Previously on Brothers and Sisters: Justin overdosed; Holly leveraged her portion of the $30-million land to become a major shareholder in Ojai; Senator McCallister offered Kitty a job on his staff. His...campaign staff.
Fade up on morning yoga at rehab, which the writing staff wastes no time in lampooning by putting a "the light within me salutes the light within you" line in the instructor's mouth. As shots go, it's cheap, but hey, so am I, so: heh. Justin thinks it's sort of Smurfy also, but goes along with it in an attempt to hit on the instructor, which is not successful -- she's allergic to the mango smoothie he proposes she join him for, and also, she's on staff and can't date patients. Fortunately, he's saved by the appearance of a visitor: Kitty.
Kitty and Justin stroll across the lawn and banter about how "only in California" does rehab look like this, and also about whether Kitty correctly recognized a reality-show host with spiky hair. The host isn't identified by name -- although Justin does say that the spiky hair is a rug -- and I wonder if it's a jab at anyone in particular, but I can't think of any current hosts who qualify. Kitty asks how it's going; Justin says it's fine, but he spends so much time in various therapies that he's sick of talking about himself -- how is Kitty doing? Well, McCallister is still hounding her to take the job on his team, but she thinks she's better at "complaining about politicians" than she'd be working for one. Justin points out that this is her "chance to sort of play the game instead of doing the color commentary," and also that McCallister is handsome and a Republican so he's perfect for Kitty. Kitty isn't convinced: "I just, I can't figure out -- why me."
Brisk cut to McCallister informing her, "You're perfect for this job." Kitty doesn't see why, protesting almost angrily that she has no experience in national politics. McCallister points out that that didn't stop Bush the Younger, which Kitty doesn't think is the strongest argument; his next tack is to point to her handling of the trying-to-bribe-him-to-help-Justin thing, saying she took responsibility, and "the party" needs more people like her. It doesn't make sense, she responds: "Why me?" McCallister is getting impatient with her: "You know, I'm beginning to think you have either alarmingly low self-esteem or you're relentlessly fishing for compliments. You can't possibly be that blind to your own value." He accepts a sheaf of documents from a staffer and goes into his office; Kitty follows him, reminding him that they've had maybe two conversations, one of them on-camera, which isn't a substantive enough set of interactions to let him make a decision: "I don't buy shoes without walking around in them longer than that." McCallister indicates his own shoes and says he bought them on the internet, "sight unseen," and they fit fine. My kind of man. "I'm a very good judge of quality, Miss Walker," he concludes, and then gives her a once-over: "And of how things are gonna fit." Kitty, unamused, asks if he just compared her to a pair of shoes. "You started it," he snips. Even less amused, she says he doesn't know her well enough to make that assessment, so he invites her up to his ranch in Santa Barbara so he can "take a crash course in Kitty Walker." She makes an incredulous moue and says she doesn't date prospective employers, especially not ones in the middle of nasty divorces. He throws an eyebrow and notes, "Well, I think we just ruled out low self-esteem." Hee. He corrects her, "You'll have lunch, and a professional conversation," and adds that if she considers that a date, "your social life must be pretty lame." Staring at him in disbelief, she nods faintly and murmurs, "It is." Hee. Great line delivery there. "That I can't help you with," he says crisply.