Blissfully unaware of the impact this news has had on Tony, Fran changes the subject by pulling out a box of old photos featuring her and Johnny. Tony paws through the stack, coming across one of the two them standing alongside Young Hesh and a very attractive black girl. Some things never change, I guess. Fran, however, isn't quite the Hesh fan that I am. "He was a whoremaster," she spits. "And cheap." And that's why I love him. "You know, he screwed me out of my retirement money," she continues. "Against your dad's wishes, by the way." Tony demands details, and Fran plays coy for all of two seconds before spilling the story: Johnny, Hesh, and Phil Leotardo all bought a racetrack together, and Johnny had promised Fran that his share of the track would go to her after he died. But when she called up Hesh after the funeral, he simply gave her $500 and sent her packing. Tony immediately goes into avenging-angel mode, and promises to look into the situation. Fran doth protest too much for a moment or two, and then Tony suggests that they go for a nice little drive after dinner.
Which they do. In the car, Tony tells Fran all about his conversation with Junior. "I don't know if you know it," he gossips, "But he was always a little hot for you." "He was practically a stalker," laughs Fran. "He used to skulk outside my building at all hours. Weird phone calls. I always had a hunch he told Livia about me and Johnny." Oh, please. That's not stalking. That's being a conscientious doorman. I mean, if anyone knows stalking, it's me and Lauren Ambrose's lawyers, and simple "skulking" wouldn't even merit a cease and desist these days. Now that the subject of Livia has been broached, Fran notes that "she was a handsome woman...not sexy exactly, but statuesque." Which I suppose is more of a compliment than "Rubenesque," or "Austin Powers-esque," or even "sociopath-esque," although it's pretty obvious that Livia is probably the only person Fran ever liked less than Hesh. She then whips out a hip flask filled with Remy Martin and takes a couple of lengthy swigs. She offers it to Tony, who takes a slug himself, and then he suddenly swerves to avoid a raccoon and ejaculates all over the sun visor.
Oh, not really. Most of it actually ended up in the cup-holder. They eventually arrive at the racetrack, however, where a bunch of old-style, Herbie-the- Love-Bug-esque midget cars are running practice laps. They sit on the bleachers and watch, while Tony grouses that Hesh and Phil must be running some sort of secret scam to keep the place open. Fran doesn't want to trouble her pretty little orange head with business details like that, so she opts to ask Tony about his "women" instead. After thinking about it for a moment, Tony describes Carmela as a "good woman" and a "good mother." When Fran asks about his girlfriend, though, Tony becomes much more talkative. "She's an art dealer," he announces. "Very sophisticated." Uh huh. Because nothing quite says "sophisticated" like olive loaf and rhinestone-studded Lee Press-Ons. "She's Latin," he continues." "You know, from Spain." Oy. Or perhaps, olé! Well, at least it's good to know that Tony is dumber than Dan Quayle.