least they can give me is a Letter of Concern, which is private and unpublished, but that isn't available to me, because I fought the case and stood by my convictions." She hurls a big shiny stole down on the bed. Jed: "Well, that was stupid." Way to be the supportive and grateful husband, jackass. Wait, I need that name for Josh. Well, we'll see how he acts in this episode. Abby tells him to do his puzzle, and sits on the bed. Jed continues, "Standing by your convictions isn't going to get you anywhere. And this isn't some guy off the street talking. I'm a very successful politician." Abby asks how many people are at the party; he says, "About two hundred, but that was five or six hours ago, when it started." Abby accuses him again of being passive-aggressive. Jed: "'Body organ produces hydrochloric acid.' That's the kidney, right? Or the lima bean?" Lima bean? Abby states, "Pancreas." Um, not so much, no. It's the parietal cells in the stomach lining that produce hydrochloric acid. I know, since I spend a lot of time these days reading about the gastrointestinal system (because I have Leaky Gut Syndrome, which sucks, but at least it isn't Leaky Butt Syndrome), so I feel I'm on fairly sturdy ground here. But thanks for playing. Jed: "See, they can't take medical school away from you." Yeah, that's a big comfort to her, I'm sure. I know it would be to Jed, if the situation were reversed.
Jed tells Abby to "come here." They both stand up; he grabs his tuxedo jacket and puts it on with the Coat Flip ( Martin Sheen) and says, "I know you're scared. I'm very confident. So you be whatever you want. Whatever happens, happens tomorrow. Tonight is your birthday party. And your earrings are great and so are your shoes" ( Andrew Shepard). "So can we, for the love of God, get out of this room?" Abby asks Jed if it was good to get that off his chest. He says, "Yeah," and we have credits. And now, thanks to Glark, we know the lyrics for the opening theme. And in the name of all that is holy, I just spent an hour recapping less than three minutes. This promises to be a long night and then an even longer day.
“ Marbury slithers over to Abby and proclaims, 'Your breasts are magnificent!' And no, this isn't one of those things where I dream up some dialogue, and then tell you I'm kidding. He really said that. ”
Jed and Abby are walking down a long red carpet in a huge hallway lined with guards and agents of various sorts. He's regaling her with the menu: "Pheasant and morel consomm, miniature ravioli of foie gras and smoked goose confit, a little Canary melon sorbet as a palate cleanser, all served on the finest Lenox china." She asks if he planned this all himself. He rambles on about the wine as she repeats her questions. Jed: "I'm like Gatsby, but without the problems." If you say so, dude. As they approach the door to the party room, Abby expresses her hope that they're going to keep it relaxed tonight, and states that she's not up for a lot of "First-Lady fanfare" tonight. Well, he's in a tux and you're wearing a lavish, not to mention probably pretty expensive (and expansive) dress, so I don't know how low-key this party's going to be, given that there are two hundred guests...but hope springs eternal. Jed: "Hmm...I kinda wish you'd mentioned that before."
And the doors open and the brass band strikes up, and someone announces their entrance. Abby plasters on a smile as Jed assures her it's going to be relaxed. They walk in. Everyone applauds, cameras flash, and Jed mutters to her that they're having kumquat Napoleons for dessert. She mutters through her gritted teeth, "Shut up." I think Sorkin cuts up cookbooks and menus from pretentious restaurants and then fishes pieces of paper out of a hat to come up with these menu items.
Josh zooms over, with Amy in tow, to wish "Mrs. B." a happy birthday. He kisses Abby on the cheek, as does Amy. Jed also gives Amy a perfunctory smooch on the cheek. Jed and Josh do not kiss. Amy's wearing a white sleeveless dress with botanical motifs appliqud in black sequins. It's...somewhat reminiscent of a certain era of drapes. What is with the dresses this week? ["That one, I liked." -- Wing Chun] Abby announces to Josh and Amy that she's "responsible for the two of them" (so now all you Amy haters know who to blame, as if Abby doesn't have enough problems) and thinks she should have gotten some credit for that. Josh: "Well, the jury's still out." Indeed. Sounds like it's hung. Abby expresses her hope that Donna's coming. Jed says she is: "All the women of the West Wing. We're doing a calendar." I guess they issue invitations by sex around this place. Josh doesn't know what's keeping Donna.
