In a subtle show of we've-reached-a- tenuous-truce-because- we-ran-out-of-things- to-make-them-fight-about, Geoff "Slackjaw" Parker stumbles through the room just then, offering a measured, "Hey, Max." He seems far more excited to see Max than Liz is. Liz damage controls that she'll be "right up," and offers to Max that Slackjaw has been playing the role of "total saint" since her return from Chilton, even though the school "wouldn't give him back his deposit." Note that plot point. It foretells financial ruin. And, for some reason, it's mentioned eleven more times, dropped unsubtly from the sky in the form of giant cloth sacks of cash with dollar signs across them, much like those the little guy in Pitfall would collect after swinging on a vine. Y'know, like that. Max doesn't care either. He changes the subject back to him, because if not him, who? "So, it seems like you're pretty busy tonight." He thought it might be fun if they went out. But Liz vetoes, recognizing, "Things can't go back to the way they were." You mean, "On the television schedule?" No. No, they sure can't. He asks if they can "hang out like friends," and she ignores his reading from the text of Pick-Up Lines And Social Etiquette For The Seventh Grade Dance in lieu of mumbling something about her "orders backing up." Ew. That happens to me when I go a while without dating also, Liz.
Ramirez House Of Lies. In the bathroom (of Lies), Isabel "Beard" Evans stands in front of the mirror while a radio behind her inexplicably broadcasts a commercial for the Roswell Desert Spa. The commercial says something about a haircut, and Isabel waves a hand in front of her plain, straight hair and turns it into a new 'do that is glamorously Liz Taylor-esque (present day). The commercial tells us that the Roswell Desert Spa also specializes in manicures. Isabel waves a hand over the other and gives her stumpy nails the red shine of Color #634: Ketchup Before Being Turned To Mustard. Because we've seen this all before, see. She smiles, a bit self-satisfied, before noticing that Jesse has been staring at her from the hallway. She changes everything back. Straight hair, no polish. Who the hell goes to a spa for a haircut anyway? Wrap me in seaweed, smear me with mud, and leave me alone, or don't even bother sending the brochure. The radio instinctively knows this moment is serious and mystifyingly turns itself off. Morose music begins to play. Isabel notes that Jesse is "home late." He's got his excuse at the ready: "I was at the gym." Yeah. There's a word for guys who stay at the gym that late, lingering around the locker room and what have you. And I would tell you what that word is. But then you'll all want to go to my gym.