Red Oaks

Hey, honey.

Hey, Dad. What are you doing up?

Just a midnight snack.

Okay.

You want anything?

No, I'm good.

Listen, David.

If you ever want to talk...

about anything...

I'm here.

I know.

I don't know. Maybe she's right.

Maybe my work doesn't have a point of view.

Look, if it's any consolation,

Ada Levin once described my films

as an assault on Eros.

What does that even mean?

I don't know.

Even so, she got me thinking.

I mean, I have to be honest with myself,

if I'm wasting my time.

Or it shouldn't be like exploring other mediums.

Hold that thought.

Here.

What's this?

Cute guy's phone number.

He asked me to give it to you.

What am I supposed to do with this?

Call him.

I can't.

What's stopping you?

Nothing. I'm just not...

in the right head space.

Have you spoken to David yet?

No.

So is it...

over over between you?

I think so.

Maybe. I don't know.

Been there.

That's it.

As soon as shift's over. I'm taking you out

and getting you drunk.

I thought you had plans with Paolo.

This is more important.

What about Mrs. Goldstein?

What about her?

Her husband's a lot older.

Smokes like a chimney.

He can't have many years left.

You're not helping, David.

Look, it's no use, boychik.

I'll never find another to replace my Rebecca.

She was without equal among women,

a veritable angel,

or whatever the Jewish equivalent of that is.

And now she's chosen a life of celibacy

and quiet contemplation with her rabbi.

Rabbis aren't celibate.

They're not?

That's priests.

Hey, Nash, you RSVP for my wedding yet?

Uh, yes, I did, but as it turns out,

I won't be bringing a guest.

Makes it easier to hit on the bridesmaids that way.

Yeah.

Hey, Karen talk to you

about videoing these upcoming nuptials?

Yeah. I'll do it.

Excellent.

We'll talk about your shot list later.

Right now we should talk about Friday.

What's Friday?

Atlantic City. A little getaway.

Just me and my best man.

- And you. - What?

I'm not down with the whole bachelor party thing

of strippers and paintball.

I'm not gonna pay to see some girl's Milk Duds.

If I want to see some, I'll pay Karen.

We're going to party like adults.

Drink some vino, see some magic.

I got tickets to see Copperfield at the Trump. Whoo.

Why do I need to be there?

Because you're videographer.

Gig starts then.

Plus, we need a designated driver.

- Mm, I don't know, Barry. - Oh, excuse me.

Did I or did I not do you a major solid

by setting you up with my buddy Travis over at WZVX?

- Yeah, you did, but... - So you owe me, kemo sabe.

I owe you?

Big time.

Fine. What time?

Should roll out no later than 7:00.

Okay.

I don't know, dude.

Misty and I were going to hang out Friday, and...

Please, Wheeler. Look,

I promised Barry I'd be his designated driver,

and you know there's no way

my car will make this trip to Atlantic City.

Come on, man. Don't make me do this on my own.

Okay. Screw it. Let's do it.

Thanks, man.

I could use a night off anyway.

You and Misty have been making up for lost time, huh?

Enjoy it while it lasts, my young friends,

because one day love will fade,

like memories and tan lines.

Hey, Nash, you love A.C. Why don't you come along?

Yeah, man. I mean, there's plenty of room

in the station wagon.

No, thank you.

I'll work on him.

Come here, Grace.

Come on, sweetheart. Here.

Here you go, Gracie.

Come on. You want to lick the can?

Here, puss puss.

Where are you?

Come on, Gracie, where are you?

Come here, honey.

Come on.

Gracie.

Come on.

- Am I the first one here? - Thanks for coming.

I don't think I could have done this on my own.

No sweat. You hear from Skye?

I don't know if I will.

We both said some pretty harsh shit.

Yeah.

Good evening, gentlemen.

Hey, Nash.

Glad you made it.

This will be fun. I think.

- Hmm. - It'll be good for you.

It'll be good for both of you:

a night out, a change of scenery,

Atlantic City.

Oh! Check out this scene.

Parental guidance suggested.

Fellas ready to do some stuff you're going to regret?

Who are we waiting on?

Just my best man.

Oh. Here he is.

What is up, Barrycuda?

Absolutely not.

I'm not going to Atlantic City with that specimen,

let alone sitting in a car with...

Nash, it'll be okay. It'll be fine.

- Let's fire up that speedwagon. - Wait.

This side door has a mind of its own. Sorry.

All right.

Whoa. No way, porkypine. I got shotgun.

- Yes, but... - Back seat.

Let's go. Let's go!

Come on, Mr. Velour.

I'm telling you,

Feinberg has got it in the bag.

There's no way Getty hangs on to the club presidency.

He's too unpopular.

Says who?

Says everyone.

David, are you hearing this?

Yeah, I'm staying out of it.

I'll tell you something else.

It's going to be a whole new world.

No more preferential treatment by the board

for you fuzzy ball huggers

when Stan's running things.

Stan? Since when are you on a first name basis?

Since he started taking golf lessons.

Golf lessons.

Like that's an actual sport that requires lessons.

It's the sport of kings.

That's horse racing.

Well, it's the pastime of kings.

I refuse to consider anything a sport

when you don't break a sweat.

And when's the last time you broke a sweat?

Last night, actually,

while I was making love to your mother.

- Dudes! - You don't talk about my mother.

That's right. Served it right up her...

Enough with the hostility.

It's like the Golan Heights back here.

Yeah. Come on. Settle down, guys.

We're trying to have a good time here.

Let's play a little game. Story hour.

20 bucks buys in. Best story wins the pot.

What kind of story?

How you popped your cherry.

I'll start it.

I was 18. She was 31.

A stewardess from Japan Airlines.

A layover in Honolulu.

Yukio.

When it was all over,

she offered me a hot towel and a bag of nuts.