In Plain Sight, Season 1

Marshall:
As I was saying, imagery and metaphor have been used to sell products forever.

Mary:
Please, Jesus, take me now.

Marshall:
Take the Ford Mustang, for instance. It's named for a powerful and agile animal, qualities we also seek in an automobile. It's called transference.

Mary:
Okay, what about my Probe? Exactly what image is that supposed to transfer? Because all I'm getting is a paper dress, metal stirrups, and legs akimbo. Exactly what was the thought process behind that marketing coup? Say, Bob, what's a metaphor for an invasive, somewhat humiliating procedure, because we really need something to compete with the Chevy Speculum.

Mary:
The care and feeding of career criminals like Frankie Nuts is a dicey proposition at best. On any given day, I get to play mother, father, best friend, priest, rabbi, marriage counselor, and yes unfortunately occasionally homicide detective which is why I find myself driving my misogynist metaphor across the desert with a busted air conditioner to hunt down the murderer of the son of my murderer witness. No backup. No plan to speak of. No alternative. Also, Frankie Jr. got killed on my watch. That just pisses me off.

Marshall:
Are you going to be like this all day?

Mary:
Like what?

Marshall:
[Makes cat fighting noise]

Mary:
Guess it depends on how long it's going to be my birthday.

Marshall:
All day.

Mary:
There you go.

Mary:
Before you hear it from someone else, I smacked an indian's johnson with a bar of soap today.

Marshall:
Haven't we done enough to those people?

Mary:
[Voiceover] The Federal Witness Protection Program is the most secretive organization in all of law enforcement. We do not talk about what we do. Not to friends, not to family, not even to other U.S. Marshals. Which is why my mother, my sister, and even my boyfriend, who by the way isn't really my boyfriend, all think I'm a glorified messenger with a gun. And why Marshall and I work on the roof of the Sunshine Building, while the rest of the U.S. Marshals reside in the Pete Domenici Federal Courthouse, with their mahogany desks, crystal chandeliers and butlers.

Mary:
I just want to wash the stench of this day off and go to bed.

Marshall:
I know, but there are about sixty people in there hiding behind furniture, just waiting for you to open the door so they can jump up and say surprise.

Mary:
Yuck.

Marshall:
Come on, it's your birthday. This isn't about you. Now get ready to act surprised.

Mary:
All right, all right.

Marshall:
That's my girl.

Mary:
[Voiceover] We all live in hiding. In one way or another, each of us conceals pieces of ourselves from the rest of the world. Some people hide because their lives depend on it, others because they don't like being seen. And then there are the special cases, the ones who hide because... because... because they just want someone to care enough to look for them.

Mary:
Stan, I suck with kids.

Marshall:
So? You suck with grownups, too.

[Mary hits him on the arm]

[Marshall returns hit to Mary's arm]

Mary:
Ow! I can't believe you'd hit a girl!

Marshall:
You're no girl.

Mary:
How many times a week do people tell you you suck?

Arlo Meyers:
Are you going to let her speak to me like this?

Stan:
It seems like a valid question.

(Marshall is wearing the same pajama pants as a 10 year old witness)

Mary:
Yeah.

Marshall:
We're locked down. Outer perimeter's secure. I'll be in the other bedroom if you need me.

Mary:
Thanks.

Marshall:
Good night.

Leo:
(snickers)

Marshall:
Nice jammies.

Leo:
Uh-huh. That guy's supposed to protect me?

Mary:
Yeah, but don't let the PJs fool you. That's one bad-ass law man.

Mary:
[After walking in the front door of McRoy's home] Chrome and glass. Kind of cliche for a drug dealer, no?

Mary:
I might have a problem.

Marshall:
You think this is new information?

Mary:
I don't think I can turn him over.

Marshall:
Okay, but you're going to have to feed him and take him for walks.

Mary:
I'm serious, Marshall. They'll kill him.

Marshall:
I know. Just tell me what you need.

Mary:
Okay. Thanks.

Marshall:
[Flippantly] Uh-huh.

Mary:
Listen to me. Forget about everything else and just tell the truth. It's all going to work out the way it's supposed to, okay?

Leo Billups:
Yeah, and what if the way it's supposed to work out sucks?

