E: Much as I love seeing a completed phrase, the law won? How so? If we mean Justice, again, okay. If we mean representatives of the law? Well, that cop lives, which gives him one up over his adversary.
I feel a little snookered by this title, if I’m being honest. I couldn’t help thinking we were going to continue more of the plot from last week, particularly the bit about Peter’s forfeiture corridor. Maybe it’s the “and,” or maybe it’s just the conclusion of the phrase which implies conclusion of a storyline, but this didn’t feel like a two parter to me and the titles implied that it would be. Sorry. I have a thing about expectations. That said, we got some very interesting movement on Peter’s campaign front. Alicia dances the line at work with really peculiar results. Clarke Hayden throws his weight around with, again, very peculiar results. And Kalinda, of course, has her big allegedly scandalous scene, so there’s certainly plenty to talk about.
Seating himself in front of a video camera, Cary explains to an unseen Clarke Hayden that he’s the newest returning member of litigation. Awkwardly, he offers up his 140 cases as an SA as proof of his value to the firm. Next, a willowy young woman smiles nervously and declares herself married to her job. Why should litigation keep you instead of, say, Alicia Florrick, Clarke wonders. Um, more transactional experience, the girl volunteers. “Also, more billable hours,” a dark haired young man (the next victim) asserts. Of course this is going to be about Alicia. Bah. Look, we know you’re not going to fire her, so why even stir up all this muck? “And, I don’t like saying it,” the man says, twiddling his slender thumbs, “but some partners have … issues with Alicia.” Really? It seems her office is rather large for a fourth year, and she’s the only 4th year on the 28th floor. Seems like something the other fourth years might be more bothered by than the partners…
And here’s Alicia herself. Why should she be spared a pink slip? “I’m good,” she smiles simply, more confident and assured than her nervous colleagues. Nice one! Hayden looks up in surprise. Better than, I don’t know, John Gaultner, he wonders not at all at random. Presumably that’s the guy we just saw? She swivels in her seat, borrowing Diane’s cat-who-ate-the-canary smile, stark against the background in a black suit, powerful. “I’m not playing that game, Mr. Hayden,” she smirks. What game is that? “Thunderdome,” she says. Ha. He twists his lips, and makes a note of it.
Nervously, Will checks his notes for his first court case after the suspension. Aw! Diane’s cleared her schedule to cheer him on – although because it’s Diane, her cheering has taken the form of sisterly taunting. She’s even- snort – bought him a textbook to help him prepare. “How’s this for ironies, Will?” Lionel Deerfield offers, hand on Will’s shoulder. It was Lionel, at the head of the ethics panel, who reluctantly gave Will the tempered suspension, and Lionel who’s his adversary now. Will thumps him on the back, ready to get back into it. It’s all rather cute.
“Good first case,” Diane comments, having slipped into the seat next to Will’s. “He’s tired. And his theory of the case is weak.” Hey! Don’t underestimate Grandpa Gilmore, Diane. “Just imagine how embarrassing it’ll be if you don’t beat him.” Thanks, you can go now, Will grouses, and Diane laughs delightedly. Hopefully she’s been a good distraction from the inside of Will’s head.
“No to NATO, no to war!” a crowd of protestors chants on a video. They’re marching amicably down a street, bicycle cops ambling along next to them. Sure, there’s a little fist pumping, but it’s all very civil; the worst sign they hold (and I use the term worst in all capacities) is “NATO stinks.” Ah, such poetry. Will confirms with the very nervous young cop on the witness stand that the protest took place last spring. He freezes the video on a young man’s face. Who’s that? “I believe that’s Tyler Beecham, the assailant,” the cop answers.
“You mean the victim,” Will counters. When Lionel objects, the judge decides both terms are objectionable. (Interesting, interesting.) Let’s just stick with his name, okay? Okay. Will’s here on the behalf of Tyler’s mother, who’s suing the city for his wrongful death. Oh, yuck. Will puts the video back on. Beecham – wearing an open blue button down over a t-shirt and carrying a backpack – get pepper sprayed. He barrels blindly at the policeman in riot gear (presumably the fellow on the stand) and is pushed back again. Mrs. Beecham turns away in tears as the officer forces her son down and zaps him.
“That’s you, shooting Mr. Beecham with a stun gun,” Will notes, freezing the film on Beecham’s agonized face. He charged me, the officer contends. And yes, he did, but why were the police busting up this protest, anyway? It was a long way from unruly. The officers started shoving people first. “He kept charging at me. The video doesn’t show all that.” Yes, the video does jump around a bit, but in what we see, Tyler’s stumbling pretty helplessly. It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to get at the cop or through him to the people on the other side, or even if he’s asking for help – he’s bent in half, which doesn’t seem very threatening. Lionel helps establish that though stun guns are set at 40,000 volts, only 1,400 actually transfer into the body. Wow, that’s incredibly inefficient if true. “If I remember my Harvard physics class correctly, Mr. Deerfield, that’s true. Sustained.” Erm, that was odd, Judge Bernard Temple.
Whatever the voltage, the film is excruciating. There’s a sizzling noise, Beecham twitches, and then foams at the mouth. Is that the mother weeping over his body? No, it’s a younger woman with curly hair. The cop stunned Tyler three times; after the third time, he stopped moving, and though the cop radioed for help, it came too late. The jury looks appalled. We see the police forcibly remove the curly-haired woman from Tyler’s still form as the EMTs (who also seem to be in riot gear) bear him away. Diane nods, pleased, as the jury recoil in horror.
Will, Diane and Clarke wait silently in the conference room for Alicia to arrive with an envelope. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention that Clarke is sitting at the head of the table. Diane has Alicia read the note aloud; Lionel’s come in with an offer of $800,000. After exclaiming her own joy loudly, Diane notes it’s the first time she’s seen Hayden smile. “I smile,” he replies shortly. Hee. “Let’s throw it back,” Will shrugs, trying to look casual. What? “We can do better. I haven’t even questioned the fiancee.” Oh, dear. His partner tries to talk him down; the city doesn’t like to pay on wrongful death, and this is a good offer. Unfortunately, Will’s got his gambler face on. After the fiancee’s testimony, they’ll have to double this.
