All language subtitles for red_shoe_diaries_s03e11_the_art_of_loneliness

You up?

Of course you are.

Night owls. Night hogs.

Lovers.

Dreamers.

Welcome back to the art of loneliness.

Till dawn do us part.

So settle back and...

Let your mind drift.

Let me take you into my world.

The world of music and rhyme, myths and
fantasy.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

A woman stands behind it, looking out.

Across the way, a woman lies on top of
her covers, pleasing herself as she

herself to sleep.

In the apartment below, an investment
banker ties his latest one -night stand

his four -poster bed with his brand -new
suspenders.

She does not resist.

Next door, a 40 -year -old divorced
mother of two seduces her son's college

roommate as her son sleeps unugly in the
room next door.

In the alley behind the church, a 14
-year -old prostitute gives head to a

as his partner takes her from behind.

My telescope never lies.

The other night, I saw a man stabbed to
death by a woman's jealous husband.

I watched as the man fell to his knees,
begging the woman he loves for

forgiveness.

I watched the cups come and carry him
away to jail.

A man killed.

A life lost.

What was he looking for?

Was it something so simple as someone to
talk to on the other end of a

telephone?

I... Just wanted to call and see if you
were okay.

Last night was great.

It was for me, too.

And you wait, heart in hand.

To see if he'll suggest meeting again
sometime soon.

The clock is ticking.

If not now, when?

And you're tired of going to the gym.

And the little things that used to turn
you on don't anymore.

And you ask yourself,

What are you looking for?

And then something happens at work one
day.

A man, a wealthy client, appears out of
the clouds.

He wears a dark suit and black
sunglasses.

An entourage surrounds him as he steps
down from his helicopter.

I wanted him to take me by surprise in
his helicopter high above the city.

with my face and hands pressed against
the glass of the cockpit.

This man I faced made absolutely clear
to me without even ever saying a word.

He would not disappoint me.

That I could not tame him.

That he did not need my advice.

He did not need my shoulder to cry on.

Sex. Sex.

Love. Love. Money.

Money. Pain. Pain.

Love. Love.

Boycott.

Dear Red Shoes, I'm one of those people
who hardly ever sleep.

Never have.

And ever since I was a little girl, it
was the radio that helped me through

those long, lonely nights.

Then one night, in a strange city far
away from home, I heard a voice of a

kindred spirit speaking to me over the
airwaves.

The only person who was ever able to
express what I was feeling.

Half poet, half musician, soothsayer.

Her words...

Her music.

Drawing me to her like a bee to honey.

And for a little while, I became her.

Her eyes. Her body.

And I acted out what she no longer cared
to.

I want to feel my body glide across the
texture of your skin.

I want to drink your eyes up and throw
my love in.

I want to thaw to the edge of you into a
wild end.

I want to carve my name across your
heart and let no one else in. I want

I want you.

Tomorrow night, sleep tight.

I'm out of here.

I want to wake each morning and see the
sunlight dancing on your face.

Bring me to your primitive hell. Let me
hand you your saving grace.

I want to play out all your fantasies.
We'll do them one by one.

And then we lay exhausted in the
brilliance of the sun. I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

to dine upon my flesh I'll set a table
for you and if you still hunger

for more I'll heat up another stove or
two when the night time comes along

I'll lay you in sheets of sun

You got an inquiry from the station in
Chicago.

They're thinking of putting you on the
air.

Tell me about Chicago.

Last time I was there, it rained the
whole time.

There's a canal and tall buildings.

And Lake Michigan looks like an ocean.

It's humid in the summer and cold and
windy in the winter.

You're tired of working here, aren't
you, Frances?

I never said that.

Didn't have to.

I ordered you some food.

I watered the trees.

I've been thinking of a place.

Thank you.

If you want, I can take Cody for a walk
before I leave.

No, you just go.

We'll be fine.

You know, you can't go on like this,
honey.

It's not good.

There's a whole world out there.

You've got to go out sometime.

You can't spend all your time alone.

We're on air.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

A woman stands behind it, looking out.

I ask her to describe to me the sexiest
thing that ever happened to her.

Making love to a stranger at night.

Between the cars, a fast -moving train.

And to this day, she has no idea who the
stranger was.

Her friend asks her if he used a condom.

She says... Yes, he did.

Both times.

She told me when she was a kid, her
mother took her on the train to visit

grandmother who lived in the country.

One night on her way to the country, in
the reflection of the train window, she

watched one of the men playing with
himself behind the cover of his paper.

The image was startling to her.

Because he listens to you every night.

He's got a trumpet in the inside pocket
of his overcoat.

So when he keeps rhythm, does he do it
with his head or with his foot?

Neither. Good.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

The stranger slaps a woman hard on her
ass while he's making love to her.

The next time they make love, she...

She begs him to slap her again, harder.

So you figured out what I was doing,
didn't you, Bobby?

