Breakfast hour at the Ranch. Flapjacks are sizzling on the griddle, the coffee percolates on the cast iron stove. The cattle lo outside the isinglass window. Or, Lauren eats cold cereal, alone, at the counter. Whichever you prefer. I have to warn you, I'm in a prevaricating mood. I may just start making shit up. Amy comes bounding down the stairs, all decked out in a Gucci Pucci Firorucci-eqsue mod pink and yellow and orange swirly blouse and bright pink skirt. It's very Palm Beach, very now, very "Ow! My eyes!" Amy prods Lauren (not literally, unfortunately) to finish her breakfast so that they can get off to school on time. Lauren grumbles, as Maxine "Mother Superior" Gray sails like a steam ship into the kitchen; majestic in form, and full of hot air. She and Amy, after some commentary regarding the appropriateness of Amy's ensemble, attempt to find time in their busy busybody's schedules to mother-daughter bond. Amy whines that since Maxine is so busy getting it on with her creepy millionaire and she herself is so busy "teaching at Yale" and dealing with Her Mini Brattiness, Lauren, it just feels like they're merely "sharing space." Maxine muses that perhaps that's a good thing, as it may keep them from "having words." Amy makes some noise about not loving Maxine any less just because she's busy and finally breaks out the fishcakes and confesses that she hasn't had a good chance to really talk about Greta's death, yet, and she needs to. Enjoy that teensy mention of Greta, kids, because after the jingly jangly theme song, Greta magically becomes a distant and not so dear memory, never to be mentioned again. Amy and Maxine make plans to have lunch that day. Amy, seemingly in spite of herself, goes upstairs to change. Maxine chuckles to herself over the breakfast dishes. Because she has won. Again.
Jingle Jangle. Farewell Greta, we hardly knew ye.
Halls of Justice. Preppy letterman jacket-wearing kid accused of manslaughter. Defense wants to dismiss charges, claiming the motive is weak, the evidence is shoddy and the eyewitness suspect. Amy disagrees and gets all ready to hold the case over to trial, when Letterman Jacket gives his lawyer a shifty little glance. Defense asks to recess in order to discuss something with his client. Amy gives them the thumbs up. Metaphorically speaking. Bruce is back at his tiny desk and, I suspect, to his dour and humorless ways. Laughing, smiling Bruce, we hardly knew ye.
At the Rancherito, Vincent "Van Gogh Away, Stupid Girlfriend!" Gray swings open his front door to reveal a total mess; sofa pushed to the side, books piled on and around it, the TV on top of a table on top of the counter in the kitchen. He and Donna have adopted my decorating scheme, I see. In the midst of the carpet, Donna is dancing with a steam cleaner, wearing boxers. And a tank top. And a face mask. And protective eye wear. And worst of all, long, black tube socks. She gasps when she sees Vincent, and modestly tries to cover her naughty bits with her hands. She thought Vincent had left for work. Vincent, who is all sweaty and wearing only a pair of boxer briefs (hee, that was the prevarication again. He's sweaty, but fully clothed), corrects her, saying that he went for a run. He wonders what the hell she's doing. Donna shrugs her way into a sweatshirt and explains that she was "cleaning the carpet. Also, sanitizing, deodorizing, scotch-guarding the sofa, washing the walls." Wow, I wish Donna was my roommate. She tells Vincent that she's taking a personal day from work because "Judge Gray demands total focus and concentration in her courtroom." Vincent looks like he's wondering where he put the number for the men in the white coats. Donna continues that she can't give that kind of total focus and concentration because she's "too nervous" and she has to keep busy. She pulls back on the face mask and protective eye gear and does some tai chi before revving up the ol' steam cleaner again (I'm not kidding about the tai chi. There was tai chi involved).