Previously on Masters of Sex...
I'm starting a new job at Memorial Hospital.
With the money comes Bill Masters, and with Bill Masters comes the study.
Will Virginia be joining you?
It may not be possible for you to come over to Memorial for a while.
My name is on that study.
I know the structure, the methodology of the study.
I helped to develop it with you.
We could have an affair.
But what we have between us is so much more than that.
We have the work.
Of course we're not having an affair, Virginia.
We never were. I'm a happily married man.
And I think it would be a mistake to end it now.
Mrs Holden, nice to see you again.
Enjoy your evening.
Dr Holden.
Henry!
-Henry! -I'll be right there!
What is keeping your brother?
-His hair. -His...
Diane Delmonico told him he looks like Howdy Doody,
so, he's trying a centre part.
What's Daddy's address?
You're writing him a letter?
You're staying at his place tonight.
It's not for him. It's for the tooth fairy princess. Look.
If it falls out when I'm at Daddy's, she might not know where to come pick it up.
So, you're leaving a forwarding address.
-Smart, huh? -Very.
Only, the tooth fairy isn't a princess, honey.
She's only a fairy.
No, she is.
She's a fairy princess that specialises in teeth.
And is there a tooth fairy prince?
Mom. Men can't be fairies.
There's only one kind of prince, the handsome prince.
And what if, just supposing, a prince was rushing to rescue his princess...
-Okay. -...and he fell off his horse...
-His steed. -His steed.
And he got trampled and his face ended up horribly disfigured.
I guess that could happen.
But the princess would've had to see him before, back when he was handsome,
and she would know he was the one she was gonna end up
living happily ever after with.
And that's just inevitable, huh? The happily ever after part?
I don't know what "inevitable" means.
At last, something you don't know.
Fated. Inescapable.
Or something that has to happen.
Anyway, the princess would end up kissing him
and his face would go back to normal.
Daddy's address?
8573 McLaren Avenue.
Henry, please!
All right! All right!
You know why I think you like fairy tales so much, bunny rabbit?
I think that you like knowing how things are going to end.
Fundal pressure on the next contraction, nurse, please.
Yes, doctor.
Very good. Here we go. Bulb syringe.
-And the mother? -Vitals steady.
What do you have there, Maureen?
It's a...
Dr Masters?
What is it, Doctor?
Can you say it again, please?
Slower this time.
Adrenogenital hyperplasia.
Wait, I should...
Take the baby, Nate. I want to write that down.
Why?
For me. And for when people ask.
Nobody's going to ask, Francine. Nobody's going to know.
And I'm not holding it. So, don't ask me again.
It's not an "it," Mr Bombeck. It's a boy.
The blood test conclusively shows the XY chromosome.
A boy, Nate. Like we wanted.
You think I wanted that?
Something you'd pay a nickel to see on the boardwalk in Atlantic City?
I understand the physical ambiguity is off-putting, Mr Bombeck.
But eventually, surgery will take care of that.
Eventually?
Eventually? You're telling me you're expecting us to leave this place
with a kid that looks like that?
The baby's otherwise in good health. He'll be released.
And in the meantime, a surgical plan will be formulated.
We can't take him home like this. People will see.
We've both got mothers itching to change diapers.
If you explain, you don't think they'll under...
Hell. I don't understand!
So, the sooner he looks like he's supposed to look like down there,
the better for everyone.
Not for the child.
There's no advantage to operating on a newborn.
What do you do?
Just sew up the, you know, opening?
Reconstruction's more complicated than that.
How's it even going to look down there, his thing?
-Can you make it look... -Can you make it look normal?
There's a very wide spectrum of normal as far as genitalia's concerned.
And I'm not performing the surgery.
You should get a doctor who specialises in paediatric endocrinology.
Someone who's performed variations on this procedure many times.
So, you're not really the expert, are you?
I'm not, no. Not on this particular condition.
You're even not the top dog here. One of the nurses told us you're new.
To the hospital, sir, not the profession.
So, you can't even tell me with any kind of certainty
if this kid's plumbing is going to work, will it?
-That's so far down the road. -You don't know a thing about it, Francine!
I'm asking you, will he be able to perform?
Not in a freak show. In the bedroom.
In some cases, hormone therapy is necessary.
