Not only does Trish get to pretend she's not an enemy of culture, but she also gets to have her hair and makeup for the date artfully rendered by a stylist named "Christoff." However, Christoff's publicist must have been so adamant that the entire viewing audience know who he was that his name (and subsequent titles "Stylist" and "Girls Don't Know He's The Spy") does not appear anywhere on screen, leaving me unsure as to how to spell it. Christoff? Christof? Kristov? Even the slightest variations have his name resembling a vodka or a Messiah. It's a lot like "Chanukah." Except for the "Messiah" part.
Trish: "I'm sure some of the girls felt maybe a little snubbed when they found out that I got the first one-on-one date. But this is a one-woman game, with one winner. They probably do view me as a threat. But, y'know, get over it." She may be a hooker, but if the mainstream media of my youth taught me nothing else, it's that hookers' sole purpose in television and movies is to teach us enduring moral lessons. And seriously? The hooker's got her herself a point.
And a makeover! As Crrisstahv preps her and compliments her hair to the vast dismay of the others, Jesse (I think) and a few other girls try to convince the stylist to do something ugly to her hair. Like, for instance, leave it exactly the way it is. Which is kind of what he does, except he makes it just a wee bit more mullet-y, if that's possible, and she emerges into the living room and announces to the rest of the girls, "I'm sorry, I'm pretty [word -- hopefully the word "not" -- deleted] fabulous!"
Jesse's car pulls up to front of Cruella DeVilla, Jesse's utterly inconsequential confessional all but drowned out by the sound of all of the other girls seething with a jealous rage. Jesse carries in a small box filled with diamond jewels to adorn Trish on their date, causing female Jesse to observe, "All we were saying was, 'Those better be loaners. She better not get to keep 'em.'" Back in the house, the bedazzled Trish giggles with girlish glee and warns, "I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, so let's get this show on the road." Too bad for that, Trish. You know what the law says about twins marrying.
The limo pulls up in front of The Orpheum, and the camera holds there for a good while, because blinking neon always inspires in me the sense that great opera is about to take place here. They walk through the cavernous, empty lobby of the building, Jesse noting on their processional, "I've heard so much about the Orpheum." Did they watch an instructional video the limo on the way over? They walk up to a box that seats the two of them, which is when the realization sets in that they two are, in fact, the only people in the theater. The theater seats two thousand people. And they are alone. Normally, I would just default to the creepy feeling I get during all of these dates when the couple is hermetically sealed from the rest of the universe and attending events at The Biosphere II Theater, but this time I think I'll just let it stand as a signpost of the popularity level of opera in present-day Los Angeles.