He asks, "Are we going to rock?" There's weak murmuring from the class. He repeats the question, obtaining a slightly more enthusiastic but still incredibly limp response. Pathetic Hat Girl is sitting in front of Joan, by the way, playing the French horn (I think -- I'm a little vague on brass instruments). I thought she had sort of a Molly Ringwaldish vibe about her, without the buck teeth and annoying tics, but someone on the forums pointed out it was more a combination of Ringwald and Clea Duvall. Anyway, her name's Alice. As the teacher says, "Okay, let's take a crack at the new one. I think this has the Herkies spirit you'll all be down for," Alice hands Joan a piece of music: Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk." Joan whispers, "Fleetwood Mac?" Alice: "No, not when he gets through with it." Joan smiles and puts the music on her stand. Upside-down. Alice notices and rights the page. Come on, Joan's not a complete moron -- I think she'd know which way is up for a piece of sheet music. As Alice turns the sheet around, Joan's eyes widen, realizing once again how far in she's over her head. She thanks Alice. The band starts playing. Joan plays badly, and out of sync, but with some gusto. Not that anyone else is that much better. If I hadn't been told this was supposed to be "Tusk," I honestly wouldn't have had a clue. The band teacher takes note of her crappiness and stops everyone, asking, "Is there an echo in here?" She apologizes and says, "I'm warming up." The band teacher suggests they try it again: "Together." Before anyone can start playing, Joan hits the edge of the drum and breaks the stick, sending it flying toward the chalkboard. Joan's pretty surprised. The teacher says, "Percussion...that was commendably fierce but rhythmically challenged. Take a moment to listen to the horns...find a beat -- any beat -- and, uh, no flying debris. That's easy." Joan nods. The band starts playing. Joan shakes her broken drumstick angrily heavenward.
It's dusk. Cheesy electronic music plays at the art gallery where Helen's work is on display. Helen's wearing a gorgeous halter-style red dress with a robin's egg blue shawl. Mary Steenburgen wears red like nobody's business. Frink doesn't think the shawl goes with the dress, but I'm on the fence. I've always liked turquoise and blue-reds as a combination, but this is much paler than turquoise. Frink asks, "Is that a pashmina? Aren't pashminas out?" I'm so stunned by the idea that he even knows anything about pashminas that I don't know what to say. Will is looking at a series of horrendously bad paintings. The one he's focused on has a peach background for the top three-quarters of the painting; the bottom fourth is Barney purple. There's a big dark blue circle on the left half of the peach ground being pierced by a bright yellow scalene triangle...and bleeding. Yes, bleeding. It's really wretched. Boy, I hope that's not Helen's. Will comments, mostly to himself: "It's a triangle attacking a circle...oh, maybe the circle was rude." Helen: "It's beautifully composed. Daniel's work is very powerful." How drunk are you, woman? Will, who either has no confidence in his artistic judgment or long ago decided not to argue with his wife about such matters, just says, "Okay. Powerful." He notes Helen throwing back the wine and tells her to take it easy, calling her "Picasso." He adds that the ability to stand and converse is a requirement. She states that she's extremely nervous. She gets another cup of wine and notices that some of her students are there, and freaks a little. It's Adam and his outgrowth. Helen tells Will this was a really bad idea, as Andy Reese, a.k.a. Andy the Pissy Queen, comes up and introduces himself as the newspaper's style editor. He wants to interview her. Will tactfully ambles away. Helen nervously drinks a toast "to style."