Testosterone treatments.
In other words, he'll need shots to be a real man.
Erections aren't the totality of manhood.
If you'll excuse me, sir. Let me make a few calls.
You know who thinks that?
Men with a little bit of girl in them.
Nate! I'm sorry, Doctor...
I want you to cut it off.
-What? What did you say? -Nate?
You could sew a prick on him the size of the Empire State Building,
it still won't make him a man.
He'll never be a man. So, cut it off.
Let me tell you how this is gonna go, Mr Bombeck.
You and your family are gonna leave here in a few days,
and you're gonna take some time to become informed,
let your mouth catch up with your mind.
And you will come to accept that your son, your son,
has a condition that can and will be corrected.
And when you come back here for the surgery
that's going to ensure that his outsides match who he is inside,
you're going to thank me
for protecting your child from your own poor judgement.
...unanimous conclusion
that Durelle would have to come storming in
at Archie Moore early in the fight.
Any better?
Jesus.
...right hand to the jaw!
Get up.
5, 6...
...7, 8...
Up at nine, but staggering.
Hello.
Just fixing the picture. I'll be out of here.
Jesus!
I'm sorry. It's only the first round.
I see.
Of how many exactly?
-Fifteen. -If he makes it that long.
Been knocked down two times already.
Three!
Well, got it up and working.
Not necessary, sir.
Y'all have a good night now.
One minute left in the round!
One minute! Durelle trying to...
Tries to move in and going...
So, are we going to get to work, or...
Down three times.
If Archie Moore lasts this round,
it will be boxing's modern miracle.
Fine. Then, I'm going to take a bath.
Fix me one of those drinks. I'll try to catch up.
10 seconds. Archie Moore...
You know, "Hello, how was your day?"
is also a good opener.
Perhaps you'd like me to go first.
Terrible. My day.
Yours?
Without incident.
Until five minutes ago.
When a man I barely recognise
threw me up against a wall and had his way with me.
Make note of it.
Subjects, vertical. Penetration, standard frontal.
Male affect, angry.
-I'm not angry. -No?
I'm...
What?
You hungry? I can call room service.
What happened today, Bill?
I delivered a baby with ambiguous sexual genitalia.
Ambiguous?
What does that mean? You can't tell what it is?
It had both a penis and a vagina.
It happens in utero,
depending on the foetal genitals' exposure to testosterone.
In its absence, in a boy, the genitals remain feminized.
With a girl, an abundance of testosterone
causes the clitoris to grow into a penis,
and the labia fuse to form a penile urethra.
It's rare, but it happens.
In med school I saw a few photographs.
Over the years, I've read a paper or two on the condition.
But I'd never seen it first-hand before today.
The tests say it's a boy.
Which is lucky because sometimes the genetics aren't so clear.
What happens then?
Well, from a surgical standpoint,
it's much easier to make it into a girl.
So, that's what they'd do?
They just make it a girl on the basis of convenience?
Yes. And fear.
This father wasn't a man who could handle ambiguity,
let's put it like that.
He's a bully.
I could see it in the way he spoke to his wife,
how cowed the woman was.
How he just expected his bidding to be done.
"Cut it off," he told me.
As if you'd alter your son's genetic destiny for the sake of expedience.
Because he wasn't hung to your satisfaction.
How'd you leave it?
I put a call in to a specialist in Chicago.
We have an appointment to speak in the morning.
Round three.
Waiting for a chance
to get that crushing right hand home once again,
a chance that has not come his way...
Maybe they just need to name him.
And once he has a boy's name, he'll be a boy to his father.
Isn't that what every man wants? A son?
From a near-disastrous first round
that all began with a tremendous right...
Unless it needs to be a certain kind of son. Male through and through.
Like these two.
Pummelling each other like a butcher tenderising meat.
Male like that?
I wouldn't want that kind of son.
Or, for that matter, that kind of man.
You're not like that.
You're not.
I'm ordering.
Bill, in the meantime, would you mind turning the water back on?
I can't pass up a soak in a tub free of bath toys.
Good evening. Yes. Room 412.
I would like to order two filets.
Baked potatoes, butter, no sour cream.
Medium well for me, and for my husband?
He likes to say the chef can just walk the cow
through a warm room.
Yes, very much the life of the party.
