Langrishe is in the Grand Central, locking up his room when he is confronted by Claudia coming out of Con's. "One thought he'd engaged a room for you at the other end of the hall," he says, with curiosity. "I'm going to it now," she says, smirking, and leaves him there to his nausea when he sees who she's been messing with.
Finally, we are back with Al. Dudes, there are too many people on this damn show these days. You take the viewer away from Al at your own peril. Don't mix me up with a bunch of Claudias and Cons when all I want is Swedgin. He strokes his mustache as he reviews his most recent Hearst communiquÃ© with Dolly, who is doing her duty as she so often does when Al needs to think. Ah, the first blow job monologue of the season, how I've...not missed them at all. This one, in particular, is not working for Al. He accuses Dolly of changing her technique, which she denies. "No?" he asks, grabbing her head and putting her back to work. "Is my dick in your mouth?" She nods. "Do I have a hard-on?" Dolly affirms the negative. "Then you change your action. Go back to your previous fucking method." She goes back to it, while he continues to muse angrily about Hearst. "Does he construe my forbearance as weakness, is that what the fuck nags at me? Or my considerations of alternatives for being fucking intimidated?" he wonders. "Because the time's coming he sees what I'm up to beyond any fucking mistake, and I only hope you don't doubt it." Satisfied with his own position, he is still not satisfied with Dolly's. "You don't think that counts as altering your action?" he asks, frustrated. "You would change your entire fucking mouth pattern." Dolly mutters that she's sorry, which goes over about as well as you'd expect. "Sorry? Oh, I guess that's okay then," Al asks, full of sarcasm, "because my goal before my meeting wasn't to come and clear my fucking head, not so much as to hear you say you're sorry, you stupid fucking mutt." Sigh. Poor Dolly. Her only defense is that she really is stupid. She flatly asks if she should go. "No," Al says, sighing, and now speaking to her like she's a child. "Tell me who you want in the election. "Star for mayor," she says, "And Harry Manning for sheriff." What's this? "Star for mayor," Al corrects, "and Bullock for fucking sheriff." But her position is logical to Dolly: "Bullock," she says, "yells at you." Al, you know, knowing himself so well, can't take someone loving him. "Get out," he says. "Shut up and get out." With Dolly gone, he quickly turns back to his original subject. "Does he think I'm fuckin' afraid?"