Original subtitles

Finished.

Finished.

Robert?

Where's my Robert?

Shake me another martini.

And then let's play doctor.

Oh, Robert... please come up.

You can't still be mad at me, can you?

Robert?

Robert?

Robert.

Like the rising of the morning sun,

nothing in Palm Beach has quite the same sparkle of potential and promise

as the daily delivery of The Shiny Sheet.

The rise and fall of social stocks, the cementing and undoing of legacies,

which backs were lashed and which "pas" were "faux'ed."

So much promise, so much peril.

Predictably, Mary Davidsoul's stock was at an all-time high that morning

thanks to her successful auction for fibrosis.

And Dinah's social standing was still at a premium

thanks to everything she did for the Cancer Babies.

Raquel's stock seemed perpetually in question,

but she was placing all her bets

on her own ball to come.

Evelyn, so sure she was

the next in line for the throne, was, that morning, thrown for a loop.

Meanwhile, a certain someone's social standing

seemed even stronger following her embolism.

As I was soon to find out, the end-of-season Beach Ball,

the biggest gala of the year,

which never failed to re-cement her social standing at an apex

as each season came to a close,

was the brass ring every socialite in Palm Beach wanted.

But with vitals trending positive,

who knew what the future would bring...

for any of us?

Hey! What are you do--

Get your hands off my unmentionables, you pervert!

Take your shit and get.

Welcome back.

No. No jewels today. I need to send a telegram.

- Shoot. - Okay.

"Chicago O'Hare Airport, Trans World Airlines, pilots lounge,

Captain Dellacorte aka Simmons.

Big news." Stop. "Norma is on the mend." Stop.

"Inheritance now weeks or months away." Stop.

"Lodging in flux." Stop. "Will let you know where I land." Stop.

- Did you get it? - Two dollars.

What would I do now that the queen was hanging on?

I had long relied on a motto

from my pageant days,

"She who has the nails never fails."

It's a bit of Latin.

- Maxine? - Oh, Mitzi!

My boyfriend dumped me last night.

Honey. Here.

Yeah.

After we had sex and then went to the Great Wall of China

to have hot-and-sour shrimp, which I paid for--

You had sex before dinner?

Look what I happen to have.

You see this framed $20 bill?

This was the first monetary compensation I ever received

from my storied pageant career.

Sadly, it's also the last bit of money that I have.

I just about shattered the frame this morning trying to buy gas.

And as I raised it above my head, I looked at it,

and then I stopped, and I said, "No!

Someone at the beginning of their career

might be able to use this for inspiration.

Or at least for a hot-and-sour shrimp bill."

As the only non-duplicitous person I have met in Palm Beach,

I'd like you to have this, especially now.

Maybe we could also use it as payment for some Cutex Frosted-Ice silver.

My paws need some Mitzi.

Maxine. Didn't you see The Shiny Sheet this morning?

No. What? Why? I was packing.

Well, you're the lead story.

What?

"Who is Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte?"

Oh, my God. I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

Or maybe I'm gonna doo-doo. No, I think I'm gonna throw up.

- Or I might do a little bit of both! - Read the rest of it, Maxine!

"After making a surprise splash by diving into the action

at last night's auction for fibrosis,

everyone wants to know who is Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte."

"And with Norma Dellacorte tragically incapacitated,

what will become of the famous end-of-season Beach Ball

held at the beachfront Dellacorte Estate for an unbroken 49 years?"

Here comes the brilliant Betty.

She's on her way to a pre-dinner cocktail connection

in this silk chiffon confection.

Shown here in the maxi version for the ankle-conscious.

"Will the heir to the name be the heir to the gala?"

Ladies?

I am here to ease your worries.

The Beach Ball is alive and well.

Of course, you'll all be getting an invitation.

Darling, wonderful to hear. We are at a fashion viewing.

Well, I love to view fashions.

Thanks, fellas. Thank you, Grayman.

She was on the cover of The Shiny Sheet this morning.

May we continue?

Here's the delightful Doreen.

She's dressed in an Empire-waist dress, patterned to impress.

Ladies, did anybody receive a Beach Ball invitation

from Norma before she embolized?