Suddenly we hear a frighteningly familiar voice bellow, "Abigail!" Yes, it's Lord Marbury. Jed: "Now it's a party." Abby tries to rise to Marbury's level of enthusiasm, raising her hand and saying, "Yes, Your Lordship!" Marbury slithers over to her and proclaims, "Your breasts are magnificent!" And no, this isn't one of those things where I dream up some dialogue, and then tell you I'm kidding. He really said that. He kisses her on both cheeks and she's all, "Oh, um, thank you, John." And really, what else can she say? I'm sure that's what Miss Manners would have advised, in this specific situation. I'm wondering what Amy thinks of this comment. Marbury slips his arm around her waist, no doubt groping her ass under all that damn fabric, and says to Jed, "May I inquire, Mr. President, the first thing that attracted you to Abigail, was it her magnificent breasts?" Yes, really. John and Abby pose for a picture as she says, "It was." Oh, don't encourage the drunken boor, for God's sake. Jed, evenly: "You know, John, there are places in the world where it might be considered rude to talk about the physical attributes of another man's wife." Because she's Jed's property, see? Not because it might be insulting or offensive in and of itself to the woman in question. So all you unmarried broads are on your own. Marbury: "My God! Really?" And I'd like to be able to tell you that this is the last we'll be hearing about anyone's great tracts of land, but sadly, it's not the case. Marbury grabs a couple of glasses of champagne, gives one to Abby, and keeps the other for himself, ignoring Jed's expectant, outstretched hand, and declares, "I bring you warm wishes from Her Royal Majesty!" She sent you? Geez, wasn't Howard Stern available? Marbury says, "Would that I could deliver the same wishes for you, Mr. President." Jed wonders what he's done now. Marbury insists, "Brendan McGann cannot visit the White House." Man, he's been on screen all of ninety seconds and he's already way over his quota of italics. Don't make me type an extra seven keystrokes every six words, buddy. I don't care if you are the reincarnation of Henry the Eighth. Jed acknowledges that they knew there would be a "thing" about this, but points out that it doesn't have to be tonight. Marbury agrees, and says he'll take it up with Gerald. Abby wonders who Gerald is. Jed indicates he thinks Marbury means Leo. Marbury asks if there's a new Chief of Staff. Jed says no. "Well then, Gerald it is!" About to take his leave, but not without chewing up what's left of the scenery, Marbury tells Abby to enjoy her birthday gala, and then growls, "I shall await a dance!" Abby says she won't make his Lordship wait long. He pronounces, "Excellent," as he leches away. Jed and Abby walk offscreen, Jed saying, "So far, so good." You think?
C.J.'s wandering around the West Wing. Do I even need to tell you she looks fabulous? She's wearing a sparkly beaded dress that could be gold, silver, gray, I don't know...hard to tell on this screen and with the usual lighting. One of those elusive evening neutrals. The best way to describe it is that it tones with the honey and brown shades in her hair. It has spaghetti straps and a very low-cut back (and Allison Janney has a stunning back) and is more or less painted on. She can certainly wear the hell out of evening clothes, although this isn't my favourite of her evening outfits; that honour would probably go to the red gown she wore in "Noel." (Or maybe the royal blue gown in which she told off Tad the Jerkwad. No, the red one.) The ends of her hair are flipped out instead of blown under, and it looks both cute and sophisticated. I wish my hair would look like that when I flip the ends out, but it just looks stupid on me. C.J. walks over to Leo, who's wearing a tux and standing by Margaret, who's in a sparkly halter-style evening gown, with her hair in an elaborate updo. NiCole Robinson has nice shoulders, which this dress shows off. Why can't they do justice by Stockard Channing? Leo asks C.J. to check out a rumour that a Robert Nolan, who is the Chairman of the New Hampshire State Medical Board, is going to recuse himself from Abby's hearing. C.J. wonders who the source is; Leo doesn't know the original source, but says it's coming from the Manchester Union Leader, and adds, "You gotta change taxicabs a couple of times 'cause I don't want the paper knowing we're asking questions." C.J. replies, "That's no problem. What's going on?" Leo just wants to confirm the story first; if it's true, they'll tell Jed about it. C.J. adds, "And one of us -- well, you -- need to talk to Abby tonight about tomorrow." Leo sighs, "Happy birthday, Abby."
