" keep 'em closed." " they're closed." " god, ray." " all right." "i hope this isn't the part where you hack me into bits and bury me in the woods." "this is not the outfit i want to be found dead in." " all right." " why are we stopping?" "'cause we're here." "okay, open 'em." " this is it?" " this is it." "your tent?" "my tent." "is this your property?" "this is my property." "this is my lake." "this is my yard." "my house." "and my tent." "oh, why can't we just go in the house?" "i don't live in a house." "i live in a tent." "come on." "marcel proust?" "marcel proust." "your tattoo." "oh, right." "yeah." "i should have gotten sylvia plath." "i had a man..." "an ugly man... tell me i wasn't ugly." "an ugly man... named floyd." "you're not ugly." "you're not real, are you?" "i'm pierce." "this was it." "no more bullshit." "no randall." "no force-fed lines." "no flat tires by the side of the road." "it was just me and her making out in my tent with the wind howling outside." "Oh, fuck." "you're..." "you're unbelievable." "it felt different this time." "it felt real." "which is why waking up next to that pile of cold hard cash felt like such a kick in the gut." "shit, jemma." "i thought we were past this." "oh my god." "ray, what are you doing here?" "here." "here's your cut." "she paid you directly again?" "unbelievable." "it just feels fantastic to be undermined at every turn." "is it all here?" "you know what?" "now's not a good time for company." "look, i'm sorry." "i'm sorry for last night." "i didn't even want this money." "i just... i don't think jemma should be a client anymore." " you want to cut her off?" " no, i don't want to cut her off." "i just don't... i don't want her to be a client." "what are you sayin i think..." " what?" " i want her to... to be a girlfriend or something?" "hey, babe, can i use this eggplant?" "you... yeah." "what?" "all i know is that there's something going on between us." "some... thing that..." " babe, eggplant?" " it's fine." "just use it." "you want to explain something to me?" "just how do you see this business venture of ours working?" "because i've been pouring my blood, sweat and tears into this happiness consultant thing and you seem determined to undermine our success." " me?" " yeah." "look, you've the one who can't even launch a viral marketing campaign without leaving a phone number." "it's supposed to enter through the subconscious." "you know, if you have all the answers, then you book the clients." "just let me know when you've got some lined up." "all right?" "i could do that." "oh, crimeny." "hey, jemma." "guess you slipped out pretty quietly this morning." "anyway, looks like some cash fell out of your purse." "but since it did, let me take you out." "give me a call." "this is ray." "it's almost ready." "it smells good." "anything interesting?" "oh, sorry for snooping." "just, i'm interested in your work." "that's part of a travel series i did called "bombed."" ""bombed"?" "you were bombed?" "i was bombed, they were bombed." "the premise is i go to a war-torn country and i get drunk with the locals." "is that was i was?" "another drunk local?" "no, you... are you kidding?" "you were art." "what about you?" "what's your process like, you know, as a poet?" "mmm, i don't have a set process really." "lately my work's been avoiding me." "how long's it been avoiding you for?" "about two years." " two years?" " yeah." "i've been pretty blocked." "that's the most tragic thing i ever heard." "i just..." "i hate that, when people say i'm a poet and they don't even write." "when i was a child i was really prolific." "my adolescence was so fertile." "i hemorrhaged words." "so what stopped the bleeding?" "i think it was my mother." "i can't believe we're doing this." "don't you have a better way to spend the weekend?" "no." "no i don't." "you're my new pet project." "i'm a man on a mission." "we're gonna get you writing again." "you don't understand." "my mother's a bitter academic." "always judges me." "so, poets need to suffer." "okay, listen. trust me." "this is going to work." "you grow as an artist every time you walk through that door." "come on." "mother?" "hello?" "anyone home?" "that right there is the mother of my unborn child." "really?" "the middle finger to a man you just met?" "i don't feel like we just met." ""tanya skagle, state forensics champion."" "oh yeah, proud of it." "first place, dramatic interpretation." "voted most likely to save the whales." "oh yeah." "i really dropped the ball on those whales though." "oh wait, see?" "this is from seventh grade." "the year i had really bad b.o." "and my mom wouldn't let me