The party downstairs. Christopher approaches Tony. "Where the fuck you been?" Tony asks. "I got one son and you miss his confirmation ceremony?" Christopher tries flippancy: "I figured with all my sins I don't want the church caving in on everyone." Hee. Not. Adriana, in a polyester Diane Von Furstenberg knockoff, comes in, then turns around and leaves when she sees Christopher. "On the fucking rag again," Christopher says. Ew. Not cool. "I'm on the rag," Tony remarks. "She's just wondering who the fuck you are." Nice call, Tony. Christopher says he's not in the mood for a lecture, and Tony lets the ultimatums fly: "I'm going back in to be with my guests. In exactly ten minutes I'm going to look up, and if you're not here I'm going to assume that you went to look for whatever the fuck it is that's calling you out there. And I'll never see you again. If you are still here then I'm going to assume you got no other desire than to be with me, and your actions will show that every fucking second of every fucking day. Do you understand me? Don't answer me. Take the ten minutes. You think about it." Tony moves over to the other family members, and they file into the other room. Drama to the max as Christopher is left standing alone. He goes outside the house, down the steps, taps his cigarette, and contemplates his future with either the cutthroat Mafia or the cutthroat film industry. Opera begins to play, and inside they're taking a picture of the family. Except where's Pussy, the godfather? He's sobbing like a baby in the bathroom as Lipari listens. Making his choice, Christopher rises and goes back inside, and Miss Parker can't really blame him.