hiya, nick!
is? is that my bra?
this came for you, nick. nick sits up in bed to receive the letter. as lacey leaves, he tears through the wax seal and unfolds its contents.
in the bedroom. i wouldn't bother him, nick. he's in a foul mood. he's on with the police. apparently someone broke in and stole his beamer. lacey gives nick an amused smile.
it's not my fault, you tight-assed, critical, nonfeeling, sexist drunk.
does it bother you that you're a selfish, uptight, boring lover?
hello?
they found your car in davenport, george. go pick it up.
nick, i feel for you. it must be tough being a teenager in this house.
your mom has had a difficult time. she has had a great deal to put up with. i'm starting to appreciate that now.
if the shoe fits, suck on it. george swills some zin and mumbles ominously.
nick? get the phone? nick picks up the phone and paul takes his place at lacey's feet.
he is on the wrong path. i have felt that for some time.
don't be an idiot, george. no one was naked.
let's go, paul. george, i'll pick up the rest of my things tomorrow.
i paid you all your money!
fuck-your-stinking-extra-charges. as lacey and paul depart, nick turns and dreamily wanders back toward his room.
what interesting flowers, nick. who are they for?
mr. and mrs. saunders, you remember nick twisp, don't you? mrs. saunders coos and takes the flowers. her husband squints up at him.
paul served an appetizer earlier.
dear lord.  mr. saunders emits a long, low, fog horn of a fart that ends badly. the others exchange glances but he and his wife still have their heads solemnly bowed.
dear lord, thank you for this bounty. help us to be tolerant of others - especially the boyfriends and girlfriends of our immediate relations. amen.