Jackie looks herself in the mirror for a while, thinks about how probably she's an addict, and then that "Rain On My Parade" song that sounds like you're having a stroke starts playing, and she searches the whole bathroom for drugs, all the doorframe and top of the cabinet places, then every cabinet and drawer, and then -- having struck up a great idea for how best to scream this little problem away, tosses all the usual things in the bathroom that might come from a drugstore into a laundry bag, and heads out to find her husband.
"O'Hara? Really? You couldn't handle this yourself?"
Oh, the amazing drama, as she tosses the contents of her hobo bag onto the floor in front of Kevin -- Eleanor having gotten the fuck out of there -- and showing him how the credit card receipts he used as proof are mostly just school supplies and sundries, razors and eardrops.
Every couple of items, she tosses in low-dose meds -- muscle relaxers, sleeping pills -- to sweeten the deal. Throw it against the wall and see what sticks, yelling so loud all he hears is screaming.
And now that he's confused, and on the defensive, she jumps at him: "My body is falling apart, what do you want from me for fuck's sake?"
And then the kids: "Why aren't the girls here?"
And then more lies: The credit card? "Separate! Not secret, separate! Since when do I have to run every little fuckin' thing by you? When have we ever done things like that? When was the last time you bought your own razors?"
And the PO box? "You know what? Here. Here, take the fuckin' key!"
Still not an answer: "Doesn't matter, you know why? Because I keep the house stocked."
And the masculinity: "That's my job, because you can't manage money!"
And then the kids: "And by the way, what message are we sending Fi? I'm sorry, you're just not quite as important as Grace, we have money for her tuition but not yours."
And the masculinity: "It's tuition, Kevin! You find it!"