02x03 - No Way to Treat a Lady

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Californication...

- So, why the vasectomy?
- I hate the rubbers.

(Sighing)

What happened back there
could have happened to anybody.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong vag*na!

I think it's time I go have
a little chat with our president.

That's it! Runkle is ankling!

Are you sure you don't
want me to step outside?

I've had way grosser dudes than you

staring into the business end
of my cooter all day long.

Porn!

Julian's a writer too.

Really? My condolences.

What I write about is...

accessing the artist that exists
within every single one of us.

So, let me get this straight.
Your name is Trixie, and you are a wh*re?

- Lew Ashby.
- Hank Moody.

The writer?

I got this book deal.

They want to write about
why everything I touch turns to gold.

You write it.

Hey, great. You're up.
I made some coffee.

Hey, Becca, let's go!

Um, you know the house...
the job that we're bidding on?

It's over in the Valley,

so I thought I could just get Sonja
to drop me at Lew Ashby's house tonight,

and maybe we could go
get dinner someplace in Hollywood.

- What do you think?
- I'm listening.

- What, with your hands?
- I'm like a blind man.

Some of us have jobs to go to,

you know, like, responsibilities?

So do I, but I balance that sh*t. I don't let the
crushing pressures of the workday world

interfere with the richness of my life
as a sexual being.

I noticed that. But I don't know
if getting paid six-figure sums

to hang out with rock stars all day
really constitutes work, but, you know...

Of course it does.

Don't you want to send me off
to the salt mines with a smile on my face?

You're not giving up, right? OK.

- (Doorbell)
- Oh, my God. That's... Hey!

That's the mailman.
That's the wrong number.

Becca. It's Mia! She's here.

(Mia) Hello, hello?

- (Hank) Nobody's home!
- Knock, knock, foster family.

Hey!

Becca, come on. You don't
want to be late on your first day.

- You can sulk later.
- Did you have breakfast?

(Becca) Did I mention I hate you?
(Karen) Yes, I know.

I'm evil, but just get out here now. Please?

You promise you won't make fun?

- Yes.
- No!

Come on. We're kidding.

No one's gonna make the fun.
I'm sure you never looked lovelier.

Parents who truly love their children
make sacrifices to home-school them.

Let's go. Come on. Get your stuff.

And you...

Good luck today.

You too. Kick some architectural a*s.

And may the force be with you,
my preppy goth princess.

Hey, and whatever you do,
don't be another brick in the wall!

(♪ Heavy rock)

The chorus is the verse.

(Echoing) What the f*ck does that mean?

Work it out, grasshoppers.

Smoke?

No, thanks. I quit.

- Chorus was the verse?
- Yeah.

- The chorus was...
- You just listened to that song one time?

I hear. I speak. I move on. That's my job.

- So you just operate on pure instinct?
- What the f*ck else is there?

Intellect, technique.

- Somebody like Warren Zevon...
- Hey, hey.

Warren Zevon could sit down
and talk 12-tone theory with Stravinsky.

Half the c*ck that come through here
barely play their f*cking instruments.

Yesterday the singer's girlfriend comes by
with Sprinkles cupcakes

and one of those screamo f*gs in there
pulls out this plastic knife,

cuts one in half,
shares it with the other Johnny Cupcake.

Elton John going down on George Michael
in a public washroom - less g*y.

It would've been more g*y if he shoved
the cupcake up the other guy's a*s

then ate it out of there,
but thank you for putting that in my head,

- because I love me some Elton John.
- You love me some Elton John?

- (Ashby grunts)
- Hey! What are you... Get off of my a*s.

Looks like we're just in time.

Uh... Take-out has arrived.

- Hi.
- How you doing?

- Hank Moody.
- Beatrice Trixie.

You two know each other?

- I seem to recall an exchange of currency.
- Cool. Then you take Trixie, I'll take Amber.

- Unless you want to go together?
- No.

- Swap midstream?
- No!

No? Cool. Catch you on the flip side.

Amber!

So...

how's Trix?

Charlie Runkle from...

Just Charlie Runkle.

Where? From planet Earth.
That's where I'm calling from, OK?

