Original subtitles

[SOULFUL MUSIC]

Bye.

[SINGING IN SPANISH]

Can I have one more?

Thanks.

I'm cold.

[DOOR CREAKS]

[DOOR CREAKS]

[KNOCKING]

[FOOTSTEPS]

[SHUFFLING]

[WATER RUNNING]

[MOANING]

[SANDING]

[BLOW]

[SANDING]

Fuck!

[DRYER DOOR]

[DRYER DOOR]

[CLOTHES HANGER]

You want to walk around outside for a while?

What if we run into the neighbors?

I need a fix.

[SIGHS]

[BREATHING]

[SHUFFLING]

Ah, damn.

[KEYS JINGLING]

Where is she?

[ENGINE STARTS]

[TURN SIGNAL INDICATOR]

[MUFFLED SHOUTING]

Shit.

[DOOR CREAKS]

[HEAVY BREATHING]

[ERRATIC BREATHING]

Shit.

Shit.

[DOOR CLOSES]

[ERRATIC BREATHING, SNIFFLING]

[FOOTSTEPS]

We're busted.

Maybe she's alone.

What should we do?

"It is vain for the coward to flee.

Death follows close behind.

It is only by defying it that the brave escape--" Voltaire.

[HEAVY BREATHING]

[DOORBELL RINGS]

[DOOR CREAKING]

Hello?

Anyone there?

[DOOR CREAKING]

[DOOR CLOSES]

Who are you?

Do I know you?

Is there anyone else in here?

No.

What are you doing here?

What are you doing here?

Why are we whispering?

What's your name?

It's Ivy.

I live here.

No, you don't.

My grandmother lives here.

What do you mean you live here?

There's not even furniture in here.

Are you going to hurt me?

Am I going to hurt you?

Are you going to hurt me?

You just walk in on us in the middle of the night, vulnerable?

Am I going to hurt you?

Who's "us"?

Just tell me.

If you're going to hurt me, I have to know now.

Sh, sh, sh.

Why are you shushing me?

You woke him.

Who?

Our neighbor.

Neighbor?

What neighbor?

You have no neighbors.

Let's go take a walk.

OK.

[DOOR CREAKING]

[DOOR CLOSING]

Why are you locking the door?

It's OK.

Just watch out for scorpions.

What?

Where?

Vegas.

Everywhere.

In the condo?

No.

[LAUGHS] Oh my God.

So when I first saw the two of you, I felt relieved, and--

I saw you the first time you came in.

Who's the guy on the floor?

My friend.

He's pretty.

Why wasn't he in bed with you?

Why was he on the floor?

Well, we don't fuck, and he hasn't

been able to sleep on a mattress for the past six months.

Sorry we scared you.

I mean...

Sorry.

We scared you.

Well, I'm literally afraid of living alone by myself.

Monophobia.

Yes, monophobia.

That's right.

No one I've ever met has --

where'd you learn that word?

Well, I've only been on an airplane once in my life.

And there was a magazine-- and there was a crossword in it--

in the seat flap in front of me.

"Monophobia" was one of the solutions.

That was the first and only time I ever flew.

That was the first and only time I ever did a crossword puzzle.

You remember firsts.

Like, I remember the first time I

smoked crack but not like the second

or the third or the fourth.

You can forget I said that last part.

So did you ever experience any real trauma

when you lived alone?

Never lived alone.

I went straight from living under my parent's roof

to my grandma's apartment to dormmates, to my own apartment,

where my boyfriends would stay the night or to their apartments

when they wouldn't.

So yeah, I guess I've never lived alone.

You moved from your parents' to your grandparents'?

Yeah, I didn't have any other choice.

Sorry.

We're kind of nomads.

We're homeless just now.

Or no, that's not right, is it?

We found your door unlocked.

We get lucky like that sometimes.

Open houses sometimes.

Why did you say your grandma lives there?

Nobody lives there, not for the past three days, anyway.

Don't call the police.

We were only going to stay a little longer.

[DOG BARKING]

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

It's OK, sweetheart, come here.

Go.

Get out.

Go, go, go.

Hi--

I'm sorry.

Hey, let's go.

Go, go.

[DOG BARKING]

Are you OK?

You want to go back inside?

No.

Why did you move in with your grandma?

Well, when I was 10 years old, I had

a big sister and a little sister,

a mother who loved her mother and a father

who hated his mother-in-law.

Every Sunday, Dad used to drive us up to Grandma's house.

She lived up in Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn,

in the same old railroad-shaped two-bedroom apartment

she'd lived in since 1950.

The place always reeked of borscht.

I never cared for it.

I prefer split pea.

[CHUCKLES] Dad drove a station wagon, classic, terrible gas

mileage, but, man, did me and my sisters love that thing.

We'd be crawling back and forth from the back seat

to the rear of the wagon and back again,

foraging for secret treasures.

There were secret treasures?

Sometimes.

When we finally got to Grandma's house,

Dad would just drop us off, like an Uber driver,

and he'd head straight off to the movies alone.

He'd see two movies, that's how much he hated my grandma.

But first he'd drink, that's how much he hated himself.

But still, well, sometimes he'd hide little secret treasures

for his girls to find in the folds of the blankets

in the back seat, that's how much he loved us.

Then one Sunday morning, we were all getting dressed

for grandma's.

My parents had been fighting from daybreak.

Broke my mother's heart that my dad hated her mother so much.

She was pregnant, again, seven months.

She'd been praying for a boy.

The last words my father ever said to me as he backed out

of the driveway were, "Ivy, put your seat belt on."

I can't explain it, but even though I

was the only one in that car wearing a seat belt, the beeping

sound that goes off when the driver and the front seat

passenger aren't wearing theirs--

silent that day, muted.

It's like the belts themselves were

part of this otherworldly conspiracy.

And you know the guardrails on the Southern State Parkway

on Long Island on the route to Brooklyn?

They're made out of wood, still are, even today.

Yeah, well, that old station wagon

turned those guard rails into splinters.

Fuck.

My mother screamed.

None of the rest of us screamed.

We didn't know enough to.

Well, the car overturned into a gully.

I was the only survivor.

So that's when my grandma took custody of me.

Grandma, she didn't want me growing up fearful of driving,

so as soon as I was old enough to get my learner's permit,

she decided she was going to get hers too, her first one, at 60.

[CHUCKLES] We took our road test the same day,

and Grandma fell in love with driving after the accident.

And then when it came time for me to go to college,

well, Grandma wanted to go back too.

You know, the first thing I did when I moved in with my grandma

was go to the movies, my dad's old hideout.

I described him to all the managers there.

They all still remembered him.

They thought he was cool.

Why did your dad hate your grandma so much?

Well, see, Grandma was always telling my mom

all that she was doing wrong in raising us and telling

him all that he was doing wrong in raising us.

And my dad, he didn't like anybody telling him

how to raise his children, and he

didn't like anybody telling the woman he

loved how to raise hers either.

But my mother, she loved her mother.

