Original subtitles

A little help would be nice.

Moving on out.

Looks like it's Splitsville from the West Village

for Lindsay Lohan and her latest beau,

bad boy rocker, Rocky Rakovia.

Townhouse Confidential has learned that little Lindsey

has grown teary-eyed over the construction going on

in front of her rented townhouse

and put in an offer on a Hudson Yards penthouse

with a floor to ceiling river view.

Her new digs come complete with an indoor pool, an outdoor pool,

an equinox gym, and, get this,

luxury barrel saunas for two.

With amenities like that,

how can a West Village townhouse hope to compete?

Oh, Sophie, why didn't you text me

and let me know you were coming?

Next time, remind me to take an Uber.

So, you finally found us a new tenant, Sophie.

It's about time.

Making money while you sleep sure does

beat working for a living.

You call that working?

Hooking up with middle aged hedge funders

that you meet at the gym

while I slave away icing cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery?

Well, at least I make more than minimum wage

working as a personal trainer.

Girls, girls, please.

I finally found a tenant

for your precious garden apartment.

And not just any tenant.

He's 32, runs his own venture capital fund,

and rakes in more than half a million a year.

And best of all, he's single.

Never married, no kids, no pets.

That means he's probably gay. Or bankrupt. Or both.

Have you checked him out on deadbeatnants.com?

Oh, Lizzie, do you have to be so cynical all the time?

Maybe he's got a friend for you, too.

Oh, come on. He might be just--

Can't a girl get a minute's peace

to blog in this house?

You do realize that the Huffington Post

just named Townhouse Confidential--

One of the 100 best new real estate blogs to watch.

Yes, Mary, we know.

And now we just wait

for all those advertising dollars to roll in.

Okay, girls, I'll bring him around

for your inspection tomorrow.

But if there's a marriage comes out of this,

I expect an invitation to the wedding.

You are the boss, Sophie.

You have no idea.

Thank you so much

for coming, everyone, thank you.

Thank you very much.

As most of you know,

my family has maintained a dominant presence

in West Village real estate for nearly two centuries.

Our new master plan,

which we will execute with $100 million in bank loans

and investor capital,

will remake the face of the West Village.

Affording the world's elite

the opportunity to own entire blocks

of luxury townhouse properties

where they can live, work.

Did you know that from the moment

I brought Georgie home from St. Vincent's Hospital,

he could already point out a lintel from his stroller?

And by age seven, he knew the difference

between a federal style townhouse and a Greek Revival.

More into it.

Now, as you can see in the shaded area,

Barrow Ventures has holdings on Charles,

Perry, Bank Street,

as well as 50 other luxury townhouse properties.

Not to worry.

Girls are always fainting at Georgie's presentations.

That's why we always have a couple of paramedics on hand.

Boys.

Thank you, boys.

She's fine. She's fine.

Any questions?

Yes.

But what about the Landmarks Preservation Commission?

Won't the city's preservationists object

to your turning the West Village into a hedge funder Disneyland?

The deal is in the bag.

Everyone from the mayor on down

has already signed off on the project.

Trust me, this baby is shovel ready.

But what if some of the townhouse owners

refuse to sell?

Got it covered.

We've hired the top brokers in the West Village

to canvas the homeowners.

Everyone has agreed to sell to our development company

once we close on the financing.

Mr. Barrow, one more question.

So, I think the presentation

went very well today.

Such a pity your father wasn't there to see it.

He would have been so proud.

I missed Dad too, Mother,

but it's been ten years since he passed away.

I'm sure he would have wanted us to move on.

And so we are,

by creating a townhouse empire in the West Village

that'll make the Barrow family name burn even brighter.

And perhaps one day, by continuing the Barrow legacy

into the seventh generation.

-Here we go again. -You know, Diana's daughter,

Amy, was in the audience today.

Goldman real estate analyst, Wharton MBA.

I saw the way she was looking at you.

Please don't start.

George, you're not getting any younger.

Why, when your father was your age--

He was married with a baby and a mortgage.

Yes, Mother. I know, but I'm 32 and single.

I have more mortgages than I can count.

I'm so busy building this business,

I barely have time for a girlfriend,

let alone a wife and kid.

George, every girl I've ever introduced you to

has been wrong.

Too thin, too fat.

Too smart. Not smart enough.

Wrong school, wrong zip code.

I'm beginning to think that maybe

you're not interested in girls at all.

What are you trying to say, Mother?

All I want is a little grandbaby

I can pop in a stroller and push around the West Village

to teach the ABCs of bricks and brownstones.

Is that too much to ask?

Mother, we're done here.

I'm off to a business meeting.

-What? -Don't wait up.

What are you gettin'?

I don't know. How about you?

Think I'm gonna go for a pastrami, no mustard.

Sal, you gotta watch your gluten, Sal.

Yeah, but I like food with gluten.

All right. Good. Oh, here he is.

How are you doing, Mr. Barrow?

Sal Carmine, Long Island Mortgage and Title.

This is my associate, Big Sal.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Barrow.

Very nice to meet you, gentlemen.

Have a seat.

Thank you for coming today. I appreciate you.

So, Big Sal...

looks like the two of you are exactly the same height.

We get that a lot, actually.

But I'm 5'6, he's 5'7.

That's why they call him Big Sal.

Listen, guys, I'm a little pressed for time.

What have you got for me?

Well, unfortunately, Georgie,

the pickings were pretty slim.

Your family owns 50 townhouses in the West Village,

but you drain most of your equity.

And your credit lines, they're pretty tight.

The only bank that's willing to give you a bridge loan

to finance your deal until it closes

is the Hudson River Bank out of Westchester.

Hudson River Bank.

I thought they were a front for the Russian mob.

Doesn't a certain bankrupt real estate developer

from Queens borrow money there?

I heard he got into politics just to pay his bills.

Those guys are tough.

What's the rate?

8.5% and five points at closing.

-Cheap. -With fed funds at next to zero?

Why, that's practically usury.

You want that half a million dollars or not?

Half a million?

I told you I needed a million dollars to close the deal.

Well, that's why I brought Big Sal over here.

He's like a brother from another mother.

Let's just say he has access to some creative financing.

You gotta be kidding me.

Listen, listen, listen, it's a new thing we're trying.

It's called financing.

We charge lower rates than the Russian mob.

And what the IRS don't know...

won't hurt 'em.

So...

What kind of collateral are you looking for?

Do you need a personal guarantee?

Nothing, nothing. Just your word of honor.

And a promise that you do the right thing.

Well, what happens if the deal falls apart

and I can't pay you back?

Go home and watch The Godfather.

You get the idea.

Or maybe Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Pleasure doing business with you guys.

Oh, coming.

Put your foot down.

- Welcome. Come in. - Hi, girls.

Look who I brought with me.

Meet Jonathan Grove, your new tenant.

It's a pleasure to meet you.

And his friend

and real estate advisor, George Barrow.

Mr. Barrow. Pleasure.

You as well.

-What a lovely home. -Oh, thank you.

How is your plan coming along to turn

the West Village into a hedge funder's Disneyland?

Very well, thank you.

George and Jonathan were roommates at Columbia.

Now, Jonathan has returned to New York

to start his own venture capital fund.

Wow. Welcome back. Shall we sign the lease?

- Yes! - Yes, please.

This is where you sign, Jonathan, to start your new life

in the historic and charming West Village.

Uh, not so fast, my friend.

Before we sign the lease,

let's go downstairs and do a walkthrough.

You know, I normally make my own decisions,

at least when it comes to investing in startups,

but he's the townhouse expert.

I'm just the money guy.

Indeed.

Come on, let's go.

Welcome to your new home, Jonathan.

Oh, my God.

And the-- So the couch and the table,

they come with the apartment?

They can if you'd like them to say.

Great. Okay.

Does this outlet work?

Uh, yes, they all work.

I checked them myself.