No.

Without those invitations going out,

I'm curious who exactly you'll be inviting to Norma's gala, Maxine.

Just us chickens? After all, the few of us are the only people you know.

The Sheet would smell scandal.

This cape adds flair to this sumptuous, raw silk, bias cut,

A-line gown, if you dare.

I love pink. It says youth... and hot dogs!

Maxine, I would be more than happy to help you assemble your guest list.

Evelyn, thank you. Well, that would be just wonderful.

Well, the secret to Norma's gala is her famous Rolodex,

perhaps the most valuable object in all of Palm Beach,

which she keeps under lock and key at the savings and loan,

- along with her more precious stones. - There are more precious stones?

That's where she keeps her crown.

- Crown? - But the Rolodex--

With that, you could be assured that the rich and famous

would fly in from around the world.

If not for you,

then to pay tribute to dear Norma.

But, Maxine, maybe they will fly in for you.

Certainly, they'll all be asking the same question we are.

Like The Sheet says, "Who is Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte?"

Everyone wants to know.

If you fancy a little peekaboo,

your cigarette-clad pant will show

through this stunning yellow crepe sleeveless tunic.

Maxine, I think this is an opportunity for all us ladies

to get to know the real you.

I would love to host you, ladies,

for a little cocktail thingy. Tonight at the club.

I'm sure cocktail hour works perfectly for all of us, doesn't it, ladies?

But too bad you won't be able to do it at the Palm Royale, darling.

Tonight is the annual

South Florida Veterans of the Great War Horseback Dinner.

Well, tomorrow night then?

We're actually only free tonight, aren't we, ladies?

I am sure everyone would actually love to see where you live, Maxine.

One final look-see.

I think if you had us all over to your place,

it would be wildly entertaining.

Wonderful.

Well, I will see everyone at cocktail hour.

Excellent. Where, oh, where shall we meet?

At the Dellacorte Mansion.

Of course.

Idiot! Shoot, shoot, shoot!

Pull it together, Maxine. Pull it together.

Just make some cocktails and have some ladies over. Fuck!

Pull it together.

What do you think you're doing?

I'm moving in. And you're moving out. Please see to my things. Thank you.

You're not, I'm not and I won't. This is not your house.

Funny, is it yours? Can you tell me again exactly what you do around here?

I told you. I'm Norma's caretaker.

Good job, soldier

'cause she is currently a vegetable in a home for the sidelined.

And I bet you a root-a-toot-toot

your little visit yesterday was your first one.

You can leave now. Is the bar this way?

I will call the police, and I'll tell them I saw you take Stoned Mabel.

The police? Sure, go ahead.

But don't forget to tell them the part about how I returned her.

- Broken. - Oh, please.

It's nothing a little eyelash glue won't repair.

And when they get here, I'll be sure to show them

my new stationery that unequivocally pronounces Maxine Dellacorte.

Tell me, do you even have stationery, Robert?

- No. - And if you did have stationery,

would it say "Dellacorte" on it anywhere?

No. Then I implore you...

dial at will.

So this is how it's gonna lay out.

I'm gonna find the nicest room in the house to lay out my unmentionables,

and then I'm gonna throw a cocktail party for the ladies.

And by the time they get here, you're gonna be gone.

- No. - What did you just say?

- I said no. - Put your shirt on and leave.

I don't feel like it. I'm happy like this.

- Right. You better leave. - Make me.

You're made. And you quit following me!

You should be getting your things together instead.

You can't come up here. This is not your house.

It's more my house than it is your house.

What in the-- This place looks like a crime scene.

- Wait, what do you mean? - You purport to be taking care of Norma,

yet you haven't even cleaned up her room?

Well, this is where it happened.

- Her embolism. - So?

Well, you don't stop mid-embolism to make the bed.

- A houseboy does afterwards. - I'm not a houseboy.

Pool boy, bar boy, whatever boy.

All I know is that you have been no help to me.

So I will get my things myself.

If I were you, I'd get your dungarees packed.

Squatter.

You say that like it's an insult.

Well, you should know, in this great nation of ours,

we have a long and proud history of squatting.

After all, how do you think we got Texas? By squatting on Mexico.