She even cut her hair like grandma, [CHUCKLES]

all ugly, short, unflattering.

My dad hated it.

But it was her tribute.

Grandma used to always call our pediatrician a shoemaker.

[CHUCKLES] I'm not exactly sure how that's an insult,

but, boy, did she like to spit out those words at her daughter

and her son-in-law.

Well, how did you feel about all that?

Well, I liked my shoemaker.

I never blamed Grandma for the accident.

She never blamed herself.

I'll talk to her about it someday.

What did your father do...

before?

He was a mad man.

Excuse me?

I mean in every sense of the word.

He worked on Madison Avenue in market research,

advertising, statistics.

I don't know what he did.

Those guys are supposed to be wild,

drinking, tax shelters to hide their excessive bonuses,

infidelities.

Did he cheat?

No, he didn't cheat.

I could hear him and my mom having sex all the time.

You never told him to get a room?

It was his room.

"Ivy, you put your seat belt on."

Do you remember the last words your father ever said to you?

My parents are still alive.

So what are you going to do here?

Well, after high school, I enrolled in a two-year school,

community college, mostly so I could

keep living with my grandma, but I

guess I really wanted to learn something too,

only I transferred out as soon as I

discovered they offered a fully accredited course in bowling.

[CHUCKLES]

So what are you both doing here?

Well, Grandma, she used to study 20th Century Western European

History as a major at a four-year school when she was

young.

She was always wicked-smart.

[CHUCKLES] God, bowling!

Around the time I dropped out was

when she started getting spooked at her old apartment,

said she was seeing apparitions of my mother, her daughter,

decided she couldn't live there anymore.

So she sold the place, wanted to move far away.

She firmly believes California is

going to sink right into the ocean in her lifetime,

so we both applied to UNLV, we both got accepted,

me as a transfer student.

We wanted to live off campus, so we came down here

a couple months ago, bought this place.

Well, she bought it.

Movers packed us up already, but Grandma

said she wanted to drive, told me I should fly in,

get a head start at making this place livable for us.

What?

What's funny?

Beat you to it.

[CHUCKLES] You know, my flight was canceled last night

due to violent storms forecast to pass through here.

Were there any violent storms here last night?

I...

don't know.

I got rebooked on another late flight

to Phoenix, rented a car there at midnight, drove all night,

cried the entire five hours until I

got to a supermarket that was open 24 hours.

There where people, slot machines.

Well, hey, maybe if you had done the in-flight crossword puzzle,

it would have taken your mind off the possibility

of the plane crashing.

First flight?

I'm not afraid of flying.

I like roller coasters, too.

And I survived the crash.

What's your name?

Ingrid.

Ingrid.

Ingrid, who's the man on the floor?

I trust that man with my life.

Have you ever trusted anyone with your life?

My dad.

I suppose my dad.

I trusted him with my life.

So you've never had your own place?

I did once for about a year, my sex apartment.

First guy, I met him on a dating site.

He worked in radio and had a great voice.

Our first date was the night I moved into my apartment.

On our second date, he undressed me.

He was good, took direction well.

Sometimes he didn't even need any.

We saw each other for six months, spent every single night

together, except on nights he went away for work.

I went and stayed with my grandma.

And then one night after sex--

well, actually one morning after sex--

he went to go take a shower, and I started changing the sheets.

And that's when I found them.

What's the vernacular?

Skid marks, yeah, skid marks--

that's what I found, on his side of the bed.

[LAUGHS] Well, maybe he farted in his sleep.

Or you, maybe you farted in your sleep.

Right?

I didn't know what to do, panicked, ran for the hills,

took the bleakest view of having to wash fecal matter out

of my sheets the moment he walked out the door.

[CHUCKLES] I called him later that night from my grandma's,

told him I had unresolved feelings

about my last boyfriend, a Black man.

Why the fuck did I say he was a Black man?

[CHUCKLES]

Well, did you have unresolved feelings about a Black man?

Never.

In terms of people with penises, he's

about as good as I ever got.

What makes you think your grandma's really coming here?

I'm just saying.

[CLANGING DISHES]

[SOUND OF URINATING]

Hi.

[SOUND OF URINATING]

Hey, can I ask you a question?

You have a symmetrical name.

A vowel, a consonant, and a letter that's a hybrid.

What's your grandma's name?

Ursula.

Close.

It starts and ends with vowels, anyway.

Hey, let's go swimming.

OK.

Do you have a swimsuit?

Do I have a swimsuit?

No.

[SOUND OF SWIMMING]

Have you ever had a great romance?

Almost, skid mark guy.

That was an almost.

How long were you together?

Seven months-- six months.

I haven't given up on men altogether.

It's just so hard having so many preconceptions.

Misconceptions.

I've never had any misconceptions about girls.

My friend's name is Ian.

You're not from New York, are you?

I don't have an accent.

I grew up in New York.

No way, me too.

What part?

Long Island, Massapequa.

Fuck me.

Massapequa High School?

Yeah.

Me too.

I don't believe you.

And how old are you?

Younger than I look.

I'm not vain about my age.

It's just that, existentially, I'm a hot mess.

Both my parents are gynecologists.

That's convenient.

[SCOFFS] My dad stopped having sex with my mother as soon

as she became pregnant with Abigail, my sister.

After Abigail was born, they both sort of

lost interest in it, in each other.

The problem was she decided she wanted another kid.

She?

Yeah, at 43.

The way my mom tells it, she raped my father.

She planned the whole thing meticulously.

It started when she said she wanted to check his prostate--

and she really did-- to see if it was enlarged.

He'd never had a colonoscopy before, pathological fear.

So that was the ruse, anyway, and she

knew that her examination would get him hard.

And after that, he was putty in her hands.

The next day, he accused her of violating her Hippocratic oath.

And her response to this accusation?

Violate another oath.

She had an affair with a model.

And Dad left her, a fait accompli.

No drama, at least not for my mother.

Dad didn't know she was already pregnant.

The model didn't know she was pregnant either.

And my parents reconciled two weeks before I was born.

You need a scorecard.

[CHUCKLES] Boy, was I ever unplanned.

I'm an afterthought.

I have a niece I've never met.

Why did they name you Ingrid?

Ingrid Bergman, star of the movie Casablanca.

My dad liked blondes.

My sister is 20 years older than me.

Twenty years?

What does she do?

Gynecologist.

Where is she now?

Scandinavia.

To live?

Early this century she'd just graduated medical school,

and she went on a two week holiday

to Norway to see the fjords, the glaciers, tour Finland.

In Helsinki, she met a man from Oslo, and two weeks

after that she was learning Norwegian.

[CHUCKLES] Blondes.

Do you even remember her?

Abigail?

Well, the only vivid memory I have of her

is the day she babysat me, and we played Operation.

You ever hear of that?

Mhm.

She made me nervous.

My sister made me nervous.

I kept banging that metal stick into every internal body part,

and she screamed that I'd killed the patient

and that I didn't even have any insurance.

The patient didn't have insurance?