Meanwhile,
how about we just get a lunch on...

the books.

Nice.

(Sighs)

Hey. Hey, I know you. How you doing?

You don't remember me?
We met at my wife's salon.

You were having your lady needs tended to

- and I was...
- Oh! Marcy's dude.

- Yes. Charlie Runkle.
- Daisy.

Daisy. That's right. The lovely Daisy.
Where are you off to this lovely afternoon?

You know, just work.

Work? Well, that's great.
That means you scored a part.

Well, you're not psyched.

These guys are just total amateurs,
and I hate working for them.

I understand the basic impulse
to want to stick your d*ck in something.

Like, I get that. I'm just not one
of these chicks that's down with objects.

- Objects?
- You know, like bottles of booze,

cellphones and whatnot.

Toys, sure.
Food, maybe. Food's organic.

Well, some of it is. I mean, you really...
you got to read the labels.

But once you become that chick,
you're in a box, right?

Forever and ever, you're the girl that sticks
stuff up there. I didn't get into this business

- to become some kind of freak show.
- You certainly did not.

You gotta stand up for yourself with those
people. Tell them what you just told me.

Like they want to hear that from
some chick just off the bus from Hicksville.

How are you gonna get what you want
if you don't ask for it? Let me talk to them.

- That sounds nice, but...
- I'll go with you to the set,

I'll put in a few well-chosen words...

- That sounds great, but...
- What's up, sweetheart?

You and Uncle Fester need a lift?

Look, mister, you've been really nice,
but that's actually my ride, so I have to go.

Not so fast. Are you going to the set?
I'll come with.

How you doing, pal?
OK, shove over, make room.

One real Hollywood agent
at your service. Ha!

In case they don't want to do that,
I've prepared a couple of options.

But... So we've got the safe approach,
which is that,

- then the more radical approach...
- (Hawks phlegm)

Honey, honey.

I think you're throwing Karen off. Jesus.

No, no. It's fine.
I'm the one that's intruding.

I just wanted to check in with you before
we meet the clients and go through...

It's not really your forte, is it?
Selling yourself?

Well, I'm not selling myself.
I'm selling my works.

- Give me your wrist.
- I don't really want to give you my wrist.

Karen? Go with it, OK?
Trust me. The man knows his sh*t.

- Of course, I just...
- Give me your wrist.

Oh, my God. Here's my wrist.

Close your eyes.

Don't be scared. Good.

Now, we all have this pressure point
in our wrists right about here

that reduces nervousness.

Wow! Your heart is racing. Why is that?

Mm-hm! Because you're feeling judged.

The artist within feels threatened.
Under attack.

Those are very primal emotions.

You don't have to be ashamed.
Listen to me, I'm here to tell you,

if you're operating from a place
of inner strength and conviction,

anything is possible.

Yes.

And no dream that you dare to dream
can be beyond your grasp.

Thank you.

Believe it.

Thanks.

(Man) This is totally uncool, Daisy.
What the f*ck? You brought your boyfriend?

- He is not my boyfriend.
- I'm just along for the ride, fellas.

Where we sh**ting today anyway?

Do you know what a hassle this is?

- We're just gonna have to fuzz him out.
- Fuzz me out of what?

Brother, if you wanna ride in the Slam Van,
you've got to sign a release.

I'm sorry. "The Slam Van"?

Fuzz me out of what?

I don't even understand what the
problem is. I'm catching a ride to the set.

- I'm gonna say hello once to the director...
- The set? This is the set.

- And I, hello, am the director.
- Oh, you're the director?

- Yeah.
- Charlie Runkle, UTK... Or formerly UTK.

Listen, I'm not familiar
with your work, per se, all right?

But I think it's safe to say
we're both big fans of Daisy here, right?

You know what? I'd be an even bigger fan
if she would start schlobbing some knob.

Daisy, can you hurry it up?

- We are losing daylight, sweetheart.
- All right.

You know what? f*ck it.

We're just gonna put Popeye
in this scene here anyway, man.

You be her daddy or something in this one.

Or maybe a creepy uncle, OK?

Daisy, you're going to get some ice cream.
Your car breaks down. sh*t like that.

