All language subtitles for Survivors.Remorse.S04E06.WEBRip.x264-RARBG

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -

I still have my grandmother's rosary.

We were raised Catholic,
and the only time

we went to church down here

was some other so-called Christian deal.

Get the hell out my church!

You smug motherfucker!

I'm now showing you both
a shit ton of respect

because I retain the hope that
all those smiley happy things

we said to each other when Cam
signed here are still possible.

I'm starting the Calloway
Philanthropic Trust.

The difference between our
foundation and other foundations

is we not just gonna throw a
party, we're gonna make people feel.

Boys, greet the new meat.

In this company, you are a tomato cane,

a veal boy, feet
dangling from the floor,

sucking down a fatty diet,
and awaiting slaughter.

I'll be all right.

I was a bad father,
and I make no excuses.

I am not interested in you telling me

that you're sorry for all the stuff

you once did... not once,
but many times. Fuck you.

Missy, you can't fix a man

who was essentially constructed

in an abusive and rotten environment.

I just wanted you to listen.

Well, I listened. Now I'm talking.

You and Reg are gonna be fine.

Keep us posted.

What did you just do?

I just saved you from yourself.

- Hey, baby.
- What you doin'?

Just listening to "Meet the Press".

What's the, uh, password
for the online banking again?

41 West Boulevard Drive.

And you're really asking me this again?

Wasn't my first apartment, it was yours.

You have very narcissistic passwords.

You don't need Boulevard and
Drive in the same address.

You do if you want to find the building.

Why would you name
the streets like that?

I did not name the streets,

and how am I in a fight about streets?

You're not in a fight about streets,

you're in a fight about passwords.

Oh. I love you very, very, very much.

I love you, too. Thank you. Bye!

Bye-bye.

_

What the fuck?

Of course I'll help him, Phil.

He's your niece's ex-stepson.

What kind of friend would I be.

Mr. Flaherty, employee number 33.

Whoa, easy there.

I'm a fuckin' animal.

Have him e-mail me his CV.

His résumé.

I look forward...

... to your death.

Cameron Calloway, are
we gonna win tonight?

- Hope so.
- Wrong answer. Go out, come in again.

Oh, come on, can't we
just pretend this time?

- I want to feel some hunger.
- Well, I got hunger.

I just got something
else on my mind right now.

The voting for team
player representative

- is later in the week and you want to do it.
- Fuck me.

- Remove your name from nomination.
- Why?

Because I don't want anything
on your mind besides winning.

Well, what's on my mind is on my mind.

- Take it off.
- Minds don't work like that.

See, I been thinking about activism.

With everything that's
going on in the world,

activism begins in your own backyard.

I'm not paying you $96,000
a day to be an activist.

- You pay me... ?
- $96,000 a day, yep.

I worked it out...
95,900 goes to scoring,

about a hundred bucks for
rebounding and defense.

See, that was uncalled for.

Leave team player rep
to the benchwarmers,

like the Latvians who, unlike you,

have no more important role
to play in this organization.

- I'll think it over.
- Yeah.

Think it over and decide against it.

Now. We gonna win tonight?

- Yes.
- Okay, you be me.

Ask me if we're gonna win tonight.

We gonna win tonight?

Yes, we're gonna kill 'em!

We're gonna wipe the floor
with their fucking faces!

We're gonna make their wives and
children want to change their names

so they can dissociate themselves
from these fucking cowards!

Jimmy, it's the Knicks.
That happened already.

Have a great game.

- I'll be courtside.
- All right.

- She ain't home yet?
- I can't believe it.

Our Wednesday afternoon trysts

have always been a matter
of religious observance.

My therapy was Wednesday afternoons.

From 3:00 to 4:00. And you stopped
for a cruller on your way home,

you would not walk in here
until 4:30 at the earliest.

Until then, this house
was our carnal playground.

If these walls could talk,
they would moan in ecstasy.

Which walls exactly?

If I'm honest, your mother
has been distant lately.

Seemingly absent in conversations,

and then last night, she was
less than enthralled in bed,

which was so unlike her.

It's usually as though
she is discovering America

or tasting ice cream for the first time.

- I did this thing she loves in which I...
- Thank you, I get the gist.

If I start sleeping with your
mom, we can trade pussy stories.

Until then, shut the fuck up.

Shutting.

Clingy and insecure
is unflattering, Chen.

And, let's face it, unnecessary
in high net-worth individuals.

Cassie subverts all the
rich guy dating rules.

I'm to be on point every moment.

