Buckland's. Apparently, the auction house is renovating its office space, as drop cloths and scaffolding abound. Well, either that, or they hired an egregiously inept decorator. An Amazonian blonde gingerly picks her way through the disarray with Prue at her side while explaining that the house's owner, "Rex Buckland," is quite impressed both with Prue's résumé and with her work at the Armenian Mutant. The blonde, towering as she is over puny Prue, does have one question: Why would Prue's former boss at the Mutant thrash Prue's reputation when asked for a reference? Prue cops to her ball-busting ways, revealing that she and Roger were engaged until she called it off. The Amazonian Blonde's all inappropriately stoked at this news as she enthuses, "Gotcha!" and eases open the door to Rex's office, like, what did I say last week? Do not shit where you eat. Fools. To the surprise of absolutely no one, with the possible exception of those very few Amish types who did not indulge in TV during their rumspringa, Rex is the one and only Hugh Grant wannabe from the elevator. He's changed into a suit from his earlier outfit of jeans and a button-down, of course, but still. Prue gapes.
Meanwhile, across town, we're treated to an exterior shot of a waterfront warehouse before heading inside to take in a red Porsche baking under studio lights. A wrinkled hand mottled with liver spots passes in front of the lens with a stout blue candle as generic "rock" "music" plays on the soundtrack. The hand slots the candle into a tall holder as the camera rotates slowly to reveal Pecker's side-eyed lunch date strapped down onto one of those glowy tables photographers use to examine slide sheets. The table is surrounded by lit candles. The lunch date gets screamy, begging Pecker to release her. Pecker emerges from the shadows, and much to Lunch Date's horror, he's all wrinkly and old. "It's Javna," he rasps as he approaches her. Lunch Date's screaming rises in pitch to canine-exclusive levels as Pecker's eyes glow orange. Two shockingly cheap CGI rays of light shoot from his eyes to hers. Actually, it's an insult to computer-generated image technology everywhere to call these things CGI. It looks like some slave-wage animator on the Korean peninsula went frame by frame with an eraser, rubbing out the relevant sections of film until ray-like strips of white light were allowed to bleed through onto the screen. Lunch Date screams and ages rapidly before our eyes. Wrinkly Pecker morphs into Smooth Pecker, and I just made myself squirmy with disgust. Smooth Pecker flips around a hand mirror and chuckles at his reflection as we head into the commercial break.