We cut to Judy and Lily at the book store having lunch. No spit bucket necessary this time; it's only salad and fruit. Judy's telling Lily, "It's a dinner. You've had dinner before. I know; I've seen you eat." And the myth continues to be woven. "But what's my role?" Lily wants to know. "You're the girl," Judy helpfully supplies. "The one who doesn't open the car door." Lily tries to make Judy understand the context. It's a business dinner. With clients. Rick's clients. For his business. We get it. She finally gets Judy's attention when she mentions that "Miles Drentell, shaper of corporations," will be there. Judy says she saw his picture in Newsweek. "That's the sort of face they used to stamp on Roman coins," she notes. Lily says that's exactly what she means: she's "having dinner with a Roman coin. What's [her] function?" Judy bluntly says that Lily's the "trophy." "I'm not a trophy," Lily says adamantly. Half a second later, she adds a meek, "Am I a trophy?" Judy says of course Lily's a trophy. "Rick wants to show off for you and he wants to show you off," Judy says. "I think you should be very flattered being a trophy -- a woman your age." Lily swats her arm. But she is flattered. She wants to know what Judy thinks she should wear. How about a brass plate that says "World's #1 Hottest Mom"?
Meanwhile, Rick's perched on the Soliloquy Stool, saying that "there comes a point in a man's life where he seriously begins to face the fact that it's not going to happen for him." The tailor holds out a selection of ties for Rick. Rick continues talking from the Stool: "The dream, it's not going to come true. He ran out of time, or didn't get the breaks...or [sigh] he's just not as special as he'd thought." Rick examines a couple of blue dress shirts. A hand appears, bearing water in a footed crystal glass. "And in that terrible, clear moment," Rick continues, "he kind of opens the fist that's been holding so tight to what he's been dreaming of...you know, he lets go, he gives up. And now...I'm wondering if the universe wasn't just waiting to give him what he wants...was waiting for that hand to open [opens his fist and stares at it] so it could put the prize right in his palm." You know, I think Rick might be talking about himself, and not just some "man." In the store, Rick's gone back to browsing the ties. He selects a hideously mottled silk tie (it looks like a bruise) and declares, "I'll take this one." He slides it out from the rest and turns, in slow motion, to try it in front of the mirror. He looks very pleased with himself, and I half expect ZZ Top to roll out from behind the mirror singing "Sharp-Dressed Man." Thankfully, they don't.