wear deodorant." "i wrote a poem about it." ""indelible stench"?" "you know... i used to dry hump my neighbor jacob on this carpet." "you want me to show you how i did it?" " mm-hmm." " okay, he'd say go." " and then, like..." " okay." "out of curiosity, did jacob have any pubic hair?" "because i do, and i actually feel like you're about to start a brush fire." "what, that doesn't do anything for you?" "hello?" "is someone here?" "shit." "get up." " get up." "act natural." " tanya?" " is that you?" " in my room." "how did i know it was tanya?" "i followed the trail." "dirt all the way up the stairs." "hi, mom." "tanya, again with the yearbooks?" "oh my god." "she loves to take boys up here and show them the yearbooks." "hi, mrs. skagle." "i'm pierce." "so nice to meet you." "my goodness, he's a teenager." "what are you doing with an old woman like tanya?" "i am... i'm fascinated with your daughter." "that makes two of us." "new clients." "i told tanya i'd find some, but how the hell was i supposed to do that?" "how do you tell when they're good and firm?" "have a nice day." "being my own pimp." "it was a little harder than i thought." "mmm, peach." "ahem." "smell nice." " ray!" " jess." "jesus, what are you doing here?" "hi." "i was just... stocking up." " on flowers?" " yeah, i like flowers." "i thought you were a meat and potatoes guy." "no." " not always." " no?" "things change, jess, sometimes." "how are you, ray?" "good." "i'm good." "no, really." "how are you?" "i'm really good." "house is shaping up." "i think i met someone." " um, the woman at the game?" " yeah." " the blonde." " i like blondes." "you always did." "is that who you were getting flowers for?" "yeah." "you should come by the house sometime." " you mean ronnie's house?" " hey, it's my house too." "okay." "why?" "for dinner." "with the kids and ronnie." "we do barbecues every sunday." "i've got a pretty busy schedule, but... great." "anytime." "and every fucking friday she has a fucking potluck." "but of course she wouldn't invite me to her party of academics and artists." "your mother is not the blockage, tanya." "she's the source." "she is your muse." "no she isn't, pierce." "no, she's the bane." "you were prolific under her roof." "so i need you to face your fear and write a poem about your mother." "and we will go over and invite ourselves to her little party and you will read it in front of all her fancy friends." "i mean that is..." "that's a creative breakthrough." "can we talk about something else?" "sure, like what?" "now you're annoyed with me all of a sudden?" "no." "what makes you so different, rita chen?" "i want the rita flower to blossom, not wilt." "can you excuse me for a second?" "what's stopping you from opening a car wash tomorrow?" " an advisor?" "i'm willing to be that advisor." " floyd." "tanya." "what a surprise." "tanya, this is one of my promising new students rita chen." "rita, this is one of my old students tanya skagle." "so is this what you do?" "you butter up your students and you call them a flower?" "tanya, rita and i are in the middle of a work session." "i'm sorry, is it rita?" "rita." "why don't you ask him about his millions?" " ask him about his jaguar." " watch it, sister." "is everything okay over here?" "all right, i think we need to be alone right now." "but it's great to see you, tanya." "yeah, well, fuck you, floyd." "jemma, hey." "hi. sorry i haven't called you earlier." "i've been slammed at work." "oh, no worries." "me too." "listen, jemma." "i was... i was meaning to talk to you." "i mean... i like you." "and this money thing, it's kind of weird." "look, i'm saying... i'd like to date you, jemma." "so you want me to go on a real date with you and, like... then maybe i have sex with you and maybe i don't?" "well, i think we're a little beyond the maybe part, but... oh, ray drecker." "you know, when you get all soft and serious it's very hard to turn you down." "well, what would we do on our first real date?" "i was thinking we'd get out of the city." "you know?" "maybe go for a boat ride." "maybe pack a picnic." "what do you say?" "i think... okay." "okay." "okay." "tanya, i can't get you on the phone so i guess i'll leave it here." "look, i did try to drum up some new business, okay?" "but you're right." "it's a lot harder than i thought." "hi, neighbor." "hi." "anyway, i'm still trying." "i'm definitely not giving up, all right?" "i just want you to know how much i appreciate all the blood, sweat and tears that you've been putting into this... into our project." "i liked your cookies." "yeah, apparently not enough." "what?" "i said i already got two more