- You squat, I squat. - We all squat for hoody-squat.

- Get out. - I'm not going anywhere. You get out.

I will see you at the club, gin slinger.

- We're not squatting. He's squatting. - We don't own the house yet.

We don't have to.

Besides, someone's got to keep an eye on it, protect the family interest.

I don't like the idea of thinking about you alone

in the house with some strange man.

Is my Douglas jealous?

Your Dougie is worried.

I can hear you gnawing on your paws. Stop. You're not gonna have any fingers left.

And besides, he's not so strange. He is a veteran.

And it's so much nicer than the motel.

Peg in room 103 was essentially an ax murderer.

She was very open about that.

This guy just walks around with his shirt off all the time. He's fine.

Why is he shirtless?

That's funny. Who could that be?

Look, I would prefer if you found accommodation elsewhere.

Listen, I must run. The lady has a caller.

You're getting carried away.

You know, I am the opposite of getting carried away.

I am a woman coming into her own.

Maxine.

Oh, please hurry home. I'm having such fun.

Maxi-- Max--

You do live here!

Good morning, Mrs. Dellacorte.

If it isn't Ann Holiday from The Shiny Sheet.

As I live and almost breathe.

Apologies for the drop-in. I just wanted to do a quick follow-up on you.

Wow.

And between you and me, I was researching your Aunt Norma's obit yesterday,

which brought me no pleasure, by the way,

only to discover there is a new Dellacorte in Palm Beach.

I don't know what to say.

Also, I'd like to take a few pictures.

I love what you're wearing right now. It's so real.

How about one right now, posing in the doorway?

- Okay. - Oh, yes.

Wonderful.

Okay.

It's a beautiful car. How about we do some photos over here?

- Okay. - Jaguar. Wow.

Oh, my. It's like a calendar pose.

Okay. I've got it.

Why don't we take one where it looks like I'm waving to someone?

- All right. - Okay.

So, who is Maxine Dellacorte, formerly Simmons?

Other than Miss Junior Ocoee 1943,

Miss Chattanooga '45 and Miss Mineral Bluff '46?

Yes. Other than that.

I'm just a girl...

from an aspirationally glamorous upbringing

who dropped everything at significant trouble,

to rush to the bedside of her husband's aunt

while he continues his duty to his passengers

and the transportational needs of this great nation.

So wonderfully wordy, yet so lacking in detail.

- That's a skill. - Thank you, Ann.

You're from Tennessee. I hear it. Nashville?

- Chattanooga. - Chattanooga.

- Are your people still there? - No.

No, we've all moved on from little Chattanooga.

And the big question.

Well, for 49 years, the richest, most famous men and women

from around the world have come to Palm Beach

to take part in the most talked about party of the season.

One written about with awe in all the gossip columns from coast to coast.

Will the Beach Ball have a 50th anniversary this season?

It will.

And I am going to host it right here, where it's always been.

In honor of Norma, of course.

Who, if luck will have it, will don her crown for the 50th time.

One more photo.

Ready?

I got it.

I've really got it.

Thanks so much for taking the time. I'll just make my deadline.

When's this coming out?

By 8 a.m. tomorrow morning,

the entire town will know the new hostess of the Beach Ball.

Tomorrow?

Yep.

I was stepping into my own.

In 14 short hours, all of Palm Beach would know the queen-in-waiting had arrived.

Royal impressions must be made, stat.

I had just over four hours to put together a nice tablescape and think up a cocktail.

The world was my oyster.

But in that moment, all I was digging up were... clams.

Where's all the food?

Are you hungry? I can prepare something with what I got in my kitchenette.

No, I don't want you to prepare me anything!

Where's the food in the mansion?

Do you know anything about rich people?

I am a rich person.

Well, then you would know that you don't keep anything in the house.

'Cause your days are filled with lunches and brunches,

and your nights are filled with galas, and you always watch your weight.

Well, I-- Of course I knew that. Everybody knows that.

And you would know that if you wanna throw a little cocktail party,

you'd have it catered.

But good luck trying to find someone spur-of-the-moment during the season.

You would have to know someone to call in a favor.

