Truth be told? Carla frigging rocks. Thanks again for lending me your tape of this episode and, as an unexpected bonus, allowing me finally to see "Morality Bites" and "Painted World." Another couple of truths: Dan "Stinky Man" Gordon wasn't so much greasy as he was reptilian, and as far as bad character additions go, little Jenny was way worse than the Dolt. Ew.
We fade up on a short, pudgy man in a business suit wandering through the shadows of a dimly-lit parking garage to his car, where he's met by an overly obsequious undertaker. Okay, I don't know if the guy's really an undertaker, but he's wearing a black suit and tie with a white shirt, and the bluish glow from the fluorescents above is giving his flesh the sort of cadaverous tone I still associate with funeral directors despite two seasons of Peter Krause as Nate Fisher, so I'm going with "undertaker" until told otherwise. Apologies to all of you in the death-care industry who object to my unfair characterization, but since The Truth is tonight's Theme Mallet (thank you, Cate), here's my honest opinion: You guys really need to get out of your meat lockers and into the sun a little more often. "Dr. Oliver Mitchell?" the undertaker asks of the pudgy businessman. "What a pleasure," he continues. "I can't tell you how long I've waited for this." Dr. Mitchell casts a wary side-eye in the undertaker's direction and surreptitiously fingers his car keys until he clutches the longest of them in his fist as if it were a small dagger. You know, I've always been told to wield my keys as if they were tiny little knives in the event that some crackhead accosts me, but I've never heard of anyone successfully fending off an attacker that way. Feel free to flood my email inbox with tales to the contrary if you wish, but I still doubt that going all ninja on some mugger's ass with the key to my building's laundry room would really be all that effective. Anyway, Dr. Mitchell makes the obligatory "I'm sorry, have we met?" noises as the undertaker approaches with his right hand extended for an affable shake. The undertaker's light brown, receding hair is cropped close to his scalp, and his beady eyes with their puffy lids along with his prominent nose put me in mind of mole rats. Or Lance Armstrong. What? Hey, we're calling things as we see them tonight. Theme Mallet, remember?
The undertaker assures the doctor that they haven't met, but adds that he's a great fan of the doctor's published studies on "cell degeneration," which the undertaker deems "ahead of their time." Get it? You will. To his credit, Dr. Mitchell seems unnerved by the undertaker's flattery, and attempts to slide past him to his car. The undertaker, however, blocks the good doctor's escape with his cadaverous form. "I found your article on mutant retina genes to be particularly intriguing," the undertaker continues, pushing his face uncomfortably close to the doctor's own. The doctor, startled, wonders how the undertaker knew of that study when it has yet to appear in any of the appropriate journals. The undertaker smirks coldly, then goes on to congratulate the doctor for his work on some as-yet-undeveloped vaccine. "A vaccine?" the doctor asks. "Against what?" The undertaker's mouth twists into an ugly sneer. "Against this," he replies. We don't see what "this" is, exactly, because the camera shifts to an undertaker POV of Doc Mitchell's horrified face. We get a good idea of what "this" does, though, because a blue laser bores into the doctor's skull just over the bridge of his nose. The doctor screams as the irises of his eyes vanish, replaced by milky cataracts. The laser cuts off as suddenly as it appeared, and the doctor drops lifeless to the concrete.
Just around the corner, a vast crowd of theatergoers throngs the entrance of an unidentified movie house, there to see the San Francisco Cinema Society's presentation of Love's Deadly Desire. I'll take this moment to note that the San Francisco Film Society is unlikely at any point in the near future to screen the Holly Marie Combs estro-fest Love's Deadly Triangle, and I'll leave it at that. In any event, among the anonymous crowd are, unsurprisingly enough, the Glamorous Ladies of Halliwell Manor. Phoebe wanders along the sidewalk to Piper and Prue with a fan of tickets in one hand and a Magic Eight Ball in the other. You want to hear something absolutely pathetic? An acquaintance of mine who shall remain nameless has a Magic Affirmation Ball. He "visualizes" a personal quality of which he should be proud, shakes the Magic Affirmation Ball, then turns it over to receive messages like "Good for you!" and "I knew you were special!" Isn't that raging? True story. Swear to God. Of course, I wouldn't mention this if he actually read these recaps, but he doesn't, so screw his maladjusted, dysfunctional ass.