Mary:
Listen to me. Everything's going to be okay. Do you trust me?

Leo Billups:
Like I have a choice. [Walks into the judge's chambers]

Mary:
Finally I meet a guy that gets me and he's ten.

Mary:
"Happily ever after", the big lie. Those three insidious words, repeated again and again, promising myself and a gazillion other little girls that some day, sure as the sunset, a man prettier than ourselves would sweep us away. To live our lives forever and a day. Blah blah, blah. Never once mentioning the years of quiet desperation that surely followed. Which is why I pray with all my soul that whoever invented the lethal mantra "happily ever after" died penniless, face down in the gutter, with cats gnawing on his ears.

Mary:
Now then, I want you to understand something. This program is an opportunity very few people get. A shot at fresh start; a do-over of your entire life, but it only works if you make the decision to be a better human being than you've been and allow the possibility of something greater for yourself. And as impossible as it may seem, I've seen even bigger scumbags than you do just that and make it stick.

Deandra Bevins:
Welcome to my home, Mary, and please call me Dee. Only my son's whores are required to call me Deandra.

Marshall:
Despite my athletic prowess and my eagerness to please you, I cannot outrun a horse.

Mary:
What are you doing?

Marshall:
What? Nothing. I'm doing my job, keeping my eye on things.

Mary:
Look at me.

Marshall:
No. Why?

Mary:
Because I'm talking to you. Oh my God. You can't look at me. Marshall, for God's sake. It's not like I'm naked.

Marshall:
Naked would be better. That makes me feel so dirty.

Mary:
Good Lord. Watch the door, Purvis.

Mary:
When were you going to tell me?

Marshall:
Actually, I was going to mail it to myself so you could read it.

Mary:
Marshall. Marshall! Can you hear me?

Marshall:
I must have bumped my head.

Mary:
Yeah, that's what happened. Then you fell on a bullet.

Marshall:
Huh?

Mary:
You doofus, you got shot.

Marshall:
Oh, crap.

Mary:
What do you think?

Marshall:
I think if that really was Lola, she knows this is her only shot at Mr. Personality before he talks to the feds.

Mary:
Which means she's coming back.

Marshall:
Dun, dun, duh.

Mary:
That's pretty funny for a guy with a sucking chest wound.

Marshall:
I know.

Mary:
How are we doing?

Marshall:
Tension pneumothorax.

Mary:
That's funny. I was just going to say that.

Marshall:
Tube thorocostomy.

Mary:
Marshall, if I'm going to help you, you need to speak English.

Marshall:
No. Not exactly. Look, it's nothing like what you think.

Mary:
Oh yeah? Well you should probably explain, because I'm pretty confused. I know you love the job and I thought you-I thought we were friends.

Marshall:
We are. You're my best friend.

Mary:
Jesus, Marshall, you're like my only friend.

Marshall:
I know, and you're like my only friend.

Mary:
So? Sounds like a pretty good arrangement. What's the problem?

Marshall:
The problem with us is-

Mary:
Please just tell me.

Marshall:
I feel like I'm the keeper of this exotic animal, and I spend my time either protecting you from the world or the world from you. And it's just-it's a lot of responsibility.

Mary:
I'm sorry. But that's your job. [Kisses him on the cheek] And you cannot quit.

Marshall:
Okay.

Mary:
[Voiceover] Nietzsche was right. "We come into this world alone and we go out of it alone." Perhaps that explains why we spend our time here on earth so infuriatingly dependent on others.

Mary:
[Voiceover] Funny how things like mortgage payments and a desire to not eat cat food can get between a person and their principles. Damn, I hate principles.

Mary:
[Voiceover] If there's one thing working in witness protection has taught me it's that people hate change. Oh, we all say we want to change; get thinner, quit smoking, learn to speak Portuguese, but we don't. For better or worse, our habits define us. We turn the pages of the same tattered script over and over, clinging to our well rehearsed routines like barnacles, and nothing rankles us more than having to learn new lines.

Marshall:
What exactly is your beef with humanity?

Mary:
I have no beef with humanity. It's people I can't stand.

