- Uh, Stephanie... you...
You might want to
dust under that bowl.
- I already did.
- I'll just... I'll just check.
- d*ck, if you lift that bowl,
it means you don't trust me
and things will never be
the same between us again.
- I'll take that chance.
- Neat freak!
- Honey, I just had the
most exciting lunch with Roz.
- Oh, really? What did you have?
- Well, chicken salad.
- Wow! No wonder you're excited.
- Was there a
centerpiece on your table?
- I believe so.
- Did you lift it to
check for dust?
Oh, who would do that?
- Oh, I don't know.
Maybe somebody
with a dust fixation.
- Anyway, Roz's
whole life is changing
and she said mine can, too.
- All these years,
I've underestimated the
power of chicken salad.
- Will you listen to me? I
finally found my true calling!
It combines personal
growth and fulfillment
with service to the community.
I'm going to sell real estate!
- That... that would
have been my guess.
- Roz says once I take my
exam and get my license,
I can join her at
Blue Horizon Realty.
d*ck, do you
realize in two weeks,
you could wake up next
to a real estate agent?
- Some men only dream of that.
- I hope they don't make you
wear one of those yucky blazers.
- Somehow I expected
a little more enthusiasm.
- Well, it's just that
you're always gung-ho
about some new project
and then you never stick to it.
At first you wanted
to be a travel agent,
then an aerobics instructor.
- Neither of those
quite fulfilled me.
- What about that dream
to master the harpsichord?
- That was too hard.
- The minute
something gets difficult,
you bail out.
You're like a career looky-lou.
- Well, maybe if you gave
me some encouragement
once in a while...
- I give you encouragement.
Didn't I go to that...
That harpsichord recital?
I mean, I was just as proud
as all the other moms and dads.
- d*ck, I really think
I can sell real estate.
- Okay, if you're
serious, I'm behind you.
- Do you mean that, honey?
- You bet!
- In that case, I'll need
$400 for the course.
- Then sell your harpsichord.
- Good morning, d*ck.
- George.
- What are you reading?
- My will.
- Oh my gosh, d*ck! No!
- George, I'm not dying yet.
- Oh, thank goodness!
So what's with the will?
- I just want to be prepared.
You know, in case
something does happen.
- God forbid.
- You know, George,
we don't have any heirs,
so Joanna and I have decided
to... to leave the inn to you.
- I'm speechless.
I never knew you
thought of me as a son.
- I-I don't, George.
We're, you know, we're
pretty much the same age.
- We are?
The years have certainly
taken their toll on you.
- Okay, here you go. Blueberry
pancakes and sausage.
- I didn't order that. I'm
allergic to blueberries.
- Okay. Then they're raisins.
Fine!
Most allergies are all
in the mind, you know.
- Gee, the next
time I see that will,
I'll own the inn and
you'll be... God forbid.
- Well, let's hope that's a
long time from now, George.
- Uh, let's not
rush things, d*ck.
- d*ck? Are you sick?
- No, I feel fine, Stephanie.
- No, I mean, about
leaving the inn to George.
What about me? Did I
do something wrong?
- No, Stephanie.
I just assumed that your parents
would be providing for you.
- Well, I'm sorry, but I
have to contest this will.
- Well, you can't contest
the will until after we're gone.
- And well, when do you
think you might be leaving?
- What would be
convenient for you?
Stephanie, why-why would
you want the Stratford?
You never seemed
particularly happy in your work.
- Excuse me. Miss, my pancakes?
- Oh, here! Just eat
around the blue parts.
I love my work!
- I just stopped by for
my daily quota of kiss.
Problemas in paradiso, Cuppers?
- I'm sorry, Michael.
It's just hard to be giving
when so much is
being taken from me.
- What's being taken
from you? Tell me.
- d*ck and Joanna have
cut me out of their will.
- d*ck, have you no
shred of decency?
- Stephanie was
never in our will.
- It just keeps
getting more heinous!
- They're leaving
the inn to George.
Obviously they like
him more than me,
and after all the sacrifices
I've made for them.