“No,” insists Clarke. But it turns out he doesn’t have the authority to make them close a case, only prevent them from taking one. Interesting. The trustee huffs his displeasure. “This is how you got into this hole – placing passion over pragmatism.” Clarke, if you think what’s motivating Will here is passion for a cause, you’re not as smart as I thought. Though perhaps that isn’t what he meant by passion. Will and Diane pat themselves on the back for standing up to him. Funny how the opposition totally removed Diane’s concerns about not taking the settlement, huh? That was a tactical misstep, Clarke.
Once the trustee is gone, Diane updates Will on their latest financial gains as Alicia squirms in the background: David Lee’s pulled in some “receivables,” Sweeney’s been “good, and all in all, they’ve managed to pull in 2 of the 60 million they need to climb back out of that hole. Yeah, that’s just ducky. “He’s forcing us to sell the 27th floor, we’ll be like steerage up here,” Will whines. Diane has a plan for that, or at least a hope – their newest landlord is a semiconductor magnate named Maddie Hayward, who shares Diane’s passion for Emily’s List. Perhaps Diane can talk her down from continuing the “exponential” rent increase in the name of sisterhood.
Once Will’s trundled off with a promise to do his best on this case, Diane pigeonholes Alicia. Step in as second chair, will you? “Will needs someone to impress.” Heh. I’m kind of amazed Diane’s willing to play that angle. Oh, no, John Gaultner’s on it, I’ll just talk to him, Alicia demurs. Except – dun dun dun- Clarke just let him go. Well, we knew Alicia wouldn’t be the one to lose that particular game of Thunderdome, if for no other reason than her refusal to play. Outside, Will’s leaving a frustrated message for Kalinda as he heads to the elevators. “This is my fourth call,” Will snaps, “I need you on this case.”
Where Kalinda turns out to be is sharing vanilla soft serve with estranged husband Nick. Is this an oblique crack about the vanilla sex they don’t have? I can’t help thinking that it is. It’s also uncharacteristically innocent for her – usually she’s out for shots, even in the middle of the day, sitting in a bar rather than at an ice cream counter like high school kids in the fifties. So it’s odd. In addition to just being plain old phallic, what with the cone and the licking. “You left me,” Nick grumbles. Yep. “I wish I’d been there to see your face,” she smirks. It seems he was serving a two year prison sentence when she left. Okay, that explains some things. Kalinda can be very loyal, so I don’t want to say that he was crazy to expect her to wait, but he’s talking about her as if she were the proverbial little woman, so to speak, which makes me laugh. Almost. “Instead, you take my money and you burn my clothes.” Okay, now that does make me laugh.
“Did you cry?” He regards her in disbelief. She leans in. “Seriously, did you cry?” Ha. He takes a moment to answer. “I don’t remember you being such a bitch,” he claims. “You have a bad memory,” she shrugs, unconcerned, returning to her ice cream. Ha. He leans in, shoulder behind her. “You remember this?” he rumbles, his voice low, and after a furtive glance around the room, he moves his arm and she jerks upright. His eyes are fastened to her face. “Hmmm?” She’s jostled around a bit. Her brows contract, and slowly she turns to face him. “I remember you being better at it,” she says without much concern, giving her ice cream another lick.
Clearly peeved and disappointed, Nick removes his hand, pulls it up to the counter, and shoves two fingers that are still pressed close together right into the middle of her ice cream.
Which, ew. Dude! (I don’t care how short her skirts are; could you really do that sitting at a lunch counter? And I mean the mechanics of it, not the brass it’d take to make the attempt in a room full of families. Whatever; the implication is clear.) Her face slays me. There’s a tiny moment of “hey, that was my ice cream!” before she realizes what she needs to do in order to keep one upping him. So she turns to him, looks right into his eyes, delicately but deliberately takes a big old lick from the center of the cone.
Cut to a well appointed room of well dressed business women clapping. The table tops are white marble, there are flowers and crystal and dining chairs with white upholstery. Diane’s doing some of the clapping, and Maura Tierney’s doing the speaking at a pretty luncheon. They’re so great with the cognitive dissonance scene changes. “Sheryl Sandberg thinks we can have it all, Anne-Marie Savage thinks we can’t have it all, all I can think is, what the hell. Have you ever heard a man wonder if he could have it all?” She very clearly says Savage instead of Slaughter, but what she’s referencing is this excellent Atlantic article which tore up the internet last spring – worth reading if you haven’t already, if only for its relevance to this show. I think I’ve made that mistake with her name myself. “So why are we saddled with so much guilt? I have enough Catholic and Jewish guilt – now I have feminist guilt, thank you very much.” Everyone smiles and claps, though I wonder if they know exactly what she’s promoting. Does she fear guilt for having it all, or for not having it all?
Diane chases Maddie down after her speech and re-introduces herself. “I hear we’re going to be neighbors,” she says. So not only has Maddie bought our floors, she’s bought – is it the whole building? L&G’s the 27 through 29th floors, and Maddie’s company will be both above and below. “So if you ever want to borrow a cup of sugar,” she smiles, polite but clearly more interested in her phone than the conversation. Diane wants her to consider rent relief (I love that Maddie’s driver takes her coat and purse while Diane’s making the pitch) and Maddie tells her to write up a proposal and give it to her staff. “That’s really who you should be speaking to on this.” Ouch.
“Oh,” Maddie stops. “You have someone in your firm that I read about. Someone in litigation.” Diane assumes it’s Will (due to his suspension or his top bachelor status, we’ll never know) but no, it’s Alicia. “That woman who stood by her husband.” Indeed, and it turns out Alicia’s on the reorganization committee. Oh, is there an actual committee? And does Alicia actually know about it, or are you making this up as you go along, Diane? Great, Maddie responds brightly, have her call. Diane can’t tell anymore than I can whether this interest bodes well or ill for the firm.
