Grace and Frankie

- Well, don't forget Babe. - Oh.

She said she'd get that back to me. She did not say she'd be in it.

Good one, Babe.

- It was a beautiful memorial. - It was. It was also a bit weird.

I mean, I love the idea of putting my hand on my neighbor's heart, but...

Well, the guy standing next to me seemed to enjoy it.

And it all comes down to this.

Being carried around in an old flea market find.

I know. I'm sad, too.

- It's not just Babe. - Phil?

Yeah, that, too. But...

Oh, I don't know, it's my whole life.

Well, death has a way of doing that to people.

But, you know, Babe devoured life.

You know? She never settled for anything.

Up to the very last minute.

She always knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go out and get it.

Yeah. As opposed to me, who still doesn't know what she wants.

Oh, gosh, I know this is an important conversation, but look, presents!

They're from Babe!

Just like Babe to get you a little something for killing her.

Oh...

"Darling Frankie, I was told these brushes

are the exact ones Picasso used to paint Guernica.

If this proves wrong, you should know

I still had a terrific time sleeping with two Spaniards to get them.

The postcard is the main event, anyway."

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

"I've rented the gallery space, you just need to fill it.

You've got one month. Get crackin', toots.

All my love and eternal thanks.

Literally, my eternal thanks.

Love, Babe."

This is really sweet.

What did you get?

Let's see.

Mmm.

You get something inspiring and artful, and I get a vibrator?

Maybe that's your paintbrush, Grace.

"Dearest Grace,

this is even better than drinking

and it won't make your face puffy.

And it won't break your heart. Love, Babe."

- That is a good vibrator. - It is?

Much better than the ones with the pull start.

Makes you feel like you're using a chainsaw.

Yeah, totally. I hate those.

Ha! They don't exist! Trick question!

There was no question.

The question is: "Have you ever used one?" Answer: "No."

I use... I... Other things.

Other than a man's penis, what have you used?

A man's penis.

Never used a vibrator! This really explains so much.

Look, sister, start that sucker up and get to it.

I need to get to it, too, because I've got a show in four weeks.

It's kind of like a microphone.

Oh, it'll make you sing.

Jeez, how do they expect you to read this?

"Dishwasher safe."

Oh, well, that's something.

You know what else Thoreau said?

"No man is so poor he must sit on a pumpkin."

So, yeah, they weren't all gems.

As an artist, I've had a few that weren't gems, too.

But this... you are the crown jewel.

Oh, Goddess knows, even dead,

you're still more fun than Count Drinkula over there.

Thank you for reminding me I'm an artist.

You have something on your nose.

Sol! Sol, it's Frankie,

the artist formerly known as your wife.

Yes, I remember you.

You're the quiet one.

The one who threw paint on Burt Reynolds' fur coat.

What can I do for you?

Well, first, you should know I have an art show three weeks from now

at the Lotus Gallery, seven to nine p.m. Wine and cheese offered.

It's a retrospective with new works.

Congratulations. That's amazing.

I know.

And any true Frankie B. retrospective has to include Hitler's Circumcision.

I could see why you'd say that. Uh-huh.

So, I need K. Loggins' contact info.

You know, uh, Kenny Loggins is not a client anymore

and he's very private.

I'm not sure I'm comfortable with your calling him.

Well, then you call him.

Sol, this is important.

He has to be there.

He's the man who legitimized me as an artist.

I think you're giving Kenny way too much power.

Selling a painting isn't what makes you an artist.

Oh, tell that to the IRS.

- But... - Call Kenny!

Okay.

Thank you and goodbye.

You're not going to tell her, are you?

Yes, you are. I can see it on your face.

What choice do I have?

How about never telling her?

Which part should I never tell her?

That it was Larry who did Kenny Loggins' divorce?

Or that he never bought her painting?

- All of the above. - I feel terrible.

You shouldn't! You did it out of the kindness of your heart.

She was going through a hard time

and it was the greatest gift you ever gave her.

She's been dining out on that story for years.

It still makes her happy. Please just let it alone.

But she's never going to stop until she gets that painting.

She's sent me six text messages since we hung up

- and they all say "Kenny Loggins." - Here's what you do.

You go to the garage, you dig it out,

you say you got it back from him, and he sends his best.

I don't know.

Oh! Just tell her Kenny Loggins is giving her painting back

'cause "everybody's gotta footloose."

I don't know.

Grace. Oh, things are happening in my studio.

You're not having spider races again, are you?

I am in a creative fury like never before.

I am en fuego.

I have birthed a work that may have even surpassed Hitler's Circumcision.

Which, as you may remember, is in...

"Is in the private collection of one Mr. Kenny Loggins."

Well, this you don't know. He's coming to my opening.

- Really? - After I ask him.

He's a collector. He's a fan. And he has been since...

"The day he bought it right off the wall in Sol's office."

Oh, but you're not capturing the energy of it.

What happened? Did you fall? You should have yelled.

Is it broken? Oh, my God.

Why didn't you yell? Was that you yelling last night?

I'm fine. It's nothing. I just need to rest it.

- Rest it? From what? - From things that hands do.

I mean, what is with this third degree here?

I do hand things. I like to wave.

No, no, no.

What are you hiding, Grace?

As an emotion wizard I sense your defensiveness.

I'm not defensive.

What I'm struggling with is, you say your hand is in trauma

and yet your pallor is... a flush pink of renewal.

Hold it. Uh-oh.

You haven't been doing hand things, you've been doing hand jobs.

On yourself.

How was it? Walk me through it.

Well, it was... Frankie, look, there's a drone!

Oh, son of a bitch! Get my T-shirt cannon!

- Hey! Ooh, my cake. - Hey.

That's not funny.

You have no idea the pain of being a leapling.

No, but I heard about it every birthday not divisible by four.

And I read your horrible short story, The Last Leaper.

It's a novella.

- Ah. - Hi.

I can't believe you're already eight years old.

- Believe it. - So tall.

Hey, Mom. I'm really sorry about Babe.

Thank you, honey.

I mean, I wish all my friends were dead,

but I imagine it's really sad when it actually starts happening.

It's not the best time of life.

And yet here you are training for the uneven bars at the next Olympics.

Oh, it's just my arthritis flaring up.

I've gotten back into calligraphy.

It's good you have something to do.

All right, I gotta go break Bud's balls.

- Budlas. - Excuse me.

I hope you like your gift, the store was out of puberty.

Yeah? Well, the same store...

said you're a bitch.

Yeah, that's why I shop there.

Oh, it's a sad party.

Happy birthday, Bud.

Hello. Did you bring the cornbread?

Oh. Calligraphy!

Since when do you do calligraphy?

Since you took me to see the Constitution

and I said, "Oh, that's pretty." What's all this?

Oh, well, we've been going through a lot of stuff and we're downsizing,

so I put some things aside I thought you might want.

That is really thoughtful. Thank you.

I'm a very thoughtful man.

With a few notable exceptions. So, what's in here?

I have no idea. I asked Hildy to put them together for you.

You had the housekeeper pack them up?

Well, how would I know what you'd want?

Oh, I don't know. I thought maybe being married to me for 40 years

would've given you some clues.

Did you talk to him?

In fact, I did. And...

- I got your painting back for you. - Ah! Kenny!

It still packs a punch.

- Can I have his number now? - Why?

Because he'll want to be there. Plus I want him to do a blurb.

Plus he'll probably want another Frankie B. original.

I'll give him the VIP treatment. As my biggest patron,

he can have a swag bag with Skittles and a whistle.