As C.J. leaves Leo's office, she runs into Sam, also tuxedoed and looking very fine. ["Eh. I thought the jacket was kind of weird. It didn't look like it fit him right; made him look barrel-chested." -- Wing Chun] Sam points at C.J. and says, "Jack Enlow?" C.J. replies, "No, it's C.J. Cregg, we've met." She shakes his hand and Sam sarcastically says, "And laughed and laughed. Is Jack Enlow at the party yet?" C.J. says she's not at the party yet. Sam: "Fair point." She says, "Look, if you're planning on starting a rumble with Enlow, could I send the press home?" Sam says he's not an instigator. C.J. says he is. Sam: "Yeah, but I'm on the side of the angels." C.J. looks him up and down and says, "I'll say this about you: you can wear a tuxedo." Sam: "I know." C.J.: "I know you know."
Sam and C.J. part, and Sam goes into Leo's office, where Margaret is getting Leo to sign things. Leo asks, "Why is Dalton Millgate coming here?" Sam wonders how Leo knew. Leo asks, "How do you think?" Sam says, "Because you know everything?" Leo: "Yes." Sam explains that Millgate taught Sam for a semester at school; Millgate and his people are having trouble securing funding for a superconductor, and Sam is planning to put him in touch with Jack Enlow. Leo inquires, "You're going to get into a fight with Jack Enlow?" Sam: "Why does everybody think...never mind. I'm just doing him a favour." Leo says okay. Sam asks how Leo's feeling about FLOTUS. Leo: "I was feeling good. And now I'm not." He explains about Nolan's rumoured recusal. Sam thinks that Jed's going to want to call Nolan; Leo says Jed might. Sam insists Jed can't call; it could "send them into a whole new thing." Leo asks, "You ever mix politics and the President's family and get a good result?" Sam: "No." Leo: "Neither have I, and I've been at this a lot longer." Sam says okay. He adds, "Seriously, he can't pick up the phone." Leo asks, "Isn't it called a supercollider?" He points out Sam called it a superconductor. Sam's all, "Whatever." As Sam leaves, Leo advises him to "keep blood off [his] shirt." Sam insists he's not an instigator.
“ I really like the colour of Donna's dress, but it's a bit too much dress for her. Was there a three-yards-for- the-price-of-one fabric sale in Hollywood this week or something? ”
Josh (in a tuxedo, of course) walks down the hallway toward Donna and calls out her name. She's wearing a sleeveless long gown in a soft shade of red, sort of a dark raspberry mousse colour. I really like the colour, but it's a bit too much dress for her. Was there a three-yards-for- the-price-of-one fabric sale in Hollywood this week or something? Donna's hair is styled as usual, but I wish they'd put it up; I bet that would look good on her. Donna's walking around distributing documents; Josh asks what she's doing here. She asks, "Are you having a good time?" He says the party's started. Donna: "Is the champagne flowing as smoothly as the badinage? Are there elegant men 'n beautiful gowns?" Josh says the men are in tuxes. Donna indicates she said "and," not "in." Josh still wants to know why she's not at the party, distracting him from the monstrously annoying and immature yet utterly deserved partner he has in Amy. Donna explains that there was a problem when the Secret Service did its routine background check on the party guests. I'm sorry -- they re-check the White House staff 's background for each and every party? Well, if those were my tax dollars, I think I'd have something to say about that. Turns out there was a problem with Donna. Josh points out the blindingly obvious: that she works in the White House. Donna doesn't know what the problem is. Josh urges her to come to the party with him. He puts his hand lightly on her waist to urge her along. It doesn't stay there long, though, because Donna's bustling around. She doesn't think she should go: "They'll shoot me." A bit given to drama, our Miss Moss. She says she was told they'd get back to her. Josh asks, "Do you want me to get into it?" Donna says, "That'd be very nice." As he leaves, he says, "You look good." She thanks him.
Just beyond where Josh and Donna were talking, in the lobby, Sam walks up to Hector Elizondo, who must be playing Dr. Dalton Millgate. They shake hands, and Sam says it's been a long time. Millgate concurs. Sam remarks, "And now the student becomes the teacher, huh?" Dr. Millgate: "Not really, no." Sam retorts, "Well, I'm going to be President someday! POTUS told me so! So nyah nyah nyah!" No, he doesn't. But given some of the other dialogue in this episode, you could be forgiven if you were fooled for a moment.
