Joan's at Eva's struggling through a piece while Eva sighs beside her and mentally calculates how much alcohol is in the house. Joan stops and apologizes, saying she knows it's supposed to be an F sharp. Joan: "I practiced. It's just…scales are so hard." Eva: "Those aren't scales. That's Bach." Joan: "Then I guess I'm not good at Bach." Well, if you were, as a beginner, you'd probably be a prodigy. Eva: "Well, if you can't play Bach, you can't play anything. He's the foundation." Eva takes the keyboard and plays (though it's clearly not Louise Fletcher playing -- all the shots of her playing carefully disconnect her hands from the rest of her, so it's definitely someone else. As she plays, she says, "What you are destroying is nothing more than a G major triad. Sometimes it's inverted, but the notes are always the same: one-three-five, one-three-five." Joan listens, and thinks, and says softly, "A squared plus B squared…equals C squared. Pythagoras." Eva: "What are you mumbling?" Joan just says she gets it. Frink complains that it isn't a Pythagorean triplet. I can't get worked up about it, myself. But that's what comes of shortchanging girls on math education. We'll get into that later. Eva gets up, annoyed: "You can't just get it! It takes years of practice. This lesson is over." Joan says she still has five minutes. Eva forces the timer through the last five minutes and makes it ding. She tells Joan to start clearing out a closet. Joan opens the closet door and finds a bunch of old albums. Eva tells her to toss them. Joan: "You don't listen to any of them?" Eva says she can't even see what's on them: "The radio's all I need now." Eva smokes and pours herself another drink. Joan sensitively remarks, "These are so old!" Eva: "Yeah. Just like me. And one day they're going to toss me, too." Joan looks at Eva and then away again, raising her eyebrows. Old people, man. Who can figure 'em?