Nicki says matter-of-factly, "Pull out," and Barb protests that she couldn't possibly do that as so many people are counting on her. Softly, Nicki replies, "Maybe you're overestimating the importance of this event in all our lives." Barb tells her she's not going to pull out: "I'm a good mother, Nicki. And over the last few days, I've realized that it's important to me to feel like I can be seen that way." Realizing that she and Barb are talking at cross-purposes, Nicki gets up and silently shuffles to the door. She turns and tells Barb she can't go to the awards. Barb is totally miffed by this and protests, "It's important to me that my family be there!" That family you won't be mentioning in your acceptance speech, Barb? Nickiâs adamant about doing what she thinks is right.
Cut to a hospital corridor. A wheezing, unconscious Alby is on a gurney. A hospital worker passes by, but something about the breathing catches her attention. She sees the tag attached to Alby's wrist. It reads, "Delbert McCoy. Drank antifreeze." Off sprints the hospital worker.
Back on the compound, Roman and Alby's beta goons all sit around, wondering where the big lug could have gotten to. Some random compound dude comes in to break the news that Alby's truck has been found near the landfill, but there's no sign of Alby. Roman almost looks concerned.
Meanwhile, Bill is busy rallying the brain trust so they can ensure the success of Operation Don't Let Wanda Bartend Anymore. Bill babbles, "We got to shape up, people. We got to shape up. We got to hold it together, go about our business just like everything was normal. Understand? Questions?" Everyone else looks at him calmly. I suppose once you get over Wanda's little forays into malicious mixology, everything else is just water -- or antifreeze -- under the bridge.
Several miles away. Rhonda's sitting on Barb's front porch, Bedazzling her prairie skirt. We see that she's already done her jacket with an intricate, multicolored design. Up thunders a Humvee, loudly playing a version of "I Wish I Were in Dixie" scored for eight thousand brass instruments. Adaleen rolls down the window and says with deceptive sweetness, "Well, hello there, honey." Rhonda doesn't move as she sullenly says, "Hi, Adaleen." Adaleen continues in the same antifreeze-sweet voice, "Could you come over to the car for a moment?" Rhonda walks over, batting away the flocks of magpies that are drawn to her resplendently sparkly ensemble. Adaleen comments, "Oh, look what you've done to your jacket. Open the door, sweetie." Rhonda does. Adaleen's voice loses half its sugar as she continues, "Now, get in." Rhonda says, "No," and slams the door shut again. Adaleen takes a nanosecond to recover, then asks with strained politeness, "May I ask what you think your plans are?" Rhonda says, "I'm going to win the competition." Adaleen's delighted to hear this: "Are you? The competition is over. Of course I found out. What kind of sister-wife do you take me for? Get in. Your little Roman holiday is over." Ha! I love that. Come to think of it, I love any scene Adaleen is in. Rhonda says she's still in the competition. Adaleen says, "Oh, you're nothing of the sort," and Rhonda snarls, "You can't prove it." Adaleen snaps back, "I don't know if you're deluded, demented or merely willfully disobedient. Now get in this car, tout de suite." Rhonda snaps, "No! I'm through with you, Adaleen!" She then tears down the block. Adaleen chases her for about ten feet, then stops, muttering that Rhonda will not be getting away with this. If I were Rhonda, I'd keep running; life with Adaleen on your case is bound to be hard.