You see how spacious it is?

Oh, my God. I didn't see back there, wow.

-Let's take a look. -Scuff marks on the wall.

Easy to fix.

Do you have another light bulb?

Of course.

Paint's a bit peeling. We'll need some drywall repair.

Absolutely.

You're gonna have to handle this.

Consider it handled.

Print out this email,

attach it to the lease as a rider,

and Jonathan will sign it.

Personally, I think the place is charming just the way it is.

Well, I'll look for your email.

- Nice to meet you. - You too.

Really excited for this. This is awesome.

Thank you. Good.

Girls, you got yourself a tenant.

Do you have any idea how much

all those repairs are going to cost us?

We need every cent of Jonathan's first month rent

and security deposit to pay for the mortgage and the taxes.

Wait, I have an idea.

I will take him down to the Little Branch,

I'll get him wasted, introduce him to some girls,

he'll forget all about the stupid repairs.

Plus, we all know a handyman who'll do the work for cheap.

On time with 30 seconds to spare.

Tommy boy, you still close out the bars and pick up the chicks.

Mm.

Hey, Tommy.

How you been? Haven't seen you around lately.

Hey, babe. What's going on?

Babe?

You don't remember my name, do you?

Sure, but of course I do. It's uh...

Starts with a K.

I let you crash at my place for three weeks

because you couldn't pay rent.

Kaitlyn! Kristen? You're uh--

The top floor apartment on Laker and 11th street

above Magnolia Bakery, where we literally did it--

Kathleen! Oh, sorry, baby.

I was still a little hungover after the last night.

-I missed you, baby. -You know what?

Go fuck yourself, Tommy.

You're a total man whore.

God damn George Barrow.

Why did send me here?

He knows how much I hate that guy.

Oh, hey, baby. You new in town?

"To our sweet tenant, Jonathan.

"May this little box of treats sweeten your stay in our home."

Hey, Lizzie.

Got your text saying something down here needs fixing.

You said it was urgent.

Yes, Tommy.

We have a new tenant moving in on Monday

and we have a whole punch list of things

that we need to fix before then.

Really? Like what?

The place looks like it's still in, uh, pretty decent shape,

as far as I can remember,

Last time I was here...

I'll admit, it was pretty dark.

So you do realize that my sisters and I,

we don't make a lot of money.

Yeah, the poor little rich girls

live in a townhouse, make minimum wage.

Yeah, I've heard the stories.

So how much do you think you're going to charge me

to fix everything on this punch list?

Plus slap on a fresh coat of paint, of course.

I was thinking maybe $500.

What's in the box?

Oh, no, Tommy, those cupcakes aren't for you.

They're a housewarming present for Jonathan.

He's coming by later to pick up his keys.

He won't miss just one, right?

No. Tommy, don't.

Yummy.

Tommy, I said no.

You sure, Lizzie?

Because on New Year's, as I recall,

that "no" quickly turned into

a yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, stop!

-Put down that cupcake or-- -Or you'll what?

Run to the sixth precinct and get an order of protection?

Cops can't protect you from your own appetites, Lizzie.

You have no idea how hard it is.

Every day at work, being surrounded by cupcakes

and frosting and banana cream pudding,

always having to be the good girl,

-always having to say no. -Why?

'Cause you're waiting for the day Prince Charming

walks in with your glass slipper?

You know what you want, Liz Perry.

Just relax and enjoy it.

Oh, my God.

This is really good.

It's, uh-- it's been a while.

Give me 1,000 bucks. I'll start tomorrow.

Elizabeth Perry, the girl who can't resist a cupcake.

Who would have thought?

Bye.

Hi. I'm looking for Lydia Perry.

Oh, hey, I'm Lydia Perry.

I'm your personal trainer.

Hi, Jim Bedford. Good to meet you.

So, what brings you to the gym, Jim?

It wasn't really my idea to come here.

Usually the only thing I exercise is my fingers.

It's typical of most guys.

No, I didn't mean it like that.

I'm-- I'm a software developer,

so I just, you know, spend most of my time just writing code,

just banging away at the keyboard.

So you enjoy banging, too?

No, hold on, hold on.

No-- What I mean is,

I'm the CEO of a social media startup,

and I'm going on a road show next month

to raise money from investors.

So the VCs thought it would be a good idea

for me to get in shape before, you know,

I collapse in an airport and die.

Wow, social media,

roadshow, investors.

What does your company do?

Well, we developed an app called Chick Stalkers,

which lets guys rate other guys ex-girlfriends

by swiping left or right on their phones.

Consumers use it for free, and we make money

by selling the data that we gathered

to porn sites and the NSA.

I'll have to check it out.

In the meantime, why don't you go ahead

and hop on the treadmill so I can check you out.

See what kind of shape you're in?

-Okay. -Yep. Right over there.

Now, we're gonna head that way.

Wow. I'm impressed.

Did you play sports in college?

Well, I-- I played lacrosse at NYU,

but we were only division three.

Truth be told, I spent most of my time

warming the bench.

Writing code, I suspect.

Yeah, actually. I had a teammate. Oh.

He got dumped by this girl with huge tits,

and he dared me to write a program

where I ranked all the girls at NYU based on their cup size.

It's actually where I got the idea for Chick Stalkers.

- Cool. - Yeah.

The only problem we're having is getting girls to use it.

-Really? -You know what?

I would actually love a woman's point of view.

All of our developers are just horny nerds.

Well, I will definitely check out your app, Jim Bedford.

See you back here next week.

Oh, bathroom. Yeah.

Guess who I just met at the gym.

Mary.

Mary, I know you're in there

because you never go anywhere and you don't have a life.

Go away, Lydia. I'm on deadline with my blog.

So I went to the gym, and I met this guy

who was also named Jim and he's the CEO

of this company called--

"Lindsay dumps boyfriend to shack up with dad?"

Total clickbait.

"Spotted: Lindsay Lohan checking out townhouses

"in the 10014 with super broker Kathryn Waverly.

"Sources close to the former West Village resident

"tell Townhouse Confidential, blah, blah, blah."

If I post it now, I can scoop page six

and the New York Times real estate section.

Who gave you that tip?

One of the addicts that hangs out on the stoop?

How do you even know it's true?

I'm a journalist. I don't reveal my sources.

You'd have more sources

if you left the house once in a while.

I pick out more information at the gym every day

than you ever will through your network of street people.

Anyway, good luck.

I'm out of here.

Listen, sister. If you want to get to the top

of the blogosphere, you've got to get out

of your townhouse and do some real journalism once in a while.

I can't believe I actually left my house to meet with you.

I was on deadline with a Lindsay Lohan exclusive.

I could have been scooped by The Real Deal

or Current New York.

I just texted you a picture of George Barrow

at the Waverly Diner borrowing money from a couple of mobsters.

Practically gift wrapped it, for sobbing out loud.

Now, do you want to bring down

the wicked Prince Charming of West Village real estate or not?

Sure, I'd love to break that story and win a Pulitzer,

but how do we know you're telling the truth?

Why would George Barrow borrow money from the mob?

He already has a ton of cash.

Not as much as you'd think.

Take a look.

George's check from the Waverly diner.

So, what does that prove?

Well, he only left a 10% tip, not his usual 25.

My God, you're right.

George is in serious trouble. Give me all the dirt.

You know what to do.

What are you doing?

It's a burner phone.

Do you really think I'm that stupid?

But you didn't tell me anything.

I don't even know your name. How do I get a hold of you?

Just call me Deep Park

and follow the money, it won't steer you wrong.

Oh, George. Hi. I wasn't expecting you.

How can I help you today?

Well, it's just one more little thing.

After that contractor came by to do the repairs

before Jonathan moved in,

you assured me that all the electrical outlets were working,

but this one clearly is not.

I had one of my electricians come by

and test it this morning.

Well, it was working fine until Jonathan

had his home entertainment system installed last week.