Sam and Millgate walk toward Sam's office as Sam asks, "So, did I disappoint you when I didn't go into physics?" Millgate: "No. You were bad at it." Sam begs to differ. Millgate begs to differ. Sam says he just needed a little encouragement. Millgate thinks not. Sam says, a little testily, "Look, Congress isn't going to fund your damn superconductor, all right?" But I think he's joking. Millgate corrects him: "Supercollider. Superconducting supercollider. This is exactly what I'm talking about. A fifty-four-mile tunnel, 150 feet below ground, in which protons and anti-protons would be flung into each other at the speed of light." Cool. Millgate asks, "Can you remember that?" Sam can. Millgate: "Good, because when you talk about it, you shouldn't sound like an idiot." I get on the horn to Professor Frink, who's up to his ass in various project rollout-related alligators, to get the customized Physics for Dummies version of supercolliders. He sends along this little joke for y'all: An electron, a proton, and a neutron walked into a bar which had a sign, "All drinks $1.00." The electron said, "Hey guys, we only have $2.00 among the three of us." The proton said, "Don't worry, there's no charge for the neutron." The electron said, "Are you sure?" The proton answered, "I'm positive." I know, I know. He's at HaHa's in Cleveland on the 16th. Back to Millgate: "There's no lobby for this, Sam. There's no presence in Washington. It's just me on the Amtrak coming to see you. That's how seriously the government takes it!" Sam points out that Congress spent $2 billion on this already; Millgate indicates that all they did was clear the land and build the lab. "We need the thing...now is he there?" These particle physicists, they're never happy. Sam: "The Senator?" Millgate says yeah. Sam says he is. Millgate plants his butt and tells Sam to go talk to him. Sam says he will, but thinks Enlow will say that this is an "unaffordable luxury." Millgate states, "We're losing the race for discovery, Sam. For discovery. Tonight it's just me and you." Sam: "That doesn't really sound like enough." Millgate: "No." Sam leaves, asking what hotel Millgate's staying at. He's not. He's sitting there in Sam's office until he gets an answer. Frankly, if Millgate isn't going to talk to Enlow himself, why does he have to take a train to Washington to sit in Sam's office? It's not like he has to put Sam in a headlock to get him to do this for him. ["Contrivance must have bought Millgate's ticket and driven him to the station." -- Wing Chun] Sam argues that the West Wing is not like a drive-up window, but he doesn't get very far; the good doctor barks that Sam's wasting time. Sam takes off.
“ They dance, but it's the dance of the doomed: the relentless power-dating lobbyist and desperately immature, relationship-addled high-profile politico. ”
Chuck vamooses. Amy asks, "'About the thing?' You guys pulling a heist?" Josh smirks and says no. Amy wheedles, "Come on, let me in on the action. I can be a dame." You so can't. "I won't blow the whistle, get you cheesed." "Get you cheesed"? As they start to walk, Josh says, "No, Mugsy, Chuck Kane heads Intergovernmental Affairs at Treasury and he wants a job on the campaign as Deputy Political Director." Amy asks if he's going to get it; Josh doesn't think so. Amy wants to know who else is being considered. Josh says, "Mark Rothman and Robbie Gill." Amy says, "Hmm. I was just thinking 'Mark' and 'Robbie' are funny names for women." ["Robbie could be a woman. Well, okay, only on Dawson's Creek, with Joey and Devon and Andie and...uh...that girl Jim." -- Wing Chun] Josh says they're men, as he grabs Amy to get her to dance with him, probably hoping that will avert the argument he can suddenly see coming. Amy says she knows. Josh says, "They happen to be men." Yeah, funny thing, that...how so many of the people in power just happen to be men. Weird. It's like an X-File. Amy tells Josh they're not hiring enough women in senior positions for the campaign. They dance, but it's the dance of the doomed: the relentless power-dating lobbyist and desperately immature, relationship-addled high-profile politico. Josh asks Amy how she knows. She says it's her job to know. Josh says they're in a dangerous area. Amy says, "If women were the only voters, Democrats would win in a landslide every time. If men were the only voters, the GOP would be the left-wing party." Well, I'm not sure it breaks down to quite that extreme a degree. "Women are going to be 60% of your vote. Don't you think they should make up, I don't know, 40% of the campaign staff?" Why set your sights so low? Josh: "Let me tell you why this is a dangerous area: because I can't make decisions based on the fact that I like your smooth skin." Oh, ick. Amy's silent for a moment and has a look on her face that is probably supposed to be reflective but comes across more as petulant and says, "You're right." Josh: "You're trying to trick me." Amy: "No, you're really right. This should be off-limits for us." And if you believe she thinks that, I have some Enron stock you'll be quite interested in. Amy apologizes and snuggles up. Josh: "You're trying to trick me." He stops dancing. She says she isn't. Josh: "I'm gonna be scared for the rest of the night." You're not the only one. Interestingly, Amy picks this moment to say, "Hey, what happened to Donna?" She sure knows how to play him. Josh is all, "Donna. Yes." He buzzes off immediately.
