Marta: ’Kay sure.

Lacey can already see Marta heading over and can see Shane’s eyes locked on her and leaves the register.  Marta, now at the register begins to deal with the next customer as Lacey makes her way over to Shane at the salon station.

Lacey: Hm?

Shane: Okay, go ahead.  Get it out of your system.

Lacey: Get what out, Shane?

Shane: …

Lacey: I mean what’s there to say about the fact that you’re gonna go all Shane?  Look, that’s what you do.

Shane: …You know what I’m talking about.

Lacey: Fine.  I fucking hate Mandy.  She’s a cunt.  She’s a bitch.  She’s another pretty face who’s happy to have Shane McCutcheon reach inside her pants.

Shane nods.

Shane: Feel better now?

Lacey: Listen, what happened between us, I get it.  You don’t do relationships and all that shit.  I was lonely.  I was depressed.  It sucked.  I got over it.  We’re friends now and that’s fine.  I work for you and Chase.  Where is Chase anyway?

Shane: Some competition.

Lacey: Anyway, things are cool with us.  But you can’t treat Lisa like that.

Shane: Ah.  Yeah, Lisa.

Lacey: Shane, I’m serious.  I don’t want you fucking around with her.

Shane: Lisa’s a big girl, Lacey.  She can make her own decisions.

Lacey: Yeah, I don’t remember you saying that about Alice and Gabby.

Shane pierces her eyes and curls her upper lip slightly at the annoyance of such a comparison.

Shane: Lace, that’s not cool.

Lacey: You’re right, it isn’t.

Shane and Lacey lock eyes and the space between them fills with tension.  That tension is then broken with the sound of Marta slapping the register.  Shane and Lacey look over at Marta.

Marta: Stupid machine thing!  Grrr!!!

Lacey: Don’t worry, I got it.

Shane: Good, I’m gonna wash my hands.

Lacey: Get that Mandy off of you while you’re at it.

Shane shakes her head as Lacey walks away from her.

Elsewhere in Los Angeles, everything is to be done to precision.  Nothing less is bearable for Helena Peabody.  That outfit has to be perfect, down to the skirt being at just the proper length at just above the knee and nothing clashing.  Her makeup has to be at just the exact tone she wants.  Her legs are to gleam with just the right sheen.  She is business chic and she takes the presentation of the self seriously.  Slipping into her heels and holding her sunglasses, she prepares to make her way to Burgamont Station, home of the California Arts Center for an important meeting with its Director, Bette Porter.

Leaving her executive suite, Helena takes the elevator ride down to the front lobby.  Out of the front lobby, her limousine awaits her like a chariot to the ball of privilege.  Before she can make her way inside, a voice calls out.

”Excuse me, Miss Peabody?”

Her sunglasses now on, Helena turns her face toward the direction of the noise.  She says nothing, counting in her mind to 3 before ignoring the woman calling her out and proceeding with her plans.

Fae: Miss Peabody, I’m Fae Buckley and I’d like to spe-

Helena: The protests.

Fae: Pardon?

Helena: You’re the one leading the protests.

Fae: And you’re the one responsible for helping bring that filth to L.A.

Helena: Provocations, you mean?

Fae: Yes, that filth you call an art exhibit.  Oh, it is an exhibit alright, but I would like to speak with you, person to person, woman to woman.

Helena nods to the driver who is standing by her door.  The driver nods back, opening the door for Helena.

Helena: You just did.  Savor that moment forever, darling.

Helena slips inside of the limo, tucking the bottom of her skirt down as she takes her seat.  Fae can only look on in disgust as the door closes and now sees herself face to face with the driver.

Papi: ’Ey, don’t look at me.  I just load ’em up and drive.

Fae cocks her right eyebrow.

Papi: I like that attempt at bein’ all assertive though.  Kinda cute.

Papi grins at Fae before proceeding to the driver’s seat to drive Helena off.

Fae: This world is going to Hell.