- Oh, I knew this would happen.
Miss, do you have
any antihistamines?
- You see, it never ends.
Follow me.
Hypochondriac.
- You make her your
beastette of burden
and then you bequeath her zip?
- Michael, Stephanie is
hardly overworked here,
and I assumed that her parents
would be bequeathing
her millions.
- Billions, d*ck.
For my last birthday,
Pop Vanderkellen granted
me a gander at the will.
It was stunning!
Oh, by the way, thanks
again for your card.
- You're welcome.
- d*ck, I have the
most exciting news!
- You had chicken salad again?
- Well, yes, but I
passed the test!
I got my real estate license.
- Thumbs up, JoJo.
- Well, congratulations,
honey. I-I knew you could do it.
- Really?
- Sure, an-and I'm proud of you.
As a matter of fact,
I'm... I'm more than proud.
I'm... I'm darn proud.
I'm... I'm going to
take this and frame it...
and hang it in my study.
- Your study? Wow,
you are darn proud.
- Joanna, I-I hate to niggle,
but are you... are you sure
you've got the grit to make
it in the real estate biz?
- I can be gritty. I
can be darn gritty.
- Those people are sharks.
On the very day my
grandfather's ashes
were scattered over the ocean,
my sweet grandmother was
hounded into selling her house.
- Oh, that's awful.
- I know. I should
have waited a day.
But from then on,
I knew I wasn't cut out
to be a real estate agent.
- Well, I don't see
the job that way at all.
I think it's more about finding
what a client's tastes are,
whether it's Victorian,
Tudor, split-level,
and then matching them
up with their dream house.
- Well, what if their
taste whispers Tudor,
but their wallet wails
roach-infested shack
by the highway?
- Well, then, I'll just wait
until something fumigated
comes along.
- Damn. Before you can
say escrow-change-o,
some vulture comes
along and sells that shack,
only now it's a cozy cottage.
The highway spells easy access
and the roaches
become rustic charm.
- Oh, come on, Michael.
There's still room
for a real estate broker
with honesty and integrity.
- Yeah, there's plenty of
room. You'll be the only one.
- Hi, George. Are you
hammering something?
- I'm replacing the old
nails with wooden pegs.
- You're such a craftsman.
How I love this old inn.
- Did you know d*ck and
Joanna left the inn to me
in their will?
- Oh-h-h-h! What
a lovely gesture.
If there's anyone who
treasures this glorious landmark
as much as me, it's you, George.
- Gee, thanks.
- I'm sure you and
your family will...
oh, that's right,
you don't really have a
family, do you, George?
- No.
- Well, if it makes
you feel any better,
I've always thought of you
as a member of my family
or at least a member
of my family's staff.
- Are you subtly hinting
that you'd like me
to leave you the inn?
- Oh, George, I never imagined!
Me, mistress of the Stratford!
- I'm not sure, Stephanie.
I don't know if you've got
what it takes to be a mistress.
- d*ck?
- Hi, Joanna.
- Honey, you know that lovely
couple we met in group therapy?
Tommy Lee and Tish Holliday?
- You mean the-the lovely couple
who-who smashed
Dr. Kaiser's windshield in
with a tire iron because
she didn't validate?
- They apologized.
Anyway, they want
me to sell their house!
- I thought they
lived in a trailer.
- They do, but they
want to move up.
Tish won a nice
bundle at a cock fight.
- I guess she knew
when to walk away.
- Now they can afford
to buy a real house,
and they want me
to find it for them.
I wonder where I
should start looking.
- How about Tijuana?
- d*ck, it's taken me two
weeks, but I finally figured it out.
- Figured what out?
- Why you're leaving
the inn to George,
your pet handyman,
instead of to your devoted,
hardworking charwoman
who has slaved for years
for meager wages,
and a few scraps
from your dinner table.
- Well, don't worry
about Joanna.
She'll be fine.
- No, d*ck, I'm
talking about myself.
- How unusual!
- Anyway, I realize
that I must have done
something horrendous
to you in the past.