Let's just start sucking.
All right. On my go!

And action!

It was so cool of you
to help me out like this.

I just wish there was some way
I could thank you.

What the f...

Whoa! sh*t!

Uh-oh! Daddy no likey.

Daisy, what are you do... Oh, jeez!

- Come on, little girl.
- f*ck!

Make daddy proud.
Little girl, make daddy proud.

OK, there you go.

See, it's your friend. It's your friend.

It's getting bigger.
It's getting meaner. Fight back!

(Hank) Then she jumped into the car
and we drove off into the sunset.

No, it was actually dark already.
But you get the idea.

Awesome. Good for you.

Yeah, and we've been living
happily ever after ever since.

- Pretty much.
- Pretty much?

It's a long story, but... one night
I ended up becoming the accidental oralist

to this very naked, very young girl.

It's been a sticking point.

I don't really know what that means,
but it sounds bad.

Do you want a tug job?

Is that with the foot?

No... What?

- A little hand release?
- No, thanks. I'm not a fan of hand work.

I don't think it would be appropriate,
given the story I just told you.

I was just asking. I am on the clock.

Record company's dime.

Not that you're not doing
a great job on my toes. (Giggles)

I just thought I'd put it out there.

It's hardly cheating.

I'm pretty sure it is.

Maybe you're right. Sometimes
my wh*re logic gets all f*cked up.

But I can tell you there's a lot
of husbands and boyfriends out there

who would not file that under "cheating".

Call me an old fuddy-duddy,

but I think any time the tumescent head
makes an appearance, it's cheating.

Is that good dirty talk?
Like, if I said to a client,

"You're so f*cking tumescent right now,"
would that be hot?

Makes my wiener feel a little weird,
but that's just me. I like words.

How come you never called me?

If you remember,
I was a little strapped for cash.

You could have called to
ask me out on a proper date.

- I did give you my card, didn't I?
- I figured you give it to all the fellas.

- No.
- No?

No.

You really got under my skin, Hank Moody.

I just couldn't shake you off.

Like, I'd be blowing some gross
Persian dude at the wh*re Seasons

and I'd be thinking,
"I wonder how Hank's doing?"

f*ck, that's romantic.

Ow!

Are you guys gonna bang or what?

- What's it to you, Bo Bice?
- I don't know.

I was thinking how rad it would be
to bend you over that balcony and scream,

"I'm the king of the world!"
As I'm about to pop.

How about in a bed with a condom?

- Whatever, dude.
- Sure about this?

All in a day's work.

Man, you wanna watch for your book?

Oh, hey, thanks, but I'll pass.

Be good to the lady.

- Don't f*ck up her toes.
- (Trixie laughs)

(Bell rings)

Um... you might not want to sit there.

Why? Have you got the herp or something?

No.

Then I'm good.

Look, but seriously, if you sit here,
people are gonna think you're weird.

How unfortunate.

And here I was
planning to run for prom queen.

You're weird.

At least I'm not the only boy
in an all-girls school.

Yeah, well...

For your information,
I don't actually go here.

I got suspended from my real school.
Some bullshit I didn't even do.

And my mom was like,

"No effing way you're sitting on the couch
all day playing Guitar Hero."

She's a teacher here.

English, I presume.

Yeah. Mrs Patterson.

What, do you have her or something?

Third period.

But Ethan Frome gave you away.

Right.

Yeah, she's making me read
this entire stupid book.

Some sort of punishment.

I'm sorry. I talk a lot.

You do.

And you forgot the most important part.

Are you any good?

You know, Guitar Hero.

(♪ Rock guitar, simple drumming)

Oh, man, I think I just found
the keys to my chi.

- How was Trix?
- She was fantastic. She's a real dame.

We didn't do anything, though.
We just hung out.

If I knew you were just gonna hang out,
talk about your feelings,

I would've gone with Trixie. She's
my favourite, my best. Totally gets me.

I know you reside in a whole
other solar system and sh*t,

but in mine,
I don't cheat on my girl.

Ladies and gentlemen.
Hank Moody, debauched moralist.

Why don't you tell me more about your girl?

