At Babbette's, Nucky's fake surprised expression could've maybe played a bit smaller, but I'm certain nobody cares as they all shout "SURPRISE!" and throw confetti and raise illicit glasses in his honor. Later, Nucky's at a table with some political muckity mucks, including the Commodore and Senator Edge, as well as their various chippies (Lucy included). Edge makes a crack about women getting the vote, and the table has a good laugh at dumb girls. Nucky tells them all it's the wave of the future -- 32 states have ratified it already. "Those suffragettes did their job." The 'Dore opines that they all just need a good rodgering. "It's nothing to be afraid of," Nucky stresses. "You just have to give them what they want." At this, Lucy giggles. One of the pols -- the lone Democrat at the table -- says the problem is they've no idea what women are thinking. "You're assuming they have minds at all," Edge says. You know, I often wonder what would happen if Boardwalk Empire suddenly became a horror movie about vagina dentata. I definitely think here is where the first giant vagina would devour a whole lot of people. Anyway, Lucy decides to speak up in defense of her own intelligence. Nobody wants to see where this is going, except for the Commodore, because he's a horse's ass. He's also not terribly original, because he asks Lucy the same question about the League of Nations that he asked his poor maid last week. Lucy's all, "The huh?" Everybody laughs, while Nucky tries to feed her enough info to let her get out of this with some dignity (although her dignity not resting comfortably between her breasts, I doubt Lucy would notice it if it was gone. Nucky's like, "Big meeting in Paris," and Lucy goes on that she don't know nothing about no League, but she hears Paris is sure nice. "You wanna take me, daddy?" Before the restless ghosts of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton can show up and level this whole table, Nucky asks Lucy to go fetch him a drink. Once she's gone, he turns to the Commodore -- who puts out his arms like, "who, me?" and says, "Perhaps she's not the best example."
Back in Chicago, Capone and Jimmy sit in their shorts while two of Chicago's finest male fashion experts outfit them in (admittedly rather sharp) suits, while I sit at home and cross my fingers Al doesn't beat them senseless. It's like Queer Eye for the AH! AH! MY EYE!. Capone keeps talking shit about the Irish, how they're all talk and beer muscles. Not like Sicilians, of course. And like a good gay boy who was raised on Golden Girls episodes, I can attest that some of those "picture it, Sicily" stories were pretty intense. But Jimmy remains skeptical that Al accomplished as much as he thinks he's accomplished. As they're trying on their "fruity" suits, Al notices the wicked scarring on Jimmy's leg. Al points to his own face and says the Germans "got us both." At this point, Jimmy knows this is a lie as much as anyone with a Wikipedia link does, but he humors him about it. One of the dressers notes that the slim-cut suit on Capone is "very a la mode." Jimmy turns back and says that means "right on the money." Jesus, these two. Capone turns back to Jimmy and beams, "The wife's gonna shit." Okay, get me outta here.