- Stephanie, I've told you,
you have done nothing.
- I know better, d*ck. It's
all right here in my diary.
Here. Read it. June 2, 1986.
- "I got a postcard from
my best friend Libby.
"She's cruising
the Mediterranean
"with a prince named Giorgio
and they're talking marriage.
I hope she dies."
What... what does
this have to do with
my not leaving you the inn?
- d*ck, that was that day that
I didn't give 100% to my work
and walked around pouting.
- I thought that was yesterday.
Stephanie, I have no
recollection of that day at all.
- You don't remember?
Wow, then I must have
done something even worse.
Well, I'm going to find out
what it is and make restitution.
I swear it!
- "June 3. Saw d*ck
in his underwear.
Ewwww!"
Hi. Hi, honey.
Did you close the
deal on the trailer?
- Just this afternoon.
New owners hitched
it up and drove it away.
- I-I-I have to hand it to you.
You're... you're
handling this really well.
- Well...
- So, uh, how are the Hollidays
enjoying their new home?
- Well, they're not
really enjoying it yet.
You see, I didn't quite
make the sale of the trailer
contingent on my
finding them a new house.
- What... what are you saying?
That they... they
have no place to stay?
- Oh, yeah. They do.
- Well, sh**t off my
pinkie and call me Betty.
This place is a damn palace!
Well, don't just
stand there, Tish.
Go out and haul in
that steamer trunk.
- And, uh, where do you
plan on living, Joanna?
- Ooooh, what a babe!
Do you ever think about cheatin'
on the little woman, Loudon?
- No, but if I did,
it wouldn't be with Judy Jetson.
Tommy Lee, I, uh, I
don't appreciate Louis on...
on my sofa.
- You want him off?
Throw some Cheetos on the floor.
He'll dive for 'em.
- He's not moving.
- He's seen Tish fall
for it too many times.
- d*ck...
I'm not one to complain,
but Joanna's friends are
ruining my... your... our inn.
Are those Cheetos on the floor?
- Pigs. They're... they're pigs.
- d*ck, I finally
figured it out.
It was that time I told you
I mailed your manuscript
to your publisher,
but instead, I lost it,
and so, I sent you that
phony rejection letter.
- You did what?
- Oh, you didn't know?
I thought for sure that was it.
- Oh, you're a sweet one.
You make me think things.
- Ewwww!
- It's okay. Maybe he meant me.
- Um, Tommy Lee, maybe
you and your... family should...
spend more time
in... In your room.
It's nice up there... and
completely out of sight.
- What's the point of
spendin' time in the bedroom?
Tish is already preggos.
- Well, it's hard to
argue with that logic.
- Stratford Inn.
Yeah, just a minute.
It's for you. It's your foreman.
- Uh, I'm in the
middle of my story.
Say I'm sick.
- You're not sick.
- Oh, yeah?
Walk a mile in my brain, Loudon.
- He's uh... he-he-he's
sick... in the... in the head.
He's... he's got...
he's got a headache.
Why would I lie to you
about something like that?
- My foreman's
callin' you a liar?
Hang up on that
fat goon. I'm walkin'.
- No, no. You
can't. You can't quit.
Look, you don't have
to use language like that.
I... I am not the one...
Well, you sure talk tough.
She hung up on me.
- Tish, we've looked
at nine houses.
Didn't any of them
appeal to you?
- We need a lot of space, Jo.
I mean, call me
a fertile Myrtle,
but I think the good Lord's
blessed me and Tommy Lee
with a doubleheader.
- Well, congratulations! Twins.
- Hmmm, that would be nice, too.
Tommy Lee! What
are you doin' here?
You said you couldn't come
house huntin' 'cuz you was workin'.
- Uh, uh... the company went
under... right after you left.
- You lyin' ol' rummy.
Now how we gonna afford a
house with you out of a job?
- Darlin', we can struggle by
'til the next cock
fight comes along.
- Sure, that may be
fine for some people,
but we just can't go on livin'
from cock fight to cock fight.
