All language subtitles for Masters.of.Sex.S02E09.HDTV.x264-KILLERS

Previously on Masters Of Sex...

We've decided
to begin our work on

dysfunction with
male impotence.

I'm just like those guys,

in the... you know,
dysfunctional way.

Are you going to join me?

I may have overdone it.

I'm not sure I'd be of...
uh, much use.

I thought you were going home.

We decided
we didn't want anyone else

doing the treatments.

I've spent most of my life
pretending you don't exist.

If people would ask me,
I'd tell them

I was an only child.
I want my brother back.

Look, we got a couple
of witnesses

who saw the truck drive by

and saw Leonard get dumped
out the back.

And so I was wondering
if maybe you saw anything.

If there are other witnesses,

why are you talking to me?

What was his name?

Your first?

I'd remembered his name.

Paul.

But wasn't your brother...

We had this creek
that ran behind our house

and we'd catch frogs
and have them race.

Who is the best
psychologist in St. Louis?

- Lloyd Madden, maybe.
- Let's call him.

We can give him the basics
of Barbara's case.

No reputable physician

would consent to giving
a medical opinion

on a patient they haven't met.

You cannot expect me
to sit down

with a complete stranger,
a-a man.

I'm sorry, Virginia, I can't.

My brother and I,
we would spend...

every day down there
chasing frogs and...

as we got older, the games...
they changed.

Sync and corrections by n17t01
www.addic7ed.com

That's... I think everything.

My story.

I don't know how this works.

I've never done this before
so...

Do you ask me questions?

How can I help you?

Why are you here?

Well, I suppose,
I would like to know

how to put what happened to me
in its proper place,

to not think about it
all the time, every day.

It's a process, Barbara.
Not a checklist.

Of course,

but if you had
any specific suggestions...

You know what's
interesting about your story?

Your voice, when you tell it.

Those are difficult things
you're speaking of--

being sexually abused
by your brother.

Your mother finding you
and him together

and yet never speaking of it.

The judgement and rejection
you felt from her,

the repulsion you felt
for yourself.

And one might expect the telling
of such terrible things

to summon up some
very strong feelings--

pain...

rage...

sadness.

But it didn't for you.

It was almost as if you were
describing something

that happened to someone else.

Well, it didn't.
It happened to me.

And I'm sorry that I wasn't
emoting enough, but...

Were there tears
when it happened?

Yes, of course.

A 12-year-old girl-- she cries
when she's being penetrated

for the first time.

Were you that 12-year-old girl?

Yes, I told you.

Then why not say "I"?
"I cried."

Well, I did.

And I've cried plenty in telling
the story, maybe not tonight,

but I have.

Hmm.
To whom have you told it?

Just a friend...

Someone who wants to help
but does not know how.

Someone who doesn't know what
to do besides just listen to me

as I go on and on.

Perhaps you keep
reliving your experience

because each time you're hoping
it'll have a different outcome.

So how would you rewrite
your story, Barbara?

I can't.

- It happened. I can't change it.
- What if you could?

Where would you begin?

What would you say
to make it end differently?

I don't know.
I guess I-I would...

tell my brother to stop?

That's right. Say it.

- Stop?
- As a little girl.

Not as a woman.

- Stop!
- Yes.

Yes, find that voice.

Speak as your 12-year-old self.

Imagine telling your brother
what you wanted to say then

but couldn't.

Start there.

Libby, take a bow.

She really is the best cook!
Isn't she, Bill?

She is, indeed.

Well, I used to be
more adventurous,

but Johnny's going through
a phase.

Nothing but buttered noodles.

You know how picky
children can be.

Oh, well, you don't yet,
but you will very soon.

All systems go for Wednesday?

Libby, Frank got me a fondue set
a few Christmases ago.

Oh, I just love fondue.

Still in the box!

He didn't realize--
Oh, I'm so sorry.

Not at all.

I thought it was just
melted cheese.

Turns out there's a-a lot
of booze in the recipe.

It's nearly half wine.

Well, if I can't offer
anyone seconds...

Oh, let me help you there.

It really was delicious.

Libby, thank you.

A clean plate
is the best compliment.

Would you look at that?

I thought I would go to my grave
before I saw Francis

eat a green vegetable.

Oh, nowadays
he'll eat salad, even.

I could never get
either one of them to eat fish,

no matter how much sauce
I used to disguise it...

It's a very handsome
house you have here, Bill.

It burns off, doesn't it?

Sorry?

The wine.
The alcohol content.

When you heat it up,

ethanol evaporates when it
reaches a boiling point.

It's basic science.

Nevertheless, we don't
bring liquor into the house.

So, is this a problem for you?

