All language subtitles for Shes.gotta.have.it.S01E07.WEBrip.STRiFE.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

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Sometimes, being this good-looking...
can be a burden. Oh, yeah.

But I'm used to it.

Nola and I met a year ago.
I saw her eyeing me.

And she wasn't even interested.

And that... was a big turn-on.

And I've been turnin'
her out ever since.

As Nola likes to say,
we are "fuck buddies,"

and with that comes "fuck buddy" codes.

She has her rules.
We don't really hang out.

We can't say we're exclusive.

But that's about to change.

Last night, at the gallery,

I saw a different side of Nola Darling.

Now, I see more than just her body.

I see the woman inside.

I saw a Nola in her world,

a woman in her element, self-possessed.

She is special.

Hey, it's one thing fuckin' her
in her lovin' bed.

But it's another
bein' in the real world together.

I know she's got those dudes
she hangs with.

Their punk-asses were probably

orbiting around her show last night.

But I didn't see any competition.

Except for maybe that woman, Opal.

Okay, you got me.
I'm not used to workin' this hard.

But I'm up for the challenge.

People, I came out of my
dear mother's womb ready.

Why wouldn't she... wanna be with me?

I am a great fuckin' catch.

That's it.
Today, I'm breakin' those rules.

Okay.

Ahh! Damn.

I am bursting with excitement.

I want to howl like a wolf!

An outstanding group show

curated by the talented
Clorinda Bradford

opened last night
at the New Medina Gallery in Dumbo.

First, of course, we have the
Haitian sensation, Baptiste...

...whose meaty-textured black on black

- eliminates the need for shade, line...
- Blah, blah, blah.

- by bathing the eye in the infinity...
- Skip.

- Zora Kneel Hurtin' subverts pop art...
- Enough already!

...re-purposing
Madam C.J. Walker's hot comb,

and thus, sets fire to the items
that have shackled the souls...

Lemuel Richards excretes blackness
in every stroke of his pen.

You don't get it?

- He doesn't give a fuck!
- Ahh!

The viewer must rise
to meet him in blackness.

...the problem of the show
and its weakest link, Nola Darling.

And that brings me to
the problem of the show

and its weakest link,

Nola Darling.

You heard right the first time.

You, Nola Darling, are the weakest link.

Ms. Darling's work is
almost out of place

and overshadowed

by the fierce trifecta of
African-American artists.

- Ahh!
- Her selection of work is pedestrian

when compared to the electrifying

political perspectives of her peers.

- Fast forward.
- Stop fast-forwarding.

Now, I had the opportunity
to talk with Ms. Darling

about her selection of works,

which she has presumptively entitled,

The Free Female Black Form.

And she was decidedly unable
to articulate its meaning

- in any cohesive manner.
- Fuck!

And is there any surprise in that?

How can one encapsulate
the free female black form?

To her credit,
Ms. Darling has ample facility.

It's certainly not a
question of talent or skill,

not by any means.

Oh, thanks.

Perhaps, her artistic eyes
were just bigger than her stomach.

Let's be frank.

Not quite working with the same

intensity as her diastopian peers

and with no unifying principles,

Ms. Darling's selection of work

is disparate, disjointed, diluted,
and dysfunctional.

I don't want to know
who Ms. Darling is inspired by.

I want to know who she is.

Fuck you, Julius Kemper!

Shit!

Bonjour, Mademoiselle Nola.

C'est moi, Greer.

Chérie, félicitations.

Call me back.

Ladybug,
this is Mommy and Daddy calling.

We are so proud of you.

Your father's making
your favorite greasy breakfast,

some salmon croquettes,
some grits and potatoes.

Mm! Stop by.

Nola, I hope my presence
was a pleasant surprise.

I promise, it won't be the last.

Hit me back.

Nola, chérie, call me back.

Money is coming!
Money is coming! Money is coming!

Yo, yo, yo!

Nola, what up?
I ain't mad at you for not invitin' me.

Hope you ain't mad at
the kid for standin' up

for his femme fatale, a'ight?

On the sincerious tip,
how about a make-up call?

Love from the planet Mars.

Come in.

How are you?

- Fine. You?
- Fine.

Must be important for you to walk

all the way down here, to my dungeon.

In fact, it's very important.
Virgil wants to play us something.

- How is our son doing?
- Great.

But you need to ask him yourself.

Yeah.

- Bravo!
- Bravo!

Come here. Give me a kiss.

Wow!

Where did that come from?

It came from that stupid video I was in.

I thought about who I am
and what this country's all about.

I did some research and found out

Francis Scott Key wrote
a mad racist verse

endorsing slavery.

So, all this time, we've been singing
this national anthem

about our 246 years of enslavement,

not to end it, but to continue it.

- Virgil, I didn't know this.
- Me neither.

Google.

All right, we'll be up soon.

- That was great.
- Thank you.

- Love you.
- Love you too.

That's our best work.

Yeah.

Where is No-No La-La?

La-No? La-No?

Ugh! Who is it?

You know who this is.

I can't hear you!

It's...

Stop ringing my bell! Go away!

Enough.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Go to hell!

What the fuck are you doing here, Greer?