I checked it myself.

With what? An iPhone?

You can hardly expect my friend to run

a 60-inch flatscreen TV, a Bose speaker system,

and an Xbox from an outlet that can barely charge a cell phone.

You're going to have to call ConEd to upgrade the power.

Excuse me? This is my house.

And it's my sisters' house.

And it was our parents house until they were struck

by a Green Apple tour bus crossing 7th Avenue.

Now, we may not have a lot of money,

but we do the best with what we can.

And ever since you showed up here

with your stupid punch list, I don't know

how we're going to be able to pay the mortgage this month.

Now hold on a minute. You're the landlord.

You have an obligation to make repairs

-and provide essential services. -Like what?

Fix the windows that haven't been open since the '90s?

Jonathan agreed to everything on that punch list

when he signed the lease.

Now, if he isn't satisfied with everything that

my sisters and I have done to make sure that he is happy,

he can pack up his speaker system and his Xbox

and he can get his ass out of my house.

But that's not going to happen--

No, no, I'm not finished.

At least Jonathan is a gentleman

and thanks us for doing what we can.

You, on the other hand,

are a world class asshole who wouldn't even help

his own grandmother cross Bleaker Street.

I know all about your little plan to buy out the West Village

and turn it into a hedge funder's Disneyland,

but there is one house that you are never

getting your hands on, and that is this one.

Now, get out!

Okay.

So what's the problem?

He pays his rent, doesn't he?

It's not that, really. It's just--

Every day, George Barrow comes over to Jonathan's apartment

and finds one more little thing wrong with it.

One more little thing that then my sisters and I

have to pay for to repair.

-So, just get Tommy to do it. -Hmph.

Lord knows he'll do it for free.

So all you gotta do is get on your little knees and behave.

'Cause if you don't, I will because that Tommy is hot.

Shut up!

So what? Tommy and I hooked up one time

at a New Year's Eve party that I threw at my house.

We were drunk, it didn't count.

And I did ask Tommy to help me with the repairs,

but he flaked on me midway through.

Anyway, when George came over

to Jonathan's apartment yesterday,

he started complaining about an electrical outlet

that wasn't working and I just-- I lost it.

Now, I'm afraid I'm going to lose Jonathan, too.

So what's the plan, honey?

I know you got one. You always do.

Well, this one's Lydia's idea.

We're going to throw Jonathan a party on Friday night

at the Little Branch.

Invite some cute girls, get the guys trashed,

and before they know it, they'll forget all about

that stupid electrical outlet.

Count me in. I'll be there with bells on.

Yes!

All right.

Hey, Billie. Sorry, I'm late.

My hair dryer wasn't working again.

Have you seen Jonathan?

We need to make sure he's having a good time.

-George too, I guess. -Yes, ma'am.

I think he's over there talking to your sister

- and her friends from the gym. - Come on, George,

-just have one drink. -Jonathan.

You know that I am training for the half marathon

in Battery Park next month.

Even one drink could derail my preparation.

You should try a master cleanse.

Yeah, that worked for me when I was getting ready

for the Miss International Triathlon Competition.

For me, it's all about clean living.

Three meals a day, eight hours of sleep a night...

five mile run up and down

the West Side Highway every morning.

Sounds like a very interesting lifestyle, George,

but what do you do for fun?

Oh, George doesn't believe in the word "fun."

Yeah, back when we were in business school,

George was always hitting the books

while the rest of us were getting trashed.

That's why he got the GPA and I got the girls.

Be fair, Jonathan.

You're making me out to be some kind of hermit.

I'm not looking for a woman at all at this point in my life.

I'm only here right now because Jonathan dragged me along.

Did somebody say drag?

I-- I think I have to go. Big day tomorrow.

Oh, you're not going anywhere, sweetheart.

Drink this. It'll put some hair on your chest.

Billie, what are you doing? You're gonna ruin everything.

George, I hope you can forgive my sister and her friends.

They're just trying to show you a good time.

Calm down, Lizzie.

We're just having a little fun, right?

Yeah.

Now, George, when was the last time you got laid?

Because even though Lizzie here thinks

you're a world class asshole,

I think you'll melt like butter in my mouth.

Bring us another bottle of Grey Goose.

This is the best party I've been to in a really long time.

Girlfriend. Like your style.

Ugh, who is it?

-Hello? -Are you still in bed?

Charlotte, who died?

No one yet, but it's going to be you

if you don't tell me why I wasn't invited

to that bash you threw at the Little Branch last night.

I am so sorry. Let me guess.

You read about it in Townhouse Confidential?

I know. I'm such a nerd.

But still, I am one of your oldest friends

and I only live two doors down the block.

Oh, my head.

By the way, Lizzie, did you get a chance

to check out Straight Easy Personals today?

Charlotte, I told you, I am done with those dating sites.

Hold on a minute.

The guy in this ad here sounds perfect for you.

Ready? Real estate pro.

Fed up with cheaters and game players.

Me, too.

He's 34, 6'2,

190, sensitive, sincere, and single.

"My ideal date would be to come over to your place,

whip up some spaghetti carbonara, wash the dishes,

put them away, then I would carry you to bed,

give you a relaxing massage, and bang you all night long."

Charlotte, that has to be a joke.

There is no guy who's like that, who's single and straight

and smart and good looking and lives in New York City.

Well, it's your call, Lizzie.

Like they say in those lotto commercials,

you got to be in it to win it.

I'm going to bed now, okay?

Goodbye.

-Elizabeth Perry? -Do I know you?

Sal, Sal Carmine. You answered my ad, right?

Oh, sorry.

I was expecting someone a little bit different.

Perhaps a little bit taller?

Yeah, I get that a lot. That's why I put 6'2.

You know, chicks are genetically programmed to dig taller guys.

-Are we? -Guys like me,

in the 5'6 and under club,

we don't stand a chance.

Yeah, and I did my homework on those dating sites, too.

Chicks don't like: bald guys, fat guys, or married guys.

They like the Prince Charming type.

You know, like Mark Darcy from the Bridget Jones Diary.

Hold on a second. Are you married?

Yeah.

I got three kids in Catholic school on Long Island.

Don't get me started on the tuition.

You know, my wife, she's a decent cook,

but she don't want to give me head

unless I bathe her toes in Guccis.

Yeah, so I thought, you know, getting on a dating site

would be a hell of a lot cheaper than hiring a hooker.

Oh, my God. You are disgusting! I'm out of here!

Wait, come here. Where you going?

Come on, let's go back to my Lexus, I got a big back seat.

I-- What are we, in high school? Absolutely not.

You know you want me, baby.

- Come on. - I do not.

Let me play connect the dots on your shirt.

Oh, my God. Get away from my house, you creep.

Take my card. I'm a licensed mortgage broker.

Do you need to refinance your loan?

I'll get you the cheapest rates in town.

My loan's just fine, thank you.

Listen, by the look of your house,

it looks like you're going to need some renovations.

And you? You look like you seriously need to get laid.

Oh. Goodbye.

- Call me. - Never!

ConEd bill.

Ooh, Pottery Barn catalog. Okay.

Green Piece solicitation.

Hudson River Bank? What?

Default?

Forclose-- What? Oh, my God.

Good morning, Lizzie.

Oh, don't you think it's a little early

in the day to be drinking alone?

Good news.

So, anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?

-Is it business or personal? -Both.

Turns out my Prince Charming from the Street Easy Personals

was a married creep from Long Island.

And then, I got a love letter yesterday from the bank

saying that they're going to repossess the house.

The bank sent you a foreclosure notice?

Yup.

The mortgage payment is supposed to come out

of your checking account every month.

Have you been receiving any calls from collection agencies?

No. Ever since you set me up on autopay,

I haven't missed a payment.

You're not only a great friend, Charlotte,

you are an excellent bookkeeper.

I know.

Hold on a minute.