Being around this?

Not today.

Although mom seems
a little tight,

don't you think?

No.

I think she's happy.

I didn't know you had
friends in St. Louis.

Not friends exactly.

And they're Frank's, not mine.

I'm glad Bill's agreed
to meet them tomorrow night.

You mean,
he wants them to meet Bill.

And I don't blame him
for wanting to show off

his accomplished big brother.

It's so wonderful having them
both together.

I don't recall ever
seeing her drink.

Well, she never drank scotch,

which is what dad had
around the house.

Now she likes the occasional
Tom Collins or two.

Or three?

Show of hands for coffee,
please.

Oh, I left some files
in the office over the weekend.

Oh, no!

You're leaving now?

Can't it wait?

I have a patient
early tomorrow, um,

woman with a complicated medical
history I need to review.

Well, why don't I go with you?

Keep you company on the drive.

Oh, that's a fine idea.

That neighborhood is bad enough
in the daytime,

as Libby certainly can attest.

My God, such a harrowing story.

Not necessary, sit.
Enjoy dessert.

I caught a whiff of it earlier.
You are in for a treat.

It's a rum cake.

I didn't realize.
I made a rum cake.

Which I'm sure
will be sensational.

I'll be just fine with coffee.

Did you see
what's going on downstairs?

No.

Really?

You didn't notice dozens of
young women in sashes and tiaras

down in the lobby?

It's the Miss Buoy of St. Louey
pageant.

I guess
I must've been preoccupied.

Just so happens,
I was a pageant girl myself.

Runner-up,
Miss Teen Fayetteville.

What did the winner
have that you didn't?

An uncanny resemblance
to Veronica Lake.

Ah.

God, I hated those things.

I never would've done it
if my mother hadn't forced me to sign up.

My mother could be
a little deaf

when it came to listening to me.

I should've just said "No."

Loud enough for her
to have really heard.

No!

And what's got you
so preoccupied?

Where are you coming from?

Oh, uh,
family dinner with my mother.

Mm, how was that?

Why don't you take
your dress off? Come over here.

And why don't you
take your pants off

and come over here?

I was looking forward to, uh,

taking care of you tonight.

Where's the fun in that for you?

I enjoy watching you
enjoying yourself.

That's becoming

standard operating procedure
these days.

Well,
for a change of pace then,

why don't we reverse
the arrangement?

Why don't you...

lie back...

...and let me take care of you?

I've, uh, I've...
I've just come from Libby.

But you said dinner
with your mother.

She went early and Libby and I--

I see.

Does that happen a lot?

Her to me? Or from me to her?
Never mind.

I shouldn't have said anything.

No, I...
should not have asked.

Maybe we should just
take a rain check tonight.

I'm just curious,
how did you get my number?

Well, Miss Dimello said
you came highly recommended

by, uh... by...

Judge Tillinghast.
We go way back. Way.

Apparently,
he had some very nice things

to say about you.

Said you took initiative.
Always found creative solutions.

- You're very imaginative.
- And flexible.

The judge said, "Flexible."

Oh, yes, very flexible.
Gymnastics as a kid.

And you're clear about
what the job is.

Blow job, hand job,

whatever it takes
to get the job done.

It's not that this guy's pecker
has never worked, is it?

No, he's had some
unfortunate interactions

with women that have left him,
uh, non-functioning

for the past few years.

You've dealt with men like that
suffering erectile dysfunction

for an extended period of time?

Impotence is a working
girl's bread and butter.

Am I right, Kitty?

Oh, sure.
See it all the time.

Now, Mr. Linden
is the, uh, nervous type.

A gentle approach may be
most effective,

but we'll leave that
to your discretion.

Oh, speak of the devil.

He's a certain charm,
Kitty, wouldn't you say?

I've seen worse.

I don't know, Dr. Masters,

it's a really nice offer
and everything,

but if you wanted to let me know
I was doing a good job,

some extra cash at Christmas
would be great.

- Is it hot in here?
- This isn't a bonus.

It's an opportunity
to participate in the work.

Aren't I already participating?

As a subject.

Is that a good idea?
I mean, to cross that line.

Isn't it best to maintain
some professional objectivity?

That's outweighed
by the value of having

an insider participate,
you know,

someone like you who's observed
the subtle nuances

of sexual arousal and can speak
to them personally.

I need a little air.

But-- but... why do I have
to do it with a girl like that?

How else are we
to eliminate the question

of your partner's
sexual competence?

In a controlled experiment,
there can only be one variable.

So we need to partner you
with a woman

whose-- whose sexual competence
is not a factor,

someone who's-- who's come
across this problem before,

often, and has some ideas
of how to treat it.

