Saturday night. At work, Rebecca is hanging over Kevin's shoulder and bickering with him: "It is a split infinitive!" Kevin: "It is what I wanted to say!" Rebecca: "Well, I'm all for that, but can't you say what you want without violating the English language?" Ah, young love. Kevin says he doesn't have a "big honkin' education" like she does. She tells him he's going to have to come up with something better than that. He looks at his phone, and Rebecca tells him, "She'll call back -- stay focused." Apparently he's waiting to hear from Joan. He reminds Rebecca that he's in charge of his siblings while his parents are away. Rebecca: "Do ya really care if they have a party?" Kevin considers this and says, "I'm supposed to." Rebecca takes a rather lecturesome tone: "Here's what you're in charge of: your career. That is what I am trying to give you, but if you don't want it, I can't help you!" Kevin: "Who says I don't want it?" They both suddenly kind of smirk at each other, and she warns him, "Don't...make trouble." Kevin: "Are we even talking about the article anymore?" She says they are. Kevin laughs.
Will comes into a waiting area at the spa filled with men in robes, most of whom have some kind of pillow thing around their necks, probably scented or something. Jackhole's there, of course. As he sits down, someone puts a purple pillow around his neck, too. Jackhole notices Will, who asks if he's there for a treatment. Jackhole is. Will asks if they're supposed to ring a bell or something. Jackhole admonishes him that this is the quiet room. As opposed to the rest of the place? Will: "So if we just stay quiet, somebody will come and get us?" Jackhole says that's the idea. Will asks what services he's getting. I can tell Will is enjoying annoying this guy. Payback's a bitch, ain't it, buddy? Jackhole says, "Shut...up."
Party time. If these kids trash the beautiful Girardi house, I will not be responsible for my ensuing actions or comments. Music is blasting, and a houseful of people appear to be enjoying the pop and chips. It's probably still like this, but back in the day, when I was in high school, the absolute worst thing you could say about somebody's party was that it was a "pop and chips" party. Joan and Luke are leaning on the counter of the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room. Joan: "Oh, my God." Luke: "Yeah." Joan: "Who are these people?" Luke has no clue, but figures they must be popular. Joan: "Did you pay them?" Luke says he didn't -- but considered it. There's a shot of a couple making out lightly. Joan says, "Looks like they're actually dancing...and having fun." Luke: "Isn't this what you expected?" Joan: "Hey, I just do what I'm told, dude." Luke looks puzzled, but before he can question her, Joan notices that Adam and Grace have arrived. They're pretty dumsquizzled by the size of the party. There are a couple of shots of people flopping around, dancing. Joan greets them and says, "Luke will take your coats." He asks, "What am I?" Grace: "Fascinating. It's like a Druid solstice ritual without the viscera." Ha! She cracks my shit up. Luke: "Stick around -- the night is still young." Adam seems overwhelmed. There's Glynis, lurking in the background, waiting for her chance to talk to Luke. There's Friedman, too. Hey, Friedman, Greg Brady phoned from 1975, and he wants his shirt back. Grace: "I need salt." She takes off, and Luke follows. Adam, in a brown and beige toque, says hi to Joan and leans in like he's going to kiss her. She not-so-deftly makes an excuse and an escape.