The girls are researching. Spencer comes over to check on Clare's breasts...I mean, "progress," and she whines that she's not finding much. He reminds her that Tamara is the sister of a senior partner, so basically, Clare has to find a way to win this complaint. Spencer rubs her shoulder while he reminds her of this, which catches Lynne's and Sarah's attention. Spencer has to be the stupidest man alive. He's a lawyer and he's sexually harassing an employee? What a knob.
At home, Lynne stands in front of her mirror and rehearses her cross-examination. Her bathroom is enormous. There are three side-by-side sinks with mirrors, a bathtub, and a huge shower. My whole apartment could fit in there. But, what three-bedroom apartment has one bathroom with three sinks? The kind that set-designers build, I guess. "I'm extremely sorry for your mother's loss, I know you two were close," Lynne says, flubbing her words. "You SUCK!" she rails at herself. She screws up again and berates herself another time. We are supposed to feel sad that she's pretty and successful and has a fantastic San Francisco apartment, but has no self-esteem; instead, though, I am unsympathetic, because I could love myself if I had her apartment and clothes alone. Sarah sneaks into the bathroom. She probably wants to use the toilet, if it's the only one in the whole damn place. "Who's on the stand now?" she smiles. "Victim's daughter," sighs Lynne. Sarah pretends to care for a split-second, then changes the subject to Clare's impromptu shoulder-rub from Spencer. "[Clare] dismissed it as nothing," Sarah shares. "She never seems to see it coming. And when I bring it up, she just accuses me of being a Christian." Wait, so this has happened to Clare before? Huh. Lynne promises to talk to her and resumes her mirror pep talk, which consists of one more mangled question and a barrage of self-abuse. "Oh, just quit! You suck! Be a waitress! You SUCK," she moans. We fade to black wondering if Gretchen Mol knew that the cameras were rolling.