Anyway, Phoebe shakes her Magic Eight Ball and receives "ASK AGAIN LATER" as a response. Phoebe's pissed. "How am I supposed to plan my future without a little direction?" she pouts as she approaches her sisters. Prue snarks something about Phoebe relying upon a children's toy for information when she has the power of premonition. Phoebe reminds us all -- again -- that she can't use her power for personal gain. Piper darts to Phoebe's side, urging her to ask the Ball if Prue and Andy will ever get back together. Phoebe complies, but neither P shares the "interesting" answer with Prue. "You two are cruel," Prue smirks, snatching the thing from Phoebe's hand as Piper's pager bleeps in the background. Piper looks at the message and grunts, "That was my boss, Martin. I have to get back to the restaurant." "He's working you to death!" Phoebe wails, expositing that Piper's pulled two doubles in as many days, and that tonight was to be her first night off in a week, or something. "Tell him to stuff it!" she orders, as Prue ducks her head to grin wryly at the idea of Piper standing up to any authority figure at all, much less the one who controls her paycheck. Piper, meanwhile, waves Phoebe off and speed-dials [72virg=ins] on her cell. Long story short, Piper immediately caves to her boss's demands and informs Phoebe and Prue that she has to leave. They bust on her amiably for a bit before Phoebe peels off to escort her to the car, leaving Prue alone to hold their place on line.
As the two head towards the parking garage, Phoebe inadvertently brushes against the passing undertaker's arm, and is immediately plunged into a premonition. A straggly-haired lass shrieks as a blue laser bores into her skull above the bridge of her nose before she collapses lifeless to the pavement of an outdoor parking lot, her irises replaced by cataracts and an ugly, gaping wound between her eyebrows. Phoebe snaps out of it and screams for Piper as she wheels around, searching for the premonition's source. The undertaker has disappeared. As Phoebe fills Piper in on the details of the vision, a squad car squeals through a nearby intersection and vanishes into the parking garage. The nosy Ps race down the sidewalk to see what gives, followed presently by Prue.
The ladies dart past a knot of gawkers to gaze upon a glaring continuity error. Dr. Mitchell is much as we last saw him -- that is, quite dead, with an ugly, gaping wound on his forehead -- but his irises have magically reappeared. And this episode was going so well. "Oh, my God," Prue breathes. Piper whispers, "Phoebe saw this murder before it happened." "No," Phoebe corrects, inching towards the corpse with dread. "I think I saw the one." Um, duh, sweetie. We know. The gals glance uneasily at each other for a moment before they're overwhelmed by the opening credits.
Opening travelogue. A song I vaguely recognize about "murder in this town" escorts us over to Halliwell Manor, where the Glamorous Ladies go about their individual morning routines in the kitchen. For Piper and Prue, this involves coffee and the newspaper. For the Feebs, it involves mixing three different kinds of pre-sweetened cereal into a single bowl, like, gross. The boxes are prop department mock-ups of fake brands, but they're close enough to Cap'n Crunch, Corn Pops, and Alpha Bits to nauseate me. Can you imagine mixing those three in the same damn bowl? Like I needed another reason to hate Phoebe. Prue pauses as she flicks open the front section of the paper to confirm that her coffee is "leaded." "Always is," Piper vows. Liar. And look at that -- her own elbow betrays her as it biffs into the fake Cap'n Crunch, sending the box toppling. Piper immediately panics and freezes the wayward cereal, then shoves the kitchen garbage bin over so the box and its contents drop into the trash. Why didn't she just tip it back upright onto the counter? Whatever. I don't have time to wonder about such things, for I hear the Dolt approaching. He doofs his way into the kitchen to tell them his work on the staircase shouldn't take more than a couple of days. Piper and Phoebe both smile flirtatiously and scramble over each other to fetch him some coffee. The Dolt grins and dolts out of the kitchen. Jackass. Prue's eye-roll is audible. "Whin are you two going to stop fighting over him and grow up?" "When Phoebe realizes she doesn't have a chance with him," Piper sneers, snatching a coffee cup from Phoebe's claws. Phoebe airily notes that she has an innocent to protect, so there will be a temporary truce in the battle for the Dolt. Piper glowers at her and sails out of the room with the Dolt's coffee.
