Empty Nest (1988–1995): Season 7, Episode 1 - Let's Give Them Something to Talk About - full transcript

Come on, Scotty.

Just try one bite.

Everybody loves
grandpa's famous French toast.

Hi, Sophia.

So how's my boyfriend

with the little tushie
that's cute enough to bite?

Actually, Scotty
won't eat his breakfast.

I was talking
to you, sweet cheeks.

You know, Sophia,
if I were a few years older...

Your daughter
would still be living with you.

Good morning, loves of my life.



And that
includes you, Sophia-kins,

my favorite mature person.

Kiss me, and I'll slug you.

Well, dear, you seem chipper.

Does my ebullience show?

With a skirt that short,
everything shows.

Well, I suppose
my mood meter is set on giddy.

You see, I have
a job interview today.

A job?

Yes, daddy.

I'm gonna be
a newspaper reporter.

And I'm gonna be a power ranger.

Seriously, Sophia.

The dade country crier
is looking for a writer.



It's the perfect opportunity
for a yuppie mommy like me.

Or, as I've coined it,

a "yummy."

Dear, don't you think

they might want someone
with, you know, experience?

Daddy, don't you remember

in high school I published
my own underground newspaper?

You bought me
that mimeograph machine.

Yes, you put out two issues,

and then you got a boyfriend.

And then she just put out.

Hard body at 11:00.

Hi.
- Hi.

Why don't you
just set that over there?

Okay.

Although, closer to the cooler

might be more convenient.

What do you think, Laverne?

Who cares?

See you next week, Maxine.

Laverne,
I thought you loved to play

make-the-water-guy-
show-us-his-hiney.

What's the point?

He's probably no different
than the rest of 'em.

Just a bunch of ear pickin',
remote control hoggin',

stink-up-your-truck
with-their-cheap-Cologne

smellin' animals.

Bad date last night?

You tell me.

The charmer I was with
bought me a cheeseburger,

then blew his nose
in the wrapper.

Smooth.

I swear, I am
the queen of bad dates.

If there's
a loser within 20 mile,

he will find me,
ask me out, bore me to tears,

ask me out again
and the sick part is I'll go.

Hence, I have decided
I am through with men.

Okay.

And when you get
right down to it,

what is the point of datin'?

Free dinner and sex?

Hey, foxy ladies.

Then again, no dinner
could possibly taste that good.

Why are you here?

Actually, best friend o' mine,

I am taking you
to a Tom Jones concert tonight.

Really?

Why?

Well, I was supposed
to go with my other bud,

bud,

but he's gotta
pick up trash on i-95

as part
of his community service.

But since when are
you a Tom Jones fan?

Well, since I realized

most of his other fans
are horny babes,

who are easy pickings
for a Tom Jones look-alike.

But you don't look
anything like Tom Jones.

That's why bud is lending you

his skintight tux pants
and chest hair wig.

- Forget it, Charley.
I'm not going.

Go find yourself another Tom.

Well, that's great.

You ask your friend
one little favor.

Now I'm gonna have
to wear the salami in my pants.

Get away from me.

Um, doctor,
I have a major favor to ask you.

Sure, Laverne, anything.

If I catch a bus right now,

I'll have just enough time

to pick up
my truck at the garage.

- Well, go ahead.
I got this covered.

- Laverne, I'm going that way.
I'll give you a lift.

Are you sure? I don't
wanna put you to any trouble.

It's no trouble.

Just keep your eyes
peeled for a salami shop.

Excuse me.

Is this 111 1/2 blythe street?

- Yeah.
You wanna send a fax?

No.

Rent a mailbox, have a key made,

sponsor a third-world orphan?

- No, no.
- I'm... I'm sorry.

I must be in the wrong place.

I'm looking
for the dade country crier.

Classifieds are a buck a line,

personals are free.

Unless you're a pro.

In which case
I'm Bennett Braxton,

publisher, editor,
and boudoir photographer.

- That's...
- That's very impressive.

Really, but...

I'm here for the reporter's job.

I'm Carol Weston.

We spoke on the phone.

The single mom.

Right,

the "yummy."

Here's my resume.

Now, I know it doesn't show

a very impressive
background in journalism.

Or really much of anything.

But the one thing I promise
I can bring to the crier

is passion,

a passion for all
that is fit to print.

You see, I love newspapers.

So, when can you start?

What?

You're offering me the job?

Mr. Braxton,
this is so wonderful

I could hug you.

P-P-Perhaps I'll just...

I'll scream instead.

Timmy, I want you
to meet somebody.

Mr. Braxton, I promise
you won't regret this.

This is Carol,
your new assistant.

What?

Not bad.

You're about a "c" cup, right?

- I'm sorry.
I don't understand.

It's that damn Howard stern.

He's got all the kids
talking like that.

- No.
I mean, about the job.

I thought you were
hiring me to be a reporter.

No, Timmy's my reporter.

You're his driver.

I'll give you a buck

if you let me
sit on your lap and steer.

Mr. Braxton,

I did not come
all the way down here

to play chauffeur
to some foul-mouthed child.

