Tony checks his watch. Behind him, Meadow comes back to the table with two other girls in tow and introduces them as Colby students. "Why don't you hang out with them?" Tony suggests eagerly. "Dad," Meadow says in the patented teenage-girl don't-embarrass-me tone. Tony points out that they could tell her about the school and show her around. Meadow looks like she might faint from shame and mutters that they'll have to excuse him, but one of them says that "that'd be cool," so Tony turns her loose after warning her not to drink and telling the other girls to "see that she sticks to Cokes," and then he makes his escape. The other girls watch him go. Meadow shrugs and follows them to the bar.
The Jersey payphone, ringing. A soggy Christopher rushes into the frame from the left and picks up. Tony: "What do you got?" Christopher bitches about the rain; Tony tells him to go try out for the Yankees if he doesn't like his current job. Christopher lets that pass and reads Tony the info from a dripping piece of paper: Frederick Peters, address, phone, he lives off of Route 201. "Frederick Peters...Fabian Petrulio...good match, huh?" Tony muses. Christopher says he doesn't know, he guesses so, and asks what Tony's going to do. Tony doesn't know; he's got Meadow to deal with. He waves a finger at Meadow. Meadow pretends not to know him. Christopher offers to fly up, and Tony tells him he's a good kid, but he'll get Paulie and Silvio to deal with it. Naturally, Christopher gets bent out of shape -- how come they can do it but he can't, wah wah wah, and Tony tells him, "Don't be so sensitive. They had a friend Jimmy die in prison on account of this scumbag." Christopher says he'll let them know, but Tony says not so fast, he has to ID the guy first, and when Christopher says he thought Tony knew it was Petrulio, Tony says he hasn't seen him in twelve years and he has to make sure. He'll call Christopher back at midnight.
Soprano kitchen. More wine-drinking. Father Phil tosses something in a bowl and asks, "You think I'm a schnorrer, don't you?" "A who?" Carmela asks, puttering around the kitchen and taking things out of the fridge and the oven. Father Phil explains that it's Yiddish for a person who shows up just in time for "free grub." Carmela waves her hand dismissively: "Eh, you're here a lot. And you're a man, you like to eat." Whatever. Carmela can't get over Father Phil "with that Yiddish," and he says he grew up in a mixed Jewish-Italian neighborhood in Yonkers: "A heady brew." Please shut up, Father Phil. "What does that mean, 'heady'?" Carmela asks. All those Oprah books she reads and she doesn't know what "heady" means? Father Phil explains, with hand-gesturing brio. As I try to telegraph a message to Carmela to put the wine away already before someone gets hurt, the phone rings, and a woman's voice asks for Tony. "Who can I say is calling?" Carmela snaps; in the background, Father Phil admires a jar of Cajun stuffed olives. "This is Dr. Melfi," and we see Melfi sitting on her bed, red-nosed. "His nurse?" sneers Carmela. "No -- ah, is this Mrs. Soprano?" Melfi asks, looking puzzled. Carmela, in a tone that could freeze salt water: "That's right. And you're, again?" "Jennifer Melfi -- Doctor Melfi?" she prompts, thinking Carmela knows who she is. "Jennifer. Lovely name," Carmela says, and coldly adds that Tony's not at home. Melfi asks her to tell Tony that she needs to reschedule Monday's appointment because she's come down with the flu, and Carmela asks if Tony has her number; when Melfi tries to give it to her again just in case, Carmela grunts, "I lost my pencil. Up his ass. I'll tell him you called," and hangs up. Melfi holds the receiver away from her all "what the hell?"
As Father Phil eyes her warily and snacks on antipasto, Carmela slumps sadly against the breakfast bar: "Why does he have to lie?" She wonders why Tony didn't just tell her his therapist is a woman. Father Phil comes over with two full wine glasses and proposes that maybe Tony did tell her and she just didn't hear him clearly. "Oh, please," she snorts, continuing in a tearful voice, "Why wouldn't he tell me his therapist is a woman unless he's screwing her?" "Carmela, please," Father Phil groans, echoing my thoughts. Carmela's on about it, how she thought he was changing, how she thought therapy would help fix "the freak show in his head," and Father Phil's trying to tell her that she's probably wrong "about them," that therapy's a start, "a good start," but she's right, "it doesn't fix the soul," like, both of you, GIVE IT UP. Tony. Is. A MOBSTER. Learn it, live it, love it. God. Anyway, Carmela whines at Father Phil to talk to Tony, but Father Phil doesn't think Tony would listen, and Father Phil also thinks that Tony "must be a very unhappy man," which causes Carmela to squeal, "He's unhappy?! Sleep is my number one -- ah, shit." She turns away from Father Phil, clutching her wine glass, and mutters, "Why go into it?" Father Phil pats her shoulder.