I am-- I am...

I am offering you the chance
to be a pioneer.

You know, like, um...

like Wilbur Wright flying over the
heads of the doubting French at Le Mans.

There's film of that, you know.

A year later, 1909,
first aerial shots.

There's history to be
made here, Lester.

What made you look up,
Mrs. Masters?

Well, um,
the sound of the truck,

- the squeal of the tires.
- And how close

would you say you were to it
when it passed you?

I guess the distance
from here to... about there?

How's your vision, Mrs. Masters?

Can you read the sign there?

"The law of the land
is our demand."

Are those letters
about the same size

as numbers on a license plate,
wouldn't you say?

Well, I didn't-- As I
said, the truck went by so fast.

I saw that it was old and blue,
uh, with an engine that had

a terrible rattle to it.

Uh, by the time I got in my car
and turned the corner, um,

I saw mister, uh... Sorry,
I forgot that poor man's name.

Gilroy. Leonard Gilroy.

Mr. Gilroy-- on the curb.

It was
a distressing sight, wasn't it?

A man bound and gagged,
his body thrown to the curb

like a sack of grain.

It was terrible.

Had you ever seen
anything like it before?

No.

It shakes a person up,
doesn't it? Rattles you?

You know, when I'm rattled,
I forget things-- details.

You know, maybe there are a few
you forgot.

She can't help, Marcus.
She didn't see it happen.

- She wasn't an eyewitness.
- No, I didn't hear

Mrs. Masters expressly say that,
Robert.

- Well, I--
- I wanna make sure

you understand the stakes here,
ma'am.

Before you commit to an answer,

the stakes might jog your memory
and cause you to recollect

the situation differently than
when you and Robert first spoke.

For example, you might recollect
that you were already

in your car
when that truck passed you,

but you were just a second
behind it

when you turned onto Slocum,
close enough to see

that the first three numbers
of the license plate

were 2-8-9 right before you saw
Leonard Gilroy thrown off

the back of that truck.

It would be very helpful,
Mrs. Masters,

if you recollected that.

Because I'm sorry to say

that the St. Louis
Police Department

thinks people with
your color eyes

see better than people
with my color eyes.

What are you doing?
We have a patient coming.

I know, vaginismus, right?

Dr. Masters said it was okay.

I haven't documented
a single vaginismus yet.

We are seeing a woman,
Lester, not a dysfunction.

She's just beginning treatment.

She's self-conscious enough
as it is

without a camera trained on her.

But Dr. Masters said--

I'm saying that it's too soon.

Out.

Vaginismus is the loss
of control over the muscles

of the perineum and the outer
third of the vagina.

These muscles contract
spastically in response to entry

or even the suggestion
of entry.

Couldn't it be a holiday?

Doesn't it sound like a holiday?
The feast of vaginismus!

Uh, Virginia has
explained to you the importance

of a vaginal examination?

Yes.

Have you've been
penetrated before?

Uh, when I was very young, yes.

Without difficulty?

Dr. Masters means
physical difficulty.

We understand that there was
a difficult emotional component.

Uh, when-- when he
first put it inside me,

it-- it hurt,
and there was a little blood.

And after the first time?

Uh, the-- the pain
was lessened.

But then once I realized that

the circumstances were
inappropriate--

Does he know who I was with?

He does.

After that,
the intercourse stopped,

and then years later when
I tried to have relations--

vaginal relations--
with Gil-- my fiancé--

it was as if I had closed up
entirely down there.

Okay, so what
we're gonna do today is, uh,

help you understand how
your body has been responding,

how the muscles
constrict physically

to prevent penetration.

So, first, I will be inserting
a dilator into your vagina.

T-today? Now?

We're gonna go
very slowly, very gently

with lubrication.

All right.

And then, uh,
once the dilator is inside you,

you're gonna feel yourself
clenching around it.

Uh, but without the back
and forth of intercourse,

the muscles will relax and begin
to comfortably accommodate it.

Don't mind me.

Barb, we don't
have to do this today.

No, no, no, no,
I want to. I--

- I wanna get it over with.
- All right.

Deep breath.

I'm gonna go very slowly.

I'm sorry! No, no, I can't,
I can't, I can't, please.

No. I don't know
what's wrong with me.

Why don't we just give
Barb a few moments to herself,

shall we?

You know how I feel
about this, Bill.

We are only treating one half
of the problem.

Yes, the half we can
do something about.

Every patient
with sexual dysfunction

is going to experience
some kind of distress.

It's the distress that
brings them here.

Yes, it is terrible for them.

And yes, it is hard
to stand by and watch.

But are we gonna turn them away

when we have the means to treat
their physical symptoms?