I never know who I'm talking to anymore.

Invisible arrows, invisible targets.

If I was ever going to conjure up
someone, it would have to be you.

You know, I've got five records in my
record collection.

Two of them are yours.

What does that tell you?

That I ran out of steam.

That I just couldn't get it out the
third time.

Where have you been, Bobby?

The art of war is the game of love now.

The victor waits in bed.

What's it feel like to be in exile?

Where were you when you heard me on the
radio?

Bakersfield.

They hear me as far as Bakersfield.

Further.

Pick up your horn.

Follow me.

These are the rules.

You want to stay the night.

At sunrise, you shower and get dressed.

Without saying goodbye, you leave.

and trumpet.

You remember Bobby, Sweet Pea, Bobby
McGow?

Back from exile.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

A woman stands behind it looking out.

She dials a number.

Tells the grocer what she wants.

An hour later, a delivery boy drops off
a carton filled with food at the door.

A man with a trumpet.

Follows him in.

Take my money. Take my home.

Put me on speed dial.

Ask me for favors.

Bite my neck.

Fuck my friends. Steal my dog.

Undress me, baby. I am yours.

Do with me as you please.

There's a beginning and an end to every
relationship.

No matter what happens here tonight,
this one ends at sunrise.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

A woman stands behind it looking out.

Points it east.

Pollution in the air creates a beautiful
sunrise.

What do you do when you sign off the
night?

Tell me.

I finish off the glass of tequila that I
drink all through my show.

Then what?

Sometimes I play back the show I've just
recorded.

I enjoy listening to my own voice.

It excites me.

Sometimes I soak in a bath.

I haven't sat in a tub since 1968.

The last time my mother bathed me, she
had the most beautiful voice.

I loved her voice.

I love your voice.

Francis, as you remove both his coat and
his clothes,

describe him to me, inch by inch.

His eyes are brown.

At first glance, they're nothing
special.

Warm.

Soulful.

Gentle.

His arms.

His chest.

And his stomach.

Look as though he may have been an
athlete once.

But has given it up.

His ass is hard and strong.

His eyes are beautiful.

And so are his hands and feet.

His lips are pure.

His breath is sweet.

And his skin is a pattern of a poet.

A blindfolded woman crouches naked in
the middle of a dry lake bed.

Two men dressed in high boots and
overcoats send the steps.

The plane takes off.

Disappears into the setting sun.

The woman takes off running through the
sea of 747s.

The men in overcoats and high boots take
off after her.

One of the men stumbles and falls.

The other man catches her.

She struggles.

He calms her.

He's naked beneath his overcoat.

The woman reaches inside with
impatience.

She tries to force him inside of her.

He pulls back.

Taking her face in both his hands, he
smiles.

Gently pierces her forehead.

The tip of her nose.

She sinks down onto her knees and takes
them in her mouth.

Found up the speeding train tracks.

The man's breathing becomes heavy.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

A woman stands behind it, looking out.

Where you been, Bobby?

Skin, pallor of a poet.

Gentle eyes.

Could have been an athlete.

Could have been, would have been, was.

What do you call a could have been,
would have been, was?

For a little while has been.

Relationships.

Affairs of the heart.

Walks in the park.

Picnics at the beach.

Oh, the sand.

Surf.

Talking about what we were going to do.

Ideas. Plans.

Sea of youth.

The night you got drunk and begged me to
blow off your toe with a .45 you found

in your stepfather's garage. I asked you
why.

You passed out.

Where have you been midnight?

Tell me, Bobby.

Why'd you leave me?

I really want to know.

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

Woman stands behind it, looking out.

Walks in the park.

Picnics on the beach.

Kid sees a pirate with a wooden leg and
a limp in a movie.

He's got this English accent.

And he talks real funny.

He calls every woman he meets Edwiener.

Edwiener.

And it makes you laugh.

Kid grows up and he gets drunk one
night.

All he can think about is that.

Old pirate with the wooden leg and the
limp, and he wants to be just like him

for that moment. He wants to be just
like him, that old pirate.

Blast off my toe, Edwina, do it now.

And then he passes out.

Over there in love and war.

The art of war.

When you disappeared, you broke my
heart.

Why'd you do it?

There's a telescope in the corner of the
room.

A woman stands behind it, looking out.

There's no cars in the driveway.

There's no overcoats in the closet.

No umbrella.

The art of loneliness.

No one to answer to.

No one to tell.

Ain't nobody.

Not me.

Not anybody.

I can compete with the river.

Sleep tight.

I'm out of here.

Elizabeth built her world around the art
she mastered, the art of loneliness.

Self -contained, alienated, cloistered
with walls so high that no one could

scale them.

But what I realized in the end is that I
no longer wanted what she had.

I craved light and touch and friendship.

But most of all, I realized I did not
want to be alone.

Let's go back to the car, fella.

Turn on the radio.

See what we can pick up tonight.