Somebody had a long night.
You gonna let me in?

No! No, I'm not gonna let you in,

and I do not appreciate you
coming over here unannounced.

Well, if you would've answered
my calls and texts!

Boy, bye!

Baby, could you please open the door
so I can talk to you?

Did I not set the rules?
And did you not agree to those rules?

- All you do is break the rules.
- Whatever.

I'm not in the mood for a booty call.

No, I'm not here for your lovin' bed.

Let's go out,
celebrate your triumphant debut.

How about dinner?
Go to a film. Whatever you like.

I just wanna show you a nice time.
Cinema? Okay. Old or new?

Old. Shot in black-and-white.

Okay, a film it is. I'll text you.

I did not commit to that.

Mmm.

Come on, I don't wanna miss previews.

- Give me one of those.
- Yes.

What can I do for you?

Peola.

We've been lookin' everywhere for you.

Are you talking to me?

There must be some mistake.
My name isn't Peola.

There ain't no mistake.
Why have you got this job?

You don't have to work.
I'll give you everything you want.

What are you talking about?

I'm sure you've got me confused
with someone else.

Why, why, Peola, child, I'm your mammy.

Why, that's ridiculous.
I never saw you before in my life.

What's the meaning of this?

This woman doesn't know
what she's talking about.

Do I look like her daughter?

Do I look like I could be her daughter?

Why, she must be crazy!

You okay?

Yeah, I'm fine.

You got that...

I don't know, this...

je ne sais quoi.

In fact...

- Let me show you.
- Uh, I'm really...

Just get over here.

- That's sweet.
- Mm.

Bisou.

- Greer, lost my number?
- I miss you.

- How you doin'?
- Long time no see.

- Greer!
- Call me back.

Where you been?

Salut.

Thank you.

- Problem?
- Not mine.

- May I join you?
- Yes, please do.

Nola, Lilly. Lilly, Nola.

- You're beautiful.
- Thank you. So are you.

- Congratulations.
- Thank you.

- I'll be back with your drink orders.
- Thank you.

So, what, you think you're Guido
from Fellini's 8 1/2?

You got your harem at
last, King Solomon.

Anyway...

Ooh, la, la.

- You speak French now.
- Maybe.

The language of love.

Your accent... is so wack.

- It's cute. It's cute.
- Don't touch me.

I want you to try some
of these vegan dishes.

It's my cheat day.

This is fennel sausage.
This... is adzuki bacon.

It's all beans.

That is really good.
I've never had that before.

Mm.

I don't mind vegetarian,
but I'm an omnivore.

Well, I may be a vegetarian,

but I'm a carnivore in your lovin' bed.

You are a cannibal in my lovin' bed.

And congratulations on your show.

Superbe.

Thank you.

Parent-teacher conferences
are next Thursday.

Do you wanna go or shall I?

As long as that white liberal asshole
headmaster is there...

That's fine, I'll go.

I'll go. It's not what I said.
If he's not there...

No, it's fine.

- I can go.
- I'm happy to go.

I told my wife and my son

that I would never leave them

like my father left my mother and I.

I'm stuck.

Love versus duty.

Passion over security.

I need Nola Darling,
but my family needs me more.

There's a poetry in this dilemma.

But it's a poem that I wish
I could write my way out of.

Can I evolve? Give it all up for Nola?

Or make it work
with my beautiful wife, Cheryl?

Why did I buy this self-portrait?

If only it were Nola
herself in my bed...

It might be the only thing about Nola
I can afford.

I grip it tight with the hand
that wears our wedding ring.

This canvas is cold.

This bed is colder.

How can I spend another
cold night alone?

Quite a turnout last night.

- How do you think it went?
- It went well.

I was in good company.

It was a bit nerve-wracking at first,

but I was happy to be a part of it.

- Just wish one of my pieces had sold.
- Quite a scene.

I don't think
I've ever seen you that way before.

Would have been nice
to get an invitation.

It wasn't about you.
It was about my work.

Besides, you didn't seem to have
any problems getting in.

- I'm Greer Childs.
- Mm, what a gift.

I bet your other dudes were there.

Did they get an invitation?

Yes, she did.

I don't ask you about your other women.

What do you want to know?

- I don't.
- First time you sketched me...

what did you see?

Shapes, colors, lines.

Contrast, shadows, contours, and, uh...

negative space.

Did I say you could sit down?

Do I need permission?

Of course.

Excuse me, miss, may I sit next to you?

I love that song.

Jay Z and Pharrell, right?

What do you know about Hov?

I know he that dude.

Did you know Jay Z mentions Rilke
in "What They Gonna Do"

from The Blueprint 2?

I have a friend of a
friend who knows Jay,

who told me one of his dopest tracks,

"There's Been a Murder,"
was heavily influenced

by Rilke's "Death Experience."

You know that one?

Naw.

Spit a few bars.

Okay.

"We continue our play,"

picking up gestures now and then,

and anxiously reciting
that which was difficult to learn.

But you're far away

so that, for a while,
we play life rapturously,

"not thinking of any applause."

"Rapturously." Rilke was definitely
the Jay Z of his time.

So, I guess you like
poetry or whatever.

