As Jax outlines the details of the proposal -- going into business with Nero and tapping the Caracara roster for the porn-star premium hookers. The Underminer asks what the money looks like. Jax says coolly, "Right now, I'm fronting the merger, but I want this to be a club business." "You trust this guy?" asks the Underminer. Jax grins a little before saying, "I do. He's straight-up about profit." Best of all, the money keeps them out of fed crosshairs. Jax says, "When it's up and running, take a look. You guys want in, we'll vote it." The Underminer says, "Why wait? Let's vote it now." So the table does, and it turns out everyone's in favor of moving into the companionator business.
Clay is the last to leave and Jax uses the opportunity to ask why he didn't get more resistance on SAMCRO's new business line. "Why? 'Cause your new partner's bedding my wife?" Clay asks. (Oh, he is so playing the Long Con to get Gemma back. I would bet cash money that the primary reason Clay took over the club was to keep Gemma.) Jax says, "That stops. That's wrong." Not because it's a troubling commentary on his mom and her coping skills, but because Jax has a healthy concern about Gemma's corrupting influence. As he should.
Speak of the she-devil, the minute the boys roll out of church, Gemma's swung over to ask Jax if he's maybe heard from Nero lately? Jax says, "Don't get attached to that. He's business, not pleasure." As Jax rolls off, Gemma ponders exactly what that is supposed to mean. (Confidental to GTM: It means Nero is a lot more interested in profits than in crazy middle-aged tail.)
Meanwhile, Gemma Junior is having a medical consult with the hand expert at St. Convenience, and she's learning that her hand is healing in a way that would be considered miraculous, were medicine based on folklore and strong belief in correlation equaling causation and not, say, reproducible results and evidence. Dr. Balian tells Tara that if he were her, he wouldn't rule out the possibility that she'll be able to resume her surgical career. Tara's somewhat nonplussed by this news. Her next checkup is in six weeks -- let's see how long it takes before she permanently sabotages any chance of resuming a white collar, legitimate profession!
We're at the meet. Clay and Juice roll up in the truck -- which reminds me, doesn't Clay have to ride soon? What sort of distraction will he engineer to get around that? -- and Clay takes off the oxygen, telling a nervous Juice that so long as he doesn't have to dance, he'll be fine. He and Galen then greet each other warmly, Clay lies about how hale he is (OR DOES HE?) and then the awkward silence descends as Galen realizes Clay's no longer the HBIC. (That would be Head Biker In Charge.) Galen snots, "I wasn't aware there was an election," and Clay shrugs, "So long as I was incapacitated, I figured it was a good time to move Jax up. Nothing changes with us, though." Galen replies, "I hope that's true. Our seniority's earned, not sewn on with cheap thread." You know, for being Real Irish and all that, Galen seems to be missing the gift of Irish diplomacy, i.e. the ability to tell someone to go f*** themselves and have them enjoy the trip.