Nip/Tuck - Second Season

Previously on Nip / Tuck:

Tell me what you don't like about yourself.

- My nose. - My ass.

Everything.

Let me see them.

Don't you give up on me.

No one can fault us for finally admitting...

that we just can't do it anymore.

Hey!

Sean. What a surprise.

I'm here for my paternity results.

Just because you know doesn't mean that anybody else has to.

"Plastic surgeon sued by dead dog's owner. "

No wonder our appointment book is filling up again.

This is what Sexaholics Anonymous calls blackout sex.

Come home.

Tell me what you don't like about yourself.

You know what? Absolutely nothing.

Business is booming, I love my wife and she loves me.

The kids are healthy. It's exactly how I always pictured today feeling.

Is that why you were checking for jowl droopage in Mr. Toasty?

Face it. There is nothing that's gonna stop your body...

from screaming, "I'm 40" from the highest rooftop.

Wait. Actually, there is something.

Happy birthday. Open it.

- BOTOX. - I don't need this.

Yeah, you do. I've been shooting my forehead full of it for months.

Face it, Sean, we're not college kids anymore.

Your hairline's up and your ass is down.

I'll be sure to put that on your 40th birthday card in a couple of weeks.

We're plastic surgeons. The literal faces of this business.

Looking our age is as bad as a stained carpet in the waiting room.

- Have you seen a fat personal trainer? - But we don't look our age, Christian.

With advances in nutrition and exercise, 40 is the new 30.

You sell youth for a living, Dr. McNamara.

So stop being such a hypocrite, and tilt your head back.

- Frown. - Come on.

Being as smooth as a baby's butt is going to delay your inevitable midlife crisis.

That was last year, remember? Thanks, Christian. Really.

But I plan on spending my 40s aging gracefully...

and exploring what's inside.

Let's go.

Julia's gonna kill you if you bring me late to my own surprise birthday party.

- You know about that? - When you're married almost 20 years...

nothing is a surprise anymore.

Can you at least try to look surprised, for her?

Yet another reason not to do the BOTOX.

Surprise!

Great party.

How'd you pull this thing off without me finding out?

- Come on. You knew. - I was totally in the dark.

Got any other birthday surprises for me?

My mother's coming.

Surprise.

I tried to stop her, but she insisted.

Apparently, I distance her from the family because I see her as a threat.

I'm threatened by her.

And I've only seen her hawking her books on Charlie Rose.

You'll just have to come to terms with the fact...

that your mother is a force of nature.

Remember at your wedding? She looked hot for a broad in her 40s.

And as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Nice save.

I have no idea why she's coming, or how long she's staying...

because she's a raging narcissist...

and so just assumes we'll all adjust to her schedule.

Honey, it's okay. You're the one she drives crazy, not me.

So I'll run interference.

Of course, it's not the surprise I was hoping for.

We have an emergency.

What now?

- I need you to nurse. - I'm sorry.

My tits are ripe, this blouse is silk. Stains are forever.

- I need you to suck it up. - That's disgusting.

Quit being such a drama queen. It tastes just like sugar water. See?

- You're sick. - No, Christian.

I am a frazzled working mother who forgot her breast pump.

Look, I've been very clear with you.

There will be no suckage of any kind anymore.

Our relationship from now on is strictly parental.

Neither you nor fatherhood is holding me hostage.

In other words, milk them yourself, Heidi.

I am not a cow, Christian.

They're too tender to manhandle.

Jesus, your nipples are the size of pie plates.

If my milk ducts get swollen, I'll pass any infection off to Wilber.

- I'm not swallowing. - Why not? I do.

- Want some milk with your cake? - No, thanks.

- Nervous, buddy? - No, it's more like old age.

Tell me what you didn't like about yourself.

It was an accident.

How many surgeries have you had, Ms. Zucker?

Two. There was an infection. That's how she developed the scarring.

- I'm sorry, Mr... - Chad. Chad Myers.

And you and Ms... Mrs. Zucker are married?

- No, I'm gay. - And I'm a big fag hag.

No, we're best friends since we were 17.

- When did the accident happen? - Nine months ago.

On my 34th birthday. The party was kickass.

I was...

blown away. Literally.

Ms. Zucker...