Prue takes a moment to stare at Phoebe, then calls her on her crap thusly: "You know you're only into him because Piper is." "That's so not true," Phoebe smarms. "I'm wounded!" Not as wounded as you're going to be after I thwack you in the face with a claw hammer, you sugar-scarfing hag. Oh, leave me alone. You knew I couldn't let that one pass without a comment. Phoebe sets her foul mixture of breakfast cereals on the table and asks if the paper mentions Mitchell's murder. Prue scans the article, but there's not much information to be had. Phoebe proposes that Prue head over to Andy's House Of Beef to see if the good detective has any leads. Prue shoots this cunning plan down immediately, reminding Phoebe that Andy called it quits on their relationship a mere week ago, so he's not likely to reveal police secrets to her any time soon. Phoebe gets shrill, whining once more about that manky-haired woman from her premonition. After a bit of back-and-forth yowling, the ladies agree that Prue will research the premonition woman's manner of death in the Book of Shadows while Phoebe herself will annoy Andy with prying questions.
Attic. Prue dispiritedly leafs through the section entitled "Demons" in the Book before slamming it shut in frustration, muttering, "I don't even know what I'm looking for." As she mopes towards the attic door, The Invisible Spectral Presence Of Grams lines up the Theme Mallet and whacks the Book open to "The Truth Spell," which reads as follows:
For those who want the truth revealed,
Opened hearts, and secrets unsealed
From now until it's now again,
After which the memory ends:
Those who now are in this house
Will hear the truth from other's mouths.
The words are accompanied by a watercolor of a robed figure who I think is meant to be some sort of seer. I can't be entirely certain, because the figure looks like an enormous pink maggot with alarming dorsal fins and a glowy head. This being Prue's first encounter with the meddling ISP Of Grams, she warily picks her way back across the floor to the Book to stare suspiciously at the page. She flips back over to the Demon section, but the ISP Of Grams insistently flips right back to the truth spell. Prue squints with annoyance, shuts the Book once more, and stomps out of the room. The ISP Of Grams snidely hacks the Book open to the spell once more.
[72virg=ins]. Amid a throng of conventioneers in the bar area, Piper attempts to finagle more tablecloths from a supplier over the phone. An oaf of a suit spills a glass of red wine all over her accounts just as Piper's boss swishes over in a snit. The swish is played by Jason Stuart, a comedian familiar to some gay and lesbian audiences primarily for his appearance in one of Comedy Central's Out There stand-up cavalcades way back in the early nineties. In keeping with this evening's Theme Mallet, let me announce that the boy has aged as well as his routine, which is to say not very well at all. Still, I've been wondering where all of the actual gay people have been hiding on this show, and now I have one. And he's prissy, lisping, uptight, bloated, snippy, passive-aggressive, and Rude To Piper. Joy. He blows attitude at her about making supplier calls from the bar instead of the office, and berates her for allowing the restaurant to descend into "chaos" while he was away. Piper stutters and stammers and tries to screw her courage to the sticking place to confront him, but alas, her courage is all fucked out. Piper sighs in frustration as Jason Stuart, Professional Homosexual makes a grand, sweeping exit.
Buckland's. Prue gazes mournfully at a framed photo of herself and Andy as the Feebs comes a-knocking at the office door. The flimsy pretext of Phoebe's visit is to borrow Prue's laptop to research this week's dark demonic force on the internet. Prue snarks something about Phoebe being the least "computer-friendly" person she knows, but hands over the machine nonetheless. Prue then asks if Phoebe's spoken with Andy about the murder. Phoebe hasn't, but she did assault Darryl for some information. Apparently, every detective in the precinct is buzzing about the case, and I am forced to believe that it must be a pretty slow week for those entrusted with the care and protection of the residents of San Francisco. One lousy parking garage murder, and it's tying up an entire precinct? Please. We just had an angry mob stone two drunk movers to death here in Chicago, and it didn't take more than a handful of cops to crack that case. Whatever. Prue clearly has other things on her mind, and is using the current demonic infiltration to pump Phoebe for information on the erstwhile boyfriend. Phoebe admits that while she didn't actually speak with Andy, she did see him in the parking lot. "He had that look, Prue. You know the one I'm talking about -- you might recognize it from the mirror." Phoebe counsels Prue to be honest with Andy about the whole bitchcraft thing so that they can resume their relationship. Prue settles bleakly into her chair and insists that that's not possible. "What if he can't handle it?" she asks. "It's not like I can put the genie back in the bottle." Um. Yes, you can, and you'd know this if you'd actually read the spell I took the time to transcribe above. For shame. I expect better of you, Prue. Phoebe reminds Prue that Andy's "not about to call the warlock police" on any of them, and urges Prue to figure out a way to let him in on the family secret. Perhaps realizing she should go no further than that at this point, she smiles gently, thanks Prue for the use of the computer, and leaves.