This foul-mouthed child

happens to be
a journalistic genius.

Not to mention his father owns

the largest appliance store
in the neighborhood.

By the way,
you pitch your old man

on that four-page
supplement yet?

Get bent.

Take your time
on that one, timbo.

Temperamental little bastard,

but he writes his tuchus off.

You two are gonna
make a hell of a team.

- No, we won't.
I'm not taking the job.

What?

You're thumbing your nose

at learning the biz
from one of the best?

Do you recognize that?

My god.

Is that a pulitzer?

Actually, it's a foolitzer.

A little novelty item
I'm trying to market.

But the point is...

I've been a newsman
for over 20 years.

I could teach you how to earn
one of the real things.

Or I could teach you
how to make one.

I don't know.

It just seems so entry level.

Hey, what other rag's
gonna hire you?

Would I get to wear one
of those cute little fedoras

with the press card on it?

You keep wearing
skirts that short,

I don't care
what you put on your head.

♪ It's not unusual...

Hey, Dr. Douglas.

If you expect me
to throw my panties at you,

you're sadly mistaken.

I'm sorry.

I always sing the day
after I've been to a concert.

You went to a Tom Jones concert?

Doctor, a woman does not live
by Clint black alone.

Besides,
Charley had an extra ticket.

Charley?

Charley dietz and you on a date?

It was not a date,

which is probably
why I had such a good time.

Lordy, watching
that man wiggle around

in them skintight pants
with his shirt undone

to his belly button

gave me
a wicked case of the giggles.

Yeah, I guess
Tom Jones is pretty campy.

I's talkin' 'bout Charley.

Lord, that man
was so funny last night.

That boy is out of his mind.

Won't get any argument here.

But I thought you hated Charley.

I do not hate anyone.

Except for Yankees
who say "y'all."

That is a peeve, not a hate.

Now, I don't recall invitin' you
into this conversation.

A little touchy
this morning, aren't y'all?

Could be 'cause
she went a-datin' last night

with a feller named Charley.

You...

You had a date with Charley?

It was not a date.

And it's "y'all,"
not "ya'all."

What's with her?

Sounds like
she's got a new boyfriend.

- Charley?
That's ridiculous.

Maxine, come on.

What could she
possibly see in him?

Well, let's see.

He's inconsiderate,
has a dead-end job,

and he's dumb as a stump.

Hell, I'm surprised
i'm not datin' him.

Morning, daddy.

Morning, dear.

Boy, this editorial
is... is fascinating.

That kid you're working for
is one terrific writer.

Actually,
I work with, not for Timmy.

That's weird.
I thought I heard it go.

No, it's mine.

It's a gift
from Timmy, the boy wonder.

Probably forgot his lunch again.

Or maybe he wants to parade me

in front
of his geeky little friends

and announce my age.

Well, the joke's on him.

I lied.

That's showing him.

Daddy, listen to me.

I wanted to be a reporter.

Instead, I'm playing valet

to some
over-hormoned delinquent.

Could life get any more insane?

Carol...

- See?
I told you they'd be up.

Mornin', y'all.

Why if it isn't
Charley and Laverne.

Daddy?

- Yes, dear. It's...
It's Charley and...

And Laverne.

I'm really sorry
to barge in like this,

but, Carol, do you think I
could borrow your pair of jeans?

Well, of course, Laverne.

And perhaps you'd like
to take a shower, too.

A nice disinfecting,
amnesia-inducing shower.

No, really,
hon, I just need some pants.

Fumble fingers here

spilt transmission fluid
all over mine.

Transmission fluid?

So you two
were just working on a car.

Well, yeah,
what'd you think we was doin'?

That.

Can you believe it, Harry?

I took her to a concert,
and she rebuilt my transmission.

That's just the way
we southerners are.

You do somethin' nice for us,

and we will return the favor
ten-fold.

You're from the south, Laverne?

You are such a kidder.

I am, aren't I?

You know, this corn ball
kept me up till 2:00 am

with his lame jokes,

and then he wouldn't
let me go home.

- Really?
- Really?

Call me a worrywart,

but I don't think
a half-dressed lady

should be
on the road at that hour.

Of course, she'd be
much safer at your house.

Charley, living room, now.

- Sure, Harry.
- As soon as I finish my...

Just give me that
and you come with me.

Um, Carol, hon, do you think
you could fetch them pants?

My legs is
startin' to get a chill.

Laverne.

You poor, sweet, naive,
country mouse of a woman.

'Scuse me?

Perhaps if I frame this

in one of those
colorful metaphors

you rural folk
are so facile at inventing.

Let's pretend
you're a little baby possum.

Delicate, innocent,

yet anxious
to experience the world.

So one day you blithely
venture onto the interstate

unaware that an ugly,
diesel-belthching 18-Wheeler

we'll call Charley

is barreling toward you.

Are you callin' me road kill?

Laverne is
like a daughter to me.

You understand?

She's gonna move in
and start sponging off you?

- Hey, Charley.
We still on for tonight?

I wouldn't miss it, babe.

See you later, hon.

Hon and babe.

