Rush

*

I'm no one.

Excuse me?

I saw you looking at me like,

"Where do I know that girl from?"

But I'm not really famous. Oh?

I mean, not yet anyways.

So...

who are you?

I mean, like, what do you do

or whatever? Mm.

Guess.

You're an agent.

: Christ, no.

A lawyer.

A lawyer?

You know, you really shouldn't use

dollar bills.

Puts you at high risk of hep C.

One... (sighs) little bit.

Yeah, you might, you may want to take it easy on that.

Slow down a little.

Oh!

You all right?

Hey.

You okay?

Aw, shh...

Hey. Hey.

Christ.

: Okay.

Oh, that is some good shit.

Yeah. Sure is.

: I got it!

: You're a doctor.

Yeah. Something like that.

*

Okay...

What club did you say this was again?

Oh, it's new. It's very exclusive.

You're gonna love it.

What's it called? Uh... Emergency.

You all right? Yeah.

You sure? Okay. Yeah.

Christ.

Okay, and easy.

I know. One more time. Good.

Yo, McDreamy.

I believe this girl's had some kind of

coronary incident. Uh...

heartbeat is labile, she's disoriented.

I'd... keep her

in the overnight for observation if I were you.

And it's, um...

it's possible she had a heart attack.

And how would you know that?

Okay.

We'll admit her. Just...

All right. Here. Here you go.

Okay. All right.

All right. Easy. Easy...

Okay, this, uh...

this nice man's gonna take care of you.

Okay, lie down.

Yep. That works, too. It's, uh, best seat

in the house. Okay.

Okay. I will, uh, see you tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

Elliot's birthday, remember?

He's my son, Rush. I remember.

I just didn't think that you remembered.

He's my godson.

How could I forget?

Plus, you know, Eve puts all that stuff on my calendar

and reminds me the day before, calls me the day of.

This guy wouldn't know how to tie his own shoe

without a detailed e-mail from his assistant.

But I can perform an appendectomy

with my eyes closed.

Hey, he's no slouch himself.

Did he tell you he finished second in his class in Harvard?

He did not. Mm-hmm.

You know what they say:

Second place is the first loser.

Will P. Rush,

first in my class. Pleasure to meet you.

And look at you now.

Ooh... hey...

I don't think you can smoke in here, sweetheart.

We don't smoke in here, actually.

Yeah, no smoking. They changed the rules.

Is she new?

Yeah. Mm.

She seems very, uh... competent.

You're supposed to apprise me of all the new talent

here in the hospital; that's what friends do.

Maybe I should admit you, too.

You look like shit.

How much coke have you done?

Spare me the moralizing, doctor.

I just saved this girl's life.

You got to keep an eye on this one. Mm-hmm.

She's a total mess.

(rhythmic clunking, horn honks)

*

The car's making a strange noise.

I'm not a mechanic, and you're late.

I'm close. Can you order me

the, uh... you know, the poached eggs

with wasabi oil and shiitake chutney?

No, actually, you know what,

just a burger.

Rush, can you just turn down the music?

Why? Do you got something against Debbie Gibson?

Martin Hanover called.

Oh. How's he doing?

Better. He's finally breathing on his own.

And his wife?

She checked back into rehab.

Come on.

Hey, all my CDs are skipping.

Okay. Nobody listens to CDs anymore.

There's this thing-- it's called an iPod.

I can install one in your car.

Oh... I thought you weren't a mechanic.

No. I'm not a mechanic,

but you're living in the Stone Age...

Morning, sir. Morning.

And the next time you ask me

to come in at 8:00, it would be...

Did you order my breakfast?

You look like shit.

And you look very pretty.

You didn't sleep again, did you?

The human body can chronically restrict

its own sleep cycle without any noticeable effects.

I've tricked my neurochemical

and hormonal production emission cycles

to activate in my waking states, so...

you know, I need less sleep than normal humans.

But you are still human.

You know that, right?

It is so cute that you think that.

I can't just give her more methadone.

She needs to manage it. That's the whole point.

Just write her a scrip for weed if she needs something so bad.

You're prescribing marijuana to a junkie.

It works, trust me.

You mind?

You're in my office. You're in my room.

Is that it?

Uh...

no.

Ted Cummings called.

When?

Couple hours ago.

And you tell me now? What did he want?

You shouldn't enable an asshole like that.

I'm an asshole.

You enable me every day.

You're not like him, Rush.

It's all degrees, baby.

Come on, you know the policy: We don't scream,

we don't discriminate, we don't judge.

I'm not a shrink, I'm not a lawyer,

I'm not a priest, I'm not a cop.

We treat people who pay.

And Ted Cummings pays.

Where's my socks?

Took a while.

(indistinct conversation over TV)

She drank my juice.

She drank your juice.

Doc, that juice is hand-squeezed by a Tibetan monk

and imported daily from Nagchu.

Keeps me centered.

I've been in this goddamn slump for weeks now.

I'm sorry, but that stuff gets to a ballplayer.

They all say it don't, but it does.