As Phoebe exits, a straggly-haired sandwich lady tools up to Prue's door with a cart. Wow. Can I get a job a Buckland's? I haven't worked in a place that offered subsidized lunches since I spent six months at the phone company in London. That sounds like the set-up for a particularly awful joke, doesn't it? But it's true. Swear to God. "I saved you your favorite," the lunch lady tells Prue. "Turkey. No mayo." "You're a good woman," Prue grins, passing "Tanya" a couple of bucks for the sub. Manky Tanya shoves off to continue her rounds. Prue fondles her hoagie while gazing longingly at Andy's photo.
Manor, that evening. By the way, they've yet to film actual nighttime glamour shots of the house, so they're still using that cheap daytime still with the blacked-out sky. Just so you know. Up in the attic, Prue stands at the podium with the Book of Shadows open to the truth spell. "Okay," she breathes, "you win."
Down on the front porch, Piper and Phoebe manage to reach the door at the same time. Piper's laden with volumes of inventory that Jason Stuart, Professional Homosexual insisted she complete that evening. Phoebe playfully offers to assist Piper in return for a little assistance with the dark demonic force of the week.
Attic. Prue recites the first stanza of the spell.
Parlor. Phoebe jokingly chides Piper for not confronting Jason Stuart, Professional Homosexual as she had promised to the evening. Piper vows that she gave the bloated fairy a piece of her mind, then wonders if she's getting a zit on her chin. Phoebe peers at her face and sniffs, "Can't even see it."
Attic. Prue completes the spell. A faint gust of wind swirls through the room.
Parlor. Piper fingers her acne and asks, "Are you sure you can't see it?" Phoebe rolls her eyes and blurts, "Are you kidding? It looks like that thing has a life of its own." The Twinkly-Toed Tinkle Of Wacky Wiccan Hijinks pirouettes onto the soundtrack to beat said soundtrack like a red-headed stepchild as Phoebe furrows her dim brow, wondering what in hell possessed her to say such a thing. She shakes it off and prompts, "So you really told off [Jason Stuart, Professional Homosexual], huh?" "No. I lied. I chickened out," Piper replies immediately. The Twinkly-Toed Tinkle Of Wacky Wiccan Hijinks hoists the Theme Mallet, jetes out of my television set, and thwomps me repeatedly in the jaw. The two Ps goggle at each other.
Attic. Prue hesitantly enters Andy's number into the cordless as she checks her watch. The product-placed Bulgari notes that it's precisely eight o'clock in the evening as Prue reaches Andy's answering machine. Prue, evidently expecting to reach Andy himself, is suddenly and somewhat endearingly unsure of herself. She flusters her way through a vague explanation for her call, then practically begs him to return the call within twenty-four hours before hanging up.
