Oh Bob, this is impossible. I'm married.
I only want your company.
Well, ok. Obviously I want more than that but I'd be happy just to be with you.
Would you like to take a walk in the park?
If I were you, I would draw the line at letting Ringwald take your wife to the playground.
What?
I want to go home.
Do you love me?
Of course. Just... come to bed.
Hey! You hit my car.
Oh, really? I did?
Yeah, you did, assh*le.
Oh. Sorry, I didn't feel anything. I um...
What? Are you calling me a liar?
No. No. Um. What did I hit?
The bumper, you idiot.
No, I mean... there isn't a scratch on my car I don't give a f*ck about your car, look at my bumper!
Ok. What I'm saying is I didn't do that damage.
There's no paint on my car. There's no paint from my car on your car, so...
Don't treat me like a child.
Look, I didn't hit your bumper. It's clearly been hit lots of times, but not by me.
Oh yeah. No, I get it.
It's my fault. It's always the woman's fault, right?
What? What?
Any shitty thing a man does, he blames a woman. You hit my car 'cause I can't drive. Classic.
I... I didn't hit your car, actually.
Ok, yeah. Deny it ever happened.
We're not talking about cars here, are we?
Next thing you're gonna say is hitting my car was good for me.
Yeah, men are such f*cking pigs.
Ok. I'm not men. I'm not men.
I'm a man. Who did not hit your car.
Furthermore, I'm not the man who clearly f*cked you over, ok?
You've got a lot of anger and that's good but it has nothing to do with the man in front of you and men in general.
Yeah, sure. Walk away. f*ck up everything and then walk away!
I am! I am walking away.
It's like I'm in a little play or something.
Why don't you go home and play out this scene with the appropriate assh*le, ok? Have a nice day.
f*ck you, you condescending piece of sh*t!
You know what? You've had a rough ride, obviously.
I mean look at your bumpe. It's like a model of your life in painted steel, right? Take a look at it.
After that many knocks, you really have to ask yourself is it men? Or is it me?
Do you want to know what's me?
This is me! This is me!
No! No! No!
S01E04 - The Mummy
(motor revving)
You hear that clunk? That fit? It's like a u-boat.
You can't b*at German engineering.
What do you think, Davina?
It's great.
What was wrong with the Lexus? Just decided to trade in one disgraced axis power for another?
This car was a reward.
For?
A job well done. Investment consultant of the year, three years running.
They gave you a car? Nice.
No. He rewarded himself.
How's the temperature back there, Al?
It's like a crisp spring day in Bavaria.
Sorry to hear about yours breaking down, Al.
But, you've got to expect that with an old car.
Actually, it didn't break down. It was broken by someone.
Oh, that's right. By a woman.
Listen, if you spot a little old lady along the way you'd like to wrestle, just let me know and I'll pull over.
Actually, she wasn't little. She wasn't old.
But she was a she. Let's not breeze past the most humiliating detail.
Shut up, Roger. when are you going to tell us where we're going?
The whole point of a birthday surprise is that key information is withheld.
Just tell us where the hell we're going, Roger.
For the love of Christ.
Well, as none of us are getting any younger... especially you, Veronica...
I thought, let's just roll back the years.
Grease?
As performed by the West Pickering Light Opera Society.
Pickering? How far is that?
It's... it's not actually in Toronto.
It's another city. We are in fact going to another city.
Correct, Roger?
Mm-hmm.
I don't understand why this is happening.
Grease is one of your favourite movies.
Because I like John Travolta. Is John Travolta in the West Pickering Light Opera Society Production?
No, no he's not. But a client of mine is.
He's a banker, who acts as a sort of hobby and this client happens to look remarkably like Samuel I. Jackson who was in Pulp Fiction with John Travolta.
Six degrees of... would you mind not doing that, Al?
It totally destroys the microclimate.
It's the smell of the leather.
It's... it's pretty strong back here.
It's premium grade. Hand-stitched.
You're lucky it's not covered in vomit.
Seriously, what kind of a man throws up at the smell of cow hide? I don't know what you were thinking marrying him.
Roger.
Wh... what do you mean by that?
No, really.
You could've done a lot better. Let's face it, you could've had a better life.
Roger, Jesus.
You've said it many times, Ron. Davina's wasting her life.
She could've had anyone, Al is a drip.
I didn't.
Al is a very successful columnist.
Ha! You and I measure success with different rulers.
You use the fantasy ruler, I look at a man's annual income.
Wh... where is all this bile coming from?
(Hurling)
Agh. (Al spits.)
Oh, you know he looks down his nose at my upper-middle...