As Diane sits, worried, at the posh restaurant’s bar, Will asks quietly “would you like to take a moment?” The curly haired girl from the video, her eyes round with tears, shakes her head. Tyler wasn’t even protesting, the fiancee tells us. I was the true believer, not him. As Alicia sits down in the second chair’s chair, we see a lovely picture of the happy couple, arms wrapped around each other. A month earlier, they’d been planning an August wedding. Will clicks to the video of the girl clutching at Tyler’s lifeless body. “I just wanted to hold him one last time.” Will clicks up a smaller copy of the smiling engagement photo and leaves both images on the screen.
And that turns out to be a mistake.
As the fiancee, Miss Swiekert, sniffles on the bench, Deerfield declines to cross examine her. Judge Temple’s getting ready for his Harvard Alumni meeting (just look at the glow on his face) and Alicia’s breaking the bad news about Gaultner to Will as the bailiff brings something to the judge’s bench. And it changes everything. Calling the lawyers up to talk, Temple explains Illinois Court Rule 283, a new procedure which allows jurors to submit written questions directly to witnesses. Oooh, I love that idea as much as I love Edward Herrmann’s performance here – his plaintive objections and his dry request for elucidation slayed me. Heaven forbid the jury think for themselves instead of following his line of reasoning without question! Temple quotes one of his Harvard professors: “You can never have too many knights in the quest for justice.” Indeed. (Anyone else thinking Diane should have put Harvard grad Cary in as second chair?) Will’s hoping the question’s a good thing, if only in that it’ll give them insight into one jury member’s thinking.
The question? Check out those hands in both pictures. Why wasn’t Miss Swiekert wearing her engagement ring at the protest? Doh. The jury watches her closely; my bet is on the woman with long blond hair watching closest of all. Will tries to lead his witness to say that she put it away for safe keeping, but she follows his lead so exactly and so ineptly that it’s clear she has something to hide. Shoot. “What the hell was that, I’ve suddenly got Columbo on the jury?” Will grouches as he and Alicia walk out of the courtroom. Hey, these kind of legal TV shows have trained us way too well. Power to the jury! I love it! And hurray for the legal system that the jurors are paying such close attention. Whipping out her phone, Alicia too tries to track down the errant investigator. Kalinda, we need you!
Back at the office, Alicia establishes that the engagement ended at the protest. Damn! Does that mean, what – that she just took off the ring there? She’s wearing it now. Either way, the girl’s in tears. She thought it would look bad, so she kept it to herself. And she was right! Sigh. People. Alicia joins Will, Diane and Clarke in the conference room. “Well, she did it. She broke it off.” Alicia makes it sound like a murder, and that’s about how horrified they all are. Where does that leave us, Clarke wonders. That went the sympathy component of their case – not to mention the jury’s trust. (Will shoots Alicia a tough glance when she points that one out.) Clarke wants Will to take the offer, which Will thinks is still on the table. You can hope. Clarke and Diane both try to corner Alicia on the way out; Diane wins.
Will and Diane formally ask Alicia to present their rent plan to Maddie. Diane can’t help but ask if Alicia knows Maddie (no, only by name), and Will lets on that Ms Hayward did, in fact, buy the entire building. Ah. Alicia’s alarmed at the responsibility, and also confused.
Aaand, there’s Kalinda. Will chases her down the hallway like a truant officer following a wayward juvenile, and Kalinda responds like one. I can’t remember Will ever being angry with an employee like that. Is she not answering her phone? He’s got a rogue juror and he needs her on the case, stat! Er, what case? Oh, honey. You could have asked someone else that later and not looked quite so lost, couldn’t you? “Kalinda, what is wrong with you?” he thunders. I’d think that was mean, except for it being so clear that something is wrong with her. “Look, I was gone, but now I’m back,” she says, satisfying no one. He needs her to sit in on the case with Cary and figure out which juror has prior information on the witnesses so he can hopefully get rid of them. What, you don’t think someone could have just been that observant? It has to be a conspiracy?
She’s off – but wait. “Kalinda, this matters,” Will tells her, deadly serious. “We work for the trustee now, and I am out on a limb.” Ah, so not quite as non-nonchalant as you’d have us believe, huh? “I’m on it,” she swears. But as soon as Will’s gone, she’s got a call from Nick. ‘Tonight. I’m gonna pick you up.” Ugh. What to do, what to do.
Tap tap tap goes Clarke Hayden with his pencil, taking his usual long time in getting to the point. I really like him, but ugh. Why did they have to introduce two characters with such similar names in successive episodes? Now I can’t write Hayden or Hayward without thinking I’m writing the wrong one. Anyway. Clarke wants to know what Alicia thinks of Allison Saybok. Is this another test? More Thunderdome? There were some tensions between you last year over the Sweeney proxy fight, he presses. We settled that, Alicia quickly explains, everything turned out great, and she’s very nice. He takes notes. It’s an overpopulated department, he observes. Yes, that’s true, she agrees, and then remembers who she’s talking to. “I mean, I don’t know if that’s true.” Ha! That’s great. We’re in an overfull lifeboat, Clarke observes, I have to trim Mergers & Acquisitions, and I’m asking your opinion. “I like Allison Saybok,” she affirms, “and I don’t know anyone else in that department.”
Kalinda pops in. “What’d he want?” I don’t know, Alicia shrugs. Seems like my office has a therapy couch in it these days. Well, that’s a little harsh. It’s not like he was asking her opinion of his tie or his dating options. But lets hope you don’t have a general problem with personal revelations, Alicia, because Kalinda’s here to come clean about Nick. Alicia opens her mouth and tries to speak four separate times before managing to ask if Kalinda sent him to the firm. Hell to the no! He’s trying to expand his business here against my will, Kalinda explains. Was he the man who called me, Alicia wonders immediately. No. Is he dangerous? I don’t know, Kalinda claims, which might just reveal the depth of his hold on her. You said he was, Alicia recalls. I know, Kalinda waffles, but maybe he isn’t anymore.