Charley, I know
what you're doing here.

This is some sneaky,
sleazy plan of yours

to get her into bed.

Nuh.

We're just friends, Harry.

Laverne and I have been having
such a good time together,

I never even thought
of boinkin' her.

But for argument sake,

how'd that sleazy plan go again?

Dade county crier.

You wanna place a personal?

All right.

Go ahead.

"Sicilian spitfire
seeks chain-smoker

"with substantial
life insurance policy.

Fatties welcome."

Sophia, is that you?

Mr. Braxton,

how are you this fine afternoon?

Crocked.

You know
how many daiquiris it takes

to get a dry cleaner
to spring for a full-page ad?

I have no idea.

Neither do I.

Where the hell is Timmy?

- I don't know.
He wasn't there

when I went
to pick him up after school.

He was supposed to cover
that swimming pool dedication.

I know.

Great.

We're going
to press in a half hour.

I'll kill him.

Hold that thought.

When I couldn't
find young Timmy,

I went ahead
to the swimming pool dedication

and jotted down a few notes.

Carol, this is brilliant.

- Really?
You think so?

Smell my breath.

I'd think a sizzler menu
was brilliant.

Here, get this to the printer.

I gotta take a nap.

So, I'm being published.

My words
are showing up in print.

Do you have
any idea what this means

to a struggling
young writer like myself?

I'll take that as a yes.

Timmy!

Thank god.
You're all right.

Carol, where were you?

I've been paging you all day.

- Oops.
It's turned off.

Well, you know
how inept we gals are

when it comes to electronics.

You set me up.

Let's just call it payback

for telling your
pimply-faced chums I'm a moaner.

If that's Timmy, ask him
if his old man's buying space.

My old man sold his store.

If that's Timmy,
tell him he's fired.

Tough break, kid.

Now, if you'll, step aside,

I'm on my way to a career.

And, timbo,

here.

Go beep yourself.

Tsk, Charley, this is nice.

Yeah, I've been
coming here for years.

It's a great place to unwind.

Guess you unwound a little bit
too far last time.

Hey, come on.

Game of eight-ball
help take the sting out.

You know, Laverne,

I'm real glad
you showed up tonight.

Well, why wouldn't I?

Well, you know, the way
people have been talking,

I thought you might feel
kinda weird being seen with me.

Charley, I don't care
what people think.

I do not care who sees us.

My god, not Sophia.
Quick. Turn around.

Well, if it isn't the lovebirds.

I heard you two were an item.

Sophia, we are not an item.

Honestly, I do not know
how these rumors get started.

Hey...

Come here.

Nursey and cruise boy
are grooving on the love thing.

Pass it on.

Charley, why don't you
go ahead and break?

Okay.

I think it only fair to warn you

that...

I happen to be quite good.

And you happen
to be a hell of a lot better.

Where'd you learn
to shoot like that?

I was practically
raised on one of these things.

No kiddin'?

Yup.

My parents kept me locked

in the cellar till I was 12.

Most kids had a dog,

I had a pool table.

Called it spot.

Oops.

Hey, hustler, you missed.

Or was I just being polite?

No, you missed.

Now I'll show you
how it's really done.

See?
That's how you miss. Damn.

You're moving your cue too much.

Here.
Let me show you.

First thing you gotta do

is you gotta hold the stick
so it feels balanced.

That's right.

Now, just move it
back and forth.

- Back and forth.
- Back and forth.

- Back and forth.
- That's it.

Back and forth.

Okay, now shoot.

Back and forth.

Hey!
I made it.

Laverne?

I don't know
if we should, do this.

- You're right.
- I'm sorry. I...

I don't know what come over me.

Tsk, it's not your fault.

Maybe Harry was right.

Maybe this is just some
sneaky, sleazy scheme of mine.

And it really must be sneaky

because I didn't know
anything about it.

Charley, I was the one
what was gonna kiss you.

Man, I'm so good, it's scary.

No, you not.

Look, Charley...

Maybe...
Maybe there's a...

Just a little...

Smidge of chemistry between us.

Really?

Well, yeah.

And I'm just glad
you showed so much restraint

during my moment
of vulnerability.

You know what this means?

I'm gay?

You're a gentleman.

Laverne, I don't think
we should go out anymore.

Why?

Well, I don't know
how much longer

I can keep acting
like such a good guy.

I'm Charley,
I'm not a gentleman.

You deserve to be
with the real thing.

Tsk.

Why, Charley dietz.

Who'd a thought a guy like you

would restore my faith in men?

What do you mean?

Hey, if I can bring out
the goodness

in a skirt-chasin'
hound dog like yourself,

then maybe I oughta give

the rest of your gender
another chance.

And thank you.

And if you'll excuse me,

I got a table to run.

Hi.

I'm sparkle.

Are you alone?

No, I'm Charley.

You're funny.

You wanna come back
to my place and fool around?

Well, I don't think
that would be such a good idea.

I mean, we don't
even know each other.

No.

I can't change back.

Come on, amigo.

I'll buy you a beer.

Actually,
I'd prefer a nice chardonnay.

No!