No he doesn't, Roger.
... class existence from up upon his higher moral plane.
It's an artsy thing. The piano teacher was the same.
You know those lessons you got me for Christmas?
Yes.
This little sh*t shows up on a vintage motorcycle, he's about 30, in black leather pants, shirt open down to his navel and the first thing he does is dismiss my electric keyboard which is state of the art. It can sound like a Steinway concert grand in Carnegie Hall. I mean, actually in Carnegie Hall. It emulates that exact sound.
Roger please, just... just shut up about the damn piano.
He said I should get a used upright, is my point.
This thing can literally play itself. I literally don't have to touch it.
That may be a problem when you're taking lessons.
So he's got me doing finger exercises like I'm 10, and meanwhile, meanwhile, he's downstairs with his shirt open, hitting on Veronica.
What?
Shut up.
I got rid of him, I told him "get back on that piece of sh*t motorbike you couldn't afford when it first came out, and leave Forest Hill." It's that attitude, that artsy disdain for anything middle class... upper middle class.
Wait a minute.
You didn't send him away because of his attitude, you sent him away because he was hitting on your wife.
How many lessons did you have?
I don't know... three?
Well, that means there's seven left because we bought you ten.
Ok, you take them, then.
I will. I'll give them to Al and he'll appreciate them.
Well don't look for him to make too much progress, though. He'll be too busy throwing up at the smell of the leather pants.
I made a fool of myself.
Oh, he provoked you.
Still, taking back a Christmas gift?
It's a major statement, yeah.
He was being such a prick.
He was slamming my life choices and your pretentions.
M... my...?
Well, your perceived pretentions and...
Ah.
... he said we were poor, basically.
Well, we are cash poor. Remember what that woman at the bank...
It's not the same thing.
Well we have no money. And uh, we have no furniture.
Maybe we are poor.
I'm serious.
And then he wrote off the arts completely, that's what really pissed me off.
He has no taste.
Last night? That gym in the Y in Pickering or wherever the hell he took us. Those poor old crones struggling to sing in those poodle skirts. (Davina chuckles.)
And Roger mouthing every word, dancing in his seat. I mean, there's amateur and there's music therapy for the senile.
And that guy, that client of his?
Who looks nothing like Samuel I. Jackson, by the way.
Nothing like Samuel I. Jackson.
He was singing, what? Some dissonant, atonal melody of his own making.
It wasn't his fault, exactly.
I mean, all they had was that crappy old keyboard.
A piano would have been helpful.
Oh, and uh, we need a piano, you do.
Really? We have to do this?
We paid for the lessons.
It's a new skill. Or are you too old to try anything new?
If I try this, maybe we can try something new.
Mmm.
The piano.
Don't get a new one, we are cash poor.
Oh, so then I have no choice.
Maybe he'll be reasonable.
Jesus Christ, why don't you just admit it.
You're trying to turn dad into a surrogate grandchild.
No.
Because you know you'll never have any real grandchildren because I have no sperm.
Not everything is about your sperm.
My lack of sperm.
Nor everything is about your lack of sperm, Orlando.
Right.
Turn on the news for once. The w*r in Syria, for instance, has nothing to do with your sterility.
My sterility. I like that.
That's what I'm going to use for the title of my tell-all book.
Can we have the piano or not?
I love that g*dd*mn piano.
We're not going to burn it.
It's going to be played. It will be happy.
It can't be happy now behind an old mattress in a storage unit.
You think I didn't want it in my apartment, mother? It doesn't fit, remember?
You know where it did fit really nicely was in our family home.
You know, the one that you sold. Which is gone now, by the way.
Did you know that? They tore it down. They're going to build a monster house in the hole where my childhood once was.
A monster house that's going to just feast on my memories.
Jesus, you never even played the damn piano.
Excuse me? I seem to remember playing The Entertainer quite a bit.
Yeah, ok. You played one song.
Well that's a grade three piece. It's very difficult.
I always imagine teaching that to my son one day.
Forget it. Forget it. We'll buy a new one.
Of course. Yeah, forget it even existed.
Just tear it down and build a monster piano in its place.
What do you want? Name your terms.
Here's what I want.
I want you to promise me that when dad gives up which I'm guessing will be lesson five, you won't destroy the piano. Instead, I want you to donate it.
Yeah, I'd like you to donate it to old people.
I want old people to gather 'round it and I want them to sing w*r songs. And I'm going to need some photographic evidence of them doing it.
That's what I want. And 200 dollars.
150.
Sold.
Yeah I live in Pickering. Ever been there?
Recently, actually.