Thank you so much.
Dinner's on its way.
...in favour of Durelle, a Canadian boy.
But Moore will be able to fend off
that pungent attack coming by Durelle.
It doesn't seem like a fair fight.
The coloured fighter's obviously outmatched.
He's the champion. Getting the stuffing knocked out of him.
He's the champ? That one?
Archie Moore. The Old Mongoose.
He said he'd retire from fighting if he didn't keep the title.
He's got 15 years on that kid. Yvon Durelle. The Fighting Fisherman.
Apparently, he's been hauling lobster traps
to get in shape.
He's the crowd favourite, huh? Listen to them.
It's a good thing for Moore.
It's what's spurring him on, in part.
People rooting against him. Gives him more to prove.
Now, see that?
That's his signature move.
The "armadillo curtain."
See how he crosses him arms across his chest?
That's not the usual fighting stance and can throw an opponent off.
And then see, the right jab comes out of nowhere?
But Durelle isn't falling... What?
I didn't know you knew anything about boxing.
Yes, well.
I've never seen you so much as glance at the sports page.
We don't have breakfast together, do we?
I learnt to box at boarding school.
It was the first thing I did after I unpacked my suitcase.
Headed down to the gym
and asked the coach to teach me how to fight.
Why?
What's that?
Why first thing?
I don't know.
I was enamoured of the sport.
Was it something that you enjoyed with your father?
Enjoyed? No.
For Christ's sake.
He didn't take you to the fights?
Well, then, how did you get interested, then?
I don't know. Just the usual. The schoolyard scrapes and the...
I just wanted to learn how to hold my own.
In case there was freshman hazing.
And was there?
Were you picked on as a child?
I never lost a fight.
What's the worst fight that you ever got in?
Just the usual. There's really not an interesting story here, Virginia.
I promise you.
Durelle's left got home,
but that right that came some time later,
again, glanced off the glove of Archie Moore.
Come on.
...amazing display of boxing...
After weathering the storm...
Where would you like it, Dr Holden?
On the table is fine.
Very good, sir.
...Durelle,
and regaining his strength and his clarity.
Moore starting to move on after Durelle in round 4.
Durelle came in with a...
Jesus! Get up!
And Moore is down again.
Durelle just took him out with a right hook.
We've got a few bets going in the kitchen.
-Where's your money? -On the kid.
-Archie's way past his prime. -I wouldn't count him out.
Really? You think those legs are gonna hold him up?
Archie Moore wobbly. Moore trying to hold on.
Will both of you be having wine tonight?
I can pour it, thank you.
Very good, sir.
It's Elliot, sir.
Sometimes they put me on the door.
I brought Mrs Holden that umbrella last time.
Yes. Thank you for that.
How's her mother doing, if I may ask?
The same.
It's hard to know what to wish for, isn't it?
My mother lingered for a long time,
but she was in terrible, terrible pain.
Yes, well.
Will you and your wife be wanting a breakfast tray in the morning?
We both have long drives. So, we'd like to be on the road early.
-Thank you for your trouble. -Elliot.
My pleasure, Dr Holden.
Now, you just give a call when you're done,
and I'll get this out of your way, lickety-split, sir.
...dramatic thing this is
here in this ring at the forum in Montreal, Canada.
Archie Moore
defending his light heavyweight championship of the world.
Where are we going
that we need to leave in the middle of the night?
You're driving to Louisville to take care of your mother.
And I'm driving back to my medical practise in Kansas City.
We meet halfway when we can.
And what's wrong with my mother?
Idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.
Sour cream. Terrific. You told them, right?
Idiopathic?
-That's right. -Idiopathic.
And what kind of doctor are you? No, wait. Let me guess.
An ophthalmologist?
Radiologist.
Radiologist?
Well, I guess neither of us has a particularly interesting story, do we?
You couldn't come up with something slightly more imaginative?
Why would I?
Isn't the point to fly under the radar?
Just an ordinary husband and wife
meeting for a ho-hum marital assignation?
My mother doesn't have pulmonary fibrosis.
Idiopathic.
She was blinded in a prison fight
where she's serving time for tax evasion.
And also for contributing to the delinquency of a minor
when she tried to seduce the bag boy at the Piggly Wiggly.
I go down to Louisville as often as I can to read her the Bible,
hoping to make her right with the Lord.
I see.
And me?
You're a radiologist.
-I thought you just said... -Working for the government.
Covertly. On a...
On a pen.
A radioactive pen.
That will be smuggled into the Kremlin via a Soviet diplomat,
one Gustav Antonovich.
-Gustav isn't Russian. It's German. -His mother was German,
and this device will be used to take out Khrushchev.
It's a top secret mission.
Perhaps that's why I didn't mention it
to Elliot, our waiter.
That boy didn't hit you up for a loan again, did he?
You're far too generous with the staff, Jason.
-Francis. -Francis?
Francis.
And I'm...
You don't have a name.
I see.
Generous with everybody except the old ball and chain.
You're just still upset because
I bought our daughter a pony for her birthday, aren't you?
We don't have children.
It wouldn't be fair.
Not with the lives we lead.
Of course.
The clandestine missions. The prison visits to your deranged mother.
You're making fun of me.
Aren't you making fun of us?
I don't... I don't know.
-What are we? Are we this? -This?
This.
This Mr "Steak very rare,"
Mrs "Wouldn't this wallpaper look good in our den?"
I just had you up against the wall in our bathroom.
That doesn't exactly qualify us
for the cover of The Saturday Evening Post, does it?
Did you like that?
I did.
I liked how you had me standing up.
Dr Holden.
Of the Kansas City Holdens.
So, we might look like the white picket fence types.
But we're not.
There's nothing ho-hum about us.
It looks as though he's beginning to step up the pace...
You surprise me, Mrs Holden.
Lydia.
Lydia! In what way do I surprise you?
Your appetite.
I skipped lunch.
Not that kind of appetite.
Well...
Surely you didn't think you taught me everything I know,
did you, Francis?
I'm aware there were others before me.
Boys. Right?
A boy or two?
After all these years, dear husband, you're asking?
No, I'm not asking.
On the other hand, if there's something you want to tell me...
Maybe you would feel threatened.
Why would that be?
You married me, after all, didn't you?
Well...
There were others. Boys, yes.
But only one man that counted.
I wasn't quite 18.
I was still living at home in...
Where am I from again? Nashville?
-Louisville. -Louisville, right.
I was in Louisville,
at this public pool
that my girlfriend Susannah and I liked to go to.
You remember Susannah, don't you?
Looks like Eleanor Roosevelt?
She was one of my bridesmaids.
So, Susannah and I were splashing around like ninnies,
trying to get the boys to notice us,
when I realised that I'd lost an earring.
It was some dime store piece of junk,
but I'd said that it was real,
so I had to make a big show of diving down to the bottom to get it.
And then, suddenly, a shockwave hits.
A man had jumped into the pool to get it,
but all he had succeeded in doing was send it directly down the drain.
The oaf.
That's exactly what I said to him right before I slapped him.
All right, I didn't slap him. But I gave him a very hard time about it
because... Well, because that's what you did to show
that you were a girl with sass and not just some pushover.
Isn't that the quality that first attracted you?
Back when we were courting?
That can hardly be the sum of it, though.
Obviously, you two ran into each other again.
Yes, at a dance at the Army base.
It turns out he was a captain.
A lot of shiny buttons on a captain's uniform.
He took this worthless little piece of coloured glass
out of his pocket,
he'd gotten the maintenance guy to fish it out of the drain for him,
and had been carrying it around in the hopes of seeing me again.
And he said that he knew that it was an amethyst
because that was his fiancée's birthstone.
He was engaged.
Well, he claimed. Which was smart.
All those girls on Army bases looking for husbands.
But two days in,
the fiancée just disappeared into thin air.
I'd make him take me driving in his friend's convertible.
We'd go driving to the countryside.
The first time we made love
was in a grove of honeysuckles.
The sap from the blossoms,
the sticky sweetness mixing with our sweat, it was...
Up at the count of three!
Durelle now...
He knew about things and had been places.
He taught me a little French that he'd picked up over there.
The boys I knew were farmers.
They spent their lives looking at the ground.
But this man, he knew all about astronomy.
I thought to myself,
"This is what it is to be in love.
"You can feel this with somebody every day.
"It's possible."
And then one day,
he asked me drive him to the train station and he kissed me,
and he said, "Thank you. Thank you!"
And he left.
Shipped out?
No.
He left to get married.
Well, he did say was engaged.
Once.
He said he was engaged once.
And then he never spoke of it again, not for a whole year.
He never mentioned another woman's name until the day he left to marry her.
Why wouldn't I be surprised?
If you find yourself standing atop a hill,
overlooking a beautiful valley, and you say,
"I want a house with a view exactly like this."
And he says,
"It's the second thing I want to see every single morning,
"after you."
Aren't the two of you imagining the same future?
Where is there room for a fiancée in that house?
Well, it turns out, she's downstairs, making oatmeal,
waiting for him to wash you off his skin.
And, so...
Sex? Fine. Enjoy it if and when you can.
It's a biological function.
But play it safe.
Keep your heart out of it, locked away someplace safe.
Like a bank vault.
So, what does that say about us?
Us?
About our marriage?
Darling,
don't you know, I'd never marry a man
I didn't both love and desire?
And it's round number six.
This is Archie Moore,
who was standing up all through the between-round period,
once again trying to take a psychological shot
at Yvon Durelle.
Refusing to show any sign of weakness, any sign of fatigue.
My father would occasionally listen to the fights on the radio,
but I could never get a picture in my head.
It's different than I thought.
Sure, when they belt each other and fall down,
that's something.
But this going around and around in circles,
eyeballing each other.
-And that's most of it. -This is the best part.
-This? -Yeah.
There's an entire unspoken conversation happening between them.
"Please, stand still, so I can hit you?"
They're telling each other what they think of each other.
See there? When he keeps his gloves down like that?
It doesn't mean he's tired.
He looks tired.
But it doesn't necessarily mean he is tired.
It might be an invitation to his opponent to take a shot, free and clear.
And when you invite a punch,
you're saying you can take it.
So, what looks like vulnerability is exactly the opposite.
By playing weak,
you're saying I am stronger than you.
Now, see, that is an insult. Moore just insulted him.
-He did? How. -A right hand lead.
It's a right punch thrown like a jab, but you don't set up your left.
You're saying to your opponent, "I don't think much of you."
I don't understand.
Come here. I'll show you.
Okay. So, put up your dukes.
They really say that?
Now, when I come at you like this, with a right hand lead,
see how far my fist has to travel through space,
all this extra distance past your shoulders?
So?
So, that's the time you have to respond.
If you see something coming, you can stop it.
-Right, Well, how do I do that? -You don't. It's coming too fast.
You just said that I could see it coming.
Yes, but the fact that I'm throwing a right hand lead
proves to you that I think that you won't. I think you'll miss it.
That's how little I think of your reflexes.
And that undermines a fighter's confidence.
Well, I'd prove you wrong.
Want to try?
Seriously?
I'll take a shot, you try and block it.
Okay.
Too slow.
Try again.
Too late. You'd be down on the mat.
Let me be you. I'll throw the punch and you try to block it.
Okay.
Like this, right?
You're gonna do it at that speed?
No, Bill! I'm not!
All right, here we go.
One, two...
Don't count it off. You gotta use the element of surprise.
Fine.
Try again.
It's not funny.
Once more.
-Come on, Gini. -Once more.
Jesus. Don't move.
-What is that? -My bracelet snagged.
Can you slide it off?
-It's too tight. -Jesus!
-Wait. Let me just... -Just unhook the clasp, Virginia...
I'm trying, Bill!
What the hell? You were supposed to hit me with your right?
Maybe if you had quicker reflexes.
There's too much hair stuck in it.
Do you have nail shears in your purse?
No.
I could call the front desk and have them send up a pair of scissors.
So you're all right with us answering the door like this?
Well, what do you propose, Bill?
-All right, come here. -No.
All right. Just have to saw it out.
Housekeeping sent up a pair.
Come here.
Sit.
You're going to make it worse.
Bill, you have a divot on the side of your head.
How much worse can I make it?
I'm just going to even it out a bit.
Ridiculous.
What is?
You are.
I am?
You enjoyed that.
-No. -Yes.
You liked making me feel pathetic.
-And weak. -You are weak.
Weaker.
Then it was an unfair fight.
It was a game, Virginia.
You're just upset because you lost.
If you'd won, you'd be gloating.