We are clearing the way for her

to have intercourse that she is
psychologically unprepared for.

And why do you assume

that some kind of
emotional breakthrough

is gonna relieve
her physical problems?

We can offer
a practical treatment, Virginia.

Anything else,
and we are out of our depth.

Now let's go back in
and try again.

I'm-- I'm trying to
remember the last time

something that I said
mattered this much.

I could send those men to jail,
couldn't I?

I don't think so.

You think the system's
that corrupt?

That the eyewitness testimony
of an upstanding member

of this community wouldn't be
enough to indict them?

Well, maybe someone else's.

Just not yours.

What's wrong with my testimony?

You ever lied before?

Yes. Of course. Who hasn't?

White lies.

White lies, huh?
What did you do?

Someone once make
the wrong change in your favor

and you didn't correct 'em?

You tell your girlfriend you
like her hairdo when you didn't?

Are you insulting me?

You made a left turn
onto Slocum?

Uh, that's right.

With the light
or after the light had changed?

With the light.

There's no traffic light
on that corner.

It's a stop sign.

Yes, well,
under the circumstances,

a person could forget that.

Well, how'd you happen
to remember the license plate,

Mrs. Masters?
I mean, you had to make

visual note of that
before you saw anything unusual.

I just...

It stuck in my mind.

Uh, 2-8-9, because... that was
my street address

when I was a child--
2-8-9 Cedar Avenue.

They can check that,
so it better be true.

Is it true?

No.

So I-I... instead I could say...
Well, what should I say?

You seem real flustered, ma'am.

Are you flustered?

- I--
- You saw a man...

bound and gagged and thrown
from the back of a truck.

I mean, what did you do?

Did you stop the car
and get out?

- No.
- You just drove off?

- Yes.
- Ah.

To a police station,
I'm assuming.

No.

You saw someone commit a crime,

a despicable act, and you didn't
drive straight

to the authorities to report it?

Well, I am doing that now.

I am-- I am here now.

The defense will eat you
for lunch, Mrs. Masters,

and pick you out their teeth.

You'll do us more harm
than good.

It ain't worth it.

Well, then, why did that
lawyer-- Mr. Gabler-- ask me?

Because he doesn't know you.

Oh, and you do?
So I'm not a good liar,

as if that is something
to be ashamed of.

So I don't have
a criminal record

like some people.

You know, when I was, uh, 17,

I threw a brick
through a plate glass window

of a service station
and stole a set of tires,

just 'cause they was fine
and I wanted 'em.

Now, it was stupid.
You know, I was a stupid kid,

but I wanted something
I couldn't get any other way

than by taking it.

Now I don't want things that
don't belong to me anymore,

but the things that do,

the things that I'm entitled to
that someone says I can't have,

oh, I'm gon' get them
anyway I can.

You came to me.

You asked for my help,
and I am here and I am willing

to give it to you.

And now you don't want it?
Now it's not...

It's not good enough for you?

I'm not good enough for you?

You're a careful woman,
Mrs. Masters.

And I'm guessing you--
you came to a complete stop

at that stop sign,
you looked both ways,

you signaled, you drove on,

hell, you didn't get out
of the car.

Now we need a different kind
of person on that witness stand.

Now it was real good of you
to wanna help,

and we thank you kindly
for your offer,

but we'll make do without it.

You just go on home, ma'am.

I'm embarrassed.

Don't be.

You were both very patient.

I'm sorry that I made it
so difficult.

I'm doing the right thing,
aren't I,

by trying to fix myself?

I know it's unfair of me
to ask you,

because what are you supposed
to say?

Thank you.

I think that we can help you.

We're going to try
our very best.

I wanna believe you. I...

I have trouble trusting people.

Of course you do.

People have let you down,
taken advantage of you.

People close to you.

Maybe even the person
closest to you.

My brother, you mean?

What would you say
to him if you could?

Well, we still talk.
Not about what happened.

But he lives in Chesterfield.

He just got divorced... again.

Again, again, it's third time.

What would you--

what would you have wanted
to say to him

when you were that little girl,

but you couldn't
because you were too afraid?

Like what?

Like... "Stop."

Did you ever tell him to stop?

I don't know.
I-I must have, right?

Well, what if you were--

What if you were to say it now?
Out loud?

Tell him now but say it
as your 12-year-old self.

Stop.

Like that?

Certainly not acting...

A...dorable.

He just tucked himself
right under my arm.

I can tell he was dropping off,
so I skipped ahead a bit.

Oh, Johnny will never
let you get away with that.

Did he make you go back?

And then insisted on turning

the rest of the pages himself.

Did Bill want a boy?

Um... just a healthy baby,
he said.