Meanwhile, across town, a lab technician's working late, examining some slides beneath a microscope. I'd go into greater detail setting the scene, but this guy's going to be dead in about ten seconds, so let's just keep things moving, okay? What's that? How do I know that this pleasant young gentleman will soon be sprawled lifeless on the linoleum? Because the undertaker has reappeared, silly. The undertaker greets this "Alex Pearson" and makes with the scientific small talk. Mr. Pearson's examining some "soil samples from the Bindura Plateau." "Ah. Zimbabwe," intones the undertaker. "Their crops have been overrun by disease for decades." Actually, according to a front-page article in the New York Times the other day, Zimbabwe's crops have been overrun by government-backed militants intent on driving the predominantly-white farmers out of the country, leading to a seventy-percent decline in agricultural output in this year alone, but what the hell do I know from sub-Saharan post-colonial famine and strife? In any event, the undertaker babbles a bit more about Mr. Pearson's future role in eradicating hunger from impoverished Third World nations or something like, we. Get. It, Corpseman, so just kill the sainted Mr. Pearson already. But, no! Corpseman goes on! Mr. Pearson's work will also be instrumental in developing a vaccine! "A vaccine?" asks Mr. Pearson. "For what? What do you want?" "Your future," sneers the undertaker, latching his claw-like corpse hands onto Pearson's forearms. The two men struggle for a bit, and the camera takes pains to show us that Pearson manages to dislodge a button from the undertaker's coat. The button skitters across the tiled floor, coming to rest beneath a table. The shot then cuts to a close-up of the undertaker's face as a knot of flesh in his forehead swivels open. A metallic, eye-shaped knob attached to the undertaker's skull shoots blue laser into Pearson's head. The doomed lab tech howls and wails as we fade into the commercial break.
Manor, the following morning. In the kitchen, Piper pours out three cups of coffee as Prue enters with the paper. Prue thanks Piper, and asks her to confirm that the coffee is caffeinated. "Nope!" is Piper's pert reply. Prue gapes. "Never has been!" Piper continues. "I just say it is because it's ridiculous to make two pots of coffee when you're the only one who drinks diesel!" The Twinkly-Toed Tinkle whomps me on the back of the head with the Theme Mallet, then plonks himself onto the carpet to drool over last week's Entertainment Weekly feature on XXX.
The Twinkly-Toed Tinkle Of Wacky Wiccan Hijinks: Vin's so dreamy, isn't he?
Demian: He's a slackjawed jackass, and can it. I'm trying to recap, here.
Twinkle-Toes: Someone needs to get laid.
Demian: Fuck off.
Prue and Piper are equally befuddled by this outburst, but neither has time to process it, for Phoebe clomps in at that moment, apologizing for running up the phone bill with all of her fruitless late-night internet research. She also apologizes for cracking on Piper's zit the evening. "So you really can't see it?" Piper asks hopefully. Phoebe glances at Piper's chin and snorts, "Like I said: It's huge."
Demian: Not in the face!
Twinkle-Toes: Just a little tap?
Demian: Do it and I'll tap your prancing ass right out the goddamned window.
"Something weird is going on," Piper sagely notes as the Dolt saunters in through the back door.
Twinkle-Toes: "Back door." Snicker.
Demian: Shut UP!
The Dolt tells the Glamorous Ladies that the staircase woodwork should be done that day. Piper and the Feebs make with some more of the competitive flirting before the Dolt lopes back out to his truck. "Here we go again," Piper growls. "Piper," simpers Phoebe, "we both know the only reason I like [the Dolt] is because you do."
Demian: Don't.
Twinkle-Toes: Fine. Try to do a person a favor! Just don't come bitching to me when you can't figure out if they're telling the truth because of the spell, or if they're telling the truth because they actually want to. [Sniffles.] I'm just trying to do my job here!
Demian: Blow it out your flaming ass, Isadora. I'm not a frigging idiot, you know.
Twinkle-Toes: Well, that's certainly open for debate. [Pause.] Got any porn?
Demian: Check the roommate's lair downstairs. And leave that damn mallet here!
Phoebe slams the box of faux Alpha Bits onto the counter and grunts, "I have no idea why I just said that!" She spins on her heel to face Prue and spits, "What's going on?" Prue's all, "Whoops! Gotta go!" and leaps from her chair to bolt out of the kitchen. Phoebe stops her short with a dark threat. Prue winces and babbles, "Icastatruthspellseeya!" before racing into the dining room. Phoebe and Piper howl, "What?" in unison and storm after her.