No, me.

I didn't know.

I was six.

I'd never heard the word "insurance" in my life.

But sure as shit, I didn't have any, so I was royally screwed.

Because of the difference in our age,

I grew up on my own, a scallywag.

And when I was nine, my parents kept the basement door locked,

and that's where they kept the washer and the dryer.

And scallywags tend to get dirty.

And the basement was bizarrely soundproofed.

I had to know what kind of evil was going on down there.

And there was a kid at school who was constantly

breaking into kid's lockers, so I paid him to come over one day

and pick the lock.

I didn't think my parents were home.

We crept down the stairs, and he went to work on the door

to my father's study.

And I pulled the door open 2 inches,

and my father was singing, serenading my mother in Gaelic.

His grandfather was Irish.

Gynecologist?

Yeah.

Then they noticed I was there, and they both looked at me.

None of us spoke.

I felt like I'd just invaded something sacred.

And they stopped locking the basement door after that.

And I was sneaking around in his office.

I found his journal and pictures taken at Church of the Rock,

which is in Helsinki.

My best friend growing up got her tubes tied when she was 21,

not a thing wrong with her.

Now, that's what I call making a statement.

Stop spying on us.

Just come in.

No.

I just wanted to ask Ian if I could read one of the books

on the bookshelf.

No.

No?

Really?

No?

My grandfather wrote a book.

You can read that one.

It's not great literature, but it's a love story for the ages.

Great.

Where is it?

Are you decent?

Are you decent?

[SIZZLING]

How am I doing?

That's perfect.

Do you drink wine?

I picked up both red and white.

Why don't you open that bottle?

I don't drink.

OK.

Look, I'm...I'm afraid of sharp things, of bleeding.

Like, with the dog, I love dogs.

Just one scratch and--

yeah, so I'm HIV-positive, so I don't even

touch people unless they already know I'm sick first.

I know it's irrational, but--

give me the corkscrew.

[CORKSCREW RATTLING]

Ian likes to touch me.

That's all.

Just he touches me...

sometimes.

[POP]

That smells really good.

When I was first diagnosed, I was given medication

at Planned Parenthood.

But they're not supposed to anymore because I keep

missing...

skipping visits.

But they do.

[WINE BEING POURED]

[CLANG]

Did you see the closet in there?

Yeah, that's what sealed the deal for Grandma

to buy this place.

Ah, shit!

I forgot to buy bedding.

Come see my dress.

[SHUFFLING]

Too much?

No.

You keep staring at it.

You never shave?

Razors are expensive.

Well, yes, too much for my taste, but, hey.

Raise your right arm.

Higher.

Now let me see all of you.

You didn't bring any bedding with you?

Boxes are being shipped.

It's going to take 10 more days.

Did you pack any treasures?

Marionette, a Russian ballerina.

Grandmother's mother used to--

she modeled for it.

You found it in the back of the station wagon, didn't you?

Not on that day.

I don't remember any treasures that day.

And you still sleep with it?

If I'm alone.

Is it pretty?

Yes.

You're pretty.

[DOORBELL RINGS]

UPS delivery!

I'm a makeup artist.

I'm unkempt, like a yeti.

I'm a paradox.

But really, how many people get to be a paradox, huh?

In high school, I tried out for Drama Club,

the school play, The Music Man.

For my audition, I sang "Till There Was You."

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the student director, a senior,

Nick--

I'd never spoken to a senior before.

It was just he and I and this other senior,

who played the piano, in this vast auditorium.

And after I sang my song, Nick thanked me

and told me to come back Monday morning.

And I walked into the wings--

you can lose yourself in the wings--

and backstage.

And there was a makeup kit there left

by someone, a full makeup kit.

I stole it.

I have no idea why.

I watched movies all weekend long,

and I worked on myself in the mirror all weekend long,

experimenting with makeup.

And by Monday morning, I discovered

I had an aptitude for it, a natural aptitude for it.

After school on Monday, Nick told me

that my singing was terrible, and I was so relieved.

But I asked if I could do the makeup for the show instead.

I don't know where that courage came from.

And we stared at each other for literally an eternity,

four minutes.

[CHUCKLES] He said he had a gut feeling.

He wanted me on his team, not on anyone else's team.

He said that.

So he drafted me as the makeup girl.

I was a freshman.

Everyone except one other actor or member of the technical staff

were seniors, one junior.

But on his team age was irrelevant,

at a time in life when age was always relevant.

For the first time in years, I had a sense of belonging.

Each day after rehearsals, they'd

take me with them to this Italian restaurant, Cristianos.

No one was old enough to drink, but there were pitchers

of beer, food too, but beer.

They were my family.

Then they graduated, and I became a sophomore.

Most went to Europe or Costa Rica for the summer

and then on to college.

No more friends.

No more team.

Not even the director?

Nick-- [CHUCKLES] there was a party

after the second performance.

He pulled me aside.

He thanked me for my work.

Then he shook my hand, [CHUCKLES]

and then he hugged me.

He said we'd work together again.

I should wait for the call.

Pretty arrogant.

I sleepwalked through sophomore and junior years of high school.

Four years later, I get a call from Nick,

from the director of that high school play

that I was too scrawny and tone-deaf to act and sing in.

Amazing.

He'd made a film that was in the Sundance Film Festival

the year before, and he said he'd just

been signed to direct a movie for Netflix, in Los Angeles,

and he wanted me to be the makeup artist.

When does that happen?

He's 25 years old.

I'm 22 years old.

I said I'd do it.

Talk about a man of his word.

Wait.

How did you meet Ian?

Hitchhiking...

to Los Angeles for the gig.

I suppose I was hoping for an adventure.

I'd never hitchhiked in my life.

I decided I was going to get in the first car that stopped,

first car, first driver.

Five minutes-- I waited five minutes...

bam!

Car stops for me.

Enter Ian, stage left.

He told me to jump in, that he was headed to Vegas,

and his car had about 2,400 good miles left in it.

[CHUCKLES] And when I was a little girl,

my favorite candy was Whoppers, malted milk balls.

I glanced down to the passenger seat of the car,

and there was an extra-large box of Whoppers.

It was fate.

You never made it to Los Angeles.

When Ian was in middle school, he signed up to learn German.

Your options were Spanish, French, German,

and Chinese, Mandarin.

He took German, and he had a proclivity for it.

So when he was 13, his parents--

one's a lawyer, one's a doctor--

they told him they'd pay for his college education, full ride.

So he went to college.

He stayed on for his master's, then his PhD, and two years

into researching and writing his dissertation,

the school announced a new policy

eliminating the requirement for dissertations.

He did not care for that new policy.

His parents cared.

They were fed up subsidizing this endless education,

this non-career.

But he spent four years working on it--

"Nietzsche and Social Media in the 21st Century."

Have you read it?

Several times, on the road, as it were.

So why Vegas?

Make money gambling?

[CHUCKLES] No.

Ian had been offered a position as a philosophy professor

at UNLV.

Three days we drove.

