Brian's office. He and Cynthia (Hi, Cynthia!) are meeting with a Mr. Clayton Poole, a middle-aged guy hawking "Poolside Coolers," multi-colored bottled fruit drinks. He says that the response hasn't been as good as his company expected. Brian smirks, "Unless you hoped for less than 1% of the market." Poole chuckles, "We need to change our image. When women think 'poolside,' they should think 'cool,' 'hip,' 'trendy.'" Well, for one thing, the label is totally unattractive. Even Bartles and Jaymes has a little bit of zip to it. Poole says he's looking for someone to add "spunk" to their ad campaign. Cynthia assures him, "Well, if you're looking for spunk, Mr. Poole, then you've definitely come to the right man." Hee. I love Cynthia. She's no Daphne, but she'll do in a pinch. Poole is going to cough up a $50,000 bonus if the market share is doubled. So, if they give him a proposal, he'll certainly consider it. Brian snorts, "Maybe you should consider this, Mr. Poole: Your stock took a nose-dive last quarter, and you have a shareholders' meeting in three days." Three days? Well, he certainly took his time looking for a solution, didn't he? Brian continues, "Unless you come up with something fast, your little family business will be bought out from under you at ten cents on the dollar." Harsh. Poole remarks that Brian's very blunt. Brian replies that Poole's out of time: "If you want me, hire me."
After the meeting, Cynthia says she's impressed with Brian's delivery: "Too bad you're wasting it on such an asshole." Brian isn't sure what she's talking about. Cynthia explains that Poole is a virulent homophobe (sur-priiiise!) who puts his money where his mouth is. Brian's like, oh, yeah, that, snorting, "He's always donating his money to worthy causes like 'Castrate Homosexuals Now,' 'Launch Lesbians into Space,' 'Stop AIDS with Guns.' Well, now he can donate some of his money to me. Fifty grand!" Cynthia wants to know what the "big concept" is. Brian shrugs, "Fuck if I know."
The Happy Fun Porch. Leda and Mel are regaling St. L. with tales from the bad old days, as they all share a bottle of wine. Actually, scratch that: Lindsay's not drinking. Melanie's changed into a black tank top and jeans, to match Leda's blank tank top and leather pants. That can't be good. Okay, so one time? Leda and Melanie were riding their motorcycles on Pacific Coast Highway, near Big Sur? And a cop pulled them over. Lindsay asks why. Why, Lindsay? Because they were speeding. Topless. Lindsay cracks me up when she faintly smiles, "Did they give you a ticket?" Leda snickers that the cop was actually going to arrest them because "he was afraid someone would see [them] and drive off the side of the cliff." Melanie says that Leda started flirting with the officer. Leda says, no, Melanie started flirting with him first! Giggle! Anyway. Melanie, grasping Leda's hand, continues, "Long story short, we're behind a rock, he's got his pants down --" Leda slides her arms around Mel and ends, "--and this little vixen grabs his boots and we tear the fuck out of there!" She and Melanie chortle into each other's necks. Okay. Well. At least Melanie's still friends with her ex. That says...something. Lindsay unadvisedly offers them more wine. St. L.'s such a good sport. On the outside. Lindsay asks Leda how long she'll be in town. Not too long, she secretly hopes. Leda grins, "Until they kick me out. Or until my art exhibit opens, whichever comes first." Melanie pipes up that Lindsay is an artist, too. Lindsay grits, "Art. Teacher." Inferiority complexes are fu-un. Leda snarks, "And here I was thinking we had nothing in common." Grr. Lay off Lindsay, there. Leda adds that it's great that they're together, raising Gus: "But to go from zooming down the highway to zero in the slow lane...what's next, are you going to get married?" Lindsay shrugs, uh, actually, they are, heh heh. Leda stares at Melanie in surprise: "No shit? Girl, you really have gone respectable." Melanie takes a swig of her wine. Lindsay takes a swig of her Perrier.