Remember that time you went to the Hudson River Bank

and I helped you apply for a home equity credit line?

-Yeah. -Whatever happened with that?

The bank gave us a $100,000 line of credit,

but I never used it.

You know how I feel about borrowing money

that I can't pay back.

The bank sent us a book of checks,

which I put in my desk drawer and never touched.

No!

So then, I turn around

and this dude was like, "Hey, can I buy you shot?"

He was so hot. You probably saw him.

He just left, actually.

Another family meeting.

We haven't spent this much time together since Mom and Dad died.

Lydia, sit down. This is serious.

Somebody stole the checkbook for our home equity credit line

out of my desk drawer.

What? How did you let that happen?

Me? Maybe you would know something about this

if you weren't so drunk last night.

-So this is my fault? -Well, maybe,

you're the only one who lets in random men

at three o'clock in the morning.

Sisters, please, can we just work together

for, like, five minutes?

You're right, Mary.

The home equity credit line that we took out

gives the bank the right to sell our house

after three missed mortgage payments.

That means we have seven days to come up with $100,000.

$100,000?

No. No. You're so stupid, Liz.

I studied mortgage financing at NYU,

and I can tell you that a bank can't just foreclose

on your house after a couple of missed payments.

-It could take years. -No, Lydia,

there's a clause in our contract.

The three strikes you're out rule.

I guess that's why the guys over at Hudson River Bank

gave us such a great rate.

But that's mortgage fraud.

We could sue them or expose them

on the Daily Beast or BuzzFeed.

I think we need to go to the police.

Okay. Don't worry.

I know some guys down at the gym

who will be happy to bail us out.

I'll put out the word on Townhouse Confidential.

Are you kidding me? Fine.

I will go down there and talk to Detective Ortiz myself.

Detective Ortiz.

Oh, dios mio.

Elizabeth Perry. We meet again.

You remember me?

How could I forget a damsel who's always in distress?

What is it this time?

Your-- your grandmother's pearl necklace?

Your sister's diamond earring?

A solar eclipse over Washington Square park?

No, Detective Ortiz.

This time it's something serious.

Someone broke into our house and stole the checkbook

for our home equity credit line.

They wrote a bunch of checks

and drained all of the equity out of our townhouse.

Now, the bank wants to take the house

because we haven't been making payments on the money

that we didn't know we borrowed.

Tragic.

When did this happen? Last night?

I don't know. I just noticed the checkbook missing this morning,

but it could have happened months ago.

Do you have any idea who might have taken it?

Has anyone unusual been to the houses recently?

A plumber? A FedEx guy?

Professor Dumbledore?

Well, my sister, Lydia, does bring home

all these random men just about every weekend.

-Oh, yeah. -And then on New Year's,

there was this handyman

and a lot of champagne and a couple cupcakes--

No.

Here's my card.

If you think of any more information, give me a call.

In the meantime, if we see anybody walking down

Bleaker Street with a suitcase full of cash,

we'll give you a call.

Well, Jim, I think we'll both will agree

that I've added a lot of value to the development

of the Chick Stalkers app.

I mean, come on, downloads have gone way up

now that I've clued you into what women really want.

Didn't really expect to get a sales pitch

this early in the morning.

That's not what I'm talking about.

Okay, okay. You know what?

I will talk to my DCs and I will see

if I can get you some friends and family shares

before we go on the roadshow.

How can you think of money at a time like this, Jim?

Can't you see that what I'm really looking for...

is love?

- Love? - Mm-hm.

But you told me you were the hookup queen

of the West Village.

That's where you got all those great ideas

for Chick Stalkers, right?

Yes, but now that I've met you, Jim, I've changed.

Now all I want is to settle down with a man I love,

cuddle up in our 25 foot wide townhouse west of 7th Avenue,

and just pump out lots of babies.

I see you've been reading my Bumble profile.

It's true. I want to settle down with a nice, old fashioned girl.

But, Lydia...

unless you've had a personality transplant

in the last 24 hours, that girl is just not you.

You look scorching hot in those Lululemon shorts,

but I love you for your mind.

-Do you want the truth? -Yes.

Well, okay.

Somebody stole the checkbook for our home equity credit line

off of my sister Lizzie's desk and now we have to get

our hands on $100,000 by next week

or the bank takes our house.

Well, that's terrible. I had no idea.

You know, I actually really hate that stupid brownstone

that we inherited from our parents.

But my sisters won't sell it

and I'm the only one in the house

who has any brains or makes any money.

You're trying to help your sisters?

You really do have family values.

My sweet Lydia.

I never would have guessed.

I hope you like it.

-Cheers. -Cheers.

Wow, those cupcakes look so good.

You know, I love a woman

who knows her way around the kitchen.

Oh, I didn't make those myself, I just iced them.

I'm the assistant chief manager at Magnolia Bakery.

Our bakers bake those fresh every day.

I bet you your oven is pretty fresh.

My oven is actually off. Thanks.

You know what?

Let's get down to business, shall we?

I would love that. Yes, please.

So, how much money do you make working at this cupcake shop?

I get $17 an hour plus a share of the tip jar.

And Magnolia's isn't just a cupcake shop.

Tourists come from all over the world to taste

the baked goods that put Sex in the City on the map.

All right, well, how about your sisters?

What do they contribute to the household income?

I'd say altogether we bring in about $125,000 a year.

Okay, based on your income

and the rent you're getting from the apartment,

I could probably get you a new mortgage in,

you know, like, say, a couple of months.

Oh, um... we actually need it by next week.

Otherwise the bank is going to take our house.

Oh.

Well, you know,

I could maybe talk to the bank.

Oh, yeah.

-And maybe speed up the process. -That would be great.

If there's just, like, one thing you could do for me.

Oh, um, Sal. I'm not that kind of girl.

Oh. Looks like the power went out.

Better go check on that. You know your way out.

I'll get you that mortgage right away.

- Who's there? - Ah! Oh, my God.

This is my house. Who are you?

George Barrow?

You think you can just burst in here whenever you please?

Well, I could just as easily ask you

the same question, Elizabeth.

The lease Jonathan signed does not permit you

to enter his apartment without three days written notice

unless there's an emergency.

Oh, there was an emergency.

And the last time I checked,

your name is not on the lease as an additional occupant.

So, why did you come over here unannounced on a Saturday night?

I came here to fix that faulty outlet

you and your contractor could never seem to fix

before Jonathan flies back from California tomorrow night.

And then the electricity went out.

Oh. Damn it.

Yep. Yeah. That's an entire blackout.

Yeah, all of Lower Manhattan.

Okay, okay,

well, now Jonathan won't have any electricity at all.

Do you happen to have a generator?

No, but I might have some leftover firewood

from Hurricane Sandy.

-Oh, you were here for that? -Yeah.

I was in this house for six days with nothing.

-It was awful. -Oh, I remember.

Yeah. I made a fire in my townhouse for Sandy.

Oh. Would you want to make one here for me?

Yes. Yes, I would.

All right. Follow me.

Okay.

-Well, cheers to you. -Cheers.

I mean, I guess I am partial to dormer windows

because I grew up in a federal style townhouse,

but still, Greek revival, it leaves me cold.

Oh, same here.

You know those Italianate brownstones on 9th street?

I think they should be banished to Brooklyn Heights.

I have no idea you were a townhouse junkie, too.

Born and bred right here in the West Village.

It's funny that we've never hung out before.

Two sides to the story, though, right?

I mean, on the one hand, everybody hates you

because you get to live in your own

little castle in the West Village.

But on the other hand, there's a million problems

to deal with every single day.

Yeah, for me, those problems are mice

and bugs and the radiators that hiss all winter long.

But what problems could you possibly have, George Barrow?

Oh, trust me.

Being the crown prince of West Village real estate

is not all it's cracked out to be.

Oh, why not? Because you have to share your castle with a queen?