- What girl?
- The one that got away.

The house in Beverly Hills.
Your Daisy Buchanan.

That's not cool, Moody,
calling back that sh*t. I was gorked.

- I don't talk about that in broad daylight.
- I'm writing your biography.

You might want to start
getting comfortable with talking.

This is it, Lew. I am done. No more of you
and your f*cking white-trash lottery winners!

What's wrong?

That as*h*le got rough with me,
and went way off the f*cking menu!

- What did he do? You all right?
- I'm fine!

- Luckily, he's a quick comer.
- I'm sorry, Trix.

They're animals.
They don't know any better.

Someone's gonna have to deal
with the Cleveland steamer

- that he left on your coffee table.
- Really? Jesus!

Consuela! Consuela!

- You're a f*cking prick! You know that?
- Thank you.

- Show some respect.
- What, to a f*cking wh*re? Come on.

What the f*ck are you doing, Moody?

Slash traded me that Les Paul
for an eightball! f*ck!

Get off!

- (Cymbals crash)
- (Trixie) I swear to God, I'll k*ll you!

(Trixie yells)

Back to work, assholes.

We're making rock history here.

Act accordingly.

- (Moaning)
- (Director) Look how great your t*ts are!

Celebrate them! That's it, Daisy! Moan!

Moan like it hurts a little.

Not like an operation,
more like a dentist visit.

Come on, baby! Slam her, Flex!

How long does this generally go on for?

These cinema vérité
masterpieces of yours?

as*h*le, shut the f*ck up!

OK! I'll mind my business.

- I'm just a passenger on the Slam Van.
- (Daisy moans)

Just along for the ride!
Although I got to say, Daisy,

- I'm a bit surprised to see you like this.
- What? You knew I did porn.

I did, but the girl I met back at Hot Lips
had bigger plans for herself.

She had goals, dreams and ambition.

She did not, and I quote,
"Want to end up the a*s-licker."

I'm not. You see any other girls in this van?
I'm totally the star of this production.

This production is one notch
above snuff film.

Easy, brother.
Two more payments and I own this van.

Did you negotiate
before you got on this van?

Did you lay out clear rules
for what you will and will not do?

- No.
- Then how you gonna get respect?

How you gonna get paid accordingly?
What's industry standard? Double for a**l?

Dumb sh*t, we're sh**ting in a van.

So what? Does fairness not exist in a van?

Just because we're not on a sound stage,

does this young lady
not deserve the same dignity and respect

as someone on a sitcom
or a Broadway play?

Look, Mr Runkle, it's fine, really.

No, Daisy, it is not fine.

There's a limit to how much
someone can get f*cked in the a*s

without getting paid for it!

You, young lady, today,
have reached that limit!

- That's it! Big, stop the van!
- What?

Ovitz! Hit the bricks!
Get the f*ck out!

With pleasure!

- Daisy?
- I'm good.

Little girl, you're going too.
Go make your dreams come true.

- But I didn't do anything!
- O-u-g-h-t! Out!

She's real scared of you.
Let me tell you something, Al Goldstein.

- Talent runs this town!
- See you at the Oscars, pal.

Let's go!

Let's just sh**t it solo, baby.

Oh, you left your shirt.

No problem.

- Here you go.
- Thank you.

Looks good.

Where the f*ck are we?

It's basic instinct, really.

When I see a girl in trouble, I just react.
I don't think. I just do.

Hank Moody, my hero.

Just say the word if you want
to be properly rewarded.

My treat, of course.

Seriously, you'd comp him?

Sure, why not? I've sampled
the merchandise. I know it's fresh.

I remember you telling me you
never came that hard with a john before.

I thought it was a line, but as you
walked away, your knees were wobbly.

- I thought maybe...
- Hold on.

Are you saying he's f*cking better than me?

f*cking better at the f*cking.
That's what she's getting at.

That is not what I'm getting at.
Please. What a stupid question.

Are the Stones better than the Beatles?

- f*ck' A they are.
- I must agree with the man.

OK, there's only one way to settle this.

We both have to have her.

- We both have had her.
- No. Now. Right here.

No. Trixie, you know I'm a fan.
You got mad skills and all...