Frankly, I don't know how
middle class guys ever get laid.

They fuck middle class women.

Her being so challenging is the
reason you stay in love with her.

I know, but it's so hard.

I'm raw right now.

Very, very raw.

In my psychology class,

we learned it's the lover who's
the lucky one, not the beloved.

Because the lover, in the act of loving,

gets to fully experience his humanity.

That's why giving's
better than receivin'.

It ain't just a sayin'.

But the lover carries all the risk.

Fuck, you're right.

You should audit.

Whoo, I can't even think right now.

That Uber gave me the bubble gut.

Am I the only one who gets
bubble guts from Ubers?

No, it's the cheap air freshener
or the cheap free candy.

Whoo!

Y... you okay in there?

I'm beautiful now.

How are you, baby?

I am outstanding.

Anything interesting
going on around here?

No, nothing.

Don't do it, Chen.

My professor says love can be
killed by only three things,

complacency, contempt, and looking
at the other person's phone.

_

- _
- Whoo-wee.

Thank you, God,

for delivering me
unto this water closet.

Cassie, I, uh, I... I have
a meeting in... in midtown.

Shall I wait for you to
come out to say good-bye?

Oh, no, no, no, baby.

I'm on the installment plan in here.

I love you.

Love you, too.

Hey, Missy. Oh.

Hey.

Everything all right?

You tell me.

Everything's all right.

What did we spend 123,000
in cash on yesterday?

That's why you got the end of days face?

Um, Monday night, Tom Werner
pulled an inside straight.

- What?
- Yeah, no, Tom, uh,

Tom Werner's a baller, I tell you.

Why do you always say
his first and last name?

I never thought about it.

And this poker game is out of control.

- Not for those guys. It's Tom Werner...
- Oh, yeah.

Flaherty, Chen, Richard Freeman.

I mean, if I want to
run with those guys,

there's no better way
than playing cards.

123,000 ain't playin' cards.

It's all the cards. It's
a fucking house of cards.

I mean, you could buy a
house with that kind of money.

Not one you'd live in.

For a few months, I would.

But... but, ultimately,
it wouldn't matter

if I would live in that house or not

because the bank would foreclose
on it due to gambling debts.

Oh, my God, this is
a toxic hypothetical.

Then my suggestion to
you is stop playing cards.

Baby, you have your good
nights, you have your bad nights.

This was, in particular,
not a good night.

Good God. "Run with these guys."

You are getting run over.

You're a part of the fucking pavement.

If you were to lay down right now,

I could walk on you without tripping.

Okay, what did we say

when we first moved to Atlanta?

"Where'd all the white people go?"

- Before that.
- "Fake it till we make it."

Yes. This is just a business expense.

It's part of the plan. You
become one of the boys... "

"Get into the deal flow."

Stuff they see that no
one else knows about,

invest with them and
generate passive income.

Oh, are there two more beautiful
words in the English language?

See, the problem with that is
never once in that conversation

was there a sentence, a warning, a hint

at the possibility of losing

the average upper middle
class yearly income

in one night gambling.

So forgive me if I don't
have complete confidence

in a wealth-building plan
that begins with poker.

You don't ride me about watches,
you don't ride me about clothes,

cars, or any other shit I gotta
do to put on for these people.

Why are you ridin' me about this?

Because watches and clothes and cars,

those things are at least things.

Poker is just, poof,
and the money is gone.

And you drive a Kia.

It's a top of the line Kia.

- Mm.
- Cam won the car, he don't even drive it.

Why didn't you tell me
about this when it happened?

Why didn't I te...

Missy, who would want to
have this conversation?

I mean, it's not like
I'm trying to hide it.

It's right there in the bank account

that you ask the password
for three times a week.

Trust me, if I wanted to
hide something from you,

you'd never find it.

What about the tax implications?

What about the tax implications?

The IRS gets all up in people's
shit about this type of thing.

And I got it handled.

Man, look, you either
trust me or you don't.

I trust you, but I also verify.

Well, you verified. Verification done,

so can we please move
on to whatever's next?

Reggie, this is our
money, yours and mine.

We share a name, we have
thrown our lots together,

so I would be remiss if I
did not keep an eye on it.

Because what happens to you also
happens to me, and vice-versa.

Eh, it ain't really
vice-versa now, is it, Missy?

- And what is that supposed to mean?
- Nothing.

No, no, you can't do that.

You can't say a thing like
that without concretizing it.

You know what? I don't feel
like concretizing right now.

- Too tired from all the verifying.
- Reggie, I'm... I'm not...