Don't even get me started on my mother.

She's the one who wants to build a dynasty

in the West Village, not me.

All I ever wanted was to be an architect like my dad.

Oh, um...

Oh, my. Look at this. All right.

-That's a good one. -That's a large pour.

A village pour. I'm gonna take that..

Cheers.

Let's play a game.

- Okay. - Okay.

113 Bedford.

Date and builder.

That's too easy.

There's a plaque on the facade

that I see every day on my way to work.

George Harrison, 1842.

-Not the singer. -Correct.

-Your turn. -Okay.

Ooh, skinniest house in the West Village.

Oh, come on, Lizzie, everybody knows that one.

75 and a half Bedford,

nine and a half feet wide.

The Edna St. Vincent Millay House.

Okay.

How about this one?

59 Morton.

You've actually been inside this townhouse before.

Although you probably don't remember.

It was a very long time ago. You were very little.

I'll give you a clue.

Birthday party.

The stairs.

Liz, are you asleep?

Lizzie?

Uh, Tommy Leroy?

What the hell are you doing here?

The power went out last night

and didn't come back on this morning.

I figured I'd drop by and check on you and your sisters.

Three girls alone in a townhouse

might need a man to help out, eh?

In your dreams.

Get out of here before I call the cops.

With what?

A cell phone that's losing charge by the second?

Ooh, looks like somebody started the party without me.

Mind if I poured myself a glass?

That's right.

George Barrow was here last night

to fix the electrical outlet that you said

-you fixed two weeks ago. -Unbelievable.

George Barrow was here?

I thought you hated him and everything he stood for.

You've hooked up with every girl in the West Village.

You can't possibly expect for me to sit around

and wait for you to show up and fix what's wrong down there.

In the garden apartment!

You really expect me to believe that George Barrow

just happened to drop by on a Saturday night?

Well, yeah, because that's exactly what happened.

And now that I'm getting to know George better,

I can see that he's not just some money grubbing developer.

He's a real gentleman who's kind and caring

and shares my passion for cornices and dormer windows.

He's not just some fly by night handyman

who looks really good in a pair of skinny jeans.

Whoa!

You're so incredibly naive, Liz Perry.

You have no idea who George Barrow is

-or what he's capable of doing. -So, enlighten me.

I'd be happy to.

George Barrow may be a West Village blue blood,

but he's not the only one who grew up in a townhouse.

Wait a minute. You grew up in a townhouse?

My father was the Barrow family's property manager

when I was growing up.

The Barrow's lived in the owner's triplex up top.

My dad and I lived in the garden apartment

underneath the stoop.

Go on.

When we were little, George and I were really close.

Practically like brothers.

But after old man Barrow got killed in a crane collapse

on his way to see one of my construction sites,

George blamed me.

Then, he asked me to move out of my dad's apartment

so his contractor could do some renovations.

I floated on couches for a year before I realized

he was never going to let me move back home.

That's awful. I had no idea.

Eventually, I found a sublet in the story

with a couple of guys from work.

I had no idea that George Barrow was such a monster.

- Did you take him to court? - Yeah.

I hired a lawyer and everything.

By then, George had already

finished the renovation and turned it

into a single-family home worth triple what it was before.

Yeah.

He sent me a check for ten grand

to settle and I signed the release.

But what could George Barrow possibly want with me?

Don't you get it, Lizzie?

He's buying up every decent house in the West Village

to combine them and sell them to billionaires

who want 50-footers.

Most of your neighbors have already agreed to sell him

their properties once he comes up the money.

Yeah, sure, that's old news.

I read it in Townhouse Confidential.

Okay, I guess you haven't read the latest post.

"Last Townhouse Standing.

"The Townhouse confidential grapevine is buzzing with news

"that mega builder, George Barrow, has the hots

"for a shy little townhouse on Washington Place

"to add to his portfolio.

"Barrow is just days away from closing

"on a $100 million fund to purchase dozens

"of the biggest and best townhouses in the West Village,

"but needs the mid-block beauty to seal the deal.

"Odds are three to one that the sisters will say no.

"Will gentlemen George up his offer?"

I assume that's why he came by last night,

to wine and dine you.

I cannot believe that Mary wrote that.

After all, she probably thinks that

we're so desperate for cash, we'd take it from anybody.

Even George Barrow.

Well, I gotta go, Lizzie.

Make sure not to share your cupcakes with just anyone, huh?

George?

Come here to steal our house, I assume?

I think I forgot my screwdriver.

Wait there. I'll get it.

-Here, take it. -Did I do something wrong?

Maybe not to me,

but you should have been a little nicer to Tommy Leroy

before you stole his apartment

and kicked him out of the townhouse

that you both grew up in.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Oh, really?

So you just get to be the Prince Charming of the West Village

while Tommy can barely afford his sublet in Queens?

You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Is that all he told you?

He told me that the only reason

you came over here last night

was to convince me to sell you our townhouse.

So, I guess all that crap about cornices

and dormer windows was just a bait you used to reel me in.

You are no gentleman, George Barrow,

and you never will be.

Now, go.

Please, Liz. You don't understand.

Tommy Leroy isn't who you think he is.

There's another side to the story.

There always is, isn't there?

Anyway, it doesn't matter.

Somebody stole the checkbook for our home equity credit line

and if I don't get my hands on $100,000 by next week,

the bank is gonna take our house.

Thanks for the screwdriver.

Fuck, could things possibly get any worse?

Oh. Hi. Got the whole pie.

Come on, have a slice.

A little carbs won't hurt you, right?

Thanks, but no.

It would derail my preparation for the half marathon.

Fuckin' awesome.

George. Say we get down to business, shall we?

The bottom line is your lenders are getting pretty impatient.

They want to know when, you know,

the deal's gonna close.

They want their fucking money now, big guy.

-Capisce? -Yeah.

There's no reason to talk like that, Big Sal.

I'm sure Georgie here

has a perfectly reasonable explanation

-for the delay, right? -Yes.

There's just one more townhouse that I need

to put in the contract

before the investors will release the financing.

The trouble is that it's owned by three sisters

who don't want to sell.

You see, they grew up there.

You think a horse's head in the bed

might help them see the light of reason?

I don't think that'd be necessary, Big Sal.

Let's just let George here talk to 'em, all right?

Know that Liz Perry? She loves flowers.

Especially expensive kind.

Otherwise, the next horse's head

is gonna be in your bed, vapisce?

Come on, Big Sal, everything's going to be all right.

Enjoy the pizza.

Fucking awesome.

And the weirdest part is,

I didn't have sex with any of them.

I mean, I was a little drunk,

so it was kind of tempting, but no.

You go, girl.

Unfortunately, the guy I'm crushing on just left town.

He said some kind of business trip.

Didn't even say when he's coming back.

Wait a second. Are you talking about Jonathan?

I thought he was straight.

He wasn't so straight when I was done with him.

Okay, you go, girl.

Ooh, let's check this one out.

Can we go home already?

One more spiral staircase

and I'll be on crutches for weeks.

Come on, Billie. This is the last one.

Girl.

-Hi. -Hi. Have you got your ticket?

Thank you so much. Please put the booties on.

Sure thing, thank you.

Whoa.

Billie, do you see the chandelier?

It's gorgeous.

- It smells like money. - Yeah.

- Ooh, girl. - Other room?

Does it matter?

Is this how the other half lives?

You know, this place feels really familiar.

Like I've been here before or something.

In your dreams, Lizzie.

You have to get past three deadbolts and an alarm system.

Plus, they got guns.

I don't mean now, Billie.

I meant when I was a little girl.

I remember my mom dropping me off

at this big, beautiful townhouse

for a birthday party when I was five.

I didn't know any of the other kids, so I just...

wandered around the house and I got lost.

I almost fell down a flight of stairs into the basement

when this little boy grabbed my arm and rescued me.

