Meanwhile, Randy is having trouble with a similar dilemma: Apparently the fact that he's cute as a button and aggressively charming doesn't work on everybody. Particularly Chef Wagner, who has no interest in Randy's untrained culinary bullshit, and who himself apparently went to L'Ecole Your Mother's Vagina for his own training. He beats up on Randy some more, and silences him henceforth. No! That's like his one power!

Nancy takes off her nasty wig and lets her pretty Nancy hair out to play, sitting at the bar with a glass of white wine and staring into the middle distance and thinking about hooker pee. Dude appears, and hits on her with a sour little joke that he's in the FBI: "FBI. Federal Bureau of ... Interested in you." She's a little bit charmed, because the Normal Newmans from Normaltown are the new them and maybe this is what normal is like. He chuckles self-deprecatingly and sits down, with no idea why she just froze up like that.

"What do I do? Excellent question," Nathalie stalls, going dark for just a second. "I own my own business. A dance studio. Modern dance. I studied in Paris and..." They discuss Paris in some easy-reader Français and before she knows it, Nathalie starts telling the truth. It's about a dead woman, and in some ways a lie, but it's still true. Her eyes light up. "9th Arrondissement. It was great. It was so great. Um... But then New York beckoned..." And then Seattle. Little bit of a lacuna, then Seattle.

"I get restless. And this opportunity came along... My own business. No one looking over my shoulder. You know?" She doesn't have kids, dancer Nathalie. Does she have a husband or a boyfriend? She has both. She has neither. She has "a history of killing anything that could conceivably work out." He likes that answer; not everything is meant to have a long shelf life. She thinks about going upstairs. In only to get revenge, in some obscure way, on the guy who called her the fucking maid.

Immediately Don Kruszewski, Hotel Manager, appears, yanking her away and yelling in front of the guy and taking away her wine and calling her beautiful hair a wig. (Something there, I'm not sure I see it yet exactly, but I like the idea that her wig is more real to this fellow than her real hair. Maybe it's just that Nathalie is easier to believe than Nancy, and so now when Nancy goes walking it's like she's in costume. That's very Nancy, very Lacey, very Nathalie. I'm not sure I see the whole thing yet. I just know I hate the wig, and I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to. The wig is the enemy. The Wigemy.)