I’ll buy that for a dollar. Perhaps the question she’s waffling about is whether Nick would pose a danger to anyone other than her? Because she, of course, can handle him. Right. But this all means that Alicia should drop the case. “Yup, I’m exhausted. And it’s not even noon yet.” I hear ya, sister.
She looks perky enough back at court, introducing an expert witness, a coroner from Dayton. And you will seriously never guess where he got his doctorate from! Harvard? Get out of town! Judge Temple perks up immediately. It’s so good to be with a fellow Harvard man; I’m surrounded by Georgetown philistines here, God help me. Yes. I’m not paraphrasing; he used the words “Harvard Man” and “Georgetown Philistines,” honest to goodness he does. Lionel Deerfield, deliciously, rolls his eyes. After everyone’s time in the hallowed Cambridge halls are established, Alicia sets about with their argument – that pepper spray can leave person gasping for air, and its effect are compounded when combined with the stun gun. Clearly the police (including Officer Maylin) should not use them together. As he makes this argument, Cary and Kalinda takes notes on which jurors are taking notes and which ones are paying closest attention. Like me, Kalinda picks out the woman with the long blond hair (juror #2) as being particularly invested.
Maddie Hayward’s touring the empty offices of a former securities giant. Sad to see the masters of the universe fall, isn’t it? Alicia’s there waiting for her. “Miss Hayward,” she says, extending her hand. They shake. “Maddie,” Maura Tierney corrects. “Or Miss Hayward. I don’t mind being objectified.” Oh dear. That didn’t start well, did it? I mean, she’s genial enough, but it’s a tough accusation for a first meeting among non-equals. Actually, though, Alicia looks amused. Better you than me!
After allowing Alicia to begin her pitch (which includes the fact that they’re going to have to compress from three floors to one – huh? – without relief but oddly not the exponential increase touted last week), Maddie cuts her off. How long have you been at Lockhart/Gardner? This is her fourth year. And you like it? I do. Maddie walks away, leaving Alicia bemused.
“A lot of people ask you about staying with your husband,” she observes. Okaaaay. They did, Alicia agrees, but it’s dying down. Not for long, though, considering he’s running again, right? Yes, Alicia laughs, that’s probably how it’ll go. “Do these questions make you uncomfortable?” Maddie wonders. No, Alicia lies, making way for the real estate agent and his pitch. How many offices does this woman need – even if she’s moved half her company to Chicago? I like that her clothes are so unstructured, by the way. It’s very matter of fact, and perhaps vaguely Californian. “That’s my driver,” Maddie admits. “I bring him along, they think he’s the buyer, I get some time alone.” How sexist of them. And how stupid not to know who this woman is when clearly she’s potentially such an important client. Alicia smiles.
So, is Alicia campaigning with Peter? Yes. You agree with him politically? “Enough,” Alicia shrugs. Maddie smiles. “I can’t find five people in the world I agree with politically.” Huh. That’s fair enough. Look how disappointed Maddie looks when Alicia hands her the proposal! “You can’t stay?” she almost pouts. No – Alicia’s here instead of eating between sessions at court. Ah. But hey, her number (and her cell phone number) is on the proposal. They smile awkwardly, and Alicia leaves Maddie with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Dr. Lidera, what is excited delirium?” Lionel Deerfield asks as Alicia scurries back into court. Roughly, it’s a combination of agitation and aggression, and Deerfield wants us to believe that Tyler suffered from it. This condition can be caused by drugs, and even though the tox screen done with the autopsy was negative, Deerfield reminds us (reading from a piece of paper) that some meth-amphetamines can leave no trace in the system even a few hours after taken. Ah. So just because there’s no proof, it doesn’t mean that the kid wasn’t on drugs or had some sort of mental condition which made him likely to attack the cop who would then be justified in killing him? Will and Alicia of course object, and Kalinda and Cary profile the jurors based on their perceived reactions. Judge Temple excuses the coroner, calling him Mr., not Dr., which is odd – until, wait! Dun dun dun! Just listen to the joy in Judge Temple’s voice as another knight holds up a sword; which is to say, there’s another question from the jury.
And man, it’s like Kalinda wants to stay in the dog house; she didn’t see which juror wrote the note. Blast! This time Lionel Deerfield has no objections. And the question is this; did Lidera screen for anti-depressants? Will’s head sinks down, while Deerfield and his assistant’s go up. Uh oh. We didn’t run that kind of test, Lidera answers. And now Lionel wants to ask some follow up questions on that topic. Ah ha! So if we can’t prove that Tyler Beecham was high, maybe we can assert that he was depressed? Lionel spears Will with a knowing look. And might a “catastrophic event” like getting dumped by one’s fiancee make that worse?
I object, Will says – “beyond the scope.” No, returns Judge Temple, but I’d agree if you wanted to say that he had no reason to believe that Tyler was on anti-depressants (ie, an objection on “foundation”). Unfortunately, Will cannot say that.
Temple drags everyone into his chambers. Great. So Tyler was on anti-depressants? The judge is livid. Alicia and Will seem to feel that because the drugs were proscribed 3 years ago, they’re not relevant to the two years of medical records the defense asked for. Well, I guess the question is, was he still taking them? Because then it’s very clearly relevant. It seems they have no idea whether Tyler was still taking them or not (though you’d think that would be easy information for them to get). Not cool, us, not cool. On the other hand, if it’s actually true there was no evidence that the prescription had been refilled, and if he only took them for a month 3 years ago, it probably isn’t relevant. So which is it? Was that us prevaricating, or everyone else leaping to conclusions? The judge doesn’t seem to care. We’ll be sanctioned if we withhold anything else.
In a cold fury, Will sidles up to Lionel outside in the hall and asks about a settlement. 800,000? Will wonders. “You mean the offer you turned down,” Lionel asks mildly. Yeah, that one. Lionel sniggers. “You gotta love the jury system,” he laughs.
Yep. We’re in serious trouble.
“Tell me that again,” Nick Saverese demands. We’re too busy to take your case any longer, Alicia lies. I’m ready to incorporate, he says, but she stands firm, politely offering a list of possible replacements. “What am I missing here?” he wonders. Really? Can’t you guess? Or do you just like making Alicia lie? She does: “I don’t think anything.” Actually, that’s probably true. He certainly ought to know that Kalinda would want him gone. Would he expect her to talk to someone about him or not, that’s the question. He drinks two cups of mineral water, just to make her squirm (which she mostly doesn’t), stands, wipes his face with his hand and nearly burps (lovely). “Okay, Meeessus Florrick,” he says oddly, suddenly sounding like Hannibal Lector, and walks out. He slouches through the office, knocking over a small sculpture as he goes, still wiping his mouth. Dude, do you really care that much, or is it just that you think no one should ever say no to you? Creepy. As he walks on to the elevator, he sees Kalinda, smirking, her hip thrown out at a sassy angle, proclaiming herself the victor. He blows her a kiss using only two fingers on his right hand.
What Kalinda’s supposed to be doing with her time is presenting Mystery Juror options to Will. We see the head shots of the seven jurors who’re taking their notes on yellow legals. The comment about the ring suggest a woman (duh!) or someone who knows Brianna Sweikert personally; Cary and Kalinda have shown Brianna the line up and she doesn’t recognize anyone. Something she probably would have notice while in court, but whatever. There are no doctors or spouses of doctors to know about the anti-depressants. So is Will being paranoid?
Well, here’s something to feed his paranoia. Juror #5, Emma Hannahan (say that five times fast!), crossed out the number of children on her Voir Dire form, taking it from 3 to 2. Which suggests she’s lost a child, which suggests she could have personal experience of depression. Sure, okay, but you take any twelve people off the street and I don’t care how detailed your form is; you still don’t know them. You don’t know who might be taking medication or knows about it because their best friend or sister-in-law does, or because they took a psych class in college or roomed with a pre-med major or did a paper on marketing prescription drugs for an MBA program. And why are they so sure the two questions came from the same person? Anyway. Will sics Kalinda on #5, a woman perhaps in her 70s. He can’t get her excused, he says, but he could tailor the case to her.
In the hall, Kalinda bumps into Alicia. This meeting’s done – how was your other one? Both meetings were fine. Oh, come on! This season is running dangerously low on meaningful and fun Kalinda/Alicia time, and it’s barely started! They’re finally, finally talking to each other normally after an entire year of cold shoulders and begging and misery. Could we please get on with the good times, then? Throw us a bone!
Alas, no. No bones for you! Instead Diane calls Alicia into her office to beg for scraps about Maddie Hayward. She didn’t want to talk about the lease much, Alicia confesses. “Yes, well, she’s a funny one,” Diane notes. Quite so. Was she open to the proposal? Seemed to be, I hope, Alicia replies. I gave her my number in case she wanted to call. Why don’t you call her, Diane suggests, and then she sighs at a knock on her door. “This is awful. The trustee let Mergers & Acquisitions go.” What, the whole department? Are you kidding? That’s some answer to it being overstaffed. “Not all of it,” Diane shrugs. “Allison Saybok, oddly enough. Not sure what she’s going to do on her on.” You can see the wheels turning in Alicia head. No, it couldn’t be…
“Yes, money is always a concern,” Peter tells a reporter on his campaign bus, ” but we have campaign laws for a reason, and I’m not going to jeopardize the campaign…” He’s cut off by Eli, hissing like a tea kettle. Can I just steal him for a minute, Bobby, he asks the female reporter, and then he flaps his hands in excitement. What the heck was that, Peter wonders, but Eli can’t stop babbling. We were worried about money, and then this, I can’t account for it… And that’s when he introduces Maddie Hayward.
Suavely, Peter confesses he’s followed her career through Forbes magazine and has always been a fan. “Thank you,” Maddie declares gravely, “I think I’m becoming a fan as well.” Astounded, Peter wants to give credit to Eli for talking about him. “No, I’ve just met Eli, but your wife has,” Maddie explains. Peter looks ready to fall over. “Alicia?” he gasps. Do you have another wife? “You sound surprised,” Maddie laughs. “I didn’t know you knew each other,” he recovers nicely. We just met yesterday, she explains, but already I’m thinking about contributing to your campaign.
Admirably, Peter refrains from drooling. (Thankfully Eli is off screen; I can imagine all too easily what his face would look like.) I thought you only gave to women candidates, he asks – and yeah, manly, womanizing Peter surely doesn’t fit that bill. “I mostly support female candidates,” she acknowledges, “but I like your wife.” Wow. “You two are separated?” No, says Eli. “Yes,” says Peter. The truth is always the better course; I love it when Peter remembers that. “But she’s supporting you,” Maddie presses, and both men nod. ‘They’re trying to work things out,” Eli flutters. “By not sleeping with prostitutes,” Maddie guesses. Bwah! I”m glad I wasn’t drinking anything when she said that. For a fraction of a second, Peter stares at her, aghast, and then laughs his big, Joker laugh.
If she supports him, will she have anything to worry about on that score? “Another prostitute, another mistress, a furtive kiss on the campaign bus?” No you don’t, he assures her, his eyes serious. And what assurances does she have of this? “Because I just told you,” Peter replies. Well, I guess it’s true – all he really has is his word. What guarantee can you give for the future? “Peter’s changed, that’s why” Eli proclaims in what he hopes is a rousing tone, causing Peter to give him an exasperated look. “I don’t believe people can change,” Maddie shakes her head. “You know what? I didn’t either,” Peter tells her, “and then I went to prison.” Touche.
Everyone, including us, watches Juror #5 as Tyler’s therapist takes the stand. It turns out that he only saw Tyler briefly three years ago. I’ll say it again – I don’t think you can get a prescription for an antidepressant and then not see a doctor for 3 years and keep getting the pills. He suffered from nervousness and insomnia – not, as Will’s quick to point out, the deep depression caused by a family tragedy. Hi there, Juror #5. The therapist prescribed a SSRI for anxiety over job loss, not depression. Again, I’m not sure why this is currently relevant, but okay.
And, ha ha ha ha ha. How much do I love the continuity on this show? To Will’s surprise and frustration, Lionel Deerfield points out on cross that Tyler was taking Alvatil. Seriously. I can’t stop laughing. How did Will not know this? Dude, you’re clearly not up to fighting shape. Lionel points out that Alvatil can increase suicidal tendencies, as Lockhart/Gardner proved in a civil case. Heck there’s even been a study on it, from – wait for it – Harvard Medical School. “I think I’ll allow a little leeway here,” the judge smirks. So if you’re taking a drug for depression, Lionel theorizes (and Will should be all over this, since it’s not why Beecham was taking the drug and is also clearly leading the witness), and it makes you suicidal, couldn’t you be driven to “suicide by cop”? Will objects thunderously and is sustained far too late. And now at least half the jury’s passing written questions to the bailiff. Judge Temple beams.
Kalinda comes home to find Nick sitting in her white wing back chair, waving a gun at her. “Shut the door,” he says. She tries to laugh. “I said, shut the door,” he repeats, pointing the gun at her this time. Correctly downplaying his threat, she leaves the door open and goes to the bathroom instead. “Where are you going?” he snaps, following her futilely. “You are really pissing me off!” he howls, and then punches an ornate wall mirror which was oddly place at waist level. And, damn. Somehow, to my shock and disgust, this has the desire effect. She comes out of the bathroom, he sits on her bed, moaning, and she tends to his bloodied hand like Belle in Beauty and Beast. Are you kidding me?
“So stupid,” she declares girlishly, dabbing at his knuckles with a towel. Really? Really? You would be the stupid one in this scenario! Kick him OUT, Kalinda! That was not romantic. Oh, he loves me so much he hurt himself breaking my stuff! Snap out of it, girlfriend. Get yourself together.
Per usual, they haven’t turned on the lights. We see reflections off stretches of skin and curved edges of clothing. “Why do you hurt me,” Nick wonders like every lame abuser ever. I only wish she’d hurt you, you idiot. Shut up, she replies. Oh how I wish he would! Instead, he declares his love, and grabs her by the back of her neck. “And I always will,” he adds, leaning his forehead against hers. “Lie back?” she asks in a strange, quiet tone, as if she thought he would say no. He does, acting as if it were physically arduous; she climbs on top of him and kisses him. Are you going to tie him up? Shackle him to the bed and call the cops? Kalinda, what is wrong with you? “How’ve you been, baby?” he asks.
Yack yack yack yack ick.
Is that the Imperial March from Star Wars? Because that couldn’t overlap more appropriately. It is! Awesome. It’s also appropriate for a “Die In” protest, in which varying college student looking types lay on the ground pretending to be bloody corpses. Kalinda’s attending the Die In to talk with one of the Nato/War protest organizers, one Carl Bayliss, about Tyler. Just as she said, it was Brianna who was really involved, not Tyler. “He’s the last guy I thought would get into it with a cop,” the curly topped fellow in the bloody hoodie shakes his head. Kalinda explains the defense’s theory about erratic behavior and suicide by cop. “No,” Carl says, smiling incredulously, “dude was always pretty calm. I couldn’t believe he got stickered.” Is that a note of jealousy I hear?
And oh ho, what’s this? Carl points to a round red sticker – like what you get when you buy milk at the grocery store, only a little larger – on the back of his cardboard sign. “Undercover cops were going around sticking these on your back if they thought you were a trouble maker. They called it extraction. They’d come back later and pull out all the black block anarchists.” Huh. Sounds like a smoking gun to me! The slightly embarrassed Carl had to buy his, but Tyler definitely got one on his backpack at the protest.
Back at the office, Kalinda sits in the conference room (seriously, why does she not have her own private space? ridiculous) comparing the cell phone picture she took of the video footage from the Nato protest. And look at this – we can plainly see the red dot on Tyler’s backpack. Kalinda makes up for being out of it before by noticing three things. First, the red dot on Tyler Beecham’s backpack wasn’t a sticker, it was a smiley face button. Second, Officer Maylin’s face momentarily takes on an extremely shifty, furtive expression. And finally, when we see the backback again, the button is gone.
Smoking gun, no doubt about it.
“Alicia, I really don’t know how to thank you,” Eli enthuses in the hall. Alicia couldn’t be more surprised to hear that she somehow convinced Maddie Hayward to back Peter financially. I like that cream colored jacket, by the way – everything she’s worn this episode has been gorgeous. “I owe you!” he cries, jaunting down the hall past everyone’s favorite trustee. Clarke Hayden wants to talk, and the already bewildered Alicia wants to squirm out of it but can’t see her way to it.
Once they’re back in her office, Clarke comes out with about what Alicia expected, in kind if not in detail. What does she think of Amy Hampton, Gus Nathanson, and Bruce Garvin? If possible she turns a shade paler; all three lawyers are from Family Law. Because that’s just what she needs, more ire from David Lee. “I like all of them,” she declares primly. Clarke raises his head. “That doesn’t sound very… genuine,” he notes. “I just… feel like I’ve been put in an uncomfortable position, Mr. Hayden,” she worries. And what position is that? “Arbiter of people’s fates,” she explains.
He sighs. “I am conferring with other people, Mrs. Florrick. You’re hardly an arbiter of anything.” Now she feels like she’s overstepped or imagined things, and apologizes. He leaves without pressing further, but she can’t help calling after him. “I like them all. All three people that you mentioned, I like them.” He looks at her sadly, nodding. “I appreciate that – thanks.”
