Sam has graduated to shots, and is now sweating profusely. He was in bed, still naked, still a child, when she got into the shower. He was terrified, and jumped up. In the armoire were polos, dungarees, clothes that fit him perfectly; called into existence, perhaps, by his need and the curious divides and gaps within his soul. In the drawer was a shitload of cash; he shoved it all into a pillowcase. She was nowhere to be seen.
Maryann appears in Sam's office doorway, grinning wildly. "You have something of mine!" He jumps to his feet, and she closes the door behind herself. Her presence is menacing, her smile is engaging. "Karl said you stopped by with a gift. I do love presents!" He presents her fearfully with the trashbag full of money, trying to be strong, to pay tribute to whatever force she embodies: "I don't know how you found me, but I assume this is what you came for." He's honest, as ever: "I'm sorry. I was young and scared at the time." She takes it, and he steps back as quickly as if she were coiled and ready to strike. "I remember," she smiles dreamily, crouching and opening the bag.
Maryann smiles, and rewrites the story with him inside: still a child, still naked puppy Sam, provincial and ignorant. And she is arrogant, and very old, and wise. And she is laughing: "Money? Oh, you sweet thing. It's not your money I want." He asks if this is about getting to him through Tara, luring her into Maryann's world, and she's nearly offended: "Get back at you? How in the world did you get the impression that this was about you?" Eggs sits at the bar, smiling at Tara.
Tara can't believe he still wants to see her, that Eggs hitched a ride all the way from her palace just to say hi. "You're either dumber than I thought, or you're way too good for me." Maryann, Eggs, we don't like that kind of talk: "I just wanted to see where you work." She reminds him how "lucky" he is: the bartender likes him, and the drinks are on the house. He asks her for something sweet and she lists them, distracted by his beauty, looking around her at the bar: "I can make you a rum and Coke? A margarita? Turns into his kiss: Or a White Russ..." Um, he totally meant a kiss? So he takes it; she leans in hungrily, and Sam and Maryann walk out from the back, watching it. And nobody offers them any fucking towels.
(Interestingly, Maryann has chosen for this visit a sideways-pony-thing that makes her look eerily like Pat Benatar from the "Love Is A Battlefield" video, which is about a runaway who finds the city is harder to survive than she thought. There's a bad man, for example, who takes advantage of the young and the lost; who might rip out the hearts of those who would protect his charges, and fail them. She writes letters home to her little brother, who looks like Puppy Sam, but the years take their toll. And then -- it's like something out of Euripedes, it's impressive -- he attacks a girl, and Benatar rallies the troops, and the man is menaced like Pentheus by this army of wild women, dancing in this sort of half-erotic, half-manic group choreography, and the dude actually joins their dance for a while before he is baptized with a G&T to the face, but then instead of destroying him or chasing him into the street, the women leave him behind, and head out into the dawn.)