- Rescued you, huh? - Mm-hm.

- Hey, Lizzie. - Yeah?

Look at this photo. It's George.

And Jonathan.

Lizzie, that little boy that rescued you...

- was George Barrow. - What?

Oh, my God. Billie, you're right.

This is George Barrow's house.

But hold on a second.

How could George be so generous to a group of complete strangers

and so cruel to someone who he grew up with,

practically like his brother?

I don't know.

How could Jonathan be so hot in the Columbia t-shirt?

Billie, George just texted me.

He wants to meet up with me right now.

-For what? -I don't know.

Do we have to go back to work or can we go check this out?

You sure you don't wanna trash his house first?

No, let's go.

Let's go. Bye, Jonathan.

There he is.

What was that?

Oh, my God, Billie.

George wrote me an actual letter by hand

and he sealed the envelope with wax.

-Just rip it open and read it. -Okay, okay.

"Dearest Elizabeth, I know that you will never sell me your home

"after what you believe I have done to Tommy Leroy,

"so I won't attempt to make an offer.

"All I ask is that you read this letter

"explaining what really happened

"and give me a chance to clear my good name."

Oh, my God. This can't be real.

"Then five years ago, I went away on a trip to Africa

"with my friend, Jonathan, to dig wells to fight malaria.

"When I got back, I discovered that Tommy

"had forged my signature on a building permit

"and was getting ready to turn the home

"in our family for almost 200 years--"

"Into multi-million dollar condos

"and pocket the money for himself.

"I was shocked and angered by Tommy's betrayal,

"but I promised my mother that I would keep the matter private

"so as not to tarnish the reputation of our family

"and that of the real estate business we own.

"I have always loved you, Elizabeth Perry."

- Elizabeth Perry. - "Ever since the day

"at my birthday party when I saved you

"from falling down the stairs.

"You are the damsel in distress

"that I have always wanted to rescue.

"But now I feel that the person who really needs rescuing is me.

"Without you, I am lost...

"with no hope of the feelings that I have

"for you and your townhouse ever being reciprocated.

"I remain your faithful servant.

"G. Fitzwilliam Barrow."

I think you're about to get laid, girl.

I am such an idiot.

All I had to do was stick out my foot for him

to put a glass slipper on, and instead,

I kick him out the door because I believe

that scam artist, Tommy Leroy.

I mean, I guess it's not too late to call

sleazy Sal Carmine and take him up on his offer.

Lizzie, that's no way to talk about my boyfriend.

Your boyfriend? What are you talking about?

Well, remember the night of the blackout

when you had a Sal over for wine and cupcakes

to talk about the new mortgage on the house?

Yeah. How could I forget?

Well, after the power went out on Lower Manhattan

and you kicked Sal out the door,

he went screaming down Washington Place.

I heard the noise, ran downstairs,

flung open the door, and well, let's just say

he was grateful to find a friendly port in the storm.

Oh, my God.

But Sal is married and he's bald

and he's short and you could just--

We're not all like you, Lizzie.

Not everyone is looking for a Mr. Darcy

with the uncertain domestic bliss of marriage

and kids and happily ever after.

For me, a married Mr. Collins will do just fine.

Maybe you're right.

Maybe life isn't about getting what you want,

it's about wanting what you get.

Well, I guess that's it, then.

Jersey City, here I come.

I guess I could get a job at a different bakery,

even if that bakery isn't Magnolia.

-Uh-huh. -And I suppose

I could find an apartment to rent,

maybe share it with a roommate.

Yeah, then you'll understand how the other 99% lives.

I'm about to lose my house, Billie.

I thought you could at least sympathize.

-Sympathize? -Yeah.

Do you know how many apartments I've been kicked out of

since I moved to New York?

You think you got it tough, baby girl?

Try being Black, gay, and living in the Bronx.

I'm so done with you and your white townhouse privilege.

Do you know how many millions of people

who would gladly trade places with you in the heartbeat?

But I am the victim here.

-Are you though? -Yeah.

Look how many advantages you take for granted.

Two parents that adored you,

college degree that you did not pay for,

and that $20 bottle of Italian wine

that you drink so effortlessly.

I only buy Montefalco Rosso when it's on sale.

Mm-hmm.

But maybe you're right, Billie.

I guess I never looked at it that way before.

Of course you haven't

because you're too busy looking in the mirror,

feeling sorry for yourself.

Just because you sweep your fireplace

every once in a while

does not make you Cinderella, baby girl.

Where I'm from...

I'd be lucky to be able to walk down the street in my dress

and my wig and not get rocks thrown at my head.

So, maybe I am no better than George Barrow

or Kathryn Waverly or the other

millionaire hedge funders who live in the West Village.

Maybe I do deserve to be exiled to a beach bar

in New Jersey where no one has ever heard of a cornice

or a lintel or a dormer window.

Hey, now, don't be going all Jersey Shore on me, baby girl.

I'm just saying, if you want to save your townhome

5or at least get some serious cash for it,

you got to get out there and you got to fight for it.

Don't be sitting around

waiting on Prince Charming to pay the tab.

-You mean-- -Yes, Lizzie.

There's something you love more than vanilla cupcakes

with purple frosting and sprinkles on top.

Something you love more than a hot guy

with a tight ass and skinny jeans.

Oh, I don't know if that's possible.

Oh, my God, Billie, you're right.

It's my townhouse.

That 18-foot wide, broken down fixer-upper of a townhouse

that I grew up in on Washington Place.

The place where literally nothing works

and everything's held together with scotch tape

and rubber bands.

The place that's always just

on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

That scorching hot mess pile of bricks...

is me.

-Detective Ortiz. -Detective Ortiz.

Can I offer you a cupcake? It's on the house.

And those cupcakes do look tasty,

but this time I think I'll pass.

I came in to check your security tape.

Uh, it looks like the Gucci Bandit

is back out on the loose.

The Gucci Bandit?

Yeah, he's a burglar who breaks into people's homes

wearing Gucci sandals, steals their credit cards,

and goes on a shopping spree.

Okay, but what does that have to do with us?

Well, it looks like he's taking a show

on the road to Bleaker Street.

According to the credit card company,

he was in here sometime yesterday before 3:00 P.M.

We were off yesterday, but sure, why not?

If he was in here, he'd be on tape somewhere.

Sure you don't want a cupcake?

You are a temptress, Liz Perry.

Liz, can you help me here?

I don't think I was here for this training session.

Yeah, sure, um,

It should just be--

Busted on Bleaker. We got him.

Good work, Liz.

Just email me the clip.

Wait, there's somebody else on tape

walking to the store.

Oh my God.

I'd recognize that butt anywhere.

It's Tommy Leroy.

He's writing a check for some cupcakes

using the checkbook for our home equity credit line.

Detective Ortiz,

I'd like to make a citizen's arrest.

Come down to the station and file a report, okay?

Never trust a man a skinny jeans.

Yeah.

We caught Tommy Leroy on video camera with our checkbook,

but that doesn't bring back the $100,000.

And we need to pay back the entire loan by Monday.

Our only choice is to sell the house

to the first person who walks in that door

with the biggest bag full of cash.

Which means that we need to start painting

and cleaning ASAP to get it ready for the open house.

If we all pick up a brush in the mop right now,

we should be done by Saturday.

And once I take the pictures, make the video,

and post the ad on Street Easy,

we'll be ready for the open house on Sunday afternoon.

And that's where I come in, to find the mystery buyer

with a big bank roll in his briefcase.

We know you'll find a someone, Sophie.

I texted Charlotte.

She should be here any minute with the cleaning supplies.

Let's clean my little dust bunnies.

Let's.

♪ Yeah, it's come to this, world's falling all around us ♪

♪ Will we make it out alive? ♪

♪ Now that we've come this far ♪

♪ Come on, sisters, get together ♪

♪ And bring the city to its knees ♪

♪ We gotta get up ♪

♪ Working harder than we've ever worked before ♪

♪ Gotta speak up ♪

♪ Be a fighter when something's worth fighting for ♪

♪ Never give up ♪

♪ Keep on trying, give it everything we've got ♪

♪ Better believe we'll find out what we're made of ♪

♪ Keep your head up, just keep smiling ♪

So, you'll never guess who I ran into today.

Well, I guess you're going to tell me, mother,

and I have no choice but to listen.

Elizabeth Perry.

The girl who lives in that trashy, little townhouse

over on Washington Place with her two sisters.

Oh, and what did she have to say, mother?

Well, she told me she's putting her house on the market

and that she and her two sisters are hosting an open house

tomorrow afternoon and that they're prepared to sell

to the highest bidder, even if that bidder is you.

- Really? - So it's true

that you've offered to buy their house?

Or is that just inter-webs gossip?

Well, I very much doubt that she'd be

willing to sell to me, mother.

She thinks I'm an asshole

who wouldn't help his own grandmother

cross Bleaker Street.

Of course she would, sweetheart.

You're still the Prince Charming of West Village real estate.

Any girl would pay gold just to meet you for a cup of coffee

or Tesla stock, Bitcoin, or whatever's hot these days.

Oh, mother, I am tired of living here with you

in the shadow of my great great grandfather's portrait.

All I want is to be like-- like--

like everybody else

who comes to the West Village to have fun.

-Fucking awesome. -George Barrow!

We do not use language like that in this household.

And we most certainly do not eat pizza.

Why don't we? John's Pizzeria is two blocks away from our house.

They have the best pizza in the West Village.

You always told me that we couldn't go there

because they have rats in their basement.

I honestly don't care if they have rats in their basement.

Their pizza is awesome.

But, George, you'll get fat!

Cool. Then maybe all these girls

who think I'm Mr. Darcy will stop chasing me.

Tomorrow, I think I'm gonna go try one of the slices at Joe's.

Oh, it's a mighty fine slice, mother.

Mighty fine slice, mother.

Hi.

Hi.

-Hi. -Hello.

Wow.

It's gorgeous.

Nah, it's too bright.

Okay.

-Thank you. -Thank you for coming.

Well, at least we tried.

I'm sure we can find a decent place to rent

in New Jersey when they take the house.

Or Florida. I heard it's pretty cheap down there.

-Where's Sophie anyway? -Does it matter?

It's not like she's getting a commission.

Girls, I just took a full price offer.

All cash!

And I spoke with the bank and they have agreed

to put the foreclosure on hold.

We did it, we did it, we did it!

Hold on. What's the catch? There has to be one.

Well, the buyer wants to meet with Liz right here,

right now, alone, with no one else in the room.

Good luck.

-May I come in? -Of course.

Thanks, Sophie.

Please let me explain, Elizabeth.

And this time, I beg you not kick me out

until you've heard the entire story.

The only reason I've offered to buy your home

is to save it from foreclosure,

so that you and your sisters can continue to live here.

I will not combine it with any other property

or make it part of the development that you have

so rightly called a hedge funder Disneyland.

I promise that after the deal closes,

I will walk away and never again darken your door.

-But-- -Please don't refuse my offer.

It's honestly the least I can do.

If I had reported Tommy Leroy to the police

after he tried to steal my family's home,

he would not have been free to walk in,

steal your home equity credit line checkbook,

and draw down the $100,000 dollars

that nearly cost you and your family your home.

Or to bounce a check in the Magnolia Bakery

to buy a dozen cupcakes for his ex-girlfriend

in the apartment upstairs.

But I guess you already knew that

since you're the one who busted him on tape.

Detective Ortiz told me the whole story.

You're my hero, Liz Perry.

Well, let's just say I'm a woman of many talents.

So, do you still think

I'm the biggest asshole in the West Village?

No, George. I think you're amazing.

And so was your big, beautiful townhouse

at 59 Morton Street.

The place where you saved me

from falling down the stairs at your birthday party

when I was five.

I'm amazed that you remember.

You were so little.

But I'm two years older and I never forgot.

I've always had a crush on you, Liz Perry.

It was just easier for me to act like a jerk

than to admit it and maybe find out

that you didn't love me

as much as I've always loved you.

Hold on, Liz Perry.

Before we get too carried away,

there's something I have to show you

about your charming, little townhouse

that you may not have noticed.

- Here, just in case. - Ah. Perfect.

Follow me.

Uh, George,

what are we doing in my basement?

Trust me.

It must be around here somewhere.

What?

A-ha.

Lizzie, could you hold this?

Sure.

Uh, hey, George, quick question.

Why do you have a key to a lock in my basement?

Wait and see.

Uh, George?

When are you going to tell me what's going on?

Sometimes, Liz, there are connections

you didn't know existed that were there all along.

What does that mean?

Oh, my God, George. We're in your parlor.

There's the portrait of Captain Barrow.

Ah, and the guns.

But hold on a second. How did we get here?

Allow me to explain.

The same day that you came to see my house

for the Spring House benefit tour,

I went to the library to check out

the old fire insurance maps.

It turns out our two houses are connected underground.

-What? -They've been that way

for over a century.

So wait. You mean--

Yes, that my mother can no longer

object to us uniting our two houses and tying the knot.

But, wait, doesn't your mother hate me

and my 18-foot wide townhouse?

When I showed her on the map that Captain Barrow

had built a tunnel, so that he could hook up

with his third cousin and true love, Betsy Washington,

she caved immediately.

But isn't your mother

all business, super broker Kathryn Waverly and all that?

Oh, no, Kathryn Waverly is a hopeless romantic

just like you, Lizzie. A huge Pride and Prejudice fan.

That's why she named me Fitzwilliam.

But-- but you can...

just call me George.

This is no time for big romantic speeches, George.

We've got to get out of here now.

What are you talking about, mother?

I'm in the middle of proposing to Liz Perry.

Aren't you glad that I'm actually interested in girls?

Oh, don't worry about that, George.

I already knew that you and Elizabeth

would end up together.

Don't forget, I've read the book five times

and seen the entire BBC series.

- Here. - That's bullshit.

I'm gonna fuck 'em up real bad.

-They're here. -Who's here, mother?

No time to explain. Just follow me.

Okay.

George! George!

Where are you? I know you're here.

Where the fuck is he?

Tommy, you said you were gonna bring us

right to him, what happened?

The big boss is gonna be mad.

I grew up in this house.

I know what they went. Follow me.

George, what is this place?

This is where my family hid enslaved Africans

before the Civil War to help them escape to freedom.

No way. I thought you guys were white supremacists.

This is no time for a history lesson, George.

Tommy's probably leading them us right to us as we speak.

We need to secure the hatch. Elizabeth, you.

Okay?

Ah!

Oh, hey, Georgie boy.

I got a couple of guys here who want to talk to you.

Where's my fucking money, Georgie?

Who is that?

Sal Carmine?

What the hell are you doing here?

I'm not here for you, Lizzie. Sorry.

I'm here for Georgie. Time's up, buddy.

Just give him the money, George.

They're not gonna hurt you or Mom.

Hold this.

George, what are you doing?

Elizabeth Washington Perry.

Would you do me the honor of accepting this ring?

Oh, George, of course I will.

Georgie, if I don't get my fucking money,

one of you people up here's gonna end up on the sidewalk

- like a fucking pancake. - Hey.

Put that gun down or I'mma break your face.

Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman over 30

to find a single straight man south of 14th street?

Yes, George Fitzwilliam Barrow,

you sweet, shy, townhouse loving mama's boy.

Of course, I will marry you.

I've loved you since I was five and you were seven.

I was just too blind to see it.

Hey, Barrow gang.

-Get down off that roof now. -Oh.

Detective Ortiz, it's me, Liz Perry.

I'm up here with Tommy Leroy, Sal Carmine,

and some other guy from the mafia.

I'm also up here with my fiancé, George Barrow,

and his mom, Kathryn Waverly.

Wow. Liz. Congrats.

I didn't realize you was dating George.

Oh, me neither, this just happened like an hour ago.

Did you say Tommy Leroy's up there?

I got a warrant for his arrest.

A warrant for what?

Grand larceny in the fourth degree:

theft of merchandise.

Grand larceny?

For bouncing the check on a dozen cupcakes

for my girlfriend?

You bought a total of 240 cupcakes

at the Magnolia Bakery at $3.95 a pop.

So, I got cupcakes for all my ex-girlfriends.

Is that a crime?

You can't arrest Tommy Leroy for grand larceny.

That's $948.

The statutory limit in the state of New York is 1000.

Pendejo, you forgot to include the tax.

Come on down, Tommy. It's over.

Howdy, boys.

You know the drill. Stand over there.

Tommy Leroy,

you are under arrest, my friend.

For what? Having a couple of fat ham hogs?

Or soaking half the skirts in the West Village, huh?

FBI. You're under arrest. Come on.

I thought we were brothers from another mother.

Come on. You're under arrest.

Is this what you do to family?

You ain't family.

Where's my money, Big Sal?

Sophia. Big boss.

Never send a man to do a woman's job.

That's what I always say.

But now that George has given me the briefcase

full of cash, I'm willing to consider your debt paid in full.

So the 500K stays with me.

All's well that ends well and all that crap.

This time.

But tell your boys to stay on the Jersey side of the river

and don't dare cross to my side.

Oh, and give your mother my regards.

You know, it wouldn't kill her to call me once in a while.

Come on, let's get you home.

- Get him out of here. - Fucking scumbag.

Sal! Sal!

Oh, Sal! I heard the commotion.

And I can't believe I'm dating an FBI agent.

Oh, not just some

sleazy mortgage broker.

You'll still make me pasta though, right?

-Whatever you want, baby. -Oh, yes.

Come on.

Ooh, let's go home.

It's just almost too much to bear.

I can only hope that one day you find someone

who brings you as much happiness as George Barrow brings me.

I don't know, honey.

I made the mistake of falling in love with the one guy

who could never love me back or bring me home

to meet his parents.

- Jonathan? - Hello.

Hi. What are you doing here?

I thought you moved back to San Francisco.

I jumped on a plane the minute that I got George's letter.

I mean, can you believe it?

The guy sat down and wrote a letter by hand

using a pen and then mailed it to me

in an envelope with a stamp.

I mean, that's why it took a week for me to get it.

Anyway...

I flew back the minute

that George told me that you love me.

Ever since that party at the Little Branch, Billie,

I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.

The way your nails felt on my back.

The way your lips felt on my--

Oh, hey, PG13, we have customers.

Anyway...

you are so strong and confident,

so sure of your sexuality,

so unafraid to just go out there and live your truth.

And I know I should have texted you.

I'm sorry.

I just felt like such a coward.

Like I'd never be cool enough for someone like you.

Just hold that thought.

You had me at hello.

Dear friends, we have come together

in the presence of God to celebrate

the marriage of these couples.

To surround them with our prayers

and to share in their joy.

The uniting of these persons in heart,

body, and mind is intended by God

for their mutual joy, for the help and comfort

they give one another in prosperity

and adversity, and that their love may be a blessing

to all whom they encounter.

If anyone knows a reason why either of these couples

should not be joined in marriage,

I ask them to speak now or forever hold their peace.

Wait!

Lizzie, don't do it.

I still have feelings for you.

What?

I'm just playing.

She all yours, Georgie boy, you may proceed.

Behave, Leroy, or you're back in lockdown.

Come on. Can't this guy take a joke?

Geez, Louise. Some people.

Anyone else?

I invite you to declare your vows to one another.

You know I'm ride or die for you, right?

Ride or die, baby.

I promise...

to adore every brick in your brownstone

and to cherish you

even when you grow old and I grow old

and our lintels need repointing.

I promise to be the sturdy column that supports you

and the cornice that ornaments your life.

I promise to never forget the little boy

who rescued you when you were a little girl.

And to love you for the amazing woman

who came back and rescued me.

George, I promise

never to forget that you are the same amazing man

who rescued me when I was five and you were seven.

I promise never to drink Montefalco Rosso

until ten o'clock in the morning

unless you're the one who's drinking with me.

I promise that for better or worse...

in sickness and in health...

you will always be my one true cupcake.

And I yours.

By their promises before God and in the presence

of this assembly...

you may kiss your beloved.

Hey, Townhouse Confidential.

Deep Park?

-It's you. -I'm your biggest fan.

I've read every blog post you ever posted.

So, you're some kind of stalker?

I'm more like a field agent.

I know it's kind of hard to do investigative reporting

when you never leave your house.

So, what are you saying?

I want to be your partner.

You on the inside, me on the outside.

Scooping stories, winning Pulitzers.

Deep Park...

I think that this is going to be the beginning

of a beautiful friendship.

Spotted on Washington Place.

New tenants moving into the townhouse

Lindsay Lohan left behind just three short months ago.

The fortunate newcomers are a well-known French actress,

her actor-director husband, and their children,

who sources say have just been accepted

into the prestigious Little Red Schoolhouse.

In other news, Townhouse Confidential

has learned that the Perry sisters' townhouse

has recently passed into other hands,

but that, according to the terms of this unusual deal,

the three sisters may continue to live there

rent free for as long as they wish to do so.

In the words of the late, great Jane Austin...

"It is a truth universally acknowledged

"that three scorching hot sisters

"who live in a West Village townhouse

"will not stay single for long."

Oh, Mother, you have no idea what the Village holds.

Oil, grease, grime.

The trash of life.

The beautiful...

delicious, oily goodness of life, mother!

Oh, mother.

My plans. My plans have changed.

Get on board, mother.

Get on board.

The Barrow family is back.

No one's perfect.

Like that time Lizzie and I hooked up on New Year's, right?

- Meant nothing. - Maybe not to you,

but it meant something to me.

You didn't even text me the next day.

Liz, I thought we were getting married.

You still have feelings for Tommy?

No, of course not.

But he still could have texted me, right?

"The Robert and Roberta Bethune house.

"Built in 1845, the Robert and Roberta Bethune house

"was built for a brother and sister

"who lived in this Greek Revival townhouse

"for 93 years without ever venturing outside

"to date or marry.

"Well known as West Village hoarders

"with hundreds of cats, rumors swirled

"that the Bethune twins were actually--"

Lizzie, can we go home already.

Come on, we've only got one house left anyway. Let's go.

♪ Keep on trying, give it everything we've got ♪

♪ Gotta believe find out what we're made of ♪

♪ Gonna keep my head up just keep smiling ♪

♪ Even on a rainy day keep movin' ♪

♪ Clean up the mess and make a better way ♪

♪ Keep groovin' ♪

♪ Do my thing and don't care what people say ♪

♪ Gotta get up, gotta keep workin' every single day ♪

♪ There's always gonna be another greedy grabber ♪

♪ There's always gonna be another rumor gabber ♪

♪ Always going to have to find a way to tow the line ♪

♪ And if you don't lose your sister's trust ♪

♪ And if you don't lose it all and bust ♪

♪ Keep on working it and you'll be fine ♪

♪ We gotta get up ♪

♪ Working harder than we've ever worked before ♪

♪ Gotta speak up, Be a fighter ♪

♪ When something's worth fighting for, never give up ♪

♪ Keep on trying, give it everything we've got ♪

♪ Gotta believe find out what we're made of ♪

♪ Keep my head up, just keep smiling even on a rainy day ♪

♪ Keep movin', clean up the mess and make a better way ♪

♪ Keep groovin' ♪

♪ Do my thing and don't care what people say ♪

♪ Gotta get up, gotta keep working ♪