Mary:
[On the phone] Hey, Stan, it's Mary. Imagine my surprise when Kay Swenson showed up drunk at Jay Arnstein's gallery and got into a fistfight with Marci Arnstein. Who could have possibly predicted that deceiving a witness and helping her husband commit adultery with his tramp mistress would end badly? You'd have to be a genius to see that one coming, right? Anyway, Stan, I'll need immediate relocation authorization. Call me! Bye!

Detective Dershowitz:
Okay, what is taking you so long? Can't you go any faster?

Mary:
I could, but then I'd miss the fun of watching you lapse into hysteria.

Mary:
[Voiceover] We've all had the experience of talking about a long-lost friend with someone, and then out of the blue the phone rings and it's that same long-lost friend. Famous psychobabble quack Carl Jung called these occurrences "synchronicity." Skeptics regard these synchronicities events as mere coincidences. Others posit a pie-in-the-sky cosmic connection linking all things. Take a guess on which side of the argument I fall.

Marshall:
Man, every time I walk into a gym it gets my blood up.

Scott Worley:
Oh, did you play?

Marshall:
Badminton. We played our tournaments here. See this scar? Shuttlecock injury. Ended my career.

Scott Worley:
Is he kidding?

Mary:
I don't know. Either way, it's pathetic.

Scott Worley:
Excuse me. [Leaves]

Mary:
Way to work shuttlecock into the conversation, jackass.

Marshall:
It's one of the funnier words.

Mary:
Hey there, Socrates. What brings you to these hallowed halls? Boning up on your philosophy? Taking an oral exam? Having sex with your old professor?

Marshall:
Okay, get it out of your system.

Mary:
Look at you. All blushy.

Jinx:
[Holding an old photograph of Mary and her father] Look at this one. I think you were four, maybe five here.

Mary:
I don't remember this.

Jinx:
Your father hit corner at Belmont, went shopping at Berghoff's. Eight dollars for a little girl's dress. I almost killed him. The way he fawned. Isn't that crazy? A mother being jealous of her four-year-old daughter.

Mary:
One way or another, I am going to nail that guy. I mean literally, fillet him, nail his hide to a tree, spread it with jam and watch the squirrels go to town.

Mary:
He called me ma'am.

Marshall:
Yeah, but he was looking down your shirt when he said it.

Mary:
Why are you being so nice to me?

Mary:
[Voiceover] At first glance, one might suppose me walking into the middle of Chris's gambling problem and the arrival of the FBI letter about my father, the gambler, to be cosmically connected events. And who knows, maybe they are. But in the end, the whole happenstance versus master plan debate probably a big waste of time. All that really matters is that we cross paths at an auspicious time. Chris was lucky. He got off with a year suspension, but will still be able to play his senior year. As for me, well...

Mary:
[Voiceover] I think my least favorite phrase in the human language is "I'm sorry." Nine times out of ten when a person says they're sorry, they're really only sorry they got caught, and now want me to forgive them for something I'm still pissed off about. Which puts me in the unhappy position of either saying, "Up yours" and looking like a total bitch, or saying, "I forgive you" and feeling like a total schmuck. And that's why I hate the phrase...

Mary:
I'm sorry, but that stewardess had a bad attitude, plain and simple. I don't know how you can defend that behavior.

Marshall:
Did it ever occur to you that perhaps our flight attendant didn't appreciate being called "stewardess"?

Mary:
Yeah, well, I didn't particularly appreciate our stewardess hitting on my travel companion. Just assuming we weren't a couple. Crap! Damn it! [Raph physical therapy 3:30]

Marshall:
You must be the best girlfriend.

Marshall:
And for the record, there was no "hitting on" taking place. Just a little bit of old fashioned common courtesy.

Mary:
Really? So you think an invitation to join the mile high club is old fashioned? All right, maybe that's what passes for courtesy these days. Just not what I'd call kickin' the friendly skies old school. And by the way...if the stewardess finds the job title so objectionable, maybe he should have chosen another line of work.

Marshall:
That was beautiful. Bach, suite number three? Not something I've heard on piano before.

Lily:
Oh, it was my sister's cello piece. I was just fooling around.

Mary:
[Voiceover] People generally think of forgiveness as the flip side of contrition, the obligatory response to an apology. It is not. To forgive is to answer the call of our better angels and bear our wounds as the cost of doing business. It is that rarest of things, simple and pure...transcendent... without strings.