Missy, Missy, if our lots had
really been thrown together,

your father wouldn't have made me
sign a prenup now, would he have?

My father made you sign a prenup?

This is why communication is bad.

Let me see if I can understand this.

Before our wedding, you and
he stole into the shadows

and signed a document behind my back?

We didn't do shit in the shadows.

- We was in the sunroom.
- Oh, my God.

No, Missy, you told me to go see him

and ask for your hand
and... and the rest of you,

before I proposed. I did.

Because he's formal,
Reggie. He's old-school.

If he was old-school, he
would have gave me some money

and some goats and a sack of grain.

Old-school would have
been him thanking me

for taking his daughter off his hands

and giving him some
grandchildren one day,

eventually, you know,
when we got around to it.

Instead, he asked me to sign a prenup,

which I was happy to do

because I didn't need,
don't need, didn't want...

I would never accept one red
dime of your father's money.

I'm gonna be out of town
for a couple of days.

Missy, don't... Missy, can we
please not open up a can of worms?

Please, let's just leave
the worms where they at.

I'm gonna be out of town.

Oh, there he is. MVP!

Nah, I'm just grindin'.

Hey, Cam, I want you to meet

another trailblazing black
man who carried his team.

Oh, man, Mr. Jones. You know,
you're like a hero to me, sir.

Fort Wayne, 1953 to '57.

You're one of the first
to cross the color line.

- A student of the game.
- Hey, you gotta be.

Every black player in this league
today stands on your shoulders.

Well, some stand taller than others.

Son, I love your game.

Thank you. I sure wish I
had your up-and-under though.

Oh, nobody has that.

Cam, I wonder if you'll
let me take you to lunch.

I'd like to rap to you about something.

- Of course.
- I got Mr. Jones' information.

Well, I look forward to it.
Right now, I'm gonna do something

I only dreamed about when I played.

I'm gonna walk out the front door.

All right, man, be safe.

Wow. Look at you, smiling like a kid.

- Yo, that's Ansell Jones.
- I know.

Dude played today, everybody
would be rocking his sneakers.

Oh, I understand. Come on, let's go.

Man, you know, I like
being a part of something

that started before I got here,

and it's gonna keep
going after I'm gone.

Fuck you care what
happens after you're gone?

That's a longer conversation.

My ass got all it can do worrying
about what happens while I'm here.

- Bad day?
- Mm-hmm.

- All right.
- All right.

Beep, beep, beep, beep,

beep, beep, beep,

beep, beep, beep, beep.

What the fuck?

Cassie, who is Tom?

- What?
- I saw the text. Who is Tom?

You looked at my phone?

It was not my finest hour. Who is Tom?

You should never, ever look
at a black woman's phone.

That's like looking at a...
a... a Chinese woman's...

Phone? Who is Tom?

It's not what it looks like.

Oh, that's actually your response?

100% of the time, when someone
says it's not what it looks like,

it turned out to be
exactly what it looked like.

It's not what it looks like.

- Tom is Father Tom.
- From the church?

How many guys you know
with "Father" in their name

that's not from the church?

You're having an
affair with your priest?

If I was gonna cheat on you,

you think it would be
with that motherfucker?

He's a very appealing man.

Don't you have to be smart
to be as rich as you are?

Nope. There's no correlation
between intelligence and wealth.

Good looks, luck, nepotism,

and a willingness to lie,
cheat, steal, and pander

to the lowest common denominator,

these are the true
building blocks of success.

Catholic priests take a vow of celibacy.

What the fuck are you doing here?

Eating apple butter. What the
fuck are you two doing here?

Your mother is explaining
her recent behavior.

How far back is she going? 'Cause
I got questions from, like, 2002.

Father Tom and I have been
meeting, per my request.

I'm thinking about being confirmed.

As what? A pain in the ass?

I can confirm that for you right now.

As a Catholic, Mary Charles.

I stopped short of my confirmation
when I was a... a little girl.

I'm just... reexamining. Rethinking.

Wow, that really was
not what it looked like.

Enough with the Catholic,
Ma. You got four stone saints

and the Virgin Mary towering
over everything in the backyard.

It's confirmed. You drank the Kool-Aid.

I want to continue to explore
my relationship with God.

Well, I hope that relationship's
better than this relationship.

- Did he tell you he looked at your phone?
- Not helping.

Ask yourself this.

If God doesn't exist, how
can you explain everything?

- People are sheep.
- No, seriously, how do you explain everything?

I mean, the perfect order and disorder.