Thank you. Yeah it's a horrible place.
I live on this little suburban street in this little suburban house with its little suburban driveway.
Got a wife, two kids, a mortgage, the whole deal.
It's pulling me down.
I mean, we've only got one life to live, right?
Right.
What I really want to do is um...
It's just out there, you know? Calling for me.
To write that one great symphony?
Oh, no. I'm only doing this to make ends meet.
What I really want to do ... is to dig.
Dig?
Yeah, before I met my wife, I used to spend all my time on archaeological digs in Egypt.
Oh, really?
Yeah.
You know and there are these treasures which are laying undiscovered beneath the surface for millennia ... just waiting for me to come along ... and plunge my hands into the bare earth and release them. And believe me ... it's an unbelievably sensuous experience.
S... sounds sensuous.
And once you've done it you ... just want to keep on doing it.
Um.
Are we done?
My fingers are cramping up a little.
Great. You know, muscles are waking up.
Let's set you up with something a little more challenging.
Everything ok, Mr. Jackson?
Just picking up the mail.
Ok, well. Keep working those scales.
Uh huh. Nice bike.
Yeah.
I'm a sucker for the older models, you know?
Yeah...
Ow. Your glasses. Can you...?
Oh, sorry. I... I don't know why...
Not likely to be any reading involved.
Oh yeah, sorry about that. (Davina groans in pain.)
You're not... no?
No, I'm sorry.
Ok. Ok, it's ok.
It's just that the hormone medication makes my breasts tender and it just...
Well, it just turns me off. I'm sorry.
That's... no, no, no.
It's not fun for me with achy breasts.
Understandable. Ok.
Glasses back on. I prefer...
John Updike to sex, anyway.
Um...
I wanted to ask you something.
The piano guy, what's his name?
Greg.
Greg. Was he flirting with you the other day?
I mean, when I saw you in the kitchen...
Well, no. He wasn't flirting with me.
No? It's just he was being all French Canadian and there was this intense conversation going... what do you mean, intense?
Well, you know.
You tell me, I just...
He's just, he's just... going through some things and he is French Canadian and I was just giving him a friendly ear.
Oh. A friendly ear. Ok, a friendly ear.
You're... you're jealous of the piano guy.
Well, he prances around in those leather pants and he still somehow manages to look entirely heterosexual.
That's not an easy thing to do.
Al, he's a child.
Ok. I know.
You know, you're reminding me of that woman who att*cked the jag.
You're making assumptions about me. You're assuming that I'm attracted to any young thing in leather pants that crosses my path.
No, I'm sorry. You're right.
It's just my insecurities talking, I'm sorry.
I'm going to go watch some TV.
I'm sorry... ok.
Well I'll be here with my Updike.
I told you.
No, he... just... talked about archaeology. It was Al who...
Oh, that's how it starts.
First it's just a little innocent conversation about pottery fragments and before you know it, he's bent over you in the garden showing you how to dig.
He did not do that.
He did.
He did not!
He practically mounted me, Davina. And you know what? I don't understand why it's so hard for people to accept that he could be attracted to me.
Ron.
Am I that hideous?
No! It's just...
I can't believe that you would let it get that far.
Beause I'm completely sexless?
No.
And why would a hideous, sexless corpse let a young man grope her?
Did he grope you?
H...he could have.
Ron, I...
I wanted him to.
I can't believe this is you takling.
No, this is me. It's me. He's hot, he's a hot guy.
Yeah, and you're 30 years older and happily married.
Oh my God. That means nothing.
That may-December thing only applies to older men and even then it's a myth.
I'm not talking about that. Happily married is a completely meaningless phrase.
I have no idea who you are.
I wanted him. I wanted to hurl my leg over that bike of his, ride off to some days inn and screw his brains out.
Ron!
And would have, too, if Roger hadn't argued with him about this f*cking keyboard.
So, I've shocked you.
Well. There you go.
I can be shocking.
'Least I'm still capable of that.
(Sound of motorcycle engine)
Huhhh...
Oh. H... hi.
Hello.
Al's not here.
He isn't? Oh.
Uh, did I get the day wrong?
Yes, you're... two days early.
Ha! What an idiot.
(Clears throat)
Uh, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?
What I would like to do is show you some of my discoveries.
Oh?
Would you be into that?
I would.
I would be into seeing your discoveries.
Great. Get a coat.
Ok.
One that zips up.
Right.
It gets cold on the bike.
I want you to meet a good friend of mine.
This is Ashotep IX.
900 b.C.
Succeeded her brother, Metasufis II, upon his death.
Wow.
Isn't she incredible?