Mary:
[Voiceover] Okay, so Don's a little anal, and maybe Ruth's a bit of a ball buster. Who isn't ? Still, you gotta wonder, if such good people with so much in common can't find happiness together, what hope is there for the rest of us ?

Mary:
Please explain, in God's name, why you two don't get a divorce. You make each other miserable. Please don't say it's because you're catholic. Lots of catholics get divorced these days. Hell, I'm catholic, I plan on getting divorced one day.

Donald Ferguson:
It'll be a lucky man who divorces you.

Mary:
Damn straight.

Mary:
He was one of the few truly good, selfless people I've ever met.

Marshall:
You know, Ayn Rand's central thesis posits that selflessness is antithetical to good.

Mary:
A hundred bucks says you die a lonely old man.

Donald Ferguson:
Shhhhh.

Mary:
What?! I just spent two days running all over creation thinking you were kidnapped or dead! Half the hobos in Albuquerque are in mourning and Cook's facing murder charges, and you have the balls to shush me?

Mary:
[Voiceover] According to the gospel of Don, God told Don to free himself and Ruth from the surly bonds of their loveless marriage. He said that their union had fulfilled his purpose. And now Don was to leave Ruth with the belief he had perished so that they might both go out and find happiness on earth. Don, being the lord's faithful servant, was loathe to disobey. Before Don limped off into the desert night, he asked God, "Lord, you have commanded me to be happy, but you haven't told me how. "Please, Lord, what does it take for two people to be happy?" But the Lord had said all that he would say.

Mary:
[Voiceover] Every day we make hundreds of choices. Most of them innocuous either or kind of decisions, like, "should I turn right or left?" others require a bit more thought, like, "should I order the bacon-cheeseburger," which I love or some low fat flavorless salad "which I know is better for me but will ultimately leave me unsatisfied?" and then there are those really tough choices...

Marshall:
I brought you coffee and a bagel.

Mary:
You suck.

Marshall:
Excuse me? Aw, are you still on the juice fast? Aren't you crabby enough without adding Spirulina to the mix?

Mary:
Bite me. I'm trying to do something healthy for a change.

Marshall:
Why?

Mary:
Why? How about because being healthy is better than not being healthy.

Marshall:
It doesn't suit you. It seems oddly out of character. Kind of unsettling.

Mary:
Did you ever stop to think that what's in character for me isn't working for me? I'm 35-ish, I don't have a boyfriend, I live by myself, I go to work, come home, go to work. Is it so beyond the realm of reason that I want just a little bit more from my life, or is that just too much for you to wrap your little pea-brain around?

Marshall:
I've gotta believe this is the Spirulina talking.

Mary:
Got three bedrooms. Check this out. One is my bedroom. One is my office and the other is I have no idea. How great is that? I have got an entire room with no defined purpose. I can fill it with Corn Flakes if I wanted.

Marshall:
I'm not sure this neighborhood is zoned for Corn Flakes but an intriguing notion none the less.

Mary:
Okay then. Sand. I can fill it with sand. Better yet, bullets. You can never have too many bullets. That's my bullet room. I have a bullet room.

Marshall:
Well, as long as it's something practical.

Marshall:
You can stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking.

Robert Eps:
Oh, come on, man. You mean to tell me you have a partner that looks like that and you still get pissy when guys check her out? Maybe you're the one who needs to stop thinking what you're thinking.

Marshall:
Why don't you go on home?

Mary:
Nope.

Marshall:
I don't get it. So what if your mom showed up unannounced. She just wanted to surprise you.

Mary:
There are two kinds of surprises, Marshall: birthday and Pearl Harbor. Guess which category the "mom surprise" falls under? It doesn't matter. I hate them both.

Marshall:
Well you can't stay here forever.

Mary:
No, but I think I can do a week. I bet if I don't show up for a week she'll run out of food and booze and leave.

Mary:
Wow. It looks like somebody kicked the crap out of you.

Det. Roxanne Lewis:
You hit like a girl.

Mary:
Thanks, you too.

Det. Dershowitz:
Let's not start accusing people until we have the proper evidence.

Mary:
Wow. Talk about the cop calling the kettle black. [beat] That's funny. That never sounded racist until now. My bad.