The betrayed Ps catch up with their errant elder sibling in the hallway and confront her. Prue admits that she cast the spell to learn how Andy would react to the whole bitchcraft thing. Piper's outraged. Phoebe, however, is delighted: "The biggest pooper at the Wiccan party has finally used her power for personal gain!" Piper begs to differ with that "personal" bit. "It's affecting us!" she shrieks. Prue counters that she thought she was alone when she recited the spell; she had no idea Piper and Phoebe had returned. Small comfort there, honey. Piper and Phoebe order Prue to give them the bottom line. Short story made long by tonight's script writer, then made short again by me for your convenience -- for the twenty-four hours, all questions asked by or of the Glamorous Ladies must be answered honestly. The only benefit is that no one save the Ps will remember the questions and answers afterwards. Phoebe gleefully decides to put the spell to the test by asking Prue for an unvarnished opinion of her addle-brained ways. Prue instantly blurts, "While I admire your confidence and your fearlessness, your utter lack of responsibility frustrates me to no end." Prue's horrified at what she's just revealed as the riotous gang on the forum boards cheers. Phoebe, for some dull-witted reason, beams at this information, then slings an arm around Piper to ask, "What do you really think of your boss?" As her fingers curl with the effort to keep from answering, Piper squeals, "I think he's a self-serving jerk who must have a very small penis!" I'm sure she meant to use saltier terms than "jerk" and "penis" in that evaluation, but attention must be paid to the network censors, I suppose. "Oh, my God!" Piper wails, covering her face with her hands. "I am going to be so fired!" Prue again insists that she never meant for her sisters to be affected as well. "What a way to come out of the broom closet," Phoebe grins. Piper, of course, demands they barricade themselves in the Manor until the effects of the spell peter out that evening. Phoebe has other plans, and flounces out of the house to abuse Andy with this new truth-divining power of hers. Prue places a comforting hand on Piper's back as Piper clenches and snorts, "Don't even think of asking me what I think about you right now." Heh.
Twinkle-Toes: What'd I miss?
Demian: Nothing. Go away.
Twinkle-Toes: But I wanna see Andy!
Demian: Fine, but I keep the mallet and you keep your filthy mouth shut. Pervert.
Andy's House Of Beef. Phoebe barges in and brightly greets the detective. Before he can ask what she's doing there, she cuts him off with a question about Prue. He casually reveals that while he got the message Prue left on his machine, he's not sure he wants to call her back.
Demian: ...
Twinkle-Toes: What? I didn't say anything.
Demian: [Threatening snort.]Phoebe retrieves a pad of paper from her vast purse and starts in with the third degree. The responses she receives from Andy are rapid-fire, automatic bursts of facts delivered in hushed, conspiratorial, urgent tones as Andy's expression gradually becomes more and more befuddled as the scene progresses. God help me, but I'm giggling. What does Andy know about the murdered doctor? "Lead detective says he's not the only victim -- last night they found a lab technician out in Oakland -- each of them had the same cauterized mark on their foreheads and their eyes were drained of color -- they were completely white."
Demian, avec Theme Mallet: [Thwack.]
Twinkle-Toes: Ow! What'd you do that for?
Demian: I told you I am not a fucking moron and I told you to keep your simpering, sniveling, sibilant mouth SHUT!
Twinkle-Toes: "Sibilant"? Moi? Look who's talking, sissy-girl. You'd best avoid those hissing sounds yourself if you want anyone to buy that butch act you keep trying to push.
Demian: [Thwack.]
Twinkle-Toes: Hey!Andy snaps his head back in disbelief at the words that just poured from his mouth, and darts his eyes around with alarm. Cause of death? "Unknown," Andy blurts. "Looks like they took a bullet wound to the head only there's no exit wound and no bullet." Suspects? "Not yet." Any leads? "They found a button at the crime scene -- possibly from the suspect's jacket -- but it's an alloy forensics has never seen before." Andy jams his fist against his mouth in a desperate attempt to shut himself up, and bugs out his eyes. Hee! Phoebe thanks him for his time and orders him to return Prue's call before giddily dancing on out of there. Andy scrunches lower into his chair and wigs.
Buckland's. Prue's daydreams are interrupted by her ringing phone. It's Andy, and they agree to meet that evening at five to chat. As Prue places the receiver back into its cradle, manky-haired lunch lady Tanya wheels her cart into the office, followed closely by the saucy, evilicious Hannah Webster. "Oooh, look!" Hannah croons. "Last turkey-no-mayo. My favorite!" Manky Tanya stammers that she was saving that sandwich for Prue. Hannah sneers at her while forking over a couple of bucks. "Don't you hate turkey?" Prue delicately asks. "Of course I do," comes the reply. "I just don't want you to have it."