He talked to me all day and all night, and I listened.

And he could hear me listen, and that made him happy.

He told me everything.

About all the books he'd read and about the authors

who wrote the books.

I could tell he never had a friend in his life.

He did all the driving.

It was heaven for me.

He got me high that first night at the Best Western

in State College, Pennsylvania.

He'd finally made a friend.

He kept the light on all night in case

he suddenly wanted to read.

I can sleep with the lights on.

Then the second night, we shot up

in the bathroom of a Cracker Barrel,

and he drove 90, an intense 90.

We didn't see the America your grandmother's seeing.

And by the time we arrived in Vegas,

we'd maxed out our combined credit and were broke junkies.

We had just enough money left for a last supper and a midnight

fix, but first we drove to UNLV.

Ian wanted to pick up a printed copy of the fall semester

catalog.

And there was this picture.

We got back into the car, and kismet, it wouldn't start.

And Ian said, I told you it had 2,400 good miles left in it.

[CHUCKLES] And we skipped dinner and dosed.

I was ready to die once, and it didn't happen.

I don't know that I can...

build up to that again.

Why didn't you go on to Los Angeles?

Because I was a fucking junkie.

It happens fast.

When I was a kid, there was this girl at school

who was a diabetic, and in the girls' room,

in the gym locker room, she was always

sticking these ports in her hips and pins in her fingers,

needles in her arm.

And I thanked God that wasn't me, and I'm an atheist.

So you had Ian shoot you up?

Well, when something is that good, God...

imbues you with courage.

We needed money for dope.

I love that word.

I know it's passé, but it's sweet.

We started living in tent city, and I started turning tricks.

After a week, I went to Planned Parenthood for birth control,

and guess what--

I'm already HIV positive.

And I've never slept with Ian, but he's stuck by me.

So birth control became irrelevant.

I also stopped getting my period around the same time,

and I have no clue why.

I met this one junkie.

She told me she used to makeup prostitutes.

But she stopped because makeup was too expensive, and as nice

as her clients were, nobody was paying for her stock.

But some of the girls would still talk to her,

and she introduced me to a few real high-priced call girls.

And I did one of them, and that paid good, well,

good enough for...

dope.

But the girls didn't want me at their houses, around their kids.

And boy oh boy, they see everything at casinos.

I got banned from all of them because of the drugs.

How long have you lived here?

[CHUCKLES] "Lived--" good one.

Almost three years.

I met this dealer on Fremont who was from France,

he only spoke French, and he would sell at a discount

to anyone who could speak French.

So I walked into the local Alliance Francaise one night,

and one month later, our drugs were half-priced.

You learned a second language?

He got deported...

to France.

I've forgotten all the French I ever knew.

How do you get used to it?

It's not hard.

I told you, sometimes we'd find an open door for a day

or so, and this week, we found your grandma's, Ursula's.

Hey, all four of us started out in New York,

and we all wound up at UNLV.

Yeah, but you're leaving.

That's right.

We're leaving.

The country.

Where are you going to go?

Canada?

Mexico.

Mexicans are a lot more compassionate than Canadians.

What are you going to do in Mexico?

Learn Spanish, tout suite.

One day, not night, day.

One day, this guy started beating on me.

He was definitely trying to kill me, kill somebody,

kill something.

Jesus.

Was it a john?

No, just some random guy high on crack.

I was lucky.

Ian had just been in a convenience store.

And he came out.

He must have realized what was happening in a split second.

He killed the guy, shot him three times.

I didn't even know Ian had a gun.

Did he have it with him in the car?

No, but there's a gun shop on every corner in town.

It's the Wild West.

The Department of Tourism wants people to think it's Disneyland,

but it's still the Wild West.

Ian was never arrested?

No.

We just walked away.

He took his shirt off and did the best

he could blotting up my blood.

And then we turned the corner, literally, figuratively.

That was the day all my dreams died for good.

The only thing that mattered after that

was Ian and the books that fill his tiny bookshelves

and his bedtime stories about his grandfather.

Sometimes he would touch my sex like that.

Ian.

Is that what you call your--

didn't Henry Miller call--

My sex.

I love the formality of it.

It deserves formality.

Immanuel Kant.

Who?

German philosopher, Immanuel Kant.

He described it as "her sex."

That's one too many Germans in bed with us.

Henry Miller called it a cunt.

[SNEEZE]

[GIGGLING]

Sh, sh, sh.

[IAN WARMING INGRID'S HANDS]

I'm so cold.

[SOUND OF COFFEE PERCOLATING]

There's a Target nearby.

Would you give me a lift?

Ingrid needs orange juice.

Just the two of us?

Please.

I had a history teacher in 10th grade, Ms. Gosden,

first and only inspirational teacher I ever had.

And she dressed provocatively.

Whenever she gave a homework assignment, I did it,

and I never did homework.

By October, I was teacher's pet.

She said, take this or that book out of the library

for extra credit.

I'd cut my next class to get to the library post-haste

so no one could check it out before me.

I didn't question her ethics for a moment

when she said to jump in her car,

she had something at home to show me.

And she did have something to show me.

On her night table there was a book, Beyond Good and Evil

by Friedrich Nietzsche.

I opened the book to its first page and read the first words.

"Supposing that truth is a woman, what then?"

Eight words.

It's not that it's unanswerable.

It's that it begs an endless stream of other questions,

each one more compelling than the previous one.

Then she showed me how fellatio is performed.

All right, she showed me two things.

I read Nietzsche.

I studied Nietzsche all the next day,

cutting all my classes except hers.

I conferred with my guidance counselor...

about the book.

It was one week after the night of receiving

my first blowjob that I decided to become a philosophy

professor.

Did you continue the affair?

No.

I had a choice to make, Ms. Gosden or Nietzsche.

I chose the latter.

She had other students to sleep with.

Did the experience leave you scarred?

No.

She'll forever remain a hero to me.

What's that noise?

The dryer.

I'm washing my underwear.

They were "gamey."

That's what my mom used to call dirty underwear.

Was there something in particular about this place that

made you guys stay here?

There was a bed.

There's never a bed.

And there was electricity.

There's almost never electricity.

And there was toilet paper...

in both bathrooms.

And you were dilatory in calling 911.

Well, I don't know what "dilatory" means, but sure.

[CHUCKLES] Why didn't you turn on the air conditioner?

We don't like air conditioning.

Plus, there was a fan, three of them.

I'm getting my panties out of the dryer.

My dad was a lawyer and an ADA.

Kept a gun.

He had a carry license for it.

My first Halloween, the first time

I ever went trick-or-treating, I wanted to dress up as a cowboy.

But he wouldn't let me wear a holster, carry a cap pistol.

That was the first time my dad ever pissed me off.

Before that and after that, he spoiled me.

Mom was the disciplinarian.

My mother was an orthodontist.

One time, when I was 12, she said

to meet her at her office, which was actually in our house.

I forgot the appointment.

She came up to my room after work

and said I'd no longer be receiving free dental care.

