Mo-Mo asks if there was a fire in the nightclub, but Zoey knows she just got her hair straightened. The woman turns her wild eyes on Zoey. "My neighbor is Jewish? Very fro-ey? She goes to a place on Adam Clayton Powell, I can get the number if you want." The woman points at Zoey behind the glass and chooses her, but Zoey sadly goes, "I'd love to but I've been stripped of my powers." The boys stare at her, begging.
Eddie drinks his beer and points at the picture of Jackie over the bar. "She's beautiful!" Kevin gives him his next beer and asks if he's married. "Nope. Seeing someone, but you know. She's married. Two kids." He dares himself to go further, but the immediate sympathy in Kevin's eyes stops him. "Rough road," Kevin says, and Eddie assures him he doesn't know the half of it. He drinks more so he can say more. He's a shark in a cage.
Gloria is, of course, going crazy: giving the elevator a whole white glove treatment, needing to administrate. "Oh, no," she says, staring up at a tragedy. "Oh no, is that gum?" She pulls out a pencil. As much as Gloria is hated, she's needed. It would be a day when Gloria was gone that the world went to shit. We crave boundaries, addicts most of all because they can't see them for themselves. Today it doesn't matter what we do.
"Did I mention tonight I'm breaking the law?" Eleanor asks, over Victor. "Well, I am. And I need your help." She's having her mother kidnapped and shipped in from London -- "much like a pair of shoes," Jackie grins -- and she asks Jackie to help admit her when the time comes "as a Jane Doe found down in Gramercy Park," just so she can get a look at her. Jackie points out she's already on the hook for one coma, might as well take another one on. She tells Mo-Mo to talk to Gloria and tell her the repair guys have arrived, to save more time to see if Nutterman wakes up: "I don't need this shit Mohammad, really I don't." I love it when she calls him Mohammad, it always sounds so serious and loving at the same time.
Gloria has reached that part in being bored to madness where you pretend to be on a talk show. In her case, Letterman. "My very dear friend Neil and I... You know him? We were just remarking how momentous this year has been, both in healthcare and in cinema. ...Me and Neil?" she giggles, swearing they're just friends. Fellow bad guys.
But of all the things I love about Gloria, this is the most: she equates the two. Her passion, her art, and Neil's passion, his art. The art of healing and the art of cinema, and the two of them were put on this earth to administrate their beauty. Once were Zoeys, thinking that art sprung into the world fully formed, that idealism matters, that creation is possibly ever peaceful. That there is ever a time the bottom line doesn't matter. Now they're too far the other side: they know it's an ugly business, that transforms the ideals of its art into ugly responsibilities and desperation. They're not both life or death, but Gloria is still human enough to treat them as equals. To pretend that art, that cinema, matters