But wait, you don't know anybody, do you?

Actually, I do know someone. And I don't need a fully catered event.

All I need is a beautiful tablescape.

Tablescape!

Hello.

Okay, everyone.

I've had a revelation, but right now I just want you to feel my energy.

Hope y'all didn't take a bunch of cyanide. Good. You're alive.

Your friend's here.

Told you she'd be back.

- Hi, pal. Was that a bad joke? - Oh, Maxine, what are you doing here?

Linda, look at that tablescape!

No one can arrange cured meats like you.

Well, thanks, Maxine.

- But we're meditating, so maybe we sho-- - All right, let's get started.

Why don't you come and join us?

I just need to ask something.

- Yeah. We'll just-- - After the meeting.

- Okay, yeah. We'll-- - Sit.

Okay.

Haven't sat on the floor in a long time.

So, today we're talking about partnering.

I think, like many of you, I feel disillusioned by it.

And I keep asking myself the question,

"Is marriage, as it exists today, what the world needs?"

Yes.

I mean, especially in America, the female class is expected

to submit to an identity that's already preordained for her.

And therefore, don't we as a nation then export

that expectation beyond our shores by force?

I'm talking about one thing.

Vietnam!

Viet-fucking-nam.

I'm sorry, I'm lost.

Well, can't you understand American domination of South Vietnamese hamlets

is an endorsement of state-sponsored male chauvinism?

And we've all had experiences of it.

My big one?

Getting left on my wedding day.

It takes an entire system for that to happen.

For a man to be made to feel he's entitled enough to do that to a woman.

- You get what I'm saying, Maxine, right? - Not really.

We're talking about South Vietnam.

The South Vietnamese people are the bride. America is the groom, right?

They proposed, and they made a lot of promises,

and then the groom left the bride on her wedding day in front of all the guests--

all the world community.

And that's the American male construct,

- which needs to be examined... - Yeah.

...on all shores that hold American boot prints.

- Exactly. - Yeah.

- Thank you. - That's it right there.

Obviously, it was a bad engagement.

What?

America should have left South Vietnam at the altar,

but back in 1963, in front of all the guests.

Linda, the secret to a great marriage is not resisting the man,

it's living for him.

- Oh, no, Maxine. You're not that lost. - What the fuck?

I am not lost, Linda. I am but found.

He chose me!

My husband.

I am his wife proudly, and I will proudly bear his name.

I will shout it from the rooftops! I'll shout it in the shower!

Dellacorte!

And I will proudly do what I can to lift him up, to make his dreams come true.

Am I right, ladies?

Don't you agree?

No?

No?

Speaking of lifting up,

I did just come here to ask you for a favor.

Okay. Let's just get you out of here.

- It's right through here. - Great.

- Behind the bar should be good. - Okay.

Great. And if you just go right through there

- and just bear right at the columns. - Okay.

Thank you.

How do you know where to tell them to--

Everybody knows the home of the Beach Ball.

Of course.

This definitely strains my idea of helping a sister in need though.

Well, thanks again for helping me with this huge seafood order.

This is a precision air strike.

Nobody nowhere scapes a table like you.

I'm on the cover of The Shiny Sheet.

Impressions need to be made and maintained.

Thus elevating your husband, and therefore yourself,

to a newfound status amongst Palm Beach society.

You understand me perfectly.

Okay. So, where's your husband? You're here doing all this for him.

He is 30,000 feet in the air. Living for me.

Shepherding a 737 from sea to shining sea.

- Great. - Okay.

Ten pounds of lobster tail, ten pounds of snow crab legs,

five pounds of jumbo shrimp, one pound of smoked haddock,

half a pound of caviar,

a hundred oysters,

and 150 pounds of crushed ice.

That'll be $400. Cash or check?

Check is probably easier.

Okay. How do I look? Did I strike the right note?

Wow, you look pretty in pink.

You sure it's not too informal? It's a one-piece.

No, you're dressed to impress.

Thank you.

Well, Linda! These towers are exquisite.

Really? I have to admit I miss doing things at this scale.

Well, who is trying to impress now?

Want to help me with the finishing touches?

