Original subtitles

Jami Gertz looks a lot like Little Orphan Annie,

don't you think?

Geez, that-- that's uncanny.

If you have any white out left could you use it to a--

- I don't know, finish the Epstein Galleries? - Fine.

By the way, the co-op board from your old apartment called

and they 're raising your maintenance fee from $600 to $800 a month.

Great. Great, that's just great.

So, basically I'm paying two grand a month for an extra closet.

Right. What am I gonna do?

You got two options. The first is risky.

You could try to sell it. The other's a sure thing.

I call my cousin, Donuts.

He torches the place to the ground, you collect the insurance.

As usual, your family is an infinite source of...

Larceny? Murder?

...wisdom. I'll just keep that in mind.

I don't want to be overly optimistic,

but if the gods are with us, I believe it can fetch...

150.

I paid 230. You sold it to me for 230.

I believe you're experiencing a phenomenon we real estate professionals call

a reaming.

Come on, it's only been three months.

Mayonnaise doesn't go bad in three months.

If properly refrigerated. Mm-hmm.

Look, there must be something I can do to get the price up.

Yes, there is, yes.

If you can somehow manage

to move the entire apartment

to a building that's not going to be across the street

from the city's newest and largest methadone clinic.

The doorman told me that was gonna be a Starbucks.

Yeah, caffiene, Methadone. Same difference.

Anyway, the market is bound to bounce back. I tell you what I'm going to do.

I will Mark in my calendar here to give you a call, uh,

on June 7th.

2009.

Let me consult my head.

Marty, in my new book,

Lillian finds a magic mascara wand.

And as she thickens her lower lashes,

she is suddenly transported back to 18th century Paris,

where she is torn between the French Revolution on the outside

and her own sexual revolution on the inside.

What do you think? Huh?

The building is very friendly, efficient, and required.

Libby, why don't you just write up a synopsis and I'll take a look at it.

Fabulous. Oh, listen, do you mind if I work here?

My son Josh and his shiksa waffle waitress

moved into my office/sunroom

until they can find their own place.

They're looking for an apartment?

I have the perfect place.

Oh, Marty, if you can get them out of my hair,

I will plant such a kiss on your toches.

Anyway, about the apartment.

It's big, it's very close to transportation, it's got a great view of...

...the outside, and it's only $1,900 a month.

Perfect. Oh, do you allow pets?

- Absolutely. - Very good.

Because Josh has started raising voles.

It's a rodent, about that big.

Apparently it's the only animal

that can be used 100% head to toe.

Meat, fur...

I forget what they do with the nails.

I just remembered something about the apartment.

It's rented. This morning the people just moved in.

That's why it sort of slipped my mind.

Alright, listen.

If it doesn't work out with them, you'll give me a holler.

- You know I will. - Alright, bye-bye, cutie.

- Yeah. Okay. - Oh, you're cute.

Toby, I need you to make me a new flyer right away.

Shh. Mom, I don't care how small my apartment is.

I can't put the crib in the closet.

No, I'm not criticizing you.

It's just there are laws now.

I-- I gotta go now. I'll think of something.

Bye.

What a break!

Pretty cramped with a baby coming, huh?

I never realized being pregnant would mean having another person around.

Do you know where I could find a fold-out couch

that would open up into a nursery?

Toby, that's not what you need.

What you need is a bigger apartment.

With two bedrooms and a large bath,

1200 square feet, and high ceilings.

Your place? Forget it!

$1,800 is a lot of do-re-mi.

Uh, well, uh, what um, what's your price range?

Zero dollars to $1,600 per month.

See? $1,599. That's right in between.

Geez, Martin, you're already my boss.

What, do you want to be? My landlord, too?

You're not gonna be happy till you control my every move.

- Like Jack Jones. - What?

Jonestown, the Kool-Aid guy. What, you don't read the paper?

Oh, Toby, I wouldn't do anything like that.

I'd just be a name you could write a check to,

and believe me, I can be as cold and as impersonal as anybody.

True, all right. All right.

I'll think about it.

Don't let her get away.

You know, Toby, not to pressure you or anything,

but I really need to know now, because I have another tenant

who's dying to rent it.

Well, then let him have it,

and quit bugging me to print things.

But I'd rather rent it to you,

you know, because you're pregnant, and you need shelter.

And Toby, if I took that away from you...

I don't think I could live with myself.

Well, your place is a lot closer to the $0.99 store.

You can practically see it from my window.

You know what? You can't put a price tag on that.

But if you could, it'd probably be $50 less than that.

Make it $99 less. Think of it as a housewarming gift.

Huh?

I now pronounce this landlord and tenant.

- Uh. - The--

I finally got Little Richard to sleep.

I should never read him Stephen Hawking at night.

He always wants to redo the math.

What do you have there?

Well, I just got my first rent check in the mail.

So...

Oh, champagne.

Oh, you know what that does to me.

I'm counting on it.

You should get that.

- It might be Jeremy. - He's a big boy.

It's time to learn how to talk to an answering machine.

...we'll call you back soon as we can.

Martin! Pick up!

I know you're there trying to score with Judith.

I saw you seek out a bottle of champagne from Amandu's deportation party.

What? What? Toby, what is it?

Well, it is an emergency that can wait till tomorrow?

No, no, no, don't. Don't move out. I'll be right there.

This is your emergency? A stopped up sink?

It's not stopped up. It's possessed.

It's heating and gurgling like Grandpa Pedalbee on his deathbed.

Do something!

- Why don't I just get the drain? - I tried that.

It spit it right back up in my face like it was mocking me.

This hardly ever happened when I lived here.

Did you put something unusual in there?

Don't blame me. It's your sink.

Is this yours?

Of course not. It's cat hair.

You washed your cat in the sink?

What? Like he's going to use the shower?

Morning, Toby. I have a little present for you.

Oh, thanks. I'll make us some tea.

It's for the sink, Toby. Okay? It's to catch hair.

Of course the alternatives actually let your cat lick himself clean.

Oh, if only he could. He's got a smooth tongue.

- It's a birth defect. - Whatever.

I need you to proofread the Cajun Cookbook. There's a typesetting error.

Everywhere it says pecker, it should say pepper. And I need my to-do list.

- Printing it now. - All right.

Thank you.

I think there's been a mistake.

This is obviously Bob Vila's to-do list.

Look, I know it's a lot, but you don't have to do it all at once.

Just the first couple are emergencies.

A broken hinge is not an emergency.

And unless you happen to be on a space shuttle.

You see the distinction.

Yes, but it's still an emergency.

Here's a paint chip for the kitchen.

Don't lose it.

The apartment is already gray.

Martin, I read the lease.

I'm entitled to a new paint shop.

God knows what you've been doing up against the walls.

Oh, come on, Toby, be reasonable.

I can't do all this.

No problem. I got a handyman you can hire.

He'll do it all for like, eh, three grand.

Come in.

- Hey, Martin. - Hi, Fred.

Did you ever rent your apartment?

Yeah.

Yeah, Toby moved in about two weeks ago.

Ah, too bad, because IBM just extended

my brother's territory into the city.

He needs a place to crash a few days each month.

Your apartment would have been perfect.

Huh. Never mind.

It's the chance we've been waiting for.

Wait.

I think Toby mentioned something about moving out.

Oh, really? Why?

You got water beetles or something?

No. No. No, the apartment's perfect.

No, it's just she had to move in with her mother.

The poor woman broke her hip falling off of a...

- It's a bargain. - Oh.

Of all the lousy luck.

I'll send Toby roses, maybe some euthanasia material.

That's a very nice gesture,

but I wouldn't mention anything to her about it.

You know, she's still a little fragile.

- Say no more. - Anyway.

Why don't you have your brother call me

and maybe we can work something out?

I hope so. He's a great guy, and I owe him a favor.

Okay.

By the way, I know you're asking $1,800 a month,

but he told me he's willing to go to $2,800.

See, I figure we charge him the full amount,

and you and I split the extra grand the world keeps turning.

Well, we can figure out the details later.

Dream On will be right back.

Toby? Toby?

- This is your lucky day. - I know.

Look what someone left in the refrigerator with no name on it.

It's either rice pudding or mashed potatoes.

Oh, good for you. Good for you. But your luck doesn't end there.

I know you're not happy with the apartment, right?

So I'm giving you a full refund,

plus a little extra to help you move, okay?

Why don't you get your copy of the lease and put it in the shredder?

I don't want to move out.

Toby. Now, you don't owe me anything.

You have to do what's right for you.

- You trying to kick me out? - Of course not.

No, I'm just-- just setting you free.

No dice, Mr. Indian Runner. I already unpacked everything.

I changed the address on Gary Cooper's collar tags.

Plus, I'm putting cable in the nursery

so I can launch Cops while I breast feed.

Toby, you have to move out, you know, because--

because there's a methadone clinic moving in right across the street now.

I know. My sister can babysit in between treatments.

By the way, I got a new list of repairs for you.

I want it done before my housewarming party.

I'd invite you, but it's just family and friends.

No. No, no, no, no, no. I've done enough.

Look, from now on, this is how it's gonna go.

Every month, you send me a check for $1,500.

Period. No list, no nothing.

- You got it? - Got it.

Let her know who's boss.

Good, good, Toby finally sent me a rent check.

She forgot to sign it.

Hold on. You dropped something.

"Martin, here's the check, do the repairs, and I'll sign it. Got it?" Toby.

Well, that did it. That's the last straw.

Is there any way I can get out of this?

A tenant in New York City is protected from eviction

by a veritable barbed wire fence of law.

Fortunately, we at Hunter Owens have the heavy canvas gloves

and cutters to go in and get her out.

I don't want her thrown out on the street.

I just want her politely removed by the end of the month.

This is your first eviction, isn't it?

Come on, huh? [laughing] Oh.

Don't be afraid of it, son.

Oh, I remember my first eviction.