Frank says that, too,
but I know he wants one.

The giveaway is when you see
your husband

with your friends' kids,
isn't it?

How he jokes with the boys,
but doesn't quite know

what to say to the girls?

Yes, I suppose.

I'm glad they're going
together tonight.

It was important to Frank

that he introduce Bill
to his crowd.

Well, he may find that
his brother can be a little

on the taciturn side.

Oh, that's perfectly okay.

Really, no one there expects him
to say a thing.

Why would that be?

Rarely have we seen
a person fail

who has thoroughly followed
our path.

Those who do not recover
are people

who are not completely
willing to give...

You said

we were meeting
friends of yours.

And here they are--

Total strangers,
most of whom know me better

than I know myself.

It's my birthday, Bill.

I want you here to celebrate it.

It's your birthday in March.

My sober birthday.

They're gonna give me a chip
and let me tell my story.

I want you to hear it.

...but many of them do recover.

They have the capacity
to be honest.

You must be Lester.
Come on in.

It's very nice
to meet you, Miss--

Kitty.

Miss Kitty, like on Gunsmoke.

The proprietress
of The Long Branch Saloon

in Dodge City?

Although
everyone knew Miss Kitty

wasn't really a barkeep
as much as she was a prost--

It's okay. You just relax.

We're gonna have a good time
tonight.

Nothing is going to happen
that you don't want to happen.

What if I don't want
anything to happen?

Now why would you say that?

Don't you think I'm pretty?

Pretty? Oh, yeah.
Yes, you're very pretty.

My sister has your hair color.

Okay, see, now that's not
a great ad to go down, Lester.

Why don't we just try
having a normal conversation?

Maybe we could start by
you telling me what you like?

The French New Wave.

About me.

Um, that's a very lovely blouse.

Oh, thank you.
Well, it's very silky.

Do you wanna feel
how silky it is?

I can tell from here.

To be honest,
it's a little constricting,

a little tight
around the bust area.

Wow, um, I should tell you

my heart's beating very fast.

Oh, may I take that
as a compliment?

I think it's paroxysmal
supraventricular tachycardia.

It's what killed my father.
Very recently.

I'm so sorry.

Now, Lester, what's the worst
thing that could happen here?

I could drop dead.

Well, let's pretend
like I'm a doctor.

A cardiologist?

Okay, a cardiologist.

You'd trust a cardiologist,
wouldn't you?

Depends on where
he went to medical school.

Well, I went
to the best medical school

in the world.

And I studied more things
than just the heart.

But ultimately,
you'd have to pick a specialty.

Oh, it was very difficult.

Because it turns out...
I'm good at everything.

Patients can lie down
on my exam table

and I can diagnose
their problems.

And I use my magic touch
to heal them.

Doesn't that make
medical school superfluous?

I instinctively know
where to press,

where to squeeze,
where to stroke,

and where to lick.

Won't you let me show you,
Lester,

how I can bring men
back to life?

Hi. I'm Frank,
and I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Frank.

I'm very grateful
to be here tonight.

Been practicing
that move since I was 8.

Disappearing acts
have always been my specialty.

Not just coins or cards.

I had this trick
when I was a kid,

I could make myself disappear,

I could sense trouble coming
with just--

From the way my dad
came through the door.

Shazam! I was out the door
and down the street

telling Mrs. Magavern jokes,

helping water her tomato plants
so she'd invite me

to have supper with her family

before anyone at my house
had even missed me.

After a while,
I decided to up the ante.

You know,
teach myself to disappear

without ever going anywhere.

I could be sitting
at the dinner table and my dad

would be telling me
what he thought about me...

Taking tap dancing lessons

or any extra helpings.

Getting a B in biology.
"Your brother never got a B."

And, uh, presto, I was gone.

Some tricks get easier
the more you practice,

but this one got harder,
took more and more effort, uh,

to make it look simple.

After a while, I needed
a-a fearless assistant

to help me pull it off.

And I found lots of them--

Brandy...

Sherry...

Scotch...

Bourbon...

Gin.

I always thought I was just born
with this natural gift.

It wasn't until I quit drinking,

until my sobriety allowed me
this, uh...

magnificent clarity
that I realized...

I'd had a teacher all along.

My dad--

the greatest magician
of all time.

He could make things vanish...
like that.

His approval...

My mother's smile...

The fun of a baseball game

you'd been waiting for
all summer.

I'd do one thing
to disappoint him--

blow a line
at the Christmas pageant,

strike out
with the bases loaded, and, uh,

and, uh, afterwards, he wouldn't
let me get in the car.

He'd make me walk home,

once in, un,
once in a heat wave,

once in a snowstorm.