To my knowledge, a loaded. 45 is not a traditional party favor.

She kept one in her purse for security.

Why did you pull the gun out?

Like she said, we were celebrating her birthday in Fort Lauderdale.

We rented a Hummer limo, went out clubbing and got really wasted.

Yeah, we kept drinking and tried to think of...

just two people who'd made it past 30.

You know, who'd gotten their dream later in life.

And all we could come up with was...

Nelson Mandela and Danny Aiello.

I was like, "It's all downhill from here, we might as well just kill ourselves. "

And I pulled out my gun, as a joke. I laughed, told her to put it away.

I went over to the minibar, and that's when it accidentally went off.

Ta-da.

Ms. Zucker, I'm gonna be blunt with you. There's no quick fix.

You're looking at five reconstructive surgeries, maybe more.

And what's my alternative? Burkas are so 2003.

- There's no guarantee... - I know that, okay? I know.

I just want little kids to stop looking at me and crying.

Sorry to interrupt. Julia needs you to call her at home.

Some kind of emergency with her mother.

I want a face-lift.

What happened to, "Women should wear their wrinkles like a badge of honor"?

That worked, when I was naive...

and firm enough to shove my braless tits...

in the faces of all those patriarchal Freudians.

Beauty is power, Julia.

Both tend to diminish after 40.

Thank God by that time I'd already been chairing...

the Psych department for five years.

I remember. You were never home.

It's just a good thing I didn't sacrifice my career...

so my daughter could have one.

Come on, you can't be serious, Erica. You look great.

- This is about Daddy, isn't it? - This has nothing to do with your daddy.

I have a new book coming out.

I can't use the same picture from my last two jacket covers.

Be honest, Mother.

He had a midlife crisis, ran off with a younger woman...

- and now you wanna mutilate yourself. - Age is what mutilates, Julia.

You'll find that out soon enough.

If you feel that strongly, I'll be happy to refer you to Mark Rosen.

- No, Sean, you. I want you to do it. - You want me to give you a face-lift?

You don't get your son-in-law to perform surgery on you, Mother.

I want the best. I'm not above using my connections to get him.

I don't get it, Erica.

It's not like your literary worth has ever been predicated on looks.

You're one of the most respected child psychologists in the country.

Respected doesn't sell books. Not anymore.

Sex does.

You see this photo?

I was 41 here.

The photographer who took it had a raging erection the entire session.

Jesus.

The point is, I was desired.

Can you do that, Sean?

Make me look like I'm in my prime?

Make me desirable again?

Been thinking about that game Libby Zucker was playing...

before she shot herself.

Can you think of anyone whose life improved dramatically after 40?

- Us. - Be serious, Christian.

We're on a plateau. A high plateau, I'll give you that. But still...

I am serious, Sean. The climb has just begun.

With Bobolit out of the picture, we're primed to become...

the premier plastic surgery destination in the southern US.

The world is our oyster...

and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.

And you're gonna do all that with a baby in tow?

- Your priorities are about to change. - No, they're not.

Welcome to the world of pediatrician appointments, school plays...

and if you ever decide to get married and inherit some in-laws...

you have to start parenting them, too.

You can look like a 30-year-old as long as you want.

- You just can't live like one. - Bullshit, Sean.

I plan on banging twice as many mamazons this decade...

in far more depraved and debauched ways.

You think Gina will be okay with that?

I didn't hand Gina my balls when I agreed to raise Wilber.

I'll hire a nanny to pick up the slack.

Ever think she wishes she died? Actually, I think she wishes...

that she'd looked normal enough that no one ever asked her that question.

15-blade.

Is there something wrong?

The trajectory of devastation is odd. Suction.

She was waving a gun around drunk.

She's lucky her brains didn't end up on the reversible painting...

like her jawline.

The what? The yips.

The yips? Nothing on the scan?

No neurological disorders. No Parkinson's. No Huntington's.

Other than being the sound an unruly puppy makes...

what exactly is a yip?

Picture a beautiful afternoon on the golf course.

Your iron shot lands on the seventh hole, a foot from the cup...

and you are one sweet tap from carding a birdie.

And then just as your putter makes contact with the ball...

a little tic interrupts your perfect stroke...