Meanwhile, Marie's at an open house, admiring a wall-mounted collection of antique silver spoons (RED FLAG!). She's approached by the broad-shouldered realtor (au revoir, Colonel Oatmeal!), who gets to experience Marie's latest alias: Charlotte Blacknull, with an astronaut husband and a brother is in the Peace Corps. No children, though -- she doesn't think she's the mothering kind. After the realtor, Stephanie, goes to get some informational flyers, we cut back to a shot with the spoons in the background, and of course, one is conspicuously absent. Cut to the kitchen, as "Charlotte" pokes around, talking with pride about convincing her husband to quit his stressful, dangerous job at NASA, which raises some obvious eyebrows, psychology-wise. Stephanie is getting antsy at all of Marie's poking... and her questionable interest in actually making an offer on the place. Later, after Marie's gone, Stephanie is tidying up when she notices the telltale spoon. So this looks to be crumbling even quicker than we might have expected. Seriously, Marie, there were 50 spoons representing the 50 states. There was a pretty decent chance someone would notice if one went missing.
Go-Kart track. Jesse's driving around in a daze, while the cameras make sure everything is as shaky and blurry and disorienting as Jesse's life is at the moment. He returns home -- where we get the distinct impression that somebody in a parked car is watching him -- to find some random junkie exiting his house with his toaster oven. Jesse registers the theft but either doesn't care enough to prevent it, or decides not to risk a violent altercation over one piece of junk from his now-trashed home. Inside, the party is scarier, meth-ier, and less familiar to us (and Jesse) than when we saw it last week. Slam dancing, broken bottle, tweakers punching stone walls. Jesse clears a space on his couch in hell so he can light up a cigarette, relax, and pretend he's not there.
Another open house. This time, "Mimi" is admiring the framed photographs (RED FLAG) on the mantle of an older couple. While she bullshits the couple about how she and her illustrator husband lived in London, Stephanie the realtor enters the room, unseen by Marie but smack in the center of the frame. It's like a horror movies, and Michael Myers has just showed up. "Mimi" has moved on to telling the couple about her daughter, born with a potentially fatal heart condition. This is sad. It's like watching Munchausen syndrome only without an actual child. Obviously, the daughter talk is all Stephanie needed to prove that Marie's a total con job, and when Marie finally does turn and see her, she nearly stops dead in her tracks. She tries to wrap up her conversation as quickly and gracefully as possible, all while Stephanie stares a hole through her back. Cut to Marie leaving the house, her dainty stilettos on the pavement, escaping as fast as they can manage. But even a husky broad like Stephanie can catch up to her before she makes it to the car. It's not like Marie has a single leg to stand on, but she sure as hell makes an effort. She pulls the "my husband is DEA" card almost immediately, not that it really holds sway over a real estate agent anyway. "You know what, Fatty?" Marie begins, losing the high ground but making me laugh so it's a wash. "You are so lucky I'm late for my next appointment." She gets out her keys and makes one last lunge for the car, but Fatty grabs her purse, and in the struggle over it, it dumps out the framed photo she stole from the sweet old couple. Marie looks at the shattered frame, turns her crazy eyes up to Stephanie, and declares, "You! Are in BIG trouble!"