Somewhere up in Brooklyn Margaret’s meeting with a middle-aged couple called “Hollis.” Margaret asks if they’ve been there long, and they’ve been in Brooklyn for 16 years. They’re having very awkward small talk about Brooklyn and finding little bonds in the geography but Margaret’s wearing her put-upon, Irish Catholic, “woe is me” face which prompts some sympathy from Mrs. Hollis as Mr. Hollis suggests to his wife that she show “Mrs. Rohan” to the room where she can make her decision.
I’m not too embarrassed to admit it didn’t immediately register with me what was going on. I figured she was looking to be their boarder, even though she clearly said she was living nearby, so I got really sad for Margaret when I saw she was going to an examination room. Mrs. Hollis tells Margaret that Dr. Hollis sees all his patients in that room but Margaret says she wants to “bring on her monthly.” Mrs. Hollis doesn’t hesitate or judge. She just asks when was Margaret’s last period. Six weeks. Mrs. Hollis thinks he can help her, then, since he helps lots of women. He’s very thorough. She means to be helpful and reassuring but Margaret looks like she’s about to fall apart.
Seeing Margaret’s distress Mrs. Hollis tells her she can take some time and come back. Margaret shakes her head and tells the stranger that maybe not, and she’s completely lost. Mrs. Hollis gently tells Margaret she never tells anyone what to do which only piques Margaret’s anxiety and she nearly sobs to ask if she’s to keep her dress on. Oh, Margaret. I’m sorry. No matter how impetuous, rash or thoughtless your actions were, this is awful. Mrs. Hollis tells Margaret she’ll get her a gown then, like June before her, touches Margaret briefly on the shoulder to show some sympathy.
Charlie and Meyer are standing in some hallway and while Meyer seethes Charlie, obtuse as ever, misses all the neon bright, non-verbal cues and tells Meyer about how he’s looking at it the wrong way. The cops may have grabbed him but he worked out an angle where he won’t do any time and no one’s the wiser and they’ll just pick up where they left off.
Charlie finally gets a clue and tells Meyer he’ll cover the hit, on his own, but this opens the floodgates and Meyer spits at Charlie that it was 50 pounds. One hundred. Thousand. FUCKING. Dollars. Charlie considers what he could possibly say and lands on nothing. He just puffs a little then Arnold’s “manservant” escorts them into his office where the heroin…and Masseria…await.
Meyer’s stopped dead in his tracks, with Charlie a beat behind. Masseria tells Charlie he’s glad to see Charlie’s “all right” then goes over to Meyer and “apologizes” for never getting his name, then says it with an extra special Italian flourish. Meyer just wants to know if all that junk on Arnold’s desk is theirs. Not anymore. Derr. Arnold comes in and thanks the boys for coming and he won’t keep them long, since they “have such full portions on their plates.”
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