- You can do orchids, I'll do grapes. - Be my honor.

Just-- Okay.

You know, Maxine, I do think you owe it to yourself to just get clear

on why these ladies are coming here today.

I mean, no offense, but maybe it's not 'cause they like you.

I know that. I was on the cover of The Shiny Sheet.

They're coming to check out their competition.

No, Maxine. It's 'cause they want something from you.

What do I have that those women could possibly want?

The Beach Ball.

The Beach Ball?

Yeah. Beach Ball, these galas, they're all the same.

They're big moneymakers.

I'm sorry, I'm lost.

Let me give you an example.

Last year, this handsy young optometrist--

he threw a big ol' gala for his "family foundation."

Then he kept all the money and spent it on oil portraits of himself.

Gosh, what happened to him?

The same thing that happens to all these people, nothing.

Well, I think the Beach Ball is pretty straightforward.

It's about preservation,

keeping trash off the beach, the Dellacorte beach.

Exactly, Maxine. It benefits the Dellacorte beach.

No matter who it is throwing it, it's always gonna ben--

Hello?

That's the pool boy.

He's got a case of chippy shoulder.

The pool boy?

Get your mind out of the gutter.

You have light.

You talking to the plants?

Yeah, she's Patsy.

Hello, Patsy. Semper fi, Marine.

Do or die.

- Did you serve? - Korea.

I'm glad you're safe.

Am I?

I wouldn't be so sure. See ya.

- I like him. - Yes, he's hilarious.

Well... okay.

Thank you.

You're so welcome.

You're dismissing me.

No! Linda, I'm not dismissing you. I'm telling you you have to go.

- Okay, Maxine, I got it. - No, Linda. Listen,

Evelyn's gonna be here any minute.

You hate her, she hates you.

It'd be kind of a pooper if you stuck around.

You and I had our friend time, now I'm gonna have friend time with her.

I get it.

- Okay, that's them. You gotta go. - Okay.

- You gotta get out of here. - Okay, all right, I'll say bye.

No, no, no. Not that way. Out the back.

Oh, my God.

No, I don't want them to know you're here, no offense. Back door. Go.

- This is ridiculous. - It's not ridi--

Look, we'll catch a movie this week.

There are so many movies I want to see.

Mary.

I parked on the lawn.

- Welcome to the Dellacorte Mansion. - I should say that to you.

How long have you lived here? Three hours?

Well, some would say my heart has dwelled here forever.

Mai tai.

Extra mint, slice of orange instead of pineapple, light on the ice.

And don't forget the umbrella.

Easy as pie. Make yourself comfortable.

Hey. Nice music.

Thank you. At least I'm not talking to plants this time.

Ladies here?

Just now.

- Guess what? - What?

I got kicked out.

It happens to the best of us. Don't worry.

Thanks.

Can I fix you a drink? Gin Rickey.

Gimlet? Keep it simple?

- Hey, pal. - Well, well, when the cat's away.

Does Norma know you're doing dress-up at the Dellacorte?

No, of course she doesn't. She's in a coma.

I'll have a Mississippi punch with rye instead of bourbon, extra cold,

and then I'm sure you'll explain what you're doing here.

'Kay.

- Robert? - Cheers.

- Linda? - Gin Rickey?

Robert, I will pay you $30, by check,

if you throw on an apron, come inside and help bartend.

I'm busy packing my dungarees.

You're just sitting there.

Linda, what about you?

You made such a fabulous tablescape.

Certainly, you know your way around a bucket of ice and a festive umbrella.

- Please? - I'm on the wagon.

You're drinking right now.

I mean, after this and a few more. And I don't want to poop your party.

Gee. Thanks, pals.

Hey, bartender's guide on the counter inside.

Mississippi punch. Okay, Mississippi punch.

Mississippi punch. Cognac.

Cognac. Where's the cognac? The cognac.

- Welcome to our home. - Not quite yet, dear.

Right this way.

Unlike you, I've been here before.

I'll have a General Harrison eggnog, firm foam, but not too much.

Plus a little extra nutmeg and not too icy.

You're a dear.

Eggs.

General Harrison-- Eggs. Okay.

Raquel. What can I get you? Medford Rum Sour?