“Alicia!” Maddie Hayward calls out across the courtroom hallway. “I’m not stalking you, I promise.” She’s at the courthouse to meet a probate judge she’s backing for the appellate court (a woman, of course) and thought she might try to catch Alicia while they were both there. “Eli told me you’re backing Peter?” Alicia cuts the other woman off. Yes. “Thank you,” Alicia begins, “and I hope you didn’t think I was…”
It’s Maddie’s turn to cut Alicia off; no, not at all. “I was… I was impressed.” Alicia smiles, pleased. “Speaking of which,” Maddie twitches, “this is a little bit awkward, so I’m just going to say it. Would you like to have a drink sometime?” Flushing, Alicia looks everywhere but at Maddie. Sorry, but I’m, you know, married, she stammers. “Oh,” Maddie gulps, “I wasn’t hitting on you.” They both laugh. “Now it’s really awkward,” Maddie throws up her hands. Alicia apologizes, citing the general weirdness of her day. I’ll bet. No problem, Maddie says. “I just… well, the thing is, I don’t have many friends, Alicia. There, I said it.” Yes, and you said it to the right person. Alicia can definitely relate. I wonder if the single minded pursuit of a business career prevents you from making friends, or make you particularly uncertain about your old ones? “Sometimes it’s hard to know if someone wants to be your friend or if they … want something from you.”
Well. Now, to me, that would be extra awkward, between Peter’s candidacy and the firm’s rental issues, but Alicia smiles in relief and in genuine understanding. “I can imagine,” she says. And if you’re going to be the governor’s wife, you’ll be able to do more than that. “So, um, I’m going to say it again. Would you like to have a drink with me sometime?” Looking away again, Alicia laughs. “What’s so funny,” Maddie asks, looking a little vulnerable. Don’t worry, she’s not laughing at you. “I just can’t remember the last time someone just approached me for a drink. And I would be delighted.” Yay! That’s so nice! Not that I want you to stop drinking with Kalinda, that is. Also, do people not just go out for coffee anymore? Surely coffee wouldn’t have been so easily misunderstood. Still, and despite all the weird obligations between them, this is a lovely development. The two women blink happily at each other, giggling. Maddie’s bright red. “Look at us, acting like normal human beings!” They plan their non-date for the following night.
And in case you were looking for more fun, Will’s got Officer Maylin back on the stand. Was this protest your first time on the riot squad? That’s not what we call it, Maylin insists, but essentially, yes. “Your adrenaline was pumping,” Will suggests, and Maylin admits that too is accurate. “So tell me about the stickers, the red stickers,” Will asks; Lionel claims he has no foundation to ask, and Will explains the use of the stickers. “You can’t just feed the foundation into the record!” Lionel exclaims. “That’s why I’m asking the question of Officer Maylin,” Will snaps, testy, and Judge Temple agrees. Ah, poor Lionel, sitting down in defeat. You were so close.
At first, Maylin insists he didn’t see a red sticker on Tyler’s backpack, so Will puts the video up. “That’s you, right there, you didn’t see that?” Ha. No, he didn’t. But you see it now? No. Will’s exasperated. “You don’t see it right now, in this still?” No, Maylin insists, looking at Will instead of at the screen. Good luck with that, babycakes. Lionel clears his throat and waggles his mighty eyebrows at the video. “What, you mean on the screen there?” Maylin attempts to recover. Will’s disbelieving expression here is genius. Oh, on the screen! Why didn’t I think of just turning my head? Of course on the screen. Yeah, he sees it. “Good,” Will agrees, “maybe Mr. Deerfield can clear his throat twice for yes.” The jury laughs.
“Unfortunately what Mr. Beecham had on his backpack wasn’t a red sticker, it was a smiley face button. Can you see that there, you see the smile?” Will continues. Yeah, Maylin can see it. “Now, let’s fast-forward a little bit. After you pepper-sprayed Terry and after you sent 1400 volts through his body and after he died, there, look.” Will freezes on the backpack, minus the button. (And no, I didn’t write that wrong, he got the name wrong.) “What’s missing from his backpack?” Oh, Will. Maylin bites his bottom lip. “What isn’t there anymore?” He waits a beat. “I understand why you don’t want to answer, the button isn’t there because you removed it.” Lionel objects (argumentative), Will acts innocent, but we all know what’s been revealed. “You removed the red button because you made a mistake and you were trying to cover your tracks, isn’t that correct?” The judge sustains the objection, but you can’t unhear something like that.
“He charged at me,” Maylin cries desperately. “It was there before. Why does it matter if it was there then?” “But you said you didn’t see it before,” Will counters, and Maylin slumps back, frustrated. Understandably, Deerfield wants the whole line of questioning deleted from the record but the judge knows it’s too important. Not a total buffoon, then. And is there a single member of the jury without a question to submit? Doesn’t look like it.
Clarke Hayden accosts Alicia in the hall back at the office. Why did you drop Nick Saverese as a client? We need his business! Without revealing anything, Alicia tries to explain away her objections to Nick as just revolving around the legal issues (hiding his status as a felon) but Clarke will have none of it. “Tell him you made a mistake, and the firm is retaining his business.” Okay, Alicia time to come out with your real objection. “I’m not sure that would be advisable,” she offers instead. Clarke just repeats himself, patronizing. “Tell him you made a mistake, and the firm is retaining his business.” Damn.
Sigh. I know she doesn’t want to break Kalinda’s trust, but how hard is to say that Nick’s stalking a member of the staff and his return would be a safety concern? At that point Alicia could take cover under attorney client issue and so not reveal Kalinda’s name. Or she could have gone to Will and Diane with it – should have – and they probably would have told her that Clarke could veto a new client but not force them to take one. Or at least that’s how I’d interpret what they’d already said. At any rate, even with Kalinda’s desire for privacy and Alicia’s desire to please authority figures, I have trouble imagining our girl would just accede to this demand. I can’t see it. I certainly would have put up more of a fight.
But just because Alicia’s looking unhappy, it doesn’t mean the this day’s done smacking her around. She continues to Diane’s office, where Diane (wearing a floral blouse), refuses to look at her. Maddie Hayward isn’t helping them; it would set a bad precedent. Lovely. “But she is giving to your husband’s campaign,” Diane finishes, glaring. Did Maddie tell her that, or did Eli? Alicia looks stricken. She stumbles to explain that she didn’t solicit Maddie, certainly not at the firm’s expense, but Diane remains cold and aloof. “We’re going to have to lose the 27th floor now,” Diane grits. I know, and I’m sorry, Alicia gasps. Oh, come on, don’t blame Alicia for this – saving it was a long shot in the first place. Gosh, what a hideous position for Maddie to put her in, isn’t it? Demand she be the one to pitch you because you want to meet her, when you probably always knew you weren’t going to help out? There must have been an easier way to get an introduction. But perhaps Maddie didn’t make it to the pages of Forbes magazine by being delicate about people’s feelings.