You always do. I was 15, came home from camp.

My sister, Eudora, just moved into my room.

Well, memories. Anyway, I have a new tenant.

So, why don't we just get started?

Consider it done.

In fact, I believe

I'll deliver this eviction notice myself.

I keep a toe in the pool.

So, Fred tells me the rent is $3,000 a month?

Uh, it's negotiable. Take a for spin?

No, I'll ride shotgun.

And here we are.

We've got exposed brick and some very beautiful cram molding.

And, and...

just try to imagine it without all this cat stuff here.

Well, I collect owls.

Not live owls, just ceramic owls,

porcelain owls, two owls made out of cork.

Well, they're gonna love all this light? Hm?

Actually, owls are nocturnal animals,

but since these aren't real, it matters not a.

Good point. Good point. Would you like to see the bedroom?

- Mm. - Okay.

Here we are.

Pretty roomy, huh?

- Hey! - What are you doing here?

Me?

- Why aren't you at work? - I called in sick.

Maybe if you were at work instead of my apartment, you might know that.

- Maybe I better skedaddle. - No, no, no, no.

Toby, I hired an attorney to terminate our rental relationship,

and he should be here in any minute.

You were right about the water pressure, Twinkie.

It's anemic at best.

Little Mr. Doublecross, I ought to belt you right across the mouth.

- Bader. - Hm?

- What the hell are you doing? - You don't have to answer that.

It does seem pretty self-evident.

I hired you to serve the fiction papers.

I served them, but Miss Pedalbee had a number of valid points

concerning your failure to maintain the unit and so forth.

You violated my right to quiet enjoyment

of the leasehold property.

Paragraph 16A, little i, little i.

You're a hot little i yourself. Come to Big Daddy.

[tense music plays

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I'm going to make an intimate breakfast for two.

Martin, maybe I better go look for another apartment.

No, no, no, no, no. You're not leaving.

And I'm not leaving. She is leaving.

Martin, may I have a word with you?

Now, look.

That's a low-flow showerhead in there.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.

Get your hands off me, you fucking poor wrestler.

What the hell is your problem?

My problem?

Okay, I rent you my apartment at a discount,

which you've now reduced to zero dollars a month,

in an exchange you treat me like a personal slave.

Oh, I see. You have trouble taking orders from me.

Boy, am I in a mess.

That's ridiculous.

Come off it.

If Wall Street Willy lived here,

you'd be doing his repairs like that.

You know why? Because he's a normal person

who would make normal requests during normal business hours.

Oh, and I guess it's normal for you to call me at 10:30 on a school night.

- What? - Lots of times I'm sitting in the bathtub

waiting for Calgon to take me away, and the phone rings,

and it's you barking orders about books or work or something.

That is completely different.

I happen to be your boss, although I know that slips your mind from time to time.

Well, now I'm your boss, and I get to bark orders at you.

And when I say jump, you say nothing. You just jump.

How does it feel to be a sock puppet? Huh, Kukla?

Oh.

Oh, now I understand what you're saying is that that you resent me.

Yes, yes, I resent you.

And that you're tired of being under my thumb.

- That's right. - And you're doing all of this just to get even.

No.

No, I'm not asking for anything that I wasn't entitled to under the lease.

Really, and you've made all these same demands

of all your previous landlords, huh?

That is none of your BI business.

And you're not having the time of your life

pushing me around and driving me crazy.

- Answer the question! - You know, I don't need to sit here

and listen to you psychoanalyze me

like I'm some kind of laboratory rat.

You know what?

You're the worst landlord I've ever had.

You're fired! I'm moving out.

The winner!

Toby.

I think this is for the best.

Obviously, we have a lot of issues,

and I should never have talked you into moving in.

You're right. It's all your fault. You'll pay for the movers.

Fair enough.

Hi.

Sorry about the delay, Winston, but it's all set.

Okay? The apartment is yours.

Oh, actually, Mr. Bader found me a three-bedroom apartment in my price range.

What?

The doorman's name is Marv.

- He'll give you the key. - Thank you.

You know, Toby, now that we've cleared the air,

you really don't need to move out.

So, why don't I get the lease?

And you can just get the scotch tape.

No, Martin, you're right. We have too many issues.

What are you-- Issues are a dime a dozen.

You know, but apartments are-- they're a little more expensive than that.

Oh, I have no fear, Tupper.

I'd never let my Twinkie go unhoused.

Martin, isn't it wonderful?

Everyone's having a happy ending.

She's at caution.

By the way, for the reasonable fee

of 25% of the rent each month,

I'd be glad to help you find a new tenant.

- Thank you. - All right.

Thank you very much, but I...

I'd rather kill myself.

...I think I have some.

Well, come on in. Make yourselves at home.

Oh, Josh, darling, come here. Look at this.

It's just like the fountain bloom.

Only without the humidity.

Oh, Marty, baby.

I owe you big time.

So, show me the bathroom and pull down your pants.

You know what,

why don't you send me a thank you note?

A career in the finance, insurance,

or real estate industry may be for you.