I love poetry.

- My name is Jamie.
- Nola.

- Pleased to meet you, Nola.
- Likewise, Mr. Jamie.

Damn. "Mr. Jamie." It's like that?

Yeah, it's like that. You grown as fuck.

I love your candor.

I love the fact
that you just used the word "candor."

As opposed to "keepin' it 100"?

Oh, my goodness. Everybody
is saying "keep it 100."

Like, everybody.

Especially the white hipsters,

trying to lean and dab around the pool

at weekend rooftop parties
at the Gansevoort Park Avenue.

It's a cultural black card.

Plus, they know all the
words back-to-back.

Of course they do. Drake is a cult.

No doubt, Nola.

But here's the burning question.

What's that?

Do you believe in love at first sight?

In the film Love Jones, yes.

Not so much in real life.

Nola, Jamie. Call me.

In France, you don't enter the room

wearing your race on your sleeve
like you do here.

You know, you don't have to choose.
You can be both.

So, when I came here as a kid,
it was a difficult transition.

So, wait, what are you saying?
There's no racism in France?

Do you see how the French
treat Africans and Muslims?

I know. It's just more
binary in the U.S.

Anyway, so you're mad about some critic

who said that your work is pedestrian.

Basically...

I have no clear vision, and my work

didn't fit in with the
theme of the show.

Not cohesive, not black enough.

You see, right there, a French critic

would never have that criticism.

But, chérie,
you had very different pieces.

Like, how do they actually... connect?

They just do.

Right, but I wanna
know how they connect.

How do you say "check, please"
in French, hm?

Lilly? Lilly?

Actually, your work
wasn't like the other artists.

That's what I loved about it.

Theirs was so blackity-black-black.
I'm so sick of that.

And yours was... Nola's point of view.

Fluid.

Yes. Exactly. Thank you.

This guy thinks
he's the authority on blackness,

- the black female form.
- I love your form.

And he's calling my blackness
into question

as if there's some
singular representation,

- like I'm not black enough.
- I completely understand.

So, I get called out
by this white critic asshole

for not expressing his version
of the black aesthetic?

Like, what the fuck does he know?

See? Thank you!

That... That's what I'm trying to say.

We have so much in common.

Like, how I get criticized
by black people

for not being black enough.

I feel like I'm always
having to prove my identity

and choose a side.

And if I choose, what?

Like, do I deny my white French mother?

Does that make me more black?

What about my African-American father?

The man was a Black Panther,
for Christ's sake.

It's just so fucked up.

Commercially, the space is
dominated by white folks.

They're the gatekeepers.

They get to decide what's hot
and what's not.

Can you feel how hard I am right now?

But it's fucked up.
I just want you to be resilient.

I love how you have the courage
to put your work out there.

I want the same for myself, you know.

Commercial photography is
just disposable, you know?

It's just appeasing the clients.

The gatekeepers.

What are your artistic aspirations?

I want my work to be immortal.
Maybe do a show. Put a book out.

- You know, somethin' personal.
- Why don't you?

It takes courage.

I don't know, I guess
I'm caught between

wantin' to move forward

and wantin' to have the stability
of bein' able to eat.

Keep a roof over my head.

I don't wanna lose my net.
I mean, can't you see how I live?

Sometimes, you gotta
jump without the net.

But I can understand that.

You know,
that's that New York City hustle.

Well, apparently not,
if your art's not selling.

Wow!

I was waiting for the old Greer
to rear its ugly-asshole head,

and there it is.

No, no, no, wait. Chérie, stay, sit.

Relax.

What are you doing?

Why are you in my bathroom?

Can I join you?

Please?

Shut the door.

You tryin' to trick me?

Here's your coat.

- Oh, thank you...
- Of course.

...for bringin' this.

What's this?

Really? Who are you today?

Mm. This is pretty.

That's so sweet.

- You remember?
- Of course I remember.

Yeah.

I know the title's a bit shocking,
but it's actually a novel.

It's about these two young
black roommates,

these Francophiles livin' in the slums

of Montreal in the 1980s.

- Mm-hm.
- So good.

One's a writer, and the
other sleeps a lot

and quotes the Quran and Camus.

They don't have much to do

because all these white women

just keep throwing themselves at 'em.

There you go.

No, Miss Nola,
I don't want them. I want you.

I want us to do this more.

Go out, movies, dates, together.

What do you say?

Um, I say I-I can't...
I can't do this right now.

Nola!

Nola! Nola!

Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me.
Pardon me. Sorry.

Excuse me. Sorry.

One more.

Thanks.

- Madame.
- Thank you.

Vodka martini.

Thank you.

- Please, allow me.
- Oh, thank you.

Like it?

All right.

- Hey, mac, I'm callin' you a cab.
- I miss you, Nola.

I miss you so much.

Bitch, are you drunk?

- What? No!
- Ah, shit. You're so loud.

Shh! We're in a hospital.

You look pretty.

I feel like shit.

You look like shit.

Damn you. I just like...

- Ow, shit.
- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry too.

I'm sorry I missed your show.

Sorry I missed yours too.

You ain't miss anything.

Neither did you, actually.

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