Masters of Sex

Previously on Masters Of Sex...

We've decided to begin our work on

dysfunction with male impotence.

I'm just like those guys,

in the... you know, dysfunctional way.

Are you going to join me?

I may have overdone it.

I'm not sure I'd be of... uh, much use.

I thought you were going home.

We decided we didn't want anyone else

doing the treatments.

I've spent most of my life pretending you don't exist.

If people would ask me, I'd tell them

I was an only child. I want my brother back.

Look, we got a couple of witnesses

who saw the truck drive by

and saw Leonard get dumped out the back.

And so I was wondering if maybe you saw anything.

If there are other witnesses,

why are you talking to me?

What was his name?

Your first?

I'd remembered his name.

Paul.

But wasn't your brother...

We had this creek that ran behind our house

and we'd catch frogs and have them race.

Who is the best psychologist in St. Louis?

- Lloyd Madden, maybe. - Let's call him.

We can give him the basics of Barbara's case.

No reputable physician

would consent to giving a medical opinion

on a patient they haven't met.

You cannot expect me to sit down

with a complete stranger, a-a man.

I'm sorry, Virginia, I can't.

My brother and I, we would spend...

every day down there chasing frogs and...

as we got older, the games... they changed.

That's... I think everything.

My story.

I don't know how this works.

I've never done this before so...

Do you ask me questions?

How can I help you?

Why are you here?

Well, I suppose, I would like to know

how to put what happened to me in its proper place,

to not think about it all the time, every day.

It's a process, Barbara. Not a checklist.

Of course,

but if you had any specific suggestions...

You know what's interesting about your story?

Your voice, when you tell it.

Those are difficult things you're speaking of--

being sexually abused by your brother.

Your mother finding you and him together

and yet never speaking of it.

The judgement and rejection you felt from her,

the repulsion you felt for yourself.

And one might expect the telling of such terrible things

to summon up some very strong feelings--

pain...

rage...

sadness.

But it didn't for you.

It was almost as if you were describing something

that happened to someone else.

Well, it didn't. It happened to me.

And I'm sorry that I wasn't emoting enough, but...

Were there tears when it happened?

Yes, of course.

A 12-year-old girl-- she cries when she's being penetrated

for the first time.

Were you that 12-year-old girl?

Yes, I told you.

Then why not say "I"? "I cried."

Well, I did.

And I've cried plenty in telling the story, maybe not tonight,

but I have.

Hmm. To whom have you told it?

Just a friend...

Someone who wants to help but does not know how.

Someone who doesn't know what to do besides just listen to me

as I go on and on.

Perhaps you keep reliving your experience

because each time you're hoping it'll have a different outcome.

So how would you rewrite your story, Barbara?

I can't.

- It happened. I can't change it. - What if you could?

Where would you begin?

What would you say to make it end differently?

I don't know. I guess I-I would...

tell my brother to stop?

That's right. Say it.

- Stop? - As a little girl.

Not as a woman.

- Stop! - Yes.

Yes, find that voice.

Speak as your 12-year-old self.

Imagine telling your brother what you wanted to say then

but couldn't.

Start there.

Libby, take a bow.

She really is the best cook! Isn't she, Bill?

She is, indeed.

Well, I used to be more adventurous,

but Johnny's going through a phase.

Nothing but buttered noodles.

You know how picky children can be.

Oh, well, you don't yet, but you will very soon.

All systems go for Wednesday?

Libby, Frank got me a fondue set a few Christmases ago.

Oh, I just love fondue.

Still in the box!

He didn't realize-- Oh, I'm so sorry.

Not at all.

I thought it was just melted cheese.

Turns out there's a-a lot of booze in the recipe.

It's nearly half wine.

Well, if I can't offer anyone seconds...

Oh, let me help you there.

It really was delicious.

Libby, thank you.

A clean plate is the best compliment.

Would you look at that?

I thought I would go to my grave before I saw Francis

eat a green vegetable.

Oh, nowadays he'll eat salad, even.

I could never get either one of them to eat fish,

no matter how much sauce I used to disguise it...

It's a very handsome house you have here, Bill.

It burns off, doesn't it?

Sorry?

The wine. The alcohol content.

When you heat it up,

ethanol evaporates when it reaches a boiling point.

It's basic science.

Nevertheless, we don't bring liquor into the house.

So, is this a problem for you?

Being around this?

Not today.

Although mom seems a little tight,

don't you think?

No.

I think she's happy.

I didn't know you had friends in St. Louis.

Not friends exactly.

And they're Frank's, not mine.

I'm glad Bill's agreed to meet them tomorrow night.

You mean, he wants them to meet Bill.

And I don't blame him for wanting to show off

his accomplished big brother.

It's so wonderful having them both together.

I don't recall ever seeing her drink.

Well, she never drank scotch,

which is what dad had around the house.

Now she likes the occasional Tom Collins or two.

Or three?

Show of hands for coffee, please.

Oh, I left some files in the office over the weekend.

Oh, no!

You're leaving now?

Can't it wait?

I have a patient early tomorrow, um,

woman with a complicated medical history I need to review.

Well, why don't I go with you?

Keep you company on the drive.

Oh, that's a fine idea.

That neighborhood is bad enough in the daytime,

as Libby certainly can attest.

My God, such a harrowing story.

Not necessary, sit. Enjoy dessert.

I caught a whiff of it earlier. You are in for a treat.

It's a rum cake.

I didn't realize. I made a rum cake.

Which I'm sure will be sensational.

I'll be just fine with coffee.

Did you see what's going on downstairs?

No.

Really?

You didn't notice dozens of young women in sashes and tiaras

down in the lobby?

It's the Miss Buoy of St. Louey pageant.

I guess I must've been preoccupied.

Just so happens, I was a pageant girl myself.

Runner-up, Miss Teen Fayetteville.

What did the winner have that you didn't?

An uncanny resemblance to Veronica Lake.

Ah.

God, I hated those things.

I never would've done it if my mother hadn't forced me to sign up.

My mother could be a little deaf

when it came to listening to me.

I should've just said "No."

Loud enough for her to have really heard.

No!

And what's got you so preoccupied?

Where are you coming from?

Oh, uh, family dinner with my mother.