Joan's walking down the street with Adam, who's on his way to work again. She says she thinks that maybe he's behind on his art project because he doesn't have "one of those reminder book things." She wonders if he would like one of those. No, he wouldn't; he just writes stuff on scrap paper. She asks what he would like if he could have anything in the world. He hems and haws, replying, "There's not much I want really, except you." Aw. See? Snoring is nothing in the face of that. Joan's not as moved as I am, or at least, not for long…"Oh, that's sweet…but let's pretend it's Christmas, we're opening presents…" She gasps: "'Oh, look, I got a puppy!'" Adam: "You want a puppy?" Joan: "No, they poop all the time! I'm just…work with me here, I'm trying to get into it…'And what did Santa bring for Adam? Not an electric sander, by any chance?'" Adam hasn't got time for this nonsense; he's slightly late for work. He takes off as Joan says, "Sorry." I'll bet Adam never thought, way back when he first sat at the Girardis' kitchen table, that a relationship with Joan could be more work than school, life, and a job put together. He suddenly comes back toward her, saying, "Chah, I'm such a dud, uh, I only have a dollar, and I need to get something to eat. Can I borrow some money until…" Joan says he can just have the money. She tries to give him ten bucks as a gift. Oh, Joan. Joan, Joan, Joan. He says he'll pay her back. She insists she doesn't want it back: "It's a gift." She's so thrilled to have solved her Godproblem that she's oblivious to his tone. He says, "I can buy my own food." Joan: "I know." Adam: "Just because I work, that doesn't make me a charity case, Jane." He thrusts the money back at her and starts to storm off. Joan says, "I'm sorry! I was just trying to be nice!" He turns back: "Nice? Nice? Nice is what you get from a stranger!" Joan, upset: "I'm sorry! It was really stupid." She offers him the money again, saying her can pay her back. He goes into the hotel, saying he'll get something at home later.
Joan walks away from the hotel, looking upset. From the back seat of a big expensive car -- a Rolls or a Bentley or one of those things; I don't know or care -- Kitty Montgomery says, "That didn't go very well, did it?" She really is the quintessential rich woman. I don't know if I can think of too many people who play the role better. Joan goes over to KittyGod, asking, "Isn't this a little over the top, even for you?" KittyGod tells her, "What you tried to give Adam wasn't a gift, Joan. It was an attempt to avoid giving, just like your internet search. Giving isn't about things." Joan: "Oh, you're going to lecture me on materialism?" She gestures to a huge honking diamond on KittyGod's right hand and says, "That rock on your finger could end world hunger." What if God wasn't one of us, hmm? (Yeah, yeah, I know: "weren't." But that's not the blasted lyric, is it?) She replies, "Just carbon. The same element that makes up the graphite in your pencils. People have endowed it with value; might just as easily have gone the other way around." I'm having trouble picturing blind beggars selling diamond jewellery out of tin cups. Joan: "Fifty-thousand-dollar pencils?" KittyGod: "Why not? They do more than this." She indicates the diamond ring. Joan: "Okay, let's swap: your ring for my Ticonderoga." KittyGod gets out of the car, handing her shopping bags to a doorman. She tells Joan, "A gift is an offering, a selfless act that adds something to someone's life, something that they need. And only the two of you can decide the value of that gift." Joan pouts, "He won't give me any hints!" KittyGod assures her they're everywhere: "You should know that by now. Find out what he needs, Joan." She walks into the hotel.