How can you explain that a
bee, without even knowing it,

picks up shit on its
feet, drops it on plants,

so they can have
babies? I mean, come on.

Who else but God could set that up?

Older bees.

The Catholics got some
nerve requiring confirmation.

At this point, the only reason
they should be on their knees

is to beg people to join up.

Stop busting my balls.

I'm on a fucking spiritual quest!

May I ask what brought this on?

- I really don't know.
- I do!

You've been having to talk
about your rape a lot lately.

And I mean a lot.

A lot of rape talk. Rape this,
rape that. Rape, rape, rape.

You know, my psychology
professor would say

that it's opened up a Pandora's Box,

one that's been closed for a really
long time, and by Pandora's "Box,"

I mean long-kept secrets,
not Pandora's cooch.

Anyway, now, in your brain,

there's unexpected repercussions.

Like maybe your subconscious
is looking for a do-over,

or a fresh start, a new vir... ginity.

Ma did tell you that when she was 15,

she got raped by three guys,

one of which was my father, right?

No?

No. Okay.

I'm gonna go upstairs and lie down.

Try to fit both of
my feet into my mouth.

I'm gonna take my apple
butter though, so...

I was gonna tell you, but I was...

working my way up to doing it.

I am here.

And?

I'm sorry I looked at your phone.

You know, I... I think I put my finger

on what's wrong with
most of today's players.

- What is it?
- They can't play.

What's a 2-guard?

Why can't he dribble?

What happened to the big man,

and what's he doing 30
feet from the basket?

- Mm.
- Get your fat ass to the low block and shut up.

And pull your pants up.
You're on national television.

Were you the only black player on
those Fort Wayne teams in the '50s?

Teams only had one.

If there was a second black player
who deserved to make it, too bad.

The white player is getting the spot.

They never called it
a quota, but it was.

Nowadays the white guys got a quota.

We had it as bad as Jackie Robinson.

But we weren't the national
pastime, so we didn't get the ink.

White teammates not
passing you the ball,

the team bus stopping literally

on one side of the track for them,

the other side for me,

where the colored restaurants were,

the colored hotels.

There was a white girl in St. Louis,

if I had so much as called for her,

I would have been killed
by my own frontcourt.

Today you damn near get a white
girl for making a free throw.

There's... damage that
needs to be undone.

A need for reparations. But I was lucky.

The year there was finally a
better black player in camp,

I was taken care of.

I had this business manager

who came from one of those
liberal northeast families.

One was always shocked when there was

someone with white skin
who tried to help you

if for no other reason than he thought

it was the thing that should be done.

Well, he got me a job working
for Thomas Brooks Paper Company.

They needed someone to walk
the halls and look black,

both of which I could do
with very little training.

I made a good living.
Provided for my family,

but most of the other guys
had no such good fortune.

Excellent players,
but because of quotas,

didn't get to stay in the league
for the three years necessary

to qualify for pension.

- Yeah, the league's gotta fix that.
- Yeah, they gotta, but they haven't.

And they won't. To them, it's
bad history best left buried.

If there's gonna be help, it
has to come from the players.

A special pension funded
by young black brothers

who really got paid.

- Hmm.
- Galvanized by a young man

that I have been
watching for a while now.

I believe he's a leader, not
just on the court, but off.

Ooh. That's a big ask.

Is that how it looks from up there?

I'm sorry, up where?

Up there.

Standing on my shoulders.

Bad idea. I mean, it is a horrible,

- horrible, terrible idea.
- Why?

Because you don't pay
reparations to your own people.

You get the people that hurt your
people to pay the reparations.

Otherwise, it ain't
reparations. They're gifts.

I make absurd coin.

So do a lot of the guys in this league.

And we have these gentlemen to thank.

We'd never miss the money. And
it would mean a lot to them.

Maybe we could do it through
the Calloway Philanthropic Trust.

Oh, the Trust best lay low
for a while after the gala.

At least until people stop throwing up.

And then it's gotta make some choices

because Missy says that most
of the money is committed.

Now, you may select any five
from the current menu of groups

who want or have already
been given your money.

Frozen Nostrils, Clean
Water, Prison Reform,

the elimination of Boko
Haram, the Innocence Project,

Southern Poverty Law Center,
and World Wildlife Fund.

And now you want to add black retirees?

How the hell did you
reel that off like that?

Because it sits on my head

like an aggressive
cancer of giving, man.

You know the only difference
between you and Antoine Walker?

Ant buys houses and jewelry.

