Shining Vale

Previously on Shining Vale...

Terry, watch out!

There was a little girl!

This is Pat Phelps.

She bought the big house on Elm.

Is something wrong with the house?

It is a treasure.

No basement, but the attic has plenty of storage.

Kam read the page that I wrote in the attic

which I don't even remember writing.

She was a complete alcoholic.

Sober for over 16 years.

My kids ignore me.

When do you wear a cross?

I'm allowed to have spirituality!

Hi, is Gaynor around?

Seems our children have developed a friendship.

Pat's seeing ghosts.

One ghost. It's a '50s housewife.

She keeps popping up in my dreams.

Good news, Patricia.

You're not crazy.

Oh, my God. What the hell!

Come on, you bitch.

- What's up? - Nothing, nothing.

I'm just admiring your

toddler-trapped-under-a-Toyota- like strength

and our newly-gouged floors.

I know you don't wanna hear this, but we have a ghost

and I'm pretty sure she lives in this closet.

Oh.

Gaynor, I'm sorry to freak you out.

- I'm cool. - Okay, okay.

Let's... let's assume we do have a ghost, Pat.

And let's say that that ghost lives right there

in this closet.

Do you really think that this armoire situation

is the best way to keep her from haunting us?

- Don't condescend. - Mm.

The armoire is a stopgap measure.

Great.

Ghost problem solved.

Let's have breakfast.

I just wanted a quiet place so I can get some privacy.

Leave me alone.

I think the ghost was jerking off.

I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow.

Oh, go ahead, Terry. It was your idea.

Okay.

When we moved into the house, I feel...

I'm still seeing the ghost,

and Terry doesn't believe me, so.

I'm sorry. Were you done?

No, it was just a breath between two sentences.

- This is the '50s housewife? - Mm-hmm.

I know you thought she would go away with more antidepressants,

but I'm seeing her even more now.

And I'm hearing music coming from the closet, which...

Terry just completely dismisses it.

I don't get the satisfaction of dismissing it.

I can't see it.

That's because you're never home.

I am bouncing around the house

stuck on page one of my fucking book,

and you're off in the city doing who knows what.

You know what. I have a job.

I work and I'm often in the city prepping with Kathéryn.

Kathéryn.

Do you hear that, Dr Berg? That can't be healthy.

Every time I mention my coworker's name,

she parrots it.

What? I just like the way you say Kathéryn versus Pat.

My firm is pitching to manage the pension

of the New York Archdiocese.

It's a gigantic deal.

And they paired me with an expert.

- Kathryn is... - Kathryn.

Pat, she's not some tasty piece of ass.

She's your age.

Can we just sit with that for a moment?

Let's put a pin in Kathryn and get back to your ghost.

I'm wondering if she's a projection of the part of you

that is trapped at home.

The Pat who's a repressed housewife.

What? What's, ""?

No, it's not an insult.

It's just you don't cook and you don't clean.

You don't act repressed.

- I'm plenty fucking repressed. - Mm.

Let's... let's get back on point.

You think I'm schizophrenic.

I-I swear if I get one more crazy diagnosis, I'm gonna go nuts.

Let's avoid the word "crazy."

It's not uncommon for a writer

to create an alter ego to unlock creativity.

So you mean like a ghostwriter?

Let's say she's your muse.

She's obviously been stoking your imagination.

Try engaging her.

Hmm. Okay.

In the meantime, here's a scrip

for anti-anxiety medication just uh, for the week.

Not another one.

Just take the Clonazepam.

I've... I've been with you 15 minutes.

Even my plants are nervous.

Oh, my God. I'm so sorry.

Oh, hi, Ryan.

Hey. Wow. Gaynor. What's up?

Uh, not much.

I'm just thinking about

your share at Chastity Club last week.

How you almost jerked off to that Snapchat.

- That was powerful. - Oh, well, I was talking...

I was talking about making a Chastity Club Facebook page.

Still really powerful.

And your share about

how you had sex with your upstairs neighbor.

Was a joke.

Obviously, I'm just trying to get a rise out of the group.

Well, it worked. Three people left.

Shit... shoot. Sorry.

Uh, so hey, uh, what are you doing later?

Uh, not much.

Praying. Praying probably.

You wanna come over for dinner?

You guys do that? Hells yeah.

Um...

I'll see you later for a home-cooked meal.

Yeah.

- Hey, Mrs. Phelps. - Hi, Guy.

Give me a few minutes and I'll... I'll get this filled.

Okay. I'll just be right over here.

You don't care. Okay.

Hi, hi!

Holy shit, Robyn.

Are we okay?

Yeah, we're fine.

Oh, a-actually, is there something you forgot to mention

about the house you sold us?

Of course, she has stories to tell.

Every life leaves a mark.

Secrets and old clocks

and broken lockets, and hidden staircases.

Those are just Nancy Drew titles.

- Are they? - Uh-huh.

You are so well-read.

Is the house fucking haunted or not?

Mrs. Phelps.

Looks like your medicine is ready.

Yeah, it's for my allergies.

They don't have that many plants in Brooklyn.

I have your Clonazepam.

Oh, great. I'll take it from here.

This is a Class Four psychotropic.

You understand possible side effects include hallucinations?

Yup.

- Sleepwalking. - Got it.

- Blackouts. - No problem.

- Memory loss. - Copy that.

- Disorientation. - Yep. No driving.

No heavy machinery. Bye.

No pressure, just a billion-dollar portfolio.

I know I'm not allowed to say this, but normally,

if we were pitching men, I would put Kathryn out front.

But given the audience, we'll go with the altar boy.

I don't know why either of us would find that offensive.

Take the compliment.

You're the smartest woman I know who looks like you.

Mm-hmm.

- Anyway, what do I say? - Crush it.

There you go. All right. Don't fuck up, guys.

I know I'm not supposed to say this,

but he can be an ass.

Oh, I think you're allowed to say that.

Hey, babe.

Yes, I'm in a meeting.

Yeah. Yes, it's with Terry.

Okay, bye.

That Blake?

Apparently, I talk about you a lot.

Yeah, Pat says the same thing about you.

So, should we do it?

Go over the presentation.

Yes, abso... Yes, we shall.

We shall do it.

It's weird. It's not here.

Okay, I've got five hours before the kids come home.

One page, no distractions.

No.

What to write? Okay.

Mm.

God, that's good.

Oh.

A sudden tropical heat was rising up...

Sweat pooling in Cressida's navel

making her feel so... so...

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Oh, gross.

Making her feel so, um,