Oh blessed interruption; Will sticks his head in the door. Lionel Deerfield wants to talk. Phew! “Bring it home,” Diane nods, “we need it.” Especially after you failed us, Alicia: that implication hangs in the air. Huh – back in court so quickly? First he offers 2.5 mil; Will and Alicia are able to drive the bid up, because they now have Maylin’s partner ready to testify that the rookie wanted to “make a mark” at the protest. “I’m sure the jury will have questions about that,” Will squints. Ha. 3 million, then? Lionel’s big sigh doesn’t help. He’s forced to make it 3.5 as the Judge calls the court back to session. “Your Honor, I believe we have a settlement,” Will smiles.
Alrighty! Will Clarke the trustee be pleased, do you think, or still peeved that they continued the case at all? Whatever their cut, that’s got to help significantly more.
Strains of country music fills the air as Peter’s campaign bus drives down a slick highway. Alicia – dolled up for the night in a cute black dress and curlier hair, modern but with Jackie O references – checks her phone as Eli enthuses about the night’s work. Great reaction to the speech, good fundraising totals, and that doesn’t even include Maddie’s support announcement. “Eli,” Peter laughs, extending his hand, “you are doing a great job.” “You are road drunk,” Eli sniffs, but then he smiles and heads to the middle of the bus with the other staffers and Peter’s spare shirts. Still chuckling, Peter tosses a clip board onto the coffee table (yes, the bus has a coffee table – nice bus! – situated between the little couches or benches Alicia and he lounge on separately) and thanks Alicia for talking him up to Maddie. “We didn’t even know she was in play,” he marvels.
“I don’t even know what I did,” Alicia puzzles, shaking her head. “Well the key is, whatever you did, you did it well,” Peter answers, grinning, and she beams back, delighted. ‘Where ‘re we headed?” she wonders. Peter asks Eli. Home, Eli says, though we could do one more meet and greet. “No,” the pair howls together, laughing, and arousing Eli’s suspicions. ‘What’re you laughing at?” he barks. “You, Eli. We’re laughing at you.” Something sexy and comfortable flows between Alicia and Peter, something palpable. The background music turns out to be a countrified version of “Midnight Train to Georgia” and as Alicia looks out the window, and back at her smiling husband, the lyrics remind us that we’re headed back to a simpler place and time. She’s right by his side, and she looks extremely pleased to be there.
Okay, what have I not said while I was writing? You know I didn’t like the title; I don’t really see a thematic connecter between the two episodes, and that annoys me. I’m irritated, too, by the red herrings in Will’s case, though that might not be fair. It wasn’t jury misconduct, it was just a smart jury. Which I suppose is a way of the Law winning (even if law enforcement lost). I like twisty mysteries, but sometimes I can disengage from cases on this show, because we get sent down too many paths. This was one of those cases. I didn’t really enjoy the tangent about jury questions – or more to the point, Will’s conviction that the questioning juror had inside information. I can see where he got that, I just felt like it muddied the narrative.
And speaking of the narrative, when’s the next reporter going to bring up the fact that Alicia keeps winning cases against the city and against law enforcement? You know that’s got to happen every once in a while.
I’m ambivalent about Maddie Hayward so far – good for Alicia personally, but not professionally? I’ve been thinking about it, and to me it makes the most sense to posit that she might want to reward Alicia for sticking with Peter, that she thinks there must be good in Peter if he can still hold Alicia’s respect. Now, you could say that Alicia’s staying with Peter has more to do with Alicia than with Peter, and you’d be right. But she’s actively supporting his campaign, which implies a belief in him as a man larger than her relationship with him; Maddie might understand the distinction. I think backing Peter’s campaign could be Maddie’s way of saying don’t judge the woman who stays – that feminism ought to be about the opportunity to make your own choices, not having those choices dictated to you. The unpopularity of Alicia’s choice would just make supporting her stance (through supporting her husband) more appealing to an iconoclast like Maddie.
And I do think that she’s genuinely interested in being Alicia’s friend, which is wonderful. But there is nothing simple or uncomplicated about beginning a friendship with the woman who owns the building you work in and finances your husband’s political campaign, however much either one of them might wish it. Oh, interesting complications.
From one fraught relationship to another, let’s talk about Kalinda and Nick. No, forget I said that. Let’s not. I’m so disappointed in her, I can’t even. You guys know what I think and I’m not going to make myself sick repeating it.
In other news, Will’s a little rusty, but Kalinda redeemed him and he made it through. Is Clarke right that he should have played it safe? Of course, there were a lot of flaws in this apparently solid case. I guess Clarke made the right call getting rid of John Gaultner, huh? You have to think that it was Gaultner doing most of the prep work, since Will just got his license back. If we’re going to flesh out this fictional world in the most reasonable way, anyway. I can’t help thinking of that golf movie, Tin Cup, which was all about the difference between excellence (making a perfect shot) and winning (not trying the trickier moves so you get the best possible score). Is Clarke right? Is the firm’s real problem a refusal to “lay up” when it’s most expedient? I’m not sure.
So. What am I missing? The fact that Peter and Alicia are clearly, without the smallest doubt, grooving on each other? Damn. Will you look at them! That’s some cute stuff. How long can it possibly last without some disaster falling down on both their heads? Tell me true, friends. What do you think? And can anyone tell me why selling off the 27th floor would mean they’d be confined to the 28th when they have the 29th as well? Not to minimize their distress or crowding, of course, but if Clarke’s going to lay off a third of their work force then they could handle a one third reduction in office space too. Two thirds would be a difference story. So pick a story and stick with it, people!