There's a stain on his notebook / where your coffee cup was / Oh, there's ash in the pages / now I've got myself lost. Thanks to Squeeze for mentally accompanying this scene on the DJB Interior Monologue Soundtrack. And so it's sung for Slackjaw, who is sitting alone at the Crashdown after hours, a huge mug o' joe just staining notebooks with black coffee in bed. And so on. ["And that is seriously the steamiest damn cup of coffee I've ever seen in primetime." -- Sars] Slackjaw contemplates a business card and a cordless phone for a minute, before picking up tentatively and dialing the number. He seems really nervous. Pause. Pause. Pause. "Hi, Philip. It's Jeff." Did he just call the Roswell Glorified Extra Phone Sex Hotline, or what? I mean, I'm sure it's not the worst way for them to pull in a little cash on these here UPN salaries, but Slackjaw just seems so nervous about it. Either that or it's a straight-out booty call with Monopoly Nazi. Let's find out! "I'm sorry to call you so late, but, um, yeah. Look, Phil, there are some things that I remember. Where do you want to get together? Okay. Your office? Tomorrow? Yeah. Sure." He hangs up. Liz is hiding behind a door. It's where she's meant to be.
Morning in the Sexless Suite back at Khlub Khivar. Jesse and his armpits (what is with this show and the lingering pit shots?) wake up alone in bed, as Isabel slides out of the room focussed on the Wacky Caper at hand. And quite the frock she's wearing, one with fringe and flowers and nature-y things. ["Not so much with the support, though. Or the 'not worn by Beverly D'Angelo in Pacific Heights.' Or the 'non-fugly.'" -- Sars] She walks past a grassy knoll, nodding to Max and Michael as she passes, and Jesse runs up to them at that moment (fully clothed, natch) and asks what the hell. Michael molecularly manipulates a cart to fall in Jesse's path, allowing them free access to the open, grassy field that exists at Khlub Khivar just for the purpose of doing away with Khivar. Which sounds like an odd choice for Khivar to put at a resort named entirely in his honor.
Cut to an open field, Khivar standing close to Isabel and asking, "Have you made up your mind?" She has: "I'm coming with you." Max and Michael run, caper-like, and hide between a wall. Isabel khisses Khivar madly, which Max and Michael realize was not "part of the plan." And then betrayal, as Isabel quietly informs Khivar, "Max and Michael are here. They're gonna kill you." With a wave of the hand, Khivar melts the wall they were hiding behind. Michael tosses off a sarcastic "Thanks, Isabel." Isabel opens her eyes, which are all black and creepy and reintroduces herself for the none of you who may have forgotten: "Vilandra." Max and Michael advance, telling Khivar, "You're not taking Isabel anywhere." Khivar is unmoved, responding, "I'm not taking anyone anywhere, am I?" Max and Michael shout at her, but she's unresponsive, and Khivar begs, "Don't make her kill you again. So redundant." Interesting. I've been thinking that word quite a bit myself this evening. But wait! Just then, Michael "remembers something." Again, how convenient. And what he remembers is that Vilandra didn't kill anyone, but rather that Khivar did. "He betrayed you!" Interesting selective memory, Michael. Khivar lifts up a hand that tosses Michael into the bushes, and Khivar promises Vilandra, "No more troubles, I promise. You ready?" She is ready. Khivar, Isabel's hand still in his, steps forward into a clearing, raises up a hand, and creates a column of light and clouds that I guess is their new mode of transit home. Cool! It's like a mobile granolith. A Port-O-Lith, as it were. Max just looks at it as if wondering, "I'm knocking over convenience stores to find a fifty-year-old spaceship, when all I needed all along was an ethereal swell of music and a blouse that matched the surrounding fauna?" I'll bet he'd really like that, too. The blouse, I mean.