Jill opens the door to find Jack, in a scoop-necked Navajo blanket sewn into a heinous pleated sweater-shirt. She holds up his key and says, "I don't deserve this." "What?" Jill snorts, taking the key. "I never should have snooped around in your stuff," she drones. "And even though I tried to make up for it by giving you my stuff --" "It wasn't exactly the same thing," Jill concludes. "So I don't deserve your key -- not yet, anyway," she says, "and I want to earn your trust back." This exchange is fraught with all kinds of enchanted expressions on Jill's part and ghastly smiles, whimsical pauses and eyebrow-jittering earnestness on Jack's part. "And maybe, when you're comfortable or if you're comfortable, you'll give it to me again," she says. Jill walks past in a blue oxford shirt the size of a topsail. He scrapes the key on the wall as if pondering her insipid speech, then gives it back to her. Eliciting the expected gum-baring grin and a cloying, "Reeeally?" Jill shrugs and says he packed all his personal stuff in storage. Jack giggles toothsomely and, in some perverse manifestation of puppy love, starts sniffing Jill's hand. Thankfully, Ferret stumbles in before we're subjected to a lengthy display of hand fetishism. "See that, you don't even need a key to get in here," Jill says -- and if that isn't a shout-out to our forums, then Stoosh isn't the only one in them. Ferret asks where Barto is and Jill says he went to the @Bar. Ferret runs out and suddenly Jill's on Jack like back hair on Barto. The door opens again and Ferret clears her throat and whispers, "I got the part." Jack emits a dog whistle shriek, causing Jill to double over in pain. "That's okay, I got another eardrum," he says. Amanda Peet flaps her gaping maw about, baring the billboard of teeth that is her calling card as a thespian. "She got it!" she squeals, to which Jill answers, "Wha?"
Ferret walks into @Bar as the Gritty Funk Song Of Dashed Hopes blares on the soundtrack. The Crème-de-Cassis makers of America must have had a hand in keeping this show on the air, because everyone in the bar is drinking kir. Including Annie -- a.k.a. Visible Nipples -- who sits giggling across from Barto. He toasts himself in full view of Ferret, whose look of happy recognition changes to a mask of wounded sexual jealousy. Behind her, the door of @Bar opens and Jimmy Breslin strolls in and sits at a table. "There are a thousand stories in the naked city," he says, "and even if this were one of them, it wouldn't be worth hearing."