Idle threat.

I never allowed her to treat me as a patient after that.

I went to a friend of hers, Mrs. Spicer,

a dentist who also worked out of her house.

I never had a cavity, but one of my upper wisdom teeth

came in but not the bottom one.

And she told me I should really let her pull it to prevent it

from eventually growing long enough to do damage

to my lower gums.

She said she'd give me novocaine,

but before she injected me, she gave me nitrous.

My first high.

But the real hero of my life was my maternal grandfather, Lou.

The only one of my four grandparents I ever got to know.

He said his parents named him Lou

after they saw the movie Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein.

When I was a kid, he bought me a VHS copy of it.

It's here, now, with all of us.

Tonight.

To haunt us.

Where?

In my backpack.

Lou was a New York City Sanitation worker, nothing

more, nothing less, proud as hell.

He introduced me to balsa wood.

It had a delicacy the likes of which--

it just felt like books to me.

I made nothing with it.

I just fetishized it.

He would also buy model kits, monster model kits, dozens.

He would work with me to assemble

them using rubber cement.

Dracula, Frankenstein, the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

And then Lou would create environments

for them made out of balsa wood.

Ian?

I like music for strings.

My babysitter would always come over

with her violin and practice.

I have a picture of her.

I went to a postgrad New Year's Eve party

at a dean's home back in New York four years ago.

There I met the dean of the Philosophy Department from UNLV.

By the time the clock struck January,

she'd asked me to join her department.

I could start that fall.

She brought her prized pupils with her to the dean's party,

from Vegas.

One decided to brown-nose the newly-anointed professor.

He gave me a kit, his personal kit, and heroin.

I tried heroin that night at the dean's party

in one of his kids' bedrooms.

I might be the first addict to ever go straight

from nitrous to heroin.

What if, one spring morning, you're driving down the street

and you've been trying to get pregnant.

So your mind turns to the beautiful child

who will soon be umbilically nurturing inside you.

Then you're jolted back to the real world by the sight

of a 60-year-old woman in the crosswalk directly in front

of you.

She sees you coming.

It's too late to slam on the brakes,

so you swerve up onto the curb and bounce back

onto the paved street.

Then you get out of your car, and you

see the woman's dead body.

She died of a heart attack.

Was it your fault?

Do you harbor any guilt?

How long before you try again to procreate?

Is her death on you?

[ENGINE HUMMING]

It's just a delivery truck.

It's not her.

Okay.

He's calculating how many heroin hits

he could have bought with the cost of this rug, isn't he?

Supposing that truth is a woman, what then?

You know, it actually kind of sounds misogynistic to me.

That's right.

If we fear truth, we must fear women.

Quite a syllogism.

Give me another one.

Give me another one?

Please.

You should buy your own copy.

You'll feel as if all the synapses in your brain

have temporarily fused together.

Why only temporarily?

Because Nietzsche's musings often contradict one another.

A philosopher who can't make up his mind?

It's ironic.

Some people say that peeling back the onion

is an expression often used in psychotherapy

as a metaphor for what takes place

during the process of self-discovery,

but psychotherapy and philosophy are polar opposites.

How are you going to get to Mexico?

By the kindness of strangers.

We'll only accept a ride from a family, though,

and as payment I'll introduce the children to literature.

I'll teach.

Like busking?

I suppose, sure.

[UNZIPPING]

Whoa.

That book's on life support.

What is it?

It's time for you to meet Lou.

I loved electricity and billboards.

Electricity was bigger than life.

I'd go to the movies in Times Square

when I was your age, three a day sometimes.

Not to see the pictures, I went to look at the signs.

Biggest neon signs in New York.

I didn't dream of being in the movies,

I dreamed about making those signs.

I tried, but I never did.

After graduating junior high, I worked 16 hours a day,

every day, summers too.

I loved work.

I worked indoors and outdoors.

Daytime, I worked for the sanitation department

and as a janitor and freelance plumber by night.

And that's how I built up the largest private collection

of tools you have ever seen.

You've seen them.

[GIGGLING]

I'd even repair the tools.

My sanitation truck partner was Moe.

Like the Three Stooges?

Yeah, a lot like him.

[LAUGHS] He's a good guy, though,

even though he's a Yankees fan.

[CHUCKLES]

One morning, it was cloudy, low clouds,

lower than I'd ever seen them.

Martians, I figured.

We turned down 66th Street.

Something caught my eye.

So we jump out the truck, and on top of this one trash can

was an oddly-shaped piece of metal.

It was red, not painted red.

It's like red was its natural color.

I'd never seen junk like it before.

So I tossed it in the cab.

I figured I'd turn it into my next tool.

I jump back on.

Moe steps on the gas.

Then I yell, Moe, stop!

I see this woman walking out of the library.

She was wobbling.

I jumped out of the truck, and I grabbed her.

And I put her in the cab.

I take her to the hospital.

She looked like an angel.

And her name was Marian.

And that's when the sun came back out.

[HOSPITAL CAFETERIA CHATTER]

It's called Marfan syndrome.

It's genetic.

As long as it's not bubonic plague, I'm in.

[CHUCKLES] I'm smitten.

[CHUCKLES] I've smittened you.

Is it bad?

It's really bad.

[CHUCKLES]

My life expectancy is 40, which is 5 more years.

And sometimes I get lightheaded, which

is one of the milder symptoms, and that's

what happened to me this morning when you saved me.

Do you have family?

Well, I have my mom and my dad, but they just

look at me with dread and guilt every time they see me.

No kids?

No husband either.

I want a baby so badly.

But I know that I would probably be

dead by the time she was old enough to start school.

That was really selfish of me, right?

Let's make a baby, you and me.

[CHUCKLES]

I make good money, two union salaries.

A pity baby?

No.

[CHUCKLES]

You don't want your kid's pa to be a garbage man.

I wouldn't care if he was an...

if you were an undertaker.

But you're not that.

You're a hero.

Two pensions.

I could put a kid into a good school.

[CHUCKLES]

Well, I have a life insurance policy.

You do?

My dad, he used to sell insurance,

and he bought a policy for me the day I was born.

He bet against me right from the start.

[CHUCKLES]

So?

You'll make a baby with me...

today?

Sure.

I have no scruples.

[CHUCKLES]

It's okay if you marry someone after I die.

Someone else you mean.

What do you say?

Are you seriously asking me to marry you?

Maybe you won't die.

I'll die.

Candidate for the Booker Prize, no, but spectacular,

luminous characters.

Did he marry her?

Please.

Two weeks later, but the conception was that day.

Really?

The honeymoon was in Marian's apartment.

The wedding night was catered by Ray's Pizza, the real,

original Ray's.

My mom was born eight months later.

Every night they read to Violet.

Your mom's name was Violet?

Marian died when her daughter was two years old.

Lou kept reading bedtime stories to Violet

every night, the man who could conjure up

wondrous things using balsa wood and magical red-colored metals.

I was 10 years old when Lou died.

Lung cancer.