Brandy Shamperelle? Arf and Arf? Port Wine Sangaree?

- Just a glass of white wine. - Oh, thank God.

Plus a $10,000 check.

If you plan on coming to my Havana Nights gala next week.

Proceeds go to support the poor, underserved Batista loyalists of Florida.

Norma never missed a party in the season.

I'm sure her heir apparent wouldn't either.

What?

So you were in the shit, huh?

Let's just say I was lucky.

- Cheers. - Cheers.

Lucky is its own kind of trauma though, right?

Who said I was traumatized?

I think if you spend your entire life

trying to excavate your own generational trauma...

you learn how to feel it in others.

I mean, even if they don't yet.

Yeah, but you grew up rich.

My family fortune-- of which I possess none, by the way--

was built on the pain of others.

Specifically, my grandfather...

who made his railroad fortune

by dispossessing Native American tribes across seven states.

- So, surprise. I'm a revolutionary. - Right.

Cool.

How long you lived here with Norma?

I'm going on three years now.

- Wow. So you're close. - Very.

- Yeah, but not like that. - Whatever floats your boat.

She ever talk to you about me?

I know that you hate Evelyn since she married your father

because you think she's a gold digger.

That's about it.

Unless there's anything else you want to share.

No, not a thing. How about you?

Nope. Not a thing.

You're a good bartender.

Damn it. I'm out of reds.

- I've got a red, but I need two greens. - Done.

Oh, Evelyn. I'll give you a blue one for one of Dinah's greens.

What are the round white ones?

Mary, it's aspirin.

Wait. Who's got a drink?

Cocktails. Ladies...

Mai tai, extra mint.

General Harrison eggnog.

Mississippi punch with rye.

Wine.

Maxine, your ears must have been burning all day.

The town is abuzz.

"Who is she? Where is she from? How does she keep her figure?"

And of course, the biggie,

"How the hell is she living at the Dellacorte Mansion?"

In pageantry,

everyone knows that every interview question actually hides a second,

more important question.

Well, someone's got to keep the lights on for poor, precious Norma, don't they?

Why, just yesterday, her doctor said that her recovery would quicken

if her life was ready and waiting to be stepped back into.

But if Norma, heaven help us, does not recover,

darling Douglas will get a head start and step into his inheritance.

The social order after such a long, long sabbatical away from Palm Beach.

If you want to keep Norma's seat warm for her return, a little tip.

Norma would never run in bellowing about her cocktail gathering

in the quiet sanctuary of Grayman's salon.

Norma would have handwritten invitations

and had them hand-delivered weeks in advance.

It's simply a miracle that we were all free

at this moment during the high season.

Well said, Mary.

Well, some would say I bring perhaps a youthful--

and I think I can say that-- new sense of spontaneity

to the dusty traditions here that, Mary, feel frankly...

elderly.

Mary, Maxine is new here, so let's not get critical.

And Maxine,

I was in earnest when I said I'd be happy to help you co-host your party

as long as we have that Rolodex of Norma's.

You think she's being eaten alive in there?

If she is, she's making them choke on the bones.

You partake?

My body's a temple.

Even the most sacred shrines need a little incense.

What the f--

Oh my God. That is so lame.

And speaking of planning,

do you know if Norma had engaged any help before her tragic event?

Oh, well, a lady certainly doesn't paw through another lady's secretarial.

But you'll sit on her furniture and eat off her china?

Raquel. Gauche.

What caterer do you think you'll be using for the Beach Ball?

And that's when it began to turn at the expert hands of Evelyn.

No wonder that she was rightly considered the true lady-in-waiting.

I'll be using Norma's favorite.

And who would that be?

You can always ask Norma.

Mary. Too soon.

This is all being thought of.

After all, it's not just a party.

It's like an event.

Dear, it's not "like" an event.

And it's not some backyard birthday party for backwater girls from Tennessee.

It's the event of the season.

Have you started planning your entrance yet?

My entrance?

I remember the year Norma made her entrance

dressed as Botticelli's Venus in a clamshell of real pearls.

And when she was Queen Cleopatra

on a chariot pulled by a swarm of Australian bodybuilders.