Josh runs into Leo, who asks where POTUS is. Josh says he and Charlie went off to work on the toast. Leo starts to say that he's going to need a few uninterrupted minutes with someone, but doesn't get to finish, because we hear John, Lord Marbury brightly exclaiming, "Gerald!" Leo: "Yeah." Marbury: "Gerald...old sock!" Josh: "Gotta go!" Leo: "Yeah." Leo makes a mental note for Josh's performance evaluation of his desertion in the face of lunatic Brit-ness.
“ All those struggling with delegation issues should study Leo McGarry. ”
Marbury: "Brendan McGann cannot come to the White House." If I'm smart, I'll just make a macro for that phrase right now. Leo walks along, asking John how he is. He says he's fine, but, "Brendan McGann cannot come to the White House." Leo, spotting his salvation: "Hang on...Toby!" Toby starts to walk over when he hears Leo's voice, and then sees Marbury and kind of stops in his tracks. He can tell there's no way out, but he just freezes there. Leo says, "You know Toby Ziegler." Marbury says they've met. Leo says, "Toby, come here." Toby does. Leo reintroduces Marbury and Toby (and Leo calls him "Lord John Marbury," instead of "John, Lord Marbury," but considering John calls Leo "Gerald," I don't think he has any right to complain). Toby: "Good evening, Your, uh, Lordship." Marbury stammers, "Uh, well, good evening, yes." Leo orders Marbury, "Talk to him about McGann," and takes off. All those struggling with delegation issues should study Leo McGarry.
Toby asks if Marbury has objections to McGann coming to the White House. Marbury: "My objections are irrelevant. I convey the objections of Her Majesty's Government." Toby: "Which are?" Marbury: "He's a terrorist." Toby: "Well, let's hang on a second: Sinn Fin is a political party; in fact, the oldest in Ireland." Marbury: "And the political wing of the IRA...a terrorist cell. You are honouring a man at your St. Patrick's Day dinner allied with car bombers and murderers of British soldiers, this not to mention Irish men, women, and children." Toby: "Yes, sir." Marbury continues, "And you're doing it to appease Democrats from New York City and Boston." Toby says McGann's not being honoured, he's only being invited. Marbury asserts, "He shouldn't be given a visa." Toby: "And I think we have to be careful how we use the word 'terrorist.'" Good God almighty. I howled so loud at this I thought my neighbours would call the police. That's rich, especially coming from the Toby of "Night Five." John snorts out a little sigh. Toby, struggling to establish some sort of more comfortable rapport: "Can I call you 'John'?" Marbury's reply: "I am John, Lord Marbury, Earl of Croy, Marquess of Needham and Dolby, Baronet of Brycey, England's Ambassador to the United States." I have the vague feeling there are some peerage errors there but I'll leave it to some Debrett's geek to figure it out. "And a terrorist is a terrorist even if he wears a green tie and sings 'Danny Boy.' Yes, you can call me 'John.'" Toby smiles and asks if Marbury feels like a drink, to which Marbury replies, "Does the Queen Mum have a monobosom?" No, he actually says he was looking for some Lagavulin, whatever that is. I don't drink, nor do I care. He then explains, "It's a sixteen-year-old islay, single malt." Toby: "I know Lagavulin." Marbury: "They usually have it here." Toby suggests that they go down the street: "The guy keeps a bottle there." Marbury's only too happy to follow the guy who knows where to get the right booze.