Boca montage. Tropical mandolin stylings. In a hotel room, Junior in his wifebeater and the broad in her pink fur-trimmed negligee cuddle and drink champagne. "Who would have ever thought we could have been this contented?" she sighs. "I did," Junior says, pouring Korbel. "As soon as I saw you, I knew." "You're a sweetheart. If only they knew the other side of you," Broad breathes. "They'd eat me for breakfast," Junior finishes. He tells her that he's "been looking at some real estate, some nice houses on the market," and maybe she'd like "somethin' bigger." She says she doesn't: "No, Corrado. This is our place. You know how long we been comin' here?" "Sixteen years," he says, "and every one of them good." Broad reaches under the sheets and asks, "How's Junior...Junior?" Oh, God. Shut up, woman. "He's catching some shut-eye," Junior tells her. Thank the Lord. Unfortunately, the scene doesn't end here. Broad tells Junior, "You're such a powerhouse," and goes on to say, "When you kiss me down there, you're like a great artist. You got a real instinct for it." Junior ponders this, then tells her to pass him the red peppers. She feeds him one, and she aims for "sexy and maybe sort of kinky" but takes a hard left turn at "annoying overkill." After stuffing each of her fingers into his mouth for him to lick, she snuggles closer and croons, "You know the thrill you give?" Junior, who seems to have gotten as sick of her turbo-vamping as I have, looks down at his glass and says, "Just keep it to yourself, okay, Roberta?" "Yeeeeeah...all to myself," she sleazes, making little riding motions in the bed. When he doesn't respond to her wiggling, she asks him, "Corrado? Why the big secret?" "About what?" he asks. "Oral sex!" she breathes. "What's so terrible about pleasing a woman?" Because it might inspire her to bust out the overripe Playboy-bunny routine at every opportunity, perhaps? Junior grouches that she always wants "to talk about everything." Finally, after a bit of dodging and weaving, he admits that "they think if you'll suck pussy, you'll suck anything. It's a sign a weakness, and possibly a sign that you're a finocch' [fag]." Roberta can't believe that: "A fag? That's ridiculous! How would the two even translate?" Good question. Junior just shrugs, "Don't ask me. I don't make the rules."
At a restaurant table, Tony tries to sell Artie on the shylock idea again by saying that his aunts used to do it, and "it's the same as bein' a banker -- ya help people!" Artie makes a "yeah, pull my other one" face and changes the subject, saying that his daughter started crying when she heard the coach planned to leave. Tony says if Artie doesn't want to talk about it, that's fine, he has to go pick up Carmela anyway, but first he wants to ask Artie a question: "Why does your wife hate me?" Artie laughs, "Charmaine doesn't hate you," and he almost convinced me that he genuinely never picked up on Charmaine's loathing of Tony, but Tony sees through it, mimicking Artie's laugh and telling him, "Yeah -- you lie like I play the French horn." Before Artie has to come up with another lie, Tony gets annoyed by a guy at another table wearing a baseball hat, and Artie says that that shit always bothered him when he had his own restaurant. Tony returns to the subject of Coach Hauser, asking why the guy couldn't stay until Meadow finished high school, but he's still staring at the baseball hat guy and his giggling blonde girlfriend. Artie turns to look at BHG, then turns back to Tony and smiles tightly: "That burns my ass." Tony gets up and goes over to BHG's table and tells him to take the hat off, because "they don't sell hot dogs here." BHG says that it's his hat and he'll wear it where he wants. Tony keeps standing there. BHG looks at Tony nervously, then draws the hat slowly off of his head. Artie looks on approvingly. Tony thanks BHG and goes back to the table, and the waiter pours the two of them more wine and tells Tony, "Thank you." Artie mocks BHG some more. Tony pulls the waiter close and tells him to send BHG a bottle of Montepulciano -- mmmm, Montepulciano -- and then tells him to ask the valet to get the license plate number of the guys sitting behind Artie: "They look like cops." The waiter goes on his way; Tony smiles at Artie, and Artie nervously tries to look behind himself without moving his head.