My parents were in Europe celebrating their 20th

anniversary.

I came home from school and found him.

It was the second day of spring.

Who remembers anything about the second day of spring?

A perilously expensive long distance phone call to Europe

was out of the question.

Lou was lying on his bed.

Atop his chest was a folded note.

Where were your parents?

What?

In Europe.

Where in Europe?

I don't remember.

What'd the note say?

"Dear Ian, remember, always take the plunge."

I used tongs to pluck the note off his chest.

He killed himself?

Jesus, what an asshole.

I took a wheelbarrow to the 7-Eleven and bought every bag

of ice in stock.

I put the ice on his body so his body wouldn't smell,

Didn't even take the ice out of the bags.

And I stuck a few of his woodworking tools and a toilet

plunger into a backpack and ran away from home.

Why the plunger?

That's what I thought he meant in his note.

Toilets get clogged.

"Take the plunge."

Seemed logical to me.

I was 10.

I never forgave my parents.

For what?

They knew Lou only had four months to live,

yet off they went to Crete.

What do you know?

I do remember where they were.

I don't think I want to read any more of this story.

I'll read you another chapter tomorrow.

You might not want his life to haunt your dreams, though.

When you can read something he wrote, out of context,

and have it be so inspirational to make

manifest this abstract world.

No one I've met since has made as much sense to me.

Ingrid.

Not even Ingrid.

Wasn't the character Ingrid tried out

for in Music Man also named Marian?

Ingrid was hitchhiking.

I picked her up.

You sure are purdy.

[EXHALES]

[SIZZLING]

What's that smell?

I'm staining the bookshelf.

Why'd you make it such a small bookshelf?

It could fit into a large dollhouse,

a large, beautiful dollhouse.

It didn't need to be any larger.

I can only accommodate four books in my backpack

at any given time.

It's...

utilitarian.

I leave each shelf and its contents

behind each time we find shelter.

No Nietzsche?

I've memorized Nietzsche.

I hate this time of year.

What, summer?

Late August.

All the troubles began the first time

I didn't have school to look forward to, in September.

I can't imagine.

I developed an ulcer.

No shit.

Well, my friends, that's it.

Grandma told me it was the most breathtaking perch in all of Las

Vegas, and I believe her.

I believe her.

Come on, we're going.

[GIGGLES]

Excuse me.

Are you going to the top of that thing?

That's the plan.

Would you take my daughter with you?

I suffer from acrophobia.

I don't even know why I brought her here.

You don't?

"Those you cannot teach to fly, teach to fall faster."

What?

Please, I'll gladly pay for everyone's tickets.

What's her name?

Felicia.

Her name is Felicia.

All right, Felicia, let's get high.

I saw a scorpion yesterday.

That's good luck.

It's like finding a four-leaf clover.

Like a leprechaun?

Like a girl leprechaun.

I don't want you guys to go.

What's your name?

I'll give you three guesses.

Don't be a jerk.

Ian's name is a secret.

Is his name Ian?

How did you guess?

Funny people.

Three guesses?

Is that what you told Ingrid when

you picked her up in New Jersey and she

asked what your name was?

No.

What floated your boat when you were a kid?

I mean a real little kid, a tyke.

Killing spiders.

I would also pour cottage cheese in public mailboxes.

You know, I'm beginning to think this whole drug

thing isn't a genetic predisposition after all.

Maybe it was Grandpa's rubber cement that

did a job on your frontal lobe.

Ivy, stop.

OK, OK, OK.

That wasn't cool.

I didn't have any friends my own age either.

I was nine when my parents decided I no longer needed

a babysitter.

They told me to think of it as a promotion.

And the rest of the family was going out for dinner, sashimi.

And I hated sushi, but both my sisters, they loved sushi,

so off they went.

I couldn't believe my dad was leaving me all alone.

I was so scared I threw up.

I tried watching TV.

There was this old movie, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

And then I was so scared, I threw up again.

Our neighbor, who lived across the street, lived alone.

He was a lapidary, and he had a daughter my age

who was kind of a friend.

We used to try on jewelry together.

But his wife divorced him.

And she got custody of my friend,

and he got custody of the house.

Where was I?

Oh, right, right, scared.

So I ran across the street, and I rang his doorbell.

I was crying, and he let me in.

And he was the one who gave me the marionette, not Ursula.

The lapidary.

I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight.

[CHUCKLES] Grandma was right.

This place slays.

Ivy, right?

Hi.

I can't believe you remember.

Jesus, I'm so sorry.

I seem to have forgotten your name.

Please forgive me.

Irina.

Irina, right.

This is Ingrid, Ian.

Ingrid?

Right.

You make friends fast.

No one makes friends fast here.

Yeah, well, they were here when I got here.

What?

What?

Mom, I'll be right there.

I wish I could say he was here when I moved in.

Here's my card.

Text me if you need me.

And don't get any splinters.

And, oh, watch out for scorpions.

What are you doing in here?

Exercising.

You know, I've been considering changing

my major from Early Childhood Special Education to Philosophy.

Don't.

I don't think philosophy can be taught.

Not really.

Nietzsche is the most significant

German-born intellect, his work the most influential

since Martin Luther nailed a copy of his Ninety-five Theses

to the door of Wittenberg Castle.

Every observation Nietzsche made can

be parsed distinctly, unlike the Gospels,

by as many different people as are

willing to be challenged by them.

How do you teach that?

Medicine and etiquette can be taught.

That's about it.

All other so-called knowledge is empirical, experienced.

I wish you'd let me in.

"How could anything originate out of its opposite?

For example, truth out of error, in this paltry world,

in this turmoil of delusion and cupidity..."

Slower.

What are you doing?

I'm learning?

What are you going to do with it?

What are you going to do with it?

Again, please.

"How could anything originate out of its opposite?

For example, truth out of error, in this paltry world,

in this turmoil of delusion and cupidity..."

[DOOR CREAKS]

Well, our little Jackson Pollock is home.

Yeah, I did some shopping.

Do tell.

Well, on top of the fact Ursula's birthday is next week,

her favorite color is turquoise.

Quite frankly, this green color on the walls is sickly.

It's hospital green.

It's been hard for me to sleep around this color.

Let's get to it.

You have painter's tape?

Lou?

Lou.

Yeah, I have a few more bags right out here.

Busted.

So you smoke weed?

It's not legal yet in New York.

I kind of feel like a tourist here, so novelty item?

I also got malted milk balls.

Honey, there are three rollers in this bag.

Presumptuous, huh?

OK, let's play.

Which wall first?

Did you used to go trick-or-treating on Halloween?

Just once.

I was a cowgirl.

[CHUCKLES] I had the whole fringed outfit, 10-gallon hat,

six-shooter and the holster.

I was inspired that year.

See my dad had taken my mom to a local dinner theater

on their very first date.

The show was Annie Get Your Gun.

That's how he got her.

She fell in love with everything about him that night.

She let him get all the way to third base that night.

She told you that?

[CHUCKLES] The first time she told me about sex.

Bold.

He took her to a lot of Broadway musicals after that.

He preferred comedies, but, well, her favorite show

was Annie Get Your Gun.

I was my mother's daughter that Halloween.

What will your field of study be at UNLV?

Bowling.

[CHUCKLES]

Ian?

Early Childhood Special Education.

Good on you.

She's going to love this color.

So what are you going to do when she gets here?

What are you talking about?

Well, you can sleep on the sofa.

Or I'll sleep on the sofa, and you guys

can have the bed in the second bedroom.

When the truck arrives with her things, I want you guys to stay.

I don't want you going to Mexico.

I think we make a good team.

[FOOTSTEPS]

[DOOR CREAKING]

Ingrid?

Ian?

And just like that, they vanished.

[DOOR CREAKING]

Good morning.

We took a walk to the market.

I got my period.

Yay.

Crazy, right?

[COGNAC BOILING]

[SIZZLING]

Bon appétit.

It's good.

Thank you.

Let me ask you this.

Did you ever want--

think you might want to have a baby?

I don't remember.

I don't.

I don't remember.

What an odd way to answer that question.

I did.

Yeah?

A boy, so I could somehow mold him into another Lou.

I always thought there would be hope for the world

if someone like Lou walked among us anew.

[GIGGLING] "Anew"?

Bless you.

It got really hot today.

Grandma's apartment was so old the radiator played

a constant symphony whether heat was coming up or not, if memory

serves.

Maybe the heat will make noise here too.

You know, Ian, you're not a misanthrope.

You only dislike yourself.

[CHUCKLES] Why did I say that?

Philosophy.

I think Ursula is scamming you.

I think the reason she took so long to drive here,

off the grid, was in the hopes that you'd overcome

your monophobia...

alone.

Hey, baby, does Ursula wax her pussy too?

Really?

Have you ever seen your grandmother naked?

Did you ever see your grandfather naked?

You think she wants men to fantasize that they're

fucking an eight-year-old girl?

Ian, your grandfather killed himself.

It's the most selfish thing anyone can do.

He left you behind, Ian.

He had four more months, four more months,

and he robbed you of it.

He gave a woman he loved the chance to experience motherhood,

to fulfill herself, when no one else would.

I think he was just exploiting her illness.

Her free will was at a premium when they met.

Maybe she might have lived longer than she did

had she never become pregnant.

All right.

I got one.

I got one.

What do you call an impotent business executive?

A board member.

[GIGGLES]

I got one.

The mouse was a ventriloquist.

Wait.

No, I-- what's the setup?

I forgot the setup.

No fair, baby.

He can't tell jokes.

Of course I can.

No, you "kant."

Get it?

"Kant" with a K?

Does he ever shut that door?

When he vomits.

That's so sad.

No.

I'm glad he keeps the door shut then.

I should have created crossword puzzles.

When you're a girl with hairy legs and hairy pits,

you wind up with an awful lot of me time.

Do you ever regret that Ian picked you up hitchhiking?

Regret?

No.

Why?

Maybe he'd already decided not to come to Las Vegas at all,

not to take the job at UNLV.

You do have quite the imagination.

I don't know.

Maybe he was just driving off to his favorite diner

in New Jersey, or going off to Citi Field

to relive his glory days with Lou.

He had a backpack full of clothes and wood and tools

and books.

Maybe he had a junkie girlfriend waiting on him in Pennsylvania.

Is your grandmother actually on her way here?

Does she really own this condo?

Do you even have a grandmother?

What?

I think she was also in that station wagon of death,

and you still can't come to grips with that.

You see, we really don't know you at all.

Yeah, that trip to Crete--

I think, deep down, Violet really

hated her father, so selfish.

He was ready to die, without an audience.

Yeah, but Ian, you weren't ready for him to die.

[TEXT TONE]

Shit.

You guys have to go.

What are you talking about?

I don't know what I was thinking.

She's coming.

When?

Tomorrow.

Too much drama?

Ivy.

Ingrid, it's time to go.

Ian, may I keep the bookshelf?

Absolutely.

But you can't keep the books.

I'll pack it up for you.

I feel really terrible about this.

You're so stupid.

You realize I'm just going to buy heroin with this.

Maybe you'll buy a phone.

You're going to be alone tonight.

She's all I have.

I'll figure it out.

I'll have to someday.

I'm sorry, Ingrid.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

[GUNSHOT]

Where'd you get the money?

She gave it to me.

Hoped I'd buy a phone with it.

She was stupid.

[GUNSHOTS]

[KNOCKING]

Ivy?

[KNOCKING]

Ivy?

[POUNDING]

Ingrid.

Ingrid, hi.

It's me.

It's Nick.

Wow.

Hell of a reunion.

Did you ever get to see my movie?

I don't get Netflix.

I don't even own a radio.

Do they still make radios?

Why are you here?

You kind of made the news.

I'm making another movie in two months.

Be an artist.

Be my friend.

You're an idiot.

You still want me to work for you?

You know, that first time you came with us to Cristiano's,

I'll bet you remember what the weather was like that afternoon.

I'll bet you remember what you ate for breakfast, what time you

woke up that day, what time you went to bed,

what shade of lipstick you wore.

I don't wear lipstick.

See?

You remember.

I'll bet you can't get that day out of your head

and that you never want to, because something

happened to you that day, something wonderful.

So I'm offering you more of those days.

You owe me more of those days.

I'm just asking you to put your faith in me...

again.

It's not about faith anymore.

You literally make everyone else's work look better.

You know, after graduation, I kept in touch

with the cast and crew of Music Man, and one after another,

whenever we talked about the play,

the one constant was how moved they were by you,

how impressed they were by you.

They had never met anyone like you.

No freshman, anyway.

Why?

Does it fucking matter why?

I lost touch with most of them after the summer.

A ton of them went off to college,

and then I went off to Los Angeles

and became a wunderkind, wunderkind-in-training.

When this happened, I sent a group text, and two of them

sent letters to me, for you, handwritten letters.

You read them?

I read them.

Ingrid, I work with a lot of talented people,

and very few of them are singular.

I could get sick.

There's this thing--

Your sister is absolutely sure you're not

going to get sick ever again.

She's here?

Nick.

How long have I been here?

About a week.

I don't feel much.

You're on a whole bunch of sick drugs.

Medication.

Where are you making the movie?

LA.

What happened to me?

Well, you got shot in the head.

That grazed your scalp, and then you got shot in the chest.

That one went in and out, so one bullet to your head and one

to the chest--

Are my breasts-- were they damaged?

Uh, phew.

You're blushing.

[CHUCKLES]

Get some sleep.

Take slow, deep breaths.

If it's too painful, don't breathe at all.

Joke.

Do I have any STDs?

I mean besides--

I mean, I figured you'd check my blood, or...

No, you don't.

Wow.

Sounds good.

Okay.

Take good care of your sister, Dr. Sorensen.

Thank Dr. Slattery for me.

I will.

I'll send him up later.

Dr. Sorensen, what are you doing here?

Dumb luck.

Your attending doctor, Dr. Wagner,

and some other physicians who work here

were in Norway last year giving a series of lectures

at Oslo University Hospital, where I work, exchange program.

We hit it off, kept in touch, pen pals.

You stayed in touch with him.

He was here when you were admitted.

He performed the surgeries, the first two.

He saved your life.

Your niece is so looking forward to meeting her aunt.

She's in Las Vegas?

Am I in Las Vegas?

She's nine years old.

I can't believe I haven't seen you

since you were seven years old.

Ian?

I'm sorry, Ingrid.

I'm also sorry about Ivy.

I only asked about Ian!

OK.

How long have I been here?

Nine days.

I'm going to keep you here for another week.

Then what?

Then we go to Los Angeles for two months, I'd imagine.

After that,

I'd like you to spend some time with us in Oslo.

Where's your husband?

Oscar...

really wanted to be here.

Ingrid, I need to--

Nick, would you--

Oh, yeah.

He knows.

I told him.

Be with your sister, Ingrid.

Nick?

Yeah.

Don't you ever tell me to get over Ian.

I would never do that.

You're back on antiretrovirals.

Ingrid, I want to get you started on a clinical trial

in Norway after Los Angeles.

This trial-- before humans, who was it tested on?

Mice.

Excellent.

And what was the success rate?

30%.

Awesome.

How come they didn't tell me there was a cure at the women's

health clinic?

It's not a cure, honey.

Truth is, it could do more damage than good.

We just don't know yet.

Its basis is a gene-editing technique called CRISPR.

How many people has it cured?

One.

I'm asking you to trust me, even though I'm practically

a stranger to you.

Cured one person, huh?

It's a start.

When will the trial end?

2035.

Yeah.

Will you do it?

How come you want to send me to Los Angeles first?

Truth?

For the rush, a healthy one.

For the memories, for the experience.

And he has me convinced that he actually needs you, this Nick.

Many years ago, he watched you glow.

And it's a career, babe.

And because the treatment might kill me.

Ingrid, yes, it's a trial, but either way, you're

going to live for a long, long time.

With your family.

Maybe in Norway, maybe Los Angeles, but with family.

Did mom and dad ever show you what was locked in the basement?

In the basement?

I don't know.

No.

It must have been cadavers, pilfered surgical tools.

Nothing too interesting, I'd imagine.

Welcome back.

You beat the odds, in Vegas.

Will you please remove this catheter?

Sorry, ladies, just need to get my script.

Yeah, remove it.

You're still...

so small.

[SOBBING] You're still so small.

I'm sorry.

So sorry.

[BACKGROUND CONVERSATION]

[CRINKLING PAGES]

The Music Man has never looked so good.

I've arranged to get you into the union.

I've also bumped up your fee a ton

so you don't have to take a financial hit,

and I also got you and Abigail a two-bedroom apartment.

It's on the corner of Sunset and Doheny.

It's way up at the top of the hill,

so I'm just hoping that bump on your head

doesn't result in any vertigo.

[BACKGROUND CONVERSATION]

The cast, the crew--

Ingrid, they're really good people.

Nick, this extra salary for me, the bump--

where's the money really coming from?

You wouldn't believe me either way, so.

[BACKGROUND CONVERSATION]

I'll do it.

Deal.

You know, there's no good doctors in Vegas.

Specialists?

Yes.

PCPs?

Not a one.

Whose makeup kit is that?

It's a friend's kit.

She worked on Suicide Squad.

Really?

Yes, ma'am.

[CHUCKLES]

OK, OK.

I got to go pee again, be right back.

So is the script any good?

I don't know.

I haven't read it.

Does your head hurt?

I don't know.

I haven't read it.

I'm fine.

Close your eyes.

Perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

At the ballpark, I used to smoke Arturo Fuente Chateau Rothschild

cigars.

I even smoked them in the toilet.

Why not?

They smelled better than shit.

I shat the most evil-smelling--

well, anyone who ever followed me into the bathroom

would be the first one to agree with me.

Once I married Marian, I made sure we moved into an apartment

with two bathrooms.

I couldn't afford it, but I figured

that for as long as Marian was breathing oxygen,

my bowel movements were not going to contaminate her air.

I always wondered what her bowel movements smelled like.

Is that something all men wonder about their women?

I doubt it.

I figured that whenever Marian walked out of her bathroom,

she left it smelling like fresh-cut roses.

Why would God ever cause pain to a woman who

smelled like fresh-cut roses?

One time, though, after I made love to her,

I had to go real bad, and I ran into her bathroom.

It smelled just like mine did, even 30 minutes after she

did her business.

I never loved her more.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, cigars.

I picked them up for $6 a pop from a newspaper vendor

across the street from the train station.

His cigars popped?

No, honey, when someone says they buy something, like,

candied apples, say, for five bucks a pop,

they mean that each candied apple costs $5, $5 a pop.

Get it?

Do candy apples smell like shit?

You silly girl.

They rot your teeth, though.

So I let my grandson, Ian...

play hooky one day, on his 10th birthday,

and take him to Shea Stadium to see the Mets play the Expos.

And that's where I let him smoke his first cigar

and sip his first beer.

Can I try a little beer?

No.

[CHUCKLES] But let me see if I can find you a cigar.

Aunt Ingrid!

Expecting company?

Oh, no, no, no.

But you never know.

Listen, I was born in Carlisle, Pennsylvania in 1947.

There were 27 members of my family then.

I counted this morning, and when I die, I'll be the last to go.

How often does that happen?

[MELLOW MUSIC]

[SINGING IN SPANISH]

A dónde vas?

Tijuana?

No.

Te llevaré a Bernal.

Es más....

pacífico

Yo

vivo allá.

Bernal.

Bueno?

Sí.

[SINGING IN SPANISH]

Está bien el aire acondicionado?

What?

Yes, sí.

Te gusta

esta canción?

Es de Espana

pero me gusta.

Dormir.

Sueno.

Las qe no suenan, mueren.

[BEEPING]

What?

Que?

Está frio.

[BEEPING]

Todavía tenemos un largo viaje por delante.

(SINGING) Now of all the joints in town,

You waltz into this one.

Well, aren't you a sight.

And as fate has it I got a few miles left

On my 'ol 55.

Oh, Mary, Mary, quite contrary

Could ya spare me a light?

Cause you look like

the first colored TV

In a world of black and white

Take care streetlights!

Take care for me!

Oh we'll meet on the corner of disaster avenue.

Bring your dress and a pair of shoes.

Now all the bluebirds left Nevada

You can hear the cars all sing

We're so high and so free

and I believe

That if God had a voice it'd sing.

So so long, pretty bluebird!

Don't cha forget me!

When you're high, oh no, above Acapulco

Our city by the sea

Take care, my friends!

Take care for me!

Well, I'm just passing through

So here's a lookin' at you, kid

Will ya take care for me...

Take care, please...