Downstairs, Jack lopes into the kitchen and asks Grams for a favor. "Of course, anything. Cookie?" Grams says. Mmm. Cookies. "Do you think you could talk to Jen?" Jack asks, watching Grams put sprinkles on his cookie (aw). Grams doesn't miss a beat: "Anything but that." Jack knows she's not on the best of terms with Jen right now, but he's worried; he doesn't think Jen has filled out any of her applications, and he thought Grams could talk to her about it. Grams shrugs that "Jennifer is a big girl," and that she's tried to help Jen, but Jen doesn't want or appreciate Grams's help, so she's on her own. Jack sighs and looks at his cookie. Mmm. Jack.
Yacht Club. "Our" Mr. Brooks eats a solitary meal. Enter Dawson, who clomps right up to Mr. Brooks's table and takes a seat without so much as a by-your-leave. "So," he says, "have you seen any good movies lately?" Shut up, Dawson. Mr. Brooks stares at him for a moment, then grunts that he saw Star Wars "a while back," but he "didn't get it." Dawson points out mildly that "Star Wars came out in 1977." "Like I said, it was a while back." Hee! Dawson announces that he saw a good movie recently. "Bully for you," grumps Mr. Brooks, but Dawson blunders ahead, calling the movie an "incredible fusion of, uh, film noir [which Dawson pronounces 'nooo-ahr' -- shut. Up. Dawson.], black comedy, and a love story." Then Dawson tells him the title. Mr. Brooks rolls his eyes, remarking that Dawson must think he's pretty clever. Duh, Mr. Brooks. He's a wunderkind; don't you read the papers? Dawson eagerly asks how he's supposed to "deal with the fact" that the "grumpy old man" (shut up, Dawson) who forced him into "indentured servitude" (SHUT UP, Dawson) is actually "a cross between Sam Fuller and Cameron Crowe?" Oh, my God, shut up, Dawson! Mr. Brooks has never heard of Cameron Crowe, but comments that Sam Fuller made some "good pictures." "And so did you, Mr. Brooks," Dawson smarms, and adds that he's seen every movie of Mr. Brooks's that he could find, Mr. Brooks "is like this true American primitive," he has so much respect for what Mr. Brooks has done, blah bling blah -- all in a tone that suggest Mr. Brooks ought to find the acclaim all the more lofty since it comes from Dawson. Shut. Up. Dawson. Mr. Brooks grumps that "they're not 'fiiiiilms,' they're pictures," pictures that he himself considers "hackwork," and "this newfound respect" Dawson has for him makes him uncomfortable. Dawson, confident that he can win Mr. Brooks over, smugs, "You can play the curmudgeon all you want, A.I. Brooks, but you can't fool me." "Well, that's a load off," Mr. Brooks snorts. Snerk. Dawson prates that Mr. Brooks obviously cares about things like love and honor and morality and blah blah blah blah BLAH, and Mr. Brooks retorts that he "cares" about eating his meal in peace, so Dawson makes to leave, but first he has to tell Mr. Brooks that his "pictures" really had an impact on Dawson, and Dawson thought he might like to hear that. Because, you know, Dawson knows film, so a compliment from Dawson is like money in the bank. FUCKING SHUT UP, DAWSON! Dawson won't shut up, though; after Mr. Brooks grits out a grudging "thank you for the kind words," Dawson bounces all eagerly in his seat and wants to know about the chemistry between the two leads in Turn Away, My Sweet, but Mr. Brooks has hit saturation level, and he hisses at Dawson to "kindly remove [him]self from" the general vicinity. Dawson finally, FINALLY leaves, a Smirky Balboa look on his face. Mr. Brooks sighs heavily and picks up his fork.