Minx

- Hey. - Maggie!

It's only a matter of time

before George gives you a byline.

You are so beyond a researcher.

- We both are. - Thank you.

You're more than happy to lap up the attention when it suits you.

You're more than happy basking in my reflection.

- Should we have sex now? - Oh, no.

- I, um... I... I can't do that again. - What?

We need to be friends.

You think anyone else knows how good we are?

Not a chance.

You know, I haven't have a boss since I was 16 years old.

And now I have two,

and one of them is Joyce fucking Prigger.

I've decided to not move forward with Beyond.

I need you to come up with more ideas...

your big Renetti ideas.

Well, were you fucking wowed tonight?

I have to defer to Joyce.

Doug, the answer's no.

Are you really not gonna speak to me this entire ride?

I'm sorry I vetoed your dance troupe.

Well, it could've been a revolution.

Historically, I don't think revolutions

- involve that much baby oil. - Okay.

- Listen, Doug, it wasn't... - If you say "it wasn't personal"

- to me one more time, Joyce... - It wasn't.

I'm just getting hammered on all sides.

I mean, Connie kills my science magazine.

You murder my sexy boys.

I'm on the goddamn schneid.

"Schneid's" a losing streak.

That's what you call schmoozing in Sin City...

cutting international deals

and bathed in glorious neon surrounded by games of chance?

I'm selling foreign rights to Minx, Joyce.

I'm not exactly attending Frank Sinatra's birthday party.

No, that's next weekend.

- - Me back in Vegas... this is a huge mistake.

This town has a nose for failure,

and I got the fucking stink, so...

You know, this city shouldn't even be here.

It's an oasis built on hustle and moxie.

This is where people come to turn their luck around.

Oh...

- - Thank you.

- Thanks, boss. - Would you look around?

- Yeah. - Oh, come on.

- How can you be depressed in Vegas? - I'm not depressed. It's just...

Thank you.

- - Man, I miss that sound...

money and tears.

"A stately pleasure-dome decree."

You know, maybe you're right, Joycey.

Maybe things are getting better.

- Renetti. - Yeah.

This is for '65, fuckhead.

I think we got the shot.

- Whoo. - Thank you.

- Good match, everyone. - Hey.

- Killer forehand, bro. - Thanks, man.

Nice work, boys, nice work.

This issue's gonna be huge.

Our readers love a clean-cut sportsman or two.

Sorry I'm late.

Got caught arguing ad rates with Kotex.

I hope you didn't cave to those terrorists.

Tampax will pay us double for exclusivity.

That would mean breaking our contract.

Oh, well, they might try and wiggle out themselves

if the environment is inhospitable.

I guess I'll get creative.

I guess you will.

Another masterpiece, Ricardo.

Honestly, you didn't miss much.

Prigger special, rackets, dick, oh, look, there's a lady.

- She's in power. - The usual.

Last chance, Richie, okay?

The boys are coming, too. It's gonna be fun.

Uh, me and Danny still have some work we need to finish up.

You go on ahead.

Hold on. What's happening here?

We're hitting the Palomino to watch the Battle of the Sexes.

- It's the event of the year. - Ooh, I'm racing home to watch.

I wouldn't miss Billie Jean for the world.

- Did I tell you... - About your chance encounters

on the junior-tennis circuit?

Holmby Hills in '62.

Well, don't forget Toluca Lake in '65.

She complimented my skort.

- Wow. - You know, I like tennis.

- Oh, I would've invited you. - She would've said no.

- Yeah, you do always say no. - Okay, maybe lately.

That doesn't mean I don't want to be invited.

Yeah, but you're ascending to the corporate plane,

leaving us mortals behind, but we're very proud of you.

I'm still here, on the fun plane, being fun.

- Let's watch here! - Oh.

It'll be great. Just like old times.

Uh, t-that's actually a bad idea.

Yeah, fancy new offices, plush carpet, our bosses...

Are out of here and done giving us unnecessary feedback.

I'm in charge.

Good Time Tina says watch party at Bottom Dollar!

- - Well, look at you. You look sharp.

- Thank you. -

My outfit's the opening volley on my panel remarks.

I'm thinking of saying, "I'm here to talk female demographics,

but I'm also quite fun."

Oh, right, your, uh, chitchat thing, huh?

- - You mean me forging

essential bonds with other professional women?

Shouldn't you be forging some fiscal bonds of your own?

No need.

What happened?

Nothing. I just don't have to hustle for buyers. They came to me.

What, in the 30 minutes it took me to change?

That's enough time to fuck things up

but not make things good?

Look, concierge had a stack of these for me at check-in.

My room is full of fruit baskets.

Everybody wants in.

So all I have to do is play London off of Paris,

gin up some old grudges from the war, you know, Europe shit.

We'll set our own price.

Doug, this is incredible.

Yeah, if I can get all these deals done before dinner,

I can get on the last Greyhound to Los Angeles.

The bus?

Yeah.

I'm tired, Joyce.

It's possible, verging on probable,

that I have underappreciated your contributions.

What? You underappreciated me? No.

You brought Constance in. You pitched her the global vision,

and now you're about to make it happen. I mean,

you should run the thing.

Is that something you'd even want?

To run an international publishing empire? Me?

- Yeah. - That'd be mildly appealing, I guess.

But, you know, Connie's the big boss on this,

- and she'd have to get on board. - No. No, she's been deferring to me

on everything Minx.

I assure you I will make my strongest case.

- Well, that's a lot of travel. -

I just don't know where I would call home.

Would it be Buenos Aires, Amsterdam, Monaco?

I think London is less debauched,

and, also, it's commonly acknowledged

to be the center of international publishing,

which would be none of my business,

because off American soil, Minx would be yours.

Ah.

- - Well, I get along very well

- with a lot of girls. -

I don't think you give us credit for having any brains.

Billie's gonna wipe that smug smile off his face.

I'm loving this.

I'm rooting for the plucky lesbian, too.

Oh, whoa, whoa. Billie's happily married.

Her husband's a hunky blonde.

Right. Sorry, I'm new to women's tennis.

It's a Good Time Tina recipe.

What are the measurements?

Pour until there's nothing left.

This whole thing's a joke.

Men are better at sports than women, okay?

I'm sorry. I'm not pretending they're not.

Billie Jean's not just a woman.

She's the best of her generation.

I could return that serve with my hands behind my back.

- Oh, really? - Yeah.

Okay, prove it.

- Prove it? - Yeah, prove it...

outside, right now, my serve.

Hmm.

- Hands behind my back, lady. -

... Astrodome, it's the Battle of the Sexes...

Billie Jean King versus Bobby Riggs.

My money's on Dustin.

There is no beating testosterone.

How's he gonna hold the racket?

Telekinesis?

Wasn't on his résumé.

The only special skill he listed was "abs."

Hmm.