Big big thanks to Heathen for covering for me last week, and for writing such a kick-ass recap and reminding me how it's done. It's been a while, folks, so bear with me.
We open with Grace and Jessie striding across the lawn toward the high school. Grace is in mid-gripe, bitching that she never said she'd drive Jessie to therapy later. Jessie whines that Lily said she would. Grace complains, rather loudly, that she can't plan her life around Jessie's therapy. Jessie begs her to shout it out a little more clearly, or maybe get some t-shirts printed. Some girl walks past, flashing an old-school MBTV messenger bag at the camera. Cool. (Glark posted it in the forums, if anyone's interested.) The bitch-and-moan fest is interrupted by Katie, who flings herself onto Jessie. "Hi Billie!" she yells. "Hi Billie," Jessie laughs. Aw, they remind me of my grandparents, who have called one another "Butch" for the past forty-some years. Which is odd in and of itself, but gets weirder when you know the reason behind it: they had a dog named Butch. Yeah, no one in the family gets it, either. At least this "Billie" thing makes a bit of sense. Grace waves a dismissive hand and stomps off with a biting, "Fine. Whatever." Katie wonders whether it was something she said. They giggle and Jessie opens her jacket to flash her chest at Katie. Actually, she's flashing the mauve mohair number Katie lent her. Katie appreciates the "sweater," if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do.
Over at the radio station, Lily's cooing all over the airwaves, telling some schmoe that he should relate to his kids without trying to make them fit his "preconceived notions." Hey, that's a new one. And it sounds pretty easy. For those of you with doubts, I'm sure Lily will be offering a handy demonstration of just how it's done before the hour is out. You may want to keep a notebook handy. The Curmudgeon warms the chair next to Lily, looking in serious need of an antacid. Schmoe concedes that Lily's right, as if there were ever any doubt, and Lily declares, "Good." She tells him to check in and let her know how things go with his kid. Judy's waiting for Lily outside the booth, and grins her support through the glass. Lily reminds her listeners that she'll be filling in for some car guy the following afternoon. It's not clear whether she'll be offering auto advice or family advice, but it probably makes little difference, since she's equally qualified for both. She signs off, "I'm Lily Sammler, and I'm no expert." Don't think she believes that for a second. The Curmudgeon heaves himself out of the chair and propels himself toward the door as Judy enters. Lily attempts an introduction. The Curmudgeon just makes a bilious face and gets the hell out of the booth before he drowns in estrogen. "Is he always so rude?" Judy asks. "Unless he's not feeling well," Lily says mildly. Wah-wah. She asks whether they're still on for lunch, but Judy begs off with an apology. Lily whines to no avail. Judy reminds her that they'll see one another the next night at Jonathan Franzen's (author of The Corrections) book-signing. Lily murmurs happily that she's already arranged for Grace to give Jessie a ride to therapy. Judy, concerned, asks whether Lily thinks that will be okay. Lily assures Judy that Grace is a perfectly safe driver. Judy pulls out her semaphore flags and tries to signal Lily a clue: "They don't exactly get along." Lily has no idea what Judy's talking about. In her world, the girls get along fine. She insists that Jessie and Grace have gotten much closer since doing the play together. Judy smiles, tight-lipped, not wanted to upset the delusional woman. Lily adds, "They're almost like sisters." Judy smirks and shoots Lily a pointed glance. "Shut up," Lily groans.