I need stability. I need
a steady paycheck.
- Maybe I'm old-fashioned,
but I don't feel right about you
climbin' up them phone
poles in that condition.
- What have I
gotten myself into?
Maybe I'm just not cut out
to be a real estate broker.
- Joanna, I'm only
going to say this once...
you can be anything
you want to be.
If you want to be my
wife, get them out of here.
- Still haven't put a
roof over the riffraff?
- Oh, Michael, I'm
in way over my head.
I'm turning out to be the
worst real estate agent
in the history of land.
I can't sell a thing!
- Hey, banish those blues, Jo.
Let old Michael Harris
help you hoist your hopes.
- There's no use looking
through the real estate section.
We've already seen
every house listed.
- Right idea, wrong section.
Hello, Mrs. Kimmel? Yes, hi.
I'm calling from
Blue Horizon Realty.
We'd like to express
our deep, deep sorrow
over the loss of your beloved...
- Oh!
I will not take advantage
of this poor woman!
Dammit, Tish.
You didn't have to go and
throw my damn handgun
through the damn picture tube!
- You must be so lonely rattling
around in that big old house.
- You will take good care
of my old house, won't you?
- You bet. I got big
decoratin' plans right here.
- And what would
they be, Tommy Lee?
Another beer can room divider?
- Just put one more
straw on my back, Tish.
- Well, looks like all
the papers are in order.
This calls for a celebration.
I'd like to take everyone to
dinner at the Drum and Musket.
- I hate the Drum and Musket.
That's where I first
met... my demons.
- How about Burger King?
- Burger King's good.
- Good!
- We'll meet ya there, Jo.
I'd like to stop by the house
and measure the window
in the back bedroom.
- Oh, curtains would
look lovely there.
- Oh, not curtains... bars.
We'll be keepin' our
boy Harold in that room.
- Every now and again,
when he needs
a place to lay low.
- So how'd it go?
- All done.
- You know, uh,
through all of this,
I have to admit I had my doubts,
but, uh, you...
you saw it through.
- I did make some
pretty big mistakes,
and I'll probably
be making more.
- Well, not as big
as this last one.
- Oh, I don't know.
- Say... say it won't be
as big as this last one.
- Well, uh, Tommy Lee and
Tish couldn't actually get a loan
without a co-signer, and...
- You didn't!
How... how could
you co-sign their loan?
You... you don't own anything.
Except half of the Stratford.
- There's nothing to
worry about, really.
See, there's this big
cock fight coming up,
and Tish has this system.
- No jury in the world
would convict me!
- d*ck, I've come to a decision.
- About what, George?
- When you finally meet
your maker, God forbid...
I don't want you
leaving me the inn.
- Why not, George?
I thought you liked the
security of owning something.
- I do.
It's the responsibility
that's eating me alive.
The Stratford is like a ship.
Some... some people are meant
to be captains like you, d*ck,
and some are meant
to be swabbies.
- If that's the way you
really feel about it, George,
we won't leave you the inn.
- Oh, thanks, d*ck.
You've made me a
very happy swabby.
- Oh, uh, Stephanie.
We've decided to leave
you the inn after all.
- Really? What about George?
- He, uh, he passed on it.
- Oh, so basically I'm
getting George's rejects.
- No, you're getting
a 200-year-old inn.
- As an afterthought. I
wasn't your first choice.
- So?
- d*ck, I don't shop
at garage sales,
I don't wear used clothing,
and I certainly don't want
some old hand-me-down inn.
- You mean... you mean you
don't... You don't want the inn?
- Sorry. You had your chance.
- How... how could
you turn this down?
- d*ck, get off my back!
- Is it... is it
something I did?
Te-tell me what I did!
- Meow.
07x08 - Home for the Holidays
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d*ck Loudon and wife Joanna relocate from New York City to a small town in Vermont, where they run the historic Stafford Inn.
d*ck Loudon and wife Joanna relocate from New York City to a small town in Vermont, where they run the historic Stafford Inn.