Across town, about six people show up for Silver's virtuosity showcase. One of them is Matthews, whom she asks to do a little introduction... to the film he's never seen and that he asked her to cut down by 80%. Nice.
Elsewhere, Naomi rides shotgun and plays 20 Questions. He preaches typical boilerplate about high schoolers' herd mentality. He says there's a whole world out there to discover beyond, then flashes a sexy look. He proclaims himself an autodidact... in the independent study unit of Paul Walker U., we'll soon see. But before that, he gets to insinuate and make sex faces and spout some more auto-shop porn -- much to Naomi's pleasure. Muscle cars start arriving, so Liam tells Naomi she should leave before the drag race portion of the night begins. She chooses to stay. He appears to be okay with that, if a little turned-on.
Back at the theater, Matthews stumbles through his introduction, leafing through his well-worn copy of Film Lingo for Dummies to describe Silver as an "auteur." Newsflash: Silver ≠ Hitchcock. Speaking of Psycho and cock, let the film begin! For the first minute or so, Silver's riff on cinematic poetry is exactly the kind of pretentious art house tripe you'd expect... and then! Silver à Sliver, complete with camera tucked away for capturing intimate moments. Here's hoping the film doesn't have any similarities to its subjects, though, because... well... it'll climax a little too quickly. Matthews takes a nice long ogle before remembering that he was recently accused of pedophilia(!), then forces the projector to shut down the screening. Needless to say, Dixon is irked. He leaves in a huff, with Silver following. Commercials.
From actual filmed sex to one seriously sloppy visual metaphor, we return to the drag race. Naomi thinks the best way to assist Liam in winning the race is to shriek at him from the passenger's seat. The script writers think the best way to express her well-documented lust for him is by forcing Annalynne McCord to squeal vaguely sexual things ("Faster! Faster!") in a speeding phallic object. Both fail epically. I mean, seriously, she stops just short of lighting a cigarette for him afterward and weeping silently into the dashboard. So, Liam wins the race, and Naomi laughs hysterically (just like in her dream). Awkward silence. Then she makes a crack about wine spritzers that falls flat. The morning after!