I watch his car pull away,

I'd see him
get smaller and smaller

as he drove into the distance
until...

Poof. He was gone.

Without saying a word,
just by his example,

he taught both of his boys
how to vanish.

Didn't he, Bill?

Ta-da.

I'm not sure what you mean.

"What else"?

That was good--

that finding your voice
exercise--

I think that really helped.

So I was hoping you had
another suggestion.

I see.
So you're done with that part?

Well, I imagined
what I would've liked

to have said to my brother.

You said to do that. I did it.
So what do I do now?

You seem very intent
on moving through this process

as quickly as possible, Barbara.

Well, do you blame me for that?

For wanting
a little piece of mind?

That's why I'm here, after all.

You're asking
"If I blame you."

I meant--
I know that you don't blame--

It's a--
it's a figure of speech.

It's familiar to you,
though, isn't it?

To feel blamed?

Judged? Misunderstood?

You felt that from your mother,
you said.

And your, um...
I'm sorry-- your fiancé?

Gil.

Yes. Who else?

Mm. No one, really.

Have you ever withheld
some truth about yourself

because you feared
someone's judgement?

There-- there was
someone that I was close to,

my boss, actually.
She died a few years back.

I was afraid of her finding out
something that I'd done,

which, she did, by accident.

I was--
I was seeing a married man.

And how did your friend
react to that?

She let me have it.

But the situation was--

It wasn't entirely
as she understood it to be.

Lillian, uh, Lillian saw things
in black and white

and this relationship...
There was a lot of grey area

in-- in that relationship.

So she judged you more harshly

than you felt you deserved.

Yes.

And yet you say,
you anticipated her judgement.

So clearly you had a sense
of what her objections would be.

Well... of course.
Yeah, I-- He was married.

And that bothered your friend?

And not you?

I never saw myself
as a threat to the man's wife.

Because?

Because I never
wanted to marry him.

So that was the only way
you posed a threat if, uh,

you wanted this woman's husband
for yourself?

Yes.

So why did it end?

I'm sorry?

Well, if you weren't
concerned about this man's wife,

what caused the relationship
to end?

Gil.

I met Gil.

Leona'd take ages to get ready.

So Frank and I'd wind up
sitting in the living room

waiting for her
to make an entrance,

and in the meantime,
he'd be trying to make me laugh,

doing all these crazy routines,

most of which he just
stole off the TV.

One day he knocked on the door
and my sister answered it,

all smiles and batted eyelashes,
"Oh, Francis."

And he said, "Actually, Leona,
I'm here for Pauline."

So how 'bout you and Bill?

Oh, um, uh, I was working
as a medical secretary.

Uh-huh...

Uh, we-- we didn't get
married right away,

but only because he was so busy
with his practice.

Uh, we fell in love
very quickly.

He was, um, he was so charming.

I know. The Masters charm.

I, for one, was blinded by it.
It's probably what prevented me

from seeing the signs
for so long.

Signs of...
Frank's drinking?

It's embarrassing
what I missed, really,

things I just chalked up
to his having a big personality.

But, God, the mood swings,
the impulsivity--

A new car, a new house,
a new medical partnership.

He got sloppy toward the end,
though,

couldn't keep his story
straight, the lies--

Where he'd been all night,
why he couldn't make love,

and then, of course,

there was the visit to the ER
where he almost died.

And I said,
"It's the bottle or me. Pick."

You really think
you would've walked away?

You would've done

the same thing in my position,
Libby.

No one expected me
to draw the line, honestly,

I think most people considered
me as a bit of a ninny.

I'm sure that's not true.

I was!

You wouldn't recognize
the person I was before.

I was the go-along gal,

the laugh you could always
count on.

I didn't wanna make waves,
didn't ever wanna upset anyone.

Mmm, I tell ya,
it felt good to do something

no one thought I was capable of.

He thought I saved his life,
but really,

I was saving my own.

So, Dr. Masters does
not want to go up in size today.

We're just going to see if
the insertion itself

is less painful,

and if you can tolerate
the same dilation for longer.

So how was the soreness after?

I went home and took
a warm bath like you said.

And you took the pain pill?

I followed all
your instructions.

Good. That's good.

Including talking to Paul.

I-I--
Saying those things to him.

Wait, uh, do you mean
you spoke to him in your head?

Or in person?

We met.

No, I meant--

The suggestion was that
you-- you think about

what you would have liked
to have said back then.

You-- you said
to talk to him, so--

No, the idea was
to imagine the conversation.

Well, I did not
have to imagine one

because he lives 20 miles away,
and we met for dinner

like we do sometimes anyway.

And?

"Remember when?"
I-I said.

"Do you remember that time
when we..."