You buy lawyers and surgery,

and now maybe even some old guys' rent.

But the raw dollars out
the door, it's the same.

- Hold on.
- No, I'm not holding on, man.

I will do whatever you want to do.

You want to give away 25% of
your gross before taxes, we shall.

I mean, we're almost there now.

But, Cam, it ain't your job,

nor do you have the
resources to fix the world.

So how about for once just...

try keeping your hands
in your pocket, huh?

Or at your side. You can
cross the motherfuckers.

Or you can wave. Can you do that?

Can you, like, simply just... just wave.

Okay, Reg, but understand that I...
I'm gonna have to find another way.

What does that mean? I
mean, that sounds even worse.

Can I... ?

All right. I mean, you know,
why can't you just be a...

a selfish, self-absorbed
asshole like everybody else?

Motherfucker.

Camille, it's for you.

Actually, Daddy, I came to talk to you.

Explain.

I wanted to preserve the
romance in your marriage.

Continue explaining.

A prenuptial agreement is an
inherently unromantic thing.

Because for a marriage to work,

both parties have to
believe 100% in its chances.

That's harder to do if you've
already planned the divorce.

I had concerns about the
content of Reggie's character.

Concerns which have been borne out.

No respectable man, I don't care
what his means or his reasons,

loses 123,000 in a game of poker.

- Stop explaining.
- No, no, no.

You opened the valve,

and now you're gonna feel the steam.

Beginning when you were 17,
I welcomed with an open mind

every young man you
presented for approval.

I let Luther use my car on prom night,

even though he had failed
his road test three times.

I eat tapas with Ronaldo,
played tennis with Cheech,

introduced Marcus high and low.

I can't watch a holiday slide show

from your high school and college years

without one of these old
boyfriends popping up.

They came and they went. They went away.

And some came back
for a couple of months

of reconciliation, AKA backsliding,

before disappearing for all time.

When you were heartbroken,
I supported you.

And when you were happy
again, well, I was happy too.

But I was not going to
let a husband come and go

and leave you wanting for anything

or paying for his life.

If a marriage ended,

you would still have your wealth.

As would your children, if
you ever actually have any.

I did it for you.

- You had no right.
- Every right. Because that wealth,

until your mother and I pass away,

potentially from the sheer exhaustion

of explaining to you how we do things,

- belongs to us.
- Mom knew about this?

Damn right I did. Down with it
100%. You dated some fucking idiots.

Camille, why don't you just come in

and be a part of this if you want to?

No. I'm fine out here.

Missy, it's a parent's
job to protect the child

against the worst case scenario.

Even if the child can or won't see it.

Hopefully that scenario
will never ever come to be,

but if it does, on that day you will say

what you should be saying
now, which is, "Thank you."

Thank you?

For treating me like
a 28-year-old infant?

That's not what this is.

Okay, between my parents and my husband,

I have absolutely no control
over my own financial life.

I'm a cork in the ocean.

We did not have you educated
for you to whine like this.

You want your own resources,
here's a novel idea, Melissa.

Go out and gather them. Get a job.

- I have a job.
- Pro bono doesn't count.

And overseeing one
interracially insensitive

in-flight magazine shoot for
your husband's only client,

doth not a career make.

I am also building a hearth and home.

I am seeing to our
place in the community.

Non-essential industries, both.

And one day, I'll be raising kids.

Shuttling them to soccer
practice... or not.

It's whatever they want, because
I will respect their free will.

Until that day, all purely theoretical.

And even then, nothing
that can't be done

with a good checkbook
and a Swedish au pair.

- Wow.
- Here are the facts, Melissa.

You couldn't take the
heat at your law firm,

so you threw away a half a
million dollars worth of training

and married an impresario and
poker player who supports you both.

You may call yourself a feminist,

but you live like an
Eisenhower-era wife.

Don't blame your mother,
and don't blame me,

because we are all the
authors of our own stories.

Your parents want you to get a job.

That's why they called me.

And you want to get a job, too, right?

- Yes.
- Okay, I read your résumé,

and there are typos in it.

You can't do that. It
says, "I don't give a shit."

But I know you do give a shit.
You do give a shit, don't you?

- Yes.
- Okay. "Then" and "than" are not the same word.

There's a difference.
You need to know that.

- I do.
- Spell-check will fuck you

when the spelling of
the word is correct,

but the usage and the context isn't.

Don't let spell-check fuck you.

Mr. Flaherty, the new Atlanta Team
Representative is here to see you.

Please say it's one of the Latvians.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -