Next, he assigns Riley and Shaggy to the same case. "Together, really?" Shaggy squeaks. "Down, boy," O'Donnell says, tells them the case is "highly confidential," and smacks Joe's hands as he tries to remove his belt. Joe, unfazed, readies a pair of pants. O'Donnell continues, "Our client is Miss Burgess, she's a photographer, and she's suing a certain Hollywood bad boy --" "Wh-which one?" Shaggy asks. Riley picks up the snapshot O'Donnell slides over and says, "Uh-uh!" Jaw akimbo, she shows the snap to Anna, who likewise plants her jaw on the table. O'Donnell tells them that their client has some close-ups of this Bad Boy and his girlfriend "in flagrante" on a hotel patio. "So the no-talent, acne-scarred, panty-wearing, flavor-of-the-month broke her cameras," O'Donnell says. Wait, who's the no-panty, talent-scarred, flavor-wearing acne-of-the-month, Russell Crowe -- 'scuse me, I mean the Hollywood Bad Boy -- or his girlfriend? Joe hands O'Donnell a new belt and tells him to admit he's just jealous of the guy's hairline. Have I mentioned that O'Donnell's losing hair faster than a high-strung cat in 95-degree heat who's just been told his neutering didn't quite take the first time around? As Riley and Shaggy paw through all the photos, drooling and stuff, Shaggy asks if it isn't an invasion of privacy. O'Donnell asks, "Whose side are you on, Edgar?" with a deadly look. Shaggy gulps. O'Donnell turns to Andy Moffat (look, he hasn't had any lines yet, so I'm not changing his name yet, either) and tells him he knows he's been throwing a lot at him, but it's because he knows Andy can handle it. O'Donnell shoves the remainder of the still-sizeable stack of briefs his way: "I need you to draft my opening for Sullivan v. San Fran Mutual -- I need some of your poetry." Just because he's gay doesn't -- oh, wait, that was actually nice. O'Donnell asks for his shoes as Anna sits silently in her chair, forgotten, forlorn, brief-less. O'Donnell asks for announcements and then says they're adjourned. Andy Moffat stutters a bit as he asks everyone to wait. He won this community-service award for doing a pro bono case for G.A.L.L.A. (the Gay and Lesbian Legal Association) where he represented an AIDS hospice in a zoning dispute, and the award is being presented that weekend at a banquet. Applaud, applaud, nice words, nice words. But Andy Moffat wants the firm to buy a banquet table for eight at a hundred dollars a head. O'Donnell contemplates aloud why he would possibly want to go to an event where all the women are immune to his charms. "Well, there are women who would let you watch," Andy Moffat zings. O'Donnell's sold: "Well, in that case, Hoberman, Spain, McPherson and O'Donnell would be proud to come out in favor of diversity and buy an entire table at your little party." Then it gets weird and O'Donnell whispers, "I love you all very much." But if you think of it in that Sweetie-Darling-Love-You-Kisses-Smooch-Smooch Hollywood way, i.e. complete lack of sincerity, I guess it makes more sense.
Outside the conference hall, O'Donnell is on a headset phone, shouting that he wants the most spectacular arrangement they can muster: "I find one carnation? I'm gonna put your head on a stake in my front yard, okay?" What's wrong with carnations?! They smell like cinnamon. Anna asks him why he's not giving her cases. He tells her she's not billing enough hours. "That's…abrupt. Bentley keeps throwing me pro bono cases --" "I know and you keep taking the bait! Points scored for seeking out work, though," O'Donnell tells her, then gives her a file, "Pilnick v. McDougall. Our client's a senior citizen who's been living in the same rent-controlled house for over thirty years. She's about to lose it to a real-estate developer. Sounds like a silent movie, I know." O'Donnell tells Anna the petition's been filed and a hearing scheduled: "It's all yours." Anna gets excited, saying that representing a client against the rent board is "practically a trial." O'Donnell bursts her saliva bubble by telling her to settle by the end of the week. Anna squawks that the case needs a public forum, but O'Donnell slaps her down with, "Our client is living on Social Security, she can only afford to pay by the hour, that means she gets exactly nineteen of your hours. So settle it -- it's a favor to Hoberman." Anna asks him if he's testing her. "Yes," he tells her, "now go save the world." Then he starts screaming into his headset that he's been holding "for like ten hours!" but the clever direction makes him look like he's yelling this at Anna, on account of the fact that he's staring right at her during his tantrum. See how they did that? Yeah, me neither. O'Donnell grabs control of himself when he realizes they want to know what they should put on the card. "Oh, write this, write this [British falsetto]: 'Please sir, may I have some more?' Yeah, and sign it 'Snuggle Butt'!" That's an awfully endearing nickname for a one-nighter with him.