I could've said,
"...went sledding on Bergen Hill"

for all it upset him.

- Did he deny it?
- No, no.

Not at all.

But he remembered it different.

He said that it was my idea.

That's absurd, Barb.

Of course
he's going to say that.

No, no, no, it--
no, it-- it wasn't like that.

He-- he didn't accuse me.
He just...

He reminded me.

I-I-I forgot that there were
these triplets that moved in

across the street from us
that summer.

And every morning he wanted
to go off with them.

And I wanted him to stay home,
play with me.

Just with me.

And so... I invented this game
to keep him interested.

And it worked.

You don't know that
that's what happened.

It makes sense, Virginia.

If he had violated me,
how could we be so close?

How could I want
to see him be happy?

Barb,
these things are complicated.

I'm just learning myself
how complicated.

I want to remember
this is his fault

because I wanna be absolved
of responsibility

for how my life has turned out.

Being alone.

For not being able
to love someone

in a way that is not
shameful and dirty.

What if it's my fault, Virginia?

What if I did this to myself?

You know in Sunset Boulevard

how William Holden's dead
floating in the pool

and telling the story
at the same time?

That was me.
Splayed on the bed,

hovering above it all
at the same time--

victim and narrator.

Come on, now.
Isn't that a little overstated?

I'm telling you,

I was completely disassociated
from my body.

In my head,
looking down at myself thinking,

"What's going on down there?
What is she doing?

Where's she touching me?

Has this woman ever pulled taffy
for a living?"

What was she doing exactly?

Was it all manual stimulation
or-- or oral as well?

Why are you writing
any of this down?

Nothing happened, all right?
I flopped. Literally.

Even if you didn't
achieve an erection, Lester,

it's still of clinical value.

You know, it allows us
to rule out techniques

that weren't effective this time

but next time you'll be open
to other techniques.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

There's-- there's not gonna be
a next time.

Lester.

Can't you find
another guy in my situation

to be your Guinea pig?
You say we're everywhere, right?

I want you
to stay with this, Lester.

I can't.

The single variable thing
may work for the study

but not for me.

For me, I need just two people
figuring it out together.

Not an expert and a novice.

Just a man and a woman
equally matched

even if they both happen
to be inept.

That'd be tantamount
to the blind leading the blind.

Not if
they're already a couple.

If they know
each other's bodies,

have feelings for each other.

So many subjects have come
through your door.

Don't you know a couple
like that?

Gini.

Lib.

What are you doing here?

Oh, well, I'm--
Can I get a refill, please?

May I join you for a second?

Oh, I'm sorry, Lib,

I really should
head back upstairs.

I won't take up
much of your time, okay, just...

Well, I'm stalling, really.

I'm trying to screw up
my courage.

Uh, to do what?

Can I tell you
after I know how it turns out?

In case I chicken out?

Of course.

Now I really should get going.

Let's just say that
I could use some of

what you have in abundance--
nerve.

Really, Gin, I keep thinking
about when you first started

working with Bill at Maternity.

How you just... walked into his
office without any experience

and-- and yet you demanded
to be taken seriously.

What made you think
that you could do that?

It was--
It was not courage,

if that's what you're thinking.

What was it then?

False sense
of entitlement, maybe?

Recklessness? Stupidity?

- Come on.
- Libby, I...

I don't read instructions.

I just take things out of
the box and I plug them in.

To hell with consequences.
To hell with the blown fuses.

The fingers almost lost
in the spinning blade.

That's ridiculous.

I look at you and...

you're one of the bravest people
that I know.

You just see what you want
and you...

you go and get it.

Don't do that, please.

I mean it. Don't, uh, don't hold
me up as an example of anything.

Now...

I really need to get upstairs.
We have patients.

Of course, you go.

Uh, we have your wife scheduled

for a capping this afternoon.
Did I get the time wrong?

She'll be here.

Uh, I was hoping to have
a private word with Bill.

Oh, Dr. Masters,
Dr. Mason is here to see ya.

I'm sorry, did you say "Mason"?

Yeah, that's right.

In my office, please, Frank.

- My name's not--
- My office.

Is there anything
you'd like to say to me

about last night, Bill?

You're hoping for an apology?

You don't think your
abrupt departure calls for one?

Oh, it seemed
an appropriate response

to a bait-and-switch.

You were hardly introducing me
to some friends.

I was reintroducing
myself... to you.

I needed their support.

It's in rooms like that I found
the courage to tell the truth.

My truth.

Well, which is it?
The truth or your truth?

Maybe if you stayed
and listened--

I already knew the whole story.

The sadistic father,

always teaching his son
a lesson in humiliation.

