Silver Fox Ten Thousand Connor Owen hands Daniel some irritating spiel about how he went to Harvard but grew up poor in Sydney, yada yada, dad in jail, and Daniel sighs and fidgets and stares at the ceiling and asks, to Wili's horror, what his fucking point is. The point, Connor dreamily explains, is that he doesn't take a job for the money. When a client didn't like one of his campaigns, he didn't take no from "some VP Marketing who couldn't find his nuts with a GPS," but instead found the nuts of somebody higher on his own. He hands over his sexy new business plan and takes his leave. Daniel watches them flirt and he's all freaked out in his totally cute in grey and black striped sweater over a black polo collar. Wili is dazzled by the power of the Owen.
At the Betty apartment, Amanda is rolling out the end of her Kill Kimmie plan: "...It's an odorless, colorless gas. When Kimmie wakes up, she's got heroin stuffed in her pockets, and the police whisk her away..." Marc explains that prison is a touch too far, and then a voice like beautiful music issues from what is now almost a separate room: "She deserves whatever horrible punishment she gets!" Is it... IT IS! It's Cliff! For all of five seconds, supine and partially obscured by anger pizza, but there he is! Look! Look, it's Cliff! Betty complains to Marc that his boyfriend is getting cheese on her couch, which... Betty, come on. We both know your couch already smelled like sausage, or cheese, or whatever smell means sadness to you.
"Cliff. Napkin." That is like the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I want to yell napkin at Cliff. That's it, I'm getting married. The great chase has finally ended, not in a bloody tragedy like I always suspected it would, but on a couch with some delicious pizza. That was easy. "Honey, I know you're upset, and anger-eating because you lost the Adriana shoot, but trust me. Kimmie will be dealt with." Now just pretend that this sort of conversation happens in every episode, and you won't ever miss Cliff again. Amanda asks if they still make guillotines, and Marc tells Betty that in fact, that is totally constructive. Turns out the Marie Antoinette necklace repro is up for auction, and if Wili can drive up the buying price, she'll get a cut. So if it's not around Adriana Lima's neck, Amanda realizes... "Someone will lose her head!" Betty shouts. And then everybody cuddles with Cliff on the couch because he had a hard day, the end.
Hilda's doing mad hot business calling people in and treating candidates like their wives are hairstyles and not respecting our national heritage and driving Ignacio mad with her disinterest in something he so recently won for himself, even though she's looking phenomenal in a shiny purple off-the-shoulder top, and OMG he totally tells her that her vote counts and that in America you have to vote or else you're not really being an American. My notes say, "That's actually what's happening." And honestly, I don't take citizenship or voting lightly and I'm slightly crazy about the law, and democracy, and optimistic and all that shit, but like: your vote is like your education, or your body, or your relationships. If you don't value them, fuck you, because that's nobody's problem but yours. Vote, don't vote, I don't care, but I want my future decided by people who care enough to vote, so it works out well for me. "You know what's American," Hilda says, just screaming into cartoonland at the speed of sound, "Making money!" She asks why she would even vote on that shit when it has nothing to do with her, meaning that Ralph Macchio** is about to arrive and demonstrate one of the many ways that democracy in action* touches us all.