-I would not. -Yes, you would.
Feels good.
And it feels even better when the odds are against you.
Really. Did they teach you that in boarding school?
No, I knew it before I went there.
Old Francis Holden Sr. prepared me well.
So, he did take you to the fights?
No.
In fact, he didn't take me much of anywhere.
New York City, once,
when I was 14.
En route to dropping me at boarding school.
He didn't buy you a woman, did he?
Please tell me that he didn't buy you a woman.
No, he bought me a shave and a haircut.
At the barbershop at the Waldorf Astoria.
My first.
He got one, too.
We sat there,
side by side, father and son,
steaming towels on our faces.
No feeling in the world like walking out into Central Park
on a fall day after a fresh shave.
He wanted to send you off in style, huh?
He was a character, my father.
He could've been a boxer.
Not too much control in his punches, mind you,
but he was a master of the feint.
Just when you thought he was one thing,
like the kind of swell guy
who'd show his kid a good time in the big city,
he'd come out of nowhere, knock you for a loop.
Leave you on the steps of the freshman dormitory,
with a taxi idling at the kerb,
letting you know that you wouldn't be coming home at Christmas,
or at Easter,
or ever.
Telling you at 14
it was time you took care of yourself.
You never went home after that?
It's the best thing that could have happened.
Toughened me up. Made me totally self-reliant.
We both got left.
Well, he didn't break my heart.
No?
Just my nose.
Once.
A left hook.
He did me a favour.
Made me the man I am today.
A Kansas City radiologist.
-Bill... -Leave it, leave it.
Let me look at you.
Take your hands away.
I want to see you.
Are you going to touch me?
Is that what you want?
Is it?
Tell me.
-Say it. -I don't need to say it.
I want you to tell me
how much you want me to make you feel good.
Do it.
-Beg me. -No.
I won't.
I can make myself feel good.
I can't tell who's ahead.
It can change from moment to moment.
But is there always a clear winner?
Even if there's not a knockout?
Sometimes the best fighter isn't the one who lands the hardest punch,
it can be the one who absorbs it.
You'd have to be a masochist
to endure that kind of punishment, don't you think?
You stop feeling it after a while.
What do you mean? You go numb?
You learn to resist your body's instinct.
Which is to run. Flee.
You start to invite that feeling.
You can't control the punishment, but you can master your response.
And that, in itself, gives you a kind of power.
That you can take it
and not run.
Why did he break your nose?
Your father.
Dear old Dad?
Usual... Just horsing around.
Indian wrestling like fathers and sons do.
Bill.
Why did he break your nose?
What difference does it make?
I'm asking you.
I don't remember.
Maybe I slammed the screen door.
Maybe I reached for a second helping before he did.
Maybe I used a word he didn't know.
Maybe it was
Wednesday.
And you didn't fight back?
Sure, I did.
In my own way.
There were plenty of times I didn't even put up my hands.
The ultimate insult, a fighter who keeps his gloves down.
You're saying, "Come on, you son of a bitch.
"Take your best shot.
"Just keep going at me forever,
"until your knuckles come through your goddamn skin."
And there was no one to stop it?
I could have stopped it.
He made that perfectly clear.
"When you get down on your knees, son, and beg for mercy,
"that's when I'll stop."
And I never did.
Not once.
I took it like a man.
But you weren't a man.
You were just a kid. A boy.
There's no shame in saying you've had enough.
In stopping the fight if you're hurt.
That Mongoose man,
if he'd stayed down in the early rounds,
what would they have said about him? That he's a loser?
Or that he's human.
Maybe it is a noble sport.
Maybe it's all about character
in a way a novice like me can't understand.
But I will tell you this.
I don't want my son to be a boxer.
No.
When he's hurt, I don't want him to act like he's not.
That is not a lesson he needs to learn.
And I don't think that's what's going to make him a man.
Nurse? Book.
Retract.
Snap.
And what did Daddy make you for dinner?
But, Tessy, you like corn.
Well, If you were worried about your tooth, you should've asked him to cut it off the cob.
Are you in your jams?
And is Daddy going to read you a story?
Ask him to make one up then.
All right. Well, then you make up one and you tell him.
A princess. Right.
Well...
Well, couldn't...
Couldn't she go on an adventure all on her own without a prince?