Oh, yes she is.
She's almost 3000 years old and still one of the most beautiful women that ever lived.
And you... dug her out of the earth.
Me? No.
No, my stuff is in the storage room. It's off limits.
Oh.
Very private.
Bu I can get us in there, if you want.
Um...
Just the two of us.
O... ok.
Great.
Wait for me here.
So.
What are you gonna do?
What?
You know he's interested. He's giving you all the signals, even I can see them and my eyes are covered in three layers of linen.
Oh, I know. I know.
God it's like Raiders of the lost ark.
Funny you should say that. That movie has a special meaning for me.
Obviously.
Came out the day I was born.
Uh, when was that?
June 12, 1981.
Ashotep: So you gonna go for it?
Do you think I should?
Well you've got an absolutely beautiful body.
Why waste it?
Oh, you know.
It's... it's just, well, it's...
It's older.
Ha! Ha! Have you seen who you're talking to?
Kitesh.
Ka-tesh. Ha!
The goddess of sacred ecstasy and sexual pleasure. She's always depicted like this; with a snake in one hand, and a lotus flower in the other.
Ah.
The symbolism is pretty obvious.
Yeah, it is. Well, they... were never very subtle, those Egyptians.
Nope.
And they weren't prudish, either.
So you think I should?
If it were me, I would grab that cute little ass with both hands...
If my hands hadn't sorta crumbled to dust centuries ago.
Yeah... I'd go for it.
They celebrated sex.
(Davina inhales sharply.)
They decorated their homes with frescos of naked figures ... complete... with pubic hair... and erection.
I... I...
I don't know how I'd feel coming home to a room covered with erections but I guess you can get used to anything.
You Aprhodite.
Mmm, my !sis. My Venus.
Mmm, my mummy.
Oh, what did you say?
Nothing.
What did you just call me?
My Aphrodite?
No.
My Venus?
No.
My !sis?
Your mummy. You called me your mummy.
Did I?
Yes. You did.
Now, either you think of me as a 3000 year old corpse or you think I'm your mummy and either way that...
That... that's just not good.
You again?
This is the conservation and storage area for non-displayed Egyptian antiquities not a brothel.
(Piano music)
So... where is he?
The wild one.
What? Um.
He's not coming.
W... well why not?
Um. He, um. Um.
W... wait a minute. Did he make a pass at you?
Um.
Give me his number. I'm going to call... no. No! Don't, please! Don't do that!
Wh... why? Why? D... did he, Did he touch you? What happened?
Nothing, really. It was...
Look, Al, it was just signals.
Just signals? What's that? What kind of signals?
It was my fault, I didn't read them right.
I don't know why I didn't. It was stupid of me. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
Jesus Christ.
W...we paid him. We paid him for this f*cking service.
I'm sorry.
We're getting rid of that f*cking piano.
Ok.
I want it out of here!
f*ck the scales!
Ok.
Jesus.
They sound so much better with the piano.
We recently did Grease and all we had was this old electric keyboard. They sounded awful to be honest.
Well, it wasn't getting much use at our house.
It will certainly get use here Greg is going to be so happy.
Uh, did you say Greg?
Oh, he's our volunteer.
He teaches piano to the ladies. He was bugging us to get an upright.
Greg was his name, you said?
Actually, I think he's still downstairs.
I'm sure he'd love to thank you in person.
No. No. We should go.
Oh.
Oh sh*t. Oh sh*t.
There's lots of other Gregs in the world, what are the odds?
No, no, no. I remember that he said that he lived in Pickering.
Seriously?
Well, maybe. I have a vague memory.
Oh sh*t.
Just another reason to hate Pickering.
Car, let's go!
Al!
Why are you doing this? Let's just, let's just go home.
Look at him.
He drives like an old lady, he has no idea what he's doing.
Wh- what are you going to follow him around all day long?
Maybe. Maybe.
Seriously?
Yes, maybe!
Let's just go home. Why are we doing this?
I just wanna see where he lives. Maybe have a little chat.
Oh, Al. Seriously. I mean how is this going to end?
It's fun it's an outing. It's a field trip.
Are you going to punch him? He's got decades on you.
Oh he's speeding now. Now...
Will you slow down?
Just relax, ok? What?
God.
We're at a stop sign and he just looked. What if he saw us?
I'm just following him. Well so what? We'd have a chat.
We'd pull over, we'd say, "hello, how are you?"
"Remember me? I'm your piano student."
Al. Al! Why? Why are you doing this?!
Al. Please. He has children.
I won't hit the children, I promise.
What the f*ck do you want?
That's right.