Chez Chess. Nancy -- now in a sort of grecian halter dress, with ribbon-ish bands around the ribcage (I swear all this noting of her outfits is about to be important) -- stops by to bring Chess his $4500. He tries to hook her up with her next supply, but she's all, "That's cool, we're all set." Chess doesn't get it, and Nancy explains that her customers didn't like it -- but it's not a dis; his stuff is merlot, and they like cabernet. Chess tries to get a rise out of her by saying that it sounds like her customers are gay, and Nancy breezes that "some of them are," because hello, they're in L.A., not Utah, and adds with a bit of an edge, "Most of them just don't like your weed." As she's heading for the door, Chess asks her out for dinner, and Nancy easily says that she doesn't mix the business and the personal. Chess reminds her that she just told him their business relationship is over, and she says that they're not "doing the personal either." Chess meaningfully tells her to think it over, and that he'll be in touch. Nancy: "Touch yourself, Chester. I gotta go." She strides out without a backward glance, leaving Chess, the just-rejected, among his buddies, all of whom look a bit stunned. One guy comments that Nancy's got balls. "Yes, she does," Chess agrees. "But who wants a chick with fucking balls?" Oh, you'd be surprised, Chester. Some of Nancy's customers are probably into that.
Grow house. Nancy -- back in her shorts, so what the hell is up with the timeline, here? -- comes into the kitchen and has to stop dead when she sees the latest decorating choice: Doug has rigged up the wiring and mounted the giant cross over the plants, where it can beam Jesus' pure light into all the plants. Boy, Tara will really be able to unload that stuff now. Nancy wanders through to follow a sound from the adjacent room -- Conrad's bouncing a golf ball off the floor. "Whore," he says. She's like, "I just got here?" Conrad tosses her the golf ball, and we see it's one of Doug's, with "WHORE" written on it. Nancy lurches into a chair, and Conrad pours her a glass of wine. She quickly downs it. "That kind of day," Conrad observes. "Only kind I know," Nancy replies. Oh, poor you. What's the matter, your Marc Jacobs heels are too tight? Get ten more pairs and pick the one that really makes you feel like a prom queen. Anyway, Conrad tells her about the fruit he's cut up, laid out for them, and set at the opposite end of the table so that when Nancy gets up to reach for it, the back of her top falls away and he can see her new ink. "Please tell me you have a thing for traffic signs," says Conrad warningly. Nancy is very casual about it -- even more so when Conrad starts behaving as though he's assuming she slept with U-Turn. Nancy teases him briefly -- he's relieved when she insists that she never slept with him; less so when she says she just gave him a handjob. "Do I believe you?" demands Conrad. "You better, if you wanna get lucky tonight," Nancy replies. Softening slightly, Conrad asks why she got the tattoo; she kind of wistfully says she thought it would make her stronger. She crawls onto his lap, and though Conrad feels the need to remind her that U-Turn caused them nothing but pain, she distracts him with the mightiest weapon at her disposal: sexuality.