Nighttime. By the river. Kyle chases after Jimmy, who hollers behind him, "You stole my songs?!" Kyle says he just showed Karen one and had no idea she was going to take over the whole party like an insane attention whore. Karen apologizes and says she didn't think he'd get so mad, but Jimmy tells her to stay out of it. She says she just thought he was talented and wanted to help. He yells that he doesn't need help, he writes for himself. Kyle protests that their work isn't just Jimmy's, to which Jimmy says Kyle just sits there and watches him write.

Karen interrupts and says he's really good and she knows it's scary to expose his work to other people, but he has to or he'll never know how good he is. Jimmy says he doesn't need everyone's approval -- unlike Karen -- to know he's good. She protests that she does know she's good, but he asks why she isn't across the river on stage rather than begging strangers for songs. He tells her to get her friends and go. She stalks away, trailed by Ana, Bobby and Jessica, while Jimmy scampers off to steal a horse and sing about Santa Fe.

Tom and Eileen are commiserating about how they're pariahs now, but Eileen says they aren't leaving just yet. She wants the world to see what they'd miss if Bombshell went away. No offense, Eileen, I'm sure your show is swell, but it's not exactly indoor plumbing or penicillin or Google. Or even Seamless. My life would be a little sadder in a way I couldn't define if West Side Story didn't exist, but I'm sure I would've found some other reason to fall in love with Russ Tamblyn at the age of 9. Eileen says they're going to put on a show those turkeys will never forget! Sadly, she doesn't say it like an olde tymey radioman.

Tom calls Karen, but it goes to voicemail. So a second later, Derek shows up with Ivy. Julia says they're grateful to her coming so quickly and she thanks them for wanting her to hear her sing. Derek, still kind of drunk and slurry, says he knows no one wanted him there and Eileen tells him they're all party crashers, so what's one more. Man, this seems like a really good way to get yourself blacklisted from the Tonys and Harvey's dinner parties and every theater in the city except the one on 50th Street that's over a Duane Reade, doesn't it?