Margo's Got Money Troubles

We have Mr. Incognito,

Mr. Fancy Pants.

Who could possibly win?

When Margo was little, she played with dolls

- and practiced her make-believe… - I'll destroy you.

- …with a vengeance. - That's what you think, punk.

You're a dead man.

Try me, loser.

Die!

Kill and crush!

An only child needs to develop a complex inner world,

and this one could pretend just about anything.

…and they're still down, and they're fighting.

Eventually, her imagination became her playmate.

Entire alien worlds bloomed inside her head.

Lives she never lived.

Impossible possibilities.

Sometimes she wondered if this was a curse.

Was her father's carny lifestyle and career as a fabulist in her blood?

Or was she just trying to avoid reality by rewriting it?

The beginning of a story, when you start to read it, is like a first date.

You hope that from the opening lines, the magic will happen,

and that you will sink into the narrative like a hot bath,

giving yourself over entirely.

That's what you want, for the author to come right up to you

in the dark of your twisted mind

and kiss you on the throat.

Ms. Millet.

Can you hold back a second?

Did I write it?

Of course I wrote it.

I do not plagiarize.

I wrote that.

Okay, then, um, my…

my second question is why are you here?

This paper is excellent.

Why are you at Fullerton College? You can go anywhere.

Yeah, right. Like Harvard?

Yes, like Harvard.

I don't think they let you in there for writing a good English paper.

Mmm. That is exactly why they let you in.

Oh.

I'm meeting him for coffee.

I'm sorry, what?

- Why? - Well…

Uh, Margo, if a professor asks a student to get coffee,

it's because he wants to fuck her.

They've actually done studies.

- He's married. - Oh, gee, then.

I want to get coffee with him, okay?

Why? Is he cute?

He thinks my writing is brilliant.

- And he meant it. - Okay. Do you not see the irony here?

He wows you with, "The characters in books are not real.

It's why the reader falls for them," and now here you are falling for him,

who's equally unreal.

In fact just the title "professor" makes him mysteriously nonhuman

- in your eyes. - Can you for once not analyze me?

I don't need to analyze you. I know you.

And you're probably a character in a book for him too.

One with sticky pages.

Ugh, don't be gross.

I'm being your mother.

- Do I need to call your mother? -

I'm not gonna sleep with the guy, okay?

I'm not.

It's possible that I might be a leg man.

I always thought I was a forearm man because of this little nook

between the bicep and the forearm, but…

my Lord, this leg.

Oh, my mother has the best legs in the history of the planet.

I used to think that I wanted to grow up to be them.

- Her legs? - And then I thought, no,

I wanna be her sheer black pantyhose.

She works at Bloomingdale's.

I think maybe I was imprinted like a baby duck to her stockings.

I mean, can you imagine wanting to grow up to be hose?

Good that you reset your aspirations.

You remember when you first wanted to become a writer?

Ever since I was little.

Probably because of my father.

He used to read to me when I was a baby.

Really?

- What does he think of your writing? - Oh. He's never read me.

I was raised by a single mom, so he would pop in and out, but…

…oh, it's not like I can really claim to know him.

Well, I think you should send him one of your pieces.

- - I think he would be quite proud

to know you.

So, I wrote you a poem.

"The Hungry Ghost."

"In the dark, we turn to one another.

Like deformed doves,

confused that we have bodies.

I feel nothing.

Keep touching me.

I feel nothing.

I'm a hungry ghost."

Isn't it amazing?

- It's creepy. - It's beautiful.

Maybe your blood sugar is low.

Go to the store right now and buy some OJ

- and Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips. - I'm fine.

I don't want orange meal.

Honestly, Margo, I think you should get away from this douche.

Get him to write a recommendation for you.

Either that or you report him.

Ooh, maybe he can shoehorn you into NYU.

We have real professors here, by the way,

who are more into teaching than getting into their students' pants.

Fuck off!

Hello? Did you just throw me?

Margo, pick up that phone.

Stay away from him.

Margo, stay away from him.

- -

Thank you for coming.

- Mmm. - Uh-uh. No. Not here.

This is a sacred place.

That is actually why I had you meet me here today.

- - So?

So, this place is obviously

- an important part of me. - Mm-hmm.

As are you. As is God.

I'd like to incorporate God more into the equation of us.

- Okay. - It's great that you're with us

on Sundays.

I want you to be among us.

Okay.

The choir?

- - You agreed to be in the choir?

Well, it would be less painful than being on some committee.

- Is it a cult, this church? - No.

Kenny wants me to, um, be among the Episcopalians.

How's school?

- Any upticks in your intelligence? - Mmm.

- Some. - Hmm.

- Hold on. - Mom!

You can't just do this to somebody.

I only do this to you. You have such beautiful eyes,

and I'm tired of being the only one who thinks so.

- What are you studying? - Well, uh…

my lit class.

I have this amazing professor.

Which, I mean, who knew, at Fullerton College, right?

He thinks that I could have a real future as a writer.

Could you imagine? Me as a real writer?

Yes, I can imagine that.

Tell me about him.

Who?

Your professor.

Well, he's great.

There's this contagion in the way that he teaches.

He has a way of really making you feel the books.

Feel the characters.

Hmm.

Tell me more.

That's it. There's nothing really more to tell.

- - That isn't true, is it?

- Oh, my God. -

Shut the fuck up!

- Who's that? - It's one of my roommates.

- Roommates? - Yeah, I told you I had roommates.

- You didn't say they would be home. - Well, seems one of them is.

Here, let's go over there. It's a stress-bearing wall.

- -

- - Wait. My pants.

- - He is tender and thoughtful and sweet.

And he writes beautiful emails.

- Let me read you one. - Margo,

he's a 30-something-year-old professor schtupping a student.

Do not be falling in love with him.

I'm not gonna fall in love with him.

But he's making you fall in love with you some.

And that's the oldest trick in the book.

You're too smart for this.

Jinx! Jinx! Jinx!

- Oh, my God. -

- - Oh, uh, sorry.

Um…

- It's how I, uh… -

…how I exercise.

- To that? To him? - Yeah.

I love wrestling, and he's my favorite.

Isn't he retired?

You follow wrestling?

No.

Oh, well, yeah.

He has the most amazing bellow.

It's like Tarzan.

- Jinx! Jinx! Jinx! -

- - So this bitch Becca,

she's probably just jealous, you know?

Friends can get envious that way.