citations from your husband since then, so i guess it didn't do the trick, huh?" "yeah, my husband's kind of... obsessive." "by the way, i noticed your hot water heater is just sitting over there." "i'll take care of it, all right?" "no need to call anyone." "no no, i say this because i was wondering if you wanted to take a hot shower at our place." "how would your husband feel about that?" "howard's out of town." "come." "it sure is nice of you to let me take a hot shower here, mrs. koontz look, ray, i am sorry about those citations." "howard, he shouldn't have called the police, you know?" "you need an extra... holy cow." "excuse me." "i-i-i-i... i swear to god, i'm sorry." "i-i wasn't..." "shit, ray." "that is one beautiful penis." "who knew you were hiding that next door?" "thank you, i think." "ray, i was..." "i was thinking, you know, we should try looking out for each other, you and i." "oh, what do you mean?" "like, i could take care of what you need and you could take care of me." "i don't follow." "what do you mean?" "i scratch your back, you scratch mine." "how is this confusing?" "i help you out." "and, uh, compensate me." "is that right, mrs. koontz?" "yes, ray." "am i making you feel too dirty?" "i'll live." "hi, mrs. skagle." "so sorry to interrupt your dinner party, but we felt bad about eating your cookies." "so i baked you new ones." "chocolate chip." "what an unexpected delight." "do these have little sayings in them?" "no, mother." "these have chocolate chips." "look. in times of economic crisis, the arts are the first thing to go." "i disagree." "people need art the most when they are hungry and afraid." "that depends on your definition of art." "this was a bad idea." "i don't feel well." " i feel feverish." " no, you're fine." "you're just terrified of being judged by these people." "you know, it's not such a good thing for your poetry to be such a coward." "i am not a coward!" "oh, come on, ray." "come on, ray." "i want to see it big and happy." "what kind of bed is this?" "a stearns  foster." "why?" "because it's fucking comfortable, that's why." " it's the pillow top." " oh." "oh, honey, baby, you are beautiful." "i am. i work out seven days a week." "but howard likes to fuck in the dark." "oh, what a waste." "yeah." "it's just... oh god." "oh, it is a waste, ray." "i like to be looked at, you know?" "i like to be seen." "oh, god, i'm looking." "i am seeing." "oh shit, ray." "oh shit, ray." "oh shit, ray!" "my daughter baked these cookies." "she sometimes tucks a little fortune into her baked goods." "but tonight they're empty... they're chip." "i said they're chip  so you don't have to worry about choking on any words." "actually, i did bring some words for you to choke on." "it's a poem, actually." "really?" "well, that's great." "why don't you go ahead and stand up?" "oh, please, honey." "please, take the floor." "everyone, why don't we give tanya our full attention?" "i swear, she doesn't usually do this." "i haven't heard her poetry in 20 years." ""says worker ant to queen... how now, mother?" "there you are sealed in your chamber away from the light in this darkness i can see you, mother but can you see me?" "i am shaped in your same image same fruited wings same swollen belly same brown flesh" "same chip same chink you are blind to our efforts can you find nothing in us to love?" "we are shaped in your image, mother look again" "thoughts?" "it's vaguely reminiscent of sylvia's "medusa."" "only in this case with ants." "yes." "its inherent sadness reminded me of a song the girls of my village used to sing in uganda." "oh, please, would you share it with us?" " please." " it's in swahili." "oh, that's lovely." "i can't compete with this shit." "hey!" "hey, tanya!" "tanya." "tanya, what..." " what is wrong with you?" " it sucked." "my poem sucked." "maybe." "but hey, you started writing again." "i didn't start anything." "i wrote that poem when i was 14." "i'm a failure." "it sucked then and it sucks now." "it actually wasn't that bad for 14." "i'm not 14, pierce." "i'm much much older." "i just..." "i want to go home." "i just want to go home." "huh." "so do you want to help me out now or later?" "what do you mean?" "you know, what we discussed." "i take care of you, you take care of me." "yes, ray, i promise." "no more citations." "okay?" "i'll take care of it." "right, citations." "is that what you meant by "take care of me"?" "yeah." "what did you think i meant?" "so i struck out as my own pimp." "but i've got to say, we each got a bargain." "well, we missed the boat, as they say." "but no worries." "we'll just catch a later one when you get here."