Demian: [Thwack.] Why don't you lock yourself in the bathroom WHERE I CAN'T HEAR YOU.
Twinkle-Toes: You don't have to yell. I know when I'm not wanted.
Demian: NO you DON'T. Because if you DID, you would have SHUT UP with the FUCKING TINKLING ALREADY.
Prue gets a vengeful smirk on her face and asks, "Is there inny particular reason why you're such a bitch to me?" "Yes," Hannah replies immediately "because it's my mission in life to destroy you."
Demian: [Thwack!]
Twinkle-Toes: I'm going! I'm going!
Unfortunately, Rex smarms in at this moment to prevent what was shaping up to be a lovely catfight. He pulls Hannah into his office for a private chat as Prue and Manky Tanya shrug their shoulders and roll their eyes at each other.
Office Of Rex. "What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he shouts. Britishly. Hannah insists that "it just came out!" Rex begs to differ: "You almost came out!" I'm not sure if I find all of these "coming out" references amusing or annoying, especially with Jason Stuart, Professional Homosexual lurking in the wings. It's sort of like that Seinfeld episode -- you know, where they went to the gallery opening and every time one of the four main characters told another to "Get out!" the recipient of this advice enthusiastically shot back, "I'm out!" and the assembled homosexuals in the gallery would applaud? Yeah. So far, this episode is like that. I can't decide if I should laugh or put my foot through the TV.
Twinkle-Toes: I loved that episode. And the one with "not that there's anything wrong with that"? Too funny.
Demian: SHUT. UP!
While Hannah apologizes repeatedly for her seemingly inexplicable behavior, Rex removes a cigar from a small box on his desk. He places it in his mouth, and Hannah blows gently on the end of the thing. The cigar smokes and glows. I am so not touching that one. Gross.
Manor. Up on the sun porch, Piper futzes with the [72virg=ins] inventory for a bit before the Dolt wanders into the room with coffee staining his shirt. Bamp-chicka-bamp-ew. They flirt, and Brian Krause threatens to endear himself to me, so I'm going to speed through this scene in order to maintain my sanity. Piper deploys her temporary truth-divining power to discover that the Dolt likes her. He really, really likes her. They kiss. Whatever.
Buckland's. Phoebe catches up with Prue and drags her off for a private chat. As Phoebe details the information she received from Andy, Manky Tanya brushes past, flinging Phoebe into a rerun of her earlier premonition. Phoebe gasps and chases after the imperiled lunch lady. Unfortunately, Manky Tanya disappears into the elevator before Phoebe can reach her.
Elevator. The undertaker presses the button for the lobby, then smarmily introduces himself to Manky Tanya.
Meanwhile, Phoebe hammers away at the call button up on Prue's floor. Prue orders her to take the stairs while she herself calls security. The Glamorous Ladies peel off in opposite directions.
Outside in the parking lot, Manky Tanya shrieks while trying and failing to twist herself out of the undertaker's grip on her arm. Phoebe shoots through the "Buckland's Employee Entrance," takes a brief moment to evaluate the situation, then grabs a couple of glass bottles of mineral water from Manky Tanya's overturned lunch cart. She races over to the struggling pair and clouts the undertaker with one of the bottles just as he trains his laser beam on Tanya's forehead. The undertaker releases Tanya's arm and turns to glower at the Feebs, the metallic knob visible between his eyebrows. Phoebe yodels for Tanya to run, then whomps the other bottle against the undertaker's temple. The two women skitter into Tanya's car while the undertaker picks himself off the pavement. As the car tears out of the lot, Prue emerges from the office building with two guards. She screams for Phoebe, but Phoebe and Tanya are pretty much long gone. The undertaker glares at Prue as we fade out into commercial.
Manor. Phoebe dabs some rubbing alcohol onto the scorch mark on Tanya's forehead while Tanya explains the situation to her husband over the phone. After she hangs up, she demands to know what's going on. Phoebe, forced by the spell to tell this woman the unalloyed truth, gives her the short version of the events thus far. Manky Tanya, of course, at first refuses to believe her, but something in Phoebe's tone of voice convinces her that a demon with a laser embedded in his skull really is trying to kill her.
[72virg=ins]. Piper babbles a promise into the phone to return to the Manor as soon as she can, then hangs up when Jason Stuart, Professional Homosexual breezes into the kitchen. The bloated fairy blithely shoves a to-do list into her hands and airily announces that he'll return after the dinner rush is over. Piper loses it. "No one person can do all of this!" she bellows, wagging the list in his face. "How do you expect me to do it alone?" "'Cause I know you will," he replies. "Why spend money on more employees when I know you'll do it, and you won't complain? I got a bargain -- all the work for half the price!"
Twinkle-Toes: ...
Demian: Hey! You drown in the toilet or something?
Twinkle-Toes: You told me to shut up, so I've shut up.
Demian: Oh. Well, uh, keep at it. With the shutting up, I mean.
Twinkle-Toes, sotto voce: Asshole.
Demian: I HEARD THAT!
The Professional Homosexual is appalled at the words that just flew from his mouth, and attempts to apologize. Piper's having none of it, and quits on the spot. Woo!
Buckland's. Prue wanders through the hall towards her office, silently stalked by the undertaker. The undertaker stops short when he hears her greet Andy, and skulks back to his hiding place. Meanwhile, Prue and Andy attempt small talk before getting down to business, but the truth spell keeps knocking them cross-eyed. Andy's casual "How are you?" is met with "I'm a nervous wreck" by way of response. When Prue lobs the same question back at him, Andy giggles and blurts, "My heart's pounding like a sledgehammer!" An awkward pause follows as the thick fug of conversational flatulence settles into the room around them. Prue twists her hands around for a bit, then offers Andy a seat. He admits that he'd like very much to start dating her again, but he knows things wouldn't work out if she continues to keep secrets from him. "Actually," Prue begins, "that's what I wanted to see you about. Except, instead of telling you, I thought I'd show you." Andy arches a bemused brow, then at Prue's urging focuses his attention on a small marble pyramid-shaped paperweight on her desk. Prue squints at the thing, and it slides smoothly from one side of her desk to the other. Andy leaps from his chair as if one of those land-crossing Frankenfish just flopped over to take out a chunk of his ass with its teeth. With a bit of defensive tittering, he stammers, "What the hell was that?" Prue fixes a nervous smile on her face and faux-perks, "My secret! I, uh, did that with my mind." "You're telekinetic?" Andy spits incredulously. Prue starts in with the babbling, nattering that "it's so much more than that" and copping to the whole bitchcraft deal as she circles her desk to approach him. Andy keeps edging away from her towards the door. Prue's yammering eventually grinds to a halt, and she asks plaintively, "Are you okay with this?" "I don't know," Andy stutters. "Of all the things I thought you were hiding, this was actually nowhere on the list. So, does this mean Piper and Phoebe are...?" "Yep," Prue replies, crossing back to her chair. She explains the gals inherited their powers from their mother, and adds that any children she has -- "if they're girls" -- will also inherit the Halliwell bitchcraft. Andy, needless to say, is flummoxed. He wonders if she can somehow rid herself of the bitchcraft if she really wanted to do so. Prue's visibly taken aback at this, but manages to answer, "No, Andy, I can't change who I am -- and that's something I've recently come to accept. The question is, can you?" Gay subtext, table for Prue. Andy hesitates, but finally shakes his head to admit that he honestly hasn't a clue what his reaction to all of this is. Prue dejectedly averts her eyes from his.
Manor sun porch. Manky Tanya leafs through the Book of Shadows, looking for the undertaker, while Piper enters from the kitchen with a tray of tea. Apparently, there's been a third murder at some point in the past few hours. The latest victim is a biogenetics professor at Stanford. "A professor, a geneticist, a lab technician," Piper enumerates. "And a sandwich girl?" Tanya asks. "Do you really think he's after me?" Phoebe places a comforting hand on Tanya's knee, and is of course hurled into a conveniently expository premonition. Manky Tanya tenderly cradles a newborn in her arms while rocking back and forth in a sun-dappled room. