Still another aerial shot of Boston at night. Vonda sings again, some more. Ally and JBJ slow-dance. They discuss moving the action offstage somewhere. Ally suggests her place, since she "had a lock installed on her bedroom door." JBJ is all, Ally? I installed it. Oh, yeah. They snuggle, then Ally sees Matthew Perry having a Michelob at the bar. She pulls away and peers at him intently. Well, tonight was made for Michelob. JBJ asks what's the matter, and Ally is all, oh, nothing, it's just that maybe there are greener pastures over there in smart-alecky lawyer form, oh working-class guy I don't want to have sex with yet.
Hot tub. Get ya wet! Hot tub. Make ya sweat! Yeow! Hot tub! Miss Bump reclines in her gingham halter-top swimsuit. I'm guessing it's by Trashy Lingerie in L.A. John says this isn't how he usually does business, and steps into the hot tub with his robe on. It's hot, he points out. Miss Bump says she has three female execs who love the Bully Broad program, and since John's client refused even to try it, well...John says "it's gender-biased and [his client] was under no obligation to try it." Miss Bump asks for John's foot, then pulls him underwater. He emerges, sputtering that she tried to drown him. Wow, is John rattled or something? she wonders. John says "talk chicken or [he's] gone." He meant to say "turkey."
Lights up on the "streets" of "Boston." Barry White makes some more money as "Love Serenade" plays. Ally and JBJ walk inside her house. The antiquated baby-sitter is watching a Ron Popeil infomercial. Hair in a can. It really works. Ahem. Ally remarks that she pays $15 an hour for "these watchful eyes," and then she doesn't even turn around to see who walks in the door. Ally goes over to the sitter, shakes her gently, and the remote drops to the floor. Don't tell mom, the baby-sitter's dead. The music gets scary. Extreme close-up on the baby-sitter's face. Dude, is that DEK's mom? What a fucked-up cameo.
Hot tub! Miss Bump rubs John's feet. She says she'll settle the case for over five hundred Gs, and file some of it under emotional distress so the client can take $350,000 tax-free. John says she forgot about "punies." She drops his foot and swims over to him, saying she loooves that word -- it's how she refers to herself. "Puny." Did anyone ever call John puny? "Not with good results, no," he says. She caresses his head, saying she thinks he's trying to take advantage of her. He denies it. Wham, she pulls him under the water. He blubs to the surface, exclaiming, "My Johnson!" They stand up in the tub, facing each other. She offers $400,000 and calls him "a tease." He leaves indignantly, his robe sodden.