Nathalie is terrible at housekeeping, but giving it a shot. That'll last. Down in the kitchens, Randy tries to get cute with the other dishwashers and staff, all Ayn Rand-y jokes and slithery charm, but they're not having it. The reason is Chef Wagner -- played by Peter Stormare, who's tied with Željko Ivanek for Most "Either You're Counterintuitively Sexy Or I Need Group Therapy" Actor Of All Time -- who inspects everybody at eleven, past which it now is. Randy tries to smarm Chef Wagner, but he is unsmarmable. And on a side note, apparently Randy Newman is a Libra and not the Sagittarius butthole that Andy Botwin so clearly was.
While Chef Wagner is subjecting Randy to the thousand torments, and Randy's next love interest -- you can't say he doesn't have a type, I'm beginning to identify them on sight because they all look the same, which is to say they all look eerily like Nancy Botwin, even the ex-Israeli military ones -- chuckles to herself at all the usual hapless Andy/Randy boy-man things, and Nancy wears herself out working like an actual person to the point where she drinks a beer on a toilet, Mike's upstairs being a sexy bellhop for a supersketch dude name of Duvane, whom I coulda sworn was the dad on Small Wonder but I'm having a hard time tracking down right now.
Less flirty, more just awkward and babbly, and Paul finally orders Mike -- after a heavy tip, part one -- to have a seat on a chair, on which he finally places a grip of bills. This show has so thoroughly broken me that I was like, Yikes! But on the other hand, seeing Silas Botwin get a blowjob was always on my bucket list, so let's just get this over with and hopefully he won't be murdered until afterwards.
That's honestly the thought process that happened.
In fact, though, Mr. Duvane -- "Call me Paul" -- just wants Mike to read aloud to him, from that chair, while he no doubt sits on the bed behaving himself like a good citizen. Mike wants to run, run, run, but there's so much money at stake and Paul is so clearly tangled up in blue that it's not like he's an actual risk and he hasn't mentioned restraints or anything, so let's see what's going on. "I just sit here and read to you?" More or less, says Paul, with a sort of horny/cherubic smile that honestly seems pretty harmless. Okay, so what's the more? Paul suggests that Mike, for now, concentrate on the "less."
Said it before, say it again: Old horny guys are old and horny. It's right there on the package. And if you didn't spend at least part of your twenties in a Dennis Cooper novel, you'll have no stories to tell when you are yourself old and horny. There are way stupider ways to make a buck. Know where the exits are, carry a gun, and see what happens, because the world is your oyster and they're not getting any younger. Or less creepy. Frankly I would have turned Silas-Mike's ass out the second he turned 18 because let's be honest, he is a full-on resource. As long as you're running guns you could at least float the idea.