Or who can forget last year,

when she arrived as Marie-Antoinette, complete with powdered wig

and pastries flown in from gay Paris.

And always in her crown.

Maxine, the Beach Ball is a production.

It sounds like it.

Oh, Maxine. That reminds me.

Since we're on money,

the Fibs still haven't received your $75,000 check

for your incredible winning auction bid.

And after all, that is what landed you in The Shiny Sheet.

Would any of you ladies like some fresh crab legs?

Raw oysters? Clams? Caviar? Lobster tails?

Just the check.

- To the Fibs! - To the Fibs!

Palm Beach is such a small town.

Live here long enough, you have memories in every mansion.

Not all of them good, you know?

I imagine.

You know, I--

I used to be kind of close to Norma.

She's in the same care facility as my dad.

What's wrong with him?

He's just been going downhill for a long time.

He's in a lot of pain.

Aren't we all?

Yeah.

I could really use a hug.

It's okay.

- I'm so sorry. - Oh, my God. Don't be sorry.

Whatever you're sorry for, it's not your fault.

Are you sure you don't wanna take some lobster with you

or throw some shrimp in a napkin

and save it for later in your purse?

Evelyn, please, let me make you a to-go napkin

with some crackers and cheese and some shrimp.

Maxine. Permit me to ask you a rather frank question.

Please.

Do you have any money?

Sure. Loads.

Besides, when Norma tragically passes,

Douglas will come into his inheritance,

and we'll be able to throw the end-of-season ball.

You poor dear.

Something I should have told you earlier.

There is no inheritance for Douglas.

What?

When Norma passes, all the money goes to the big cats.

I'm not following, Evelyn. Who?

When she finally goes-- and that will truly be a sad day for all--

her entire estate will be moved into a trust

benefiting the Palm Beach Pedigree Feline Society.

How do you know that?

Norma and I knew everything about one another.

And, surprise, I know quite a lot about you.

As a matter of fact, Norma and I used to share a cocktail and a laugh

over your sunny Christmas letters you'd send every year,

obviously making a bid to keep Dougie on the money.

She always told me she wouldn't give Dougie her money

if he was the last Dellacorte on Earth, and he is.

Unless you're with child,

but, I'm pretty sure you're not.

So I will be hosting the gala this year,

in honor of Norma, of course.

And I will do it right here to keep traditions unbroken.

I imagine the estate-- whoever that might be--

will want a juicy site fee, which is to be expected.

How generous.

And in return, you get to save what's left of that fresh face of yours.

After all, you said it would be announced in The Shiny Sheet tomorrow.

Evelyn.

I've waited my entire life to arrive,

as if arriving would mean I would have it all,

free of worry, moving as if by magic,

never even touching the ground.

But today I've realized, thanks to you,

that arriving is not the end of the journey.

It is just the beginning.

I didn't take you for a poetess.

Just a run-of-the-mill interloper.

You caught me red-handed, Evelyn.

I don't have any money.

And yes, this probably will be in The Shiny Sheet tomorrow.

But, you see, the Dellacorte mansion is the only place

where the end-of-season Beach Ball can be held.

So, if you want to have the party, I think you have to partner with me.

Never.

I know you're slipping.

And I am barely hanging on.

If you fall, I will catch you.

And when I do, I will hold on so, so tight.

You find the key to Norma's safe-deposit box,

get the Rolodex, and the two of us will get down to business.

Fucking Norma.

If I were a key.

If I were a key.

Key!

Maxine?

I'm in here.

I haven't been in here since-- well, decades.

What did you do?

I made a real mess of the family manse, didn't I?

Are you drunk?

I want you to do something.

Yeah. Sure, babe. Anything.

I want you to take me upstairs and fuck me like a Dellacorte.

- Upstairs. - All right.

Oh, Douglas, say it again!

Say it again!

Maxine Dellacorte!

- Say it again! - Oh, God.

Maxine Dellacorte!

Oh, no.

Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte!

Oh, yeah. Oh, babe. Oh, God.

- Oh, shit. - Douglas!

- Oh, God! - Gross. Get me out of here.

I love you.

I'm Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte!