Tommy is pushed to his own version of the "Fuck It" scenario: "You know what? I'll be, like, like this," he stammers, giving her Tunnel-Vision hands to indicate the degree of ferocity he plans for not looking away from her ever. "I'm serious. From now on." His bid to carry this to its ridiculous extreme works, and she smiles. "Thank you! I appreciate that!" He immediately looks away momentarily, as Tim (an owner of the casino, I'll remind you) walks by. She's on it like Matt "Velvet" Dusk on some Smallville fan fiction: "Okay, now see you're looking up here ..." He's flummoxed. "I'm looking at [Tim] walk by!" This is no match for her madness. "But LOOK RIGHT HERE!" she screams, pointing her scary nails at her eyeballs like she's going to pull an Oedipus due to his extreme jerkiness. I would love that. Blind Monique stumbling around the floor, bitching at slot machines and passed-out transvestites. "I understand." And I sincerely hope he does. "Okay? All right," she says, suddenly as calm as she can be. I can write out her doctor's prescription pad for you right now if you want me to. "All right, Monique. I love you. I'll see you later, all right?" Even she has to laugh about that, because it's so cute, and he's so obviously at the end of his fucking rope, and that means she wins. "All right, bye," she says, and there's an inferred "sweetie" at the end.
Of course, he makes a beeline for Tim. "Hey, hey, Mr. Poster," he ass-nibbles. Monique watches suspiciously as Tommy attempts to strike up a conversation with Tim about getting a little face time, or as Tommy puts it, "a couple minutes out of your busy schedule." Tim calls him "pal" and tells him to come up and see him at 5:30. He puts his arm around Tommy while Tommy thanks him profusely. He might be better at this than I thought he'd be. He grins gleefully into the camera: "It seems like he really likes me!" You better hope he does, because half the problem, I think, is that Monique knows that your connections are in some ways tighter than hers, since you're a guy, and young, and your dad is a very important host for the hotel. And now that she's seen Tim put his arm on your shoulder and you're having secret meetings with him, you better hope he pulls your ass out before the carnage can begin.
You know that Wolf Pimp guy from the cartoons whose tongue would always drop to the ground and then flip back up like a window shade off its foundations? Jenn's wearing his hat, sans feather, but with a huge ugly brooch pinned to it. Lacy white half-shirt/slip thing under a tight black corset-shaped shirt that exposes her midriff, a men's black wool jacket, a weird metal belt that looks like munitions, and a bunch of silver bling hanging from oh, just everything. She yells a greeting to Wolfie, who looks away as though ashamed, which he should be. Matt "Velvet" Dusk is a total professional, however, asking her how she's doing. "You can't afford to fuck up," burrs Wolfie, "because if you do, you don't come back." And Master 'Areton shill inherit oul his marnie's acres. "I could not believe he said that to me," she gasps cutely in interview, dropping her jaw. Matt "Velvet" Dusk apologizes because, as he says, that was "extremely rude," but it was so many things -- mostly true, and a blessing -- that you can tell he's just being nice. "Have fun, okay? This is not, you know, Madison Square Garden." Except to Matt "Velvet" Dusk? It totally is. He's being surprisingly forked-tongue about this, considering he would like nothing better than for her to fuck up so his resentment of Joe the Vet can once again be validated. What he doesn't realize yet, though, is that before -- with Lorraine/Elaine Hunt -- he could complain to Tim about it, whereas this time it's more the fault of the Tim and Tom Connection than Joe, and that means he can't complain at all, so she's not so much a pawn as something being inflicted on him and his band and their Showroom fantasies.