Nucky's gone to visit the Commodore, and pay up to the only rung on the ladder above him. They chat over some cognac and talk shop. Kingmaking stuff, and the topic shifts to a local pol who might have national aspirations. Nucky thinks he can go far, this particular guy, because he's awfully popular with women. (Who, if we remember last week, are on the verge of suffrage, which Nucky has claimed to support.) "A frightening thought," the Commodore huffs. Nucky shifts in his seat and counters that "a vote's a vote." The Commodore immediately calls for his housekeeper, LuAnn. He hollers her name repeatedly, and when that doesn't produce immediate results, he begins clanging the comically large bell he's got, yelling her name and clanging his bell like it's Christmas Day at the end of A Christmas Carol.
When poor LuAnn finally sprints into the room, the 'Dore upbraids her. Oh, sorry, she was only fixing your damn dinner. The Commodore then asks her what her thoughts are on the League of Nations. He asks her twice even though it's clear she doesn't know. He moves on, then, to some piece of banking deregulation known as that Harrity (Harraday?) Act. Again, she pleads ignorance. It's humiliating and ugly, and Nucky doesn't look at all comfortable to witness it. LuAnn repeats that she don't know nothing about that sort of thing. "Of course not," the 'Dore snorts in Nucky's direction. "She empties my pisspot." It would seem that connecting those dots and examining how institutional subjugation of women and black folk might somehow lead to a cycle of forced and systemic ignorance appears to be lost on the Commodore. Imagine. Regardless, he feels that his point has been made: "That's your women's vote."
Back at the cabaret, Jimmy waits for a moment when all the girls are on stage, then sneaks back into his Ma's drawer and takes the necklace he bought back for her. Looks like she's still making sacrifices for her kid, whether she knows it or not.
Meanwhile, Van Alden writes a letter to his wife, Rose, in which he -- in between invoking God's blessing and reminding her to run the water every so often so the pipes don't freeze -- explains that agency business is going to be keeping him away a little longer. Very Joe Friday of him, right? Square-jawed and all-American. Of course, then he pulls out his desk drawer and takes out Margaret's missing hair ribbon, wraps it around his hand, and takes a great big inhale of its scent. You guys ... you can't give me Michael Shannon invoking God one minute and then wrapping a hair ribbon around his fist like a rosary and then taking a big creepy whiff and not expect me to get the heebiest of jeebies. Watch out, Margaret Schroeder.