All right, well...
Well, then, maybe she could rescue him?
It does too happen.
Tessa, you're right.
You're right. No, no, no, you tell whatever story you want.
All right, goose. I love you, too.
All right, sleep tight. And tell Henry I love him.
Right over there.
I've got it.
Was everything to your satisfaction, Mrs Holden?
Yes, absolutely.
-Elliot. -Elliot.
I brought you that umbrella last week.
Right.
Let me find my purse.
That won't be necessary.
Dr Holden saw to it.
Up at the count of three...
You know, ma'am, if you'd like to
put in a standing order for anything for next time.
Excuse me?
So, we can have it waiting for you.
If you'd prefer foam pillows to down, for example.
Extra bath towels.
Towels would be nice.
-Here you go. -Thank you.
I'll let housekeeping know.
Some of our regulars request
we have flowers or champagne waiting for them.
That's all right.
We don't need any of that fuss.
Well, women say that, but they appreciate a nice gesture.
So says my girlfriend.
She's a big fan of trinkets hidden in glove compartments
and under sofa cushions.
Yes, well, when you've been married awhile,
jewellery doesn't make as many appearances.
Perhaps you need to drop a few hints.
Give Dr Holden some direction.
Actually, he does other things for me.
He takes me seriously.
Listens to me.
And in a few years,
those will be the things that your girlfriend appreciates.
You remember that now, Elliot.
Will do.
Have a good night, ma'am.
What did I miss?
It almost looks like love, doesn't it?
They reach for each other and hold on.
It's two of them against each other, sure,
but it's also them against that crowd.
Listen to them scream.
Shoot.
One minute to go in round eight.
I did a good job. Can't even tell.
There. Do you get many compliments?
On?
Your anniversary present.
I had to look up what you get for your fourteenth.
No two stores said the same thing. So I decided on...
Bakelite.
I'll do better next year.
It's a big one.
We should go, don't you think?
You have a long drive.
Promise me you'll pull over at a rest stop if you get tired.
Windows up and doors locked.
How you worry, Dr Holden.
This is where a married couple would kiss.
Don't forget your watch.
It's there, by your wedding band.
You go on ahead. I'll write it up.
What will you say?
Two acts of intercourse, mutually satisfying.
One masturbatory act.
Role playing throughout.
Am I forgetting anything?
Third floor nursery, please.
It's Dr Masters checking in on the Bombeck baby.
Yes, this morning.
I left instructions to measure his ins and outs.
Has he taken a bottle yet?
No, you're mistaken.
When?
-Waiting room. -Okay.
What's going on?
-What the hell are you doing? -I told you.
I said I wasn't leaving here with an "it."
Look, you've got to put a stop to this.
There's time.
The desk said your son's in pre-op...
-He's not my son. -He is.
They're going to fix him.
But it can't happen this fast. Not overnight.
You want the very best person.
We found somebody. Dr Bracken? Brigham?
Said he could do it.
Hugh Britton? But he's a general surgeon.
He said it's a lot less complicated than you made it seem.
He said a hole is easier than a pole.
No. You can't...
Look, please.
Just go in there and stop it.
This needs more thought.
Just give it a week.
Or even just another day.
Just think it through. This is irrevocable.
You have a son.
Look, I...
I'm... I'm begging you.
Let him be what he is.
A boy.
But it's done.
The doctor's finishing.
The nurse came out and told me the operation was a success.
We're naming her Sarah.
Better a tomboy than a sissy.
Four...
Five...
Six...
Seven
Eight...
Nine...
Saved by the bell at the count of eight.
You a fight fan?
Not really.
This is Durelle in his corner, and he is down again in this fight.
Then what brings you here?
Now we come to round 11.
I want to see how it ends.
...were late getting out of the ring.
Now Durelle seems to be on his way
as Moore bangs him to the canvas again.
Four...
Five...
Six... Seven...
Eight...
Up at the count of nine,
blood streaming from his nose, a cut over his right eye.
Moore back after him once again.
And down he goes again with a double right hand.
Three...
Four...
Five...
Six...
Seven...
Eight...
Struggling at nine.
10! He is out!
Man, oh, man, what a dramatic turn in this fight.
Archie Moore, near annihilation in the first round,
and then on the canvas again...