The kid who left home
to become a doctor

to make a career out
of saving lives,

having barely been able
to save his own.

I knew it because it's my story,
Francis.

And maybe AA's allowed you
to appropriate my experience

as justification
for your overindulgence.

What?!

Or maybe you truly are
deluded, you know?

All that alcohol has played
tricks on your mind.

Now just a minute--

I fumbled a 4th down
33-yard pass at the 8-yard line.

That was me he pulled out
of the car,

me he made walk home
in the rain,

me his tire splattered with mud

as he pulled out
of the parking lot,

me who knew there was a beating
waiting for me

when I got back home.

And you were in the backseat,
little brother,

watching me
through the rear window.

You saw it happen to me.

What makes you think
the same thing

didn't happen to me
after you were gone?

That I was your replacement?

Because if I thought
that was possible, I...

I never would've
left you behind.

No, you-- you were the apple
of his eye.

He'd show you off
in front of company,

make you perform.

For Christ's sake,
he gave you his name.

What father skips over
his firstborn

to gave his second son his name?

A son of a bitch, that's who.

That's what he was
to both of us.

You tunneled under the wall.
I went over it. We both escaped!

Look, whatever you need
to believe to keep yourself

on the straight and narrow.

I'm healed, Bill.

That's what the truth does.

You just have to be brave enough
to face it.

Oh, I see. I see.

So the point of dragging me
to that meeting

wasn't really to share insights
about yourself, was it?

Who did you really think

you were in that story, Bill?

Me? Or him?

Think about it.

No, there's nothing--
there's nothing to think about.

He left you,

and you left me.

I don't blame you for it.

I did.

But I understand now.

And I forgive you.

We got heat out
above the 8th floor in Pruitt.

That's at least 600 people.

May I help you, Mrs. Masters?

I was coming to ask you
the same thing.

I was wondering
if you could use my help.

You wanna volunteer?

Yes.

What can you do?

I can type.
I can answer phones.

I can stuff envelopes.

We need someone
to make a sandwich run.

What can I get for you?

I'm fine.

Really?

Nothing, huh?

Usually I'm playing catch up
with you.

Does it help?
You to be here with me?

I don't know what you mean.

Does drinking help
to relieve your conscience

about what it is we're doing
here with each other?

About what it is we're--
we are doing to Libby?

Libby?

Where is this all
coming from all of a sudden?

Isn't the question
why hasn't it come up sooner?

I want to know.

What things have we told
ourselves that make it possible

to do what it is we've done here
in this room?

It's not as if you've told me

that you don't love your wife

the way a married man
strings along a mistress.

- Well, I-I do love her.
- I know.

I love her, too.

She's been a wonderful friend
to me.

I almost wish that there was
something that I could point to,

some... terrible thing that
she had done to me

that would justify what it is
I've done to her.

But...

there's nothing.

What do you tell yourself, Bill,
that makes all of this okay?

Jesus, Virginia,
what's the matter with you?

I don't know.

But maybe there is something
wrong with me, with both of us.

- I wanna talk about this, Bill.
- Why? What's the point?

What does this endless
self-examination accomplish,

except to make everyone
who engages in it miserable?

The past is past.
You can't change it.

You can poke at it and prod it,
but you cannot change it.

So you move on.

You do your best,
which is what I've done.

I-I can move ahead
with certainty

that I have never made
a decision

with the intention
of hurting anyone.

Then you're a fool.

You don't think any of this
would hurt Libby?

I don't intend
for her to find out.

I see, so as long
as she remains oblivious...

I weighed what she did
not know against the value

of everything we are trying
to accomplish here!

No, no, we have a greater
purpose, Virginia. The study--

The study!

It hasn't been about
the study in years, Bill.

When is the last time
we noted a session?

Used a stopwatch?

Added up anything
besides our bar tab?

We cannot pretend
that there is any point

to what we are doing here beyond
our own physical pleasure.

What we do in this room

does not make a damn bit of
difference to anybody but us.

It will.

You can say that, but--

We are not gonna find
the cure for dysfunction

in an exam room. We're not.

We can diagnose
individual conditions,

we can rule out
underlying issues,

but we're not gonna find answers

pairing impotent men
with prostitutes,

wives with husbands
whose sexual techniques

have made them frigid.

It's gonna take subjects
that understand sexual response,

who--
who know each other's body--

What are you saying?

That this is research that
you and I should undertake here?

That this is important enough
to justify what it is

we've done to Libby?

You can't treat

a sexual dysfunction
theoretically.

It's practical work.
It is trial and error.

Yes, I'm aware of that.

Then tell me, Bill,

what sexual dysfunction
are you proposing we treat?

Mine.

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