Whip it out, Moody!
One girl, two c*ck, ultimate showdown.

So tempting,
but I'm still gonna have to pass.

- What's that word again? "p*ssy."
- Yes, thank you.

Any scenario involving two c*ck,
I'm generally not down with.

Unless they're my own.

Don't you sometimes wish
you had two c*ck? I know I do.

I guess not.

For the sake of business, that little prick
should think I'm kicking your a*s.

Feel free to fight back any time.

h*!

What's going on?

Typical male-ego bullshit.

I've had both of them, but what they
forget is that they both paid for the sex.

It is my job to make them feel good.

Though I must say that
the brown-haired one, Hank,

he's pretty damn good
in the sack department.

- Have we met?
- No. Trixie.

- Karen.
- You're Karen.

- Hank's Karen.
- That's right.

You jumped in the car!
Happily ever after.

That's awesome!
Good for you!

Thanks.

(Panting) Karen. Hey! Sweetie!

(Chuckles) Hi.

- Hey, did you get the job?
- Yeah.

Oh, fantastic.

So, you wanna...

get something to eat?

Moroccan? Ethiopian?

Italian.

Indian!

Hey, sweetie.

Are you tucking me in or avoiding Mom?

What, I can't do two things at once?

- Was it worth it?
- What?

- Whatever you did to piss her off.
- (Sighs) Hey.

How was school?

- Fine.
- Fine?

Already your vocabulary has decreased.

I met someone with frontal-lobe capacity.

- Name?
- Damien.

They have girls named Damien now?

- Wow.
- We're IMing as we speak.

Uh... Not any more, honey.

TTYL, Damien. TTYL.

I heart you.

My God. You reek of cigarettes.

Yes, but they're not my cigarettes.

Hank...
What are you doing?

I am charming you into our first post-snip,
safe/unsafe romance expl*si*n.

Are you as excited as I am?

No.

No? That's it? No?

Nothing about you
is really turning me on right now.

There's always angry sex.

- You actually think this is funny?
- It's a little funny.

You think sleeping with prostit*tes
is f*cking funny?

One prost*tute, and I didn't know
she was a prost*tute until after.

You mean until after you paid her
to have sex with you?

- Technically, Charlie paid for the sex.
- That's disgusting.

You met her. She was nice, right?
She didn't seem like a prost*tute, did she?

I have no idea, Hank.
I mean, you're the expert. You tell me.

Is there like a group discount thing? Do you
have a little punch card that you use?

One time. I was lonely.
She was nice.

I don't think that's any worse
than buying somebody a drink.

It's more honest.
There's no bullshit element of seduction.

- What right does the government have...
- Please! Shut the f*ck up, Hank.

Don't give me one of your f*cking bullshit
lectures on libertarianism right now!

Honey, that makes me sad, because
you used to love my bullshit lectures.

- You're still f*cking joking.
- How could I be... We weren't together.

I'm not gonna be held accountable
for those sins.

No, of course not.
You're not accountable for any of it.

"Oops, I accidentally went down on her.
Not my fault."

"Oh, Officer, that cop, he provoked me."

I mean, Hank,
you always have some f*cking excuse!

I'm just meant to stand here and accept it
over and over again and I'm sick of it!

f*ck, Karen, you want to be mad
about that sh*t? Go ahead.

Just don't give me bullshit
about how you forgive me

then dredge up sh*t from the past
I can't possibly fix!

That's not forgiveness!
That's not giving it another shot!

I'm not talking about the past, OK?
I'm talking about right now.

I'm talking about trying to make this work.

How am I different from this morning?

What's changed?

Nothing's changed. You're right.
That's the f*cking problem.

The f*cking problem is
that I won't sit here and be crucified

for sh*t that I did while we were apart.

Did I f*ck half of Venice? Yes.

- I don't need to hear that.
- No, not really.

But for the sake of this argument, yes.
But I didn't move in with any of them.

And I didn't set up house with Becca
and the f*cking dial tone.

OK, right. Well, now who's crucifying who?

That's not very forgiving, Hank, is it?

It's not very nice.

I f*cking hate you!