Elsewhere, Delia tries to sleep. It's really loud outside: music, people yelling, glass breaking, the whole deal. She rolls out of bed and looks out the window. A ton of people are hanging out on the sidewalk under her building, as another group is lined up in front of a warehouse across the street. She leans out the window and calls down to the people in front of her building, asking them all to shut up. "Why don't you come down here and make us, bee-yotch?" one of them retorts. "You don't want me to come down there," she yells. "Turn it off." They all roll their eyes and actually turn it up. Delia sighs. Oh, Delia. You need to move.

Later, Delia stands in the street in her bathrobe and talks to a uniformed police office. "What do you mean, 'after-hours club'? Why don't you shut it down?" she asks. The officer shrugs that the area has been zoned for twenty-four-hour use. Delia flashes her badge, and suggests that surely there are all kinds of drugs inside this so-called "after-hours club." The officer agrees, but reminds her that they don't have any evidence for a raid. They can't get an undercover agent in there. At this, a lightbulb goes on over Delia's head.

So, Delia goes ahead and tarts herself up and sweet-talks her way into the club. Inside, it looks just like the underground club that Brandon Walsh and Emily Valentine went to that time she slipped him Euphoria and his car got stolen. It may even be the same set. Aaron Spelling is nothing if not a fervent supporter of recycling.

Delia sits down on a sofa, right next to a large table covered in every conceivable illegal drug. It's like a drug buffet. Truck watches her fiddle with her shoe for a moment before coming over and sitting next to her. "You having fun yet?" he asks. Delia twitters that she is, and says she really likes the music. Truck modestly informs her that he picked it up the last time he was in South Africa. "Oh, wow, is this your club?" she asks, all wide-eyed. Truck confirms this, and asks who she knows, who got her in? She giggles. "I don't know anybody. My girlfriend gave the DJ a BJ to put our names on the list," she says. Ah, the cadence of that line! It's like Shakespeare. Truck leans in and wonders where her friend is now. "Last time I saw, she was outside, puking her guts out," Delia says. Truck laughs, and lets it drop that he's a "music producer." Delia twitters that she's a singer! "Have you ever been in a recording studio?" Truck asks. Delia bats her eyes and admits that she hasn't. Truck hands her a card and tells him to call him. "All right," she says. "You be good," Truck says, and gets up to go. "Okay, you too!" Delia tells him, and looks down at the card triumphantly.