Mary:
[Voiceover] Perhaps the most difficult choices to make are the ones that deny us those things our heart wants most because as it's been said, "Without reason nor prudence, the heart wants what the heart wants and more often than not, it will not be denied.

Mary:
He thinks he's got a shot with me.

Marshall:
[Speaking to their witness] You have no shot. In fact, Joe Stalin's rotting corpse has a better chance of getting into her bryuki than you do.

Mary:
Aw. You can be so sweet sometimes. [leaves the room]

Sergei:
You know, her words say nyet, but her eyes say maybe not nyet.

Marshall:
She would use you like a swizzle stick.

Mary:
Tasha's so excited for me to meet her new boyfriend. It's really sweet. Oh, God. I hope we didn't miss him. I don't know why I'm always late with her.

Marshall:
Habitual lateness most often manifests in people with control issues.

Mary:
Oh, God.

Marshall:
By arriving late on scheduled appointments you cause the person with whom the appointment was made to wait, for you, thereby controlling his or her behavior. Classic passive aggressive pathology.

Mary:
When have you ever known me to be passive about anything?

Mary:
[to Marshall] I love you like an eight dollar whore.

Marshall:
[smiles] I'm sure you mean that in a good way.

Marshall:
SwifferMuseum.com. Why? How? Why?

Mary:
What about KnittingWholesale.com? Maybe he's trying to lure old women into the lurid world of cross-stitching.

Marshall:
CowsAreEvil.com.

Mary:
Undeniable.

Marshall:
OverstockedPradaLeather.com.

Mary:
What? What was that last one?

Marshall:
Kidding.

Mary:
Bastard.

Mary:
[Voicover] I stare agape at Sunday couples. Sidewalk strollers, fingers laced, heads on shoulders, hearts laid bare. Audacious highwire artists, soaring netless. Oblivious or brave? Ignorant idiots, I observe from my spectator view. Hoping no one hears this screaming inside my head.

Mary:
There is no magic. We're not the architects of our own lives. We're monkeys strapped to a rocket and the only way to exert any influence over its trajectory is to work really, really hard.

Mary:
After dropping Brandi off at the airport to fly home to her schemy boyfriend, Chuck, with a ticket I paid for no less, only to discover her hours later at Raf's with her head in his lap, no less, an idea has formed, a realization if you will. I don't know. Anyway, here it is: My family will be the death of me and I don't mean in that "you kids will rue the day kind of way." No. I'm talking about knocking on Heaven's door, charge the beach at Normandy, shuffle off that mortal coil deceased but the real epiphany is I have absolutely no say in the matter. I wonder why I'm not more upset?

Jinx:
Mary. Oh, Sweetheart. I didn't know. But... To be fair, you make it impossible for people to know. Y-y-you come home and say y-you're fine... You're just a little tired... Which is pretty much how you come home everynight. How are people supposed to know what you're going through?

Mary:
People aren't. Why does everyone have to know what everyone else is going through? It seems intrusive.

Jinx:
Sharing the details of our lives... Is how we connect to the world.

Mary:
The world is full of assholes. Why would I want to connect with that?

Jinx:
Oh, honey... You don't have to open up to the whole world. You just have to open up with someone.

Jinx:
That first week after he left, you were so distraught. You thought it was your fault. That you had done something to make him go away. I just wanted to make you feel better. I made up this story about how you were daddy's favorite. How he loved you the most, and you had this special bond that couldn't be broken no matter how far away he was. The truth is, he loved you like he loved the rest of us. No more, no less. I'm sorry we were lying to you then, and I'm sorry about having to tell you the truth now. But I thought you would eventually realize what a fairytale this all was.

Mary:
Oh, mom. That must have been so hard for you. Wait. I want to share something with you. Stay there. [Leaves the room]

Jinx:
[To Brandi] I needed to do that. It was necessary.

Brandi:
I think it's good that she heard it.

Mary:
Sorry, you don't get to rewrite history. [Puts wooden box on the table]

Brandi:
What's that?

Mary:
Open it.

Jinx:
What are these?

Mary:
Letters I've received from daddy over the last twenty years or so. How many has he sent you guys?

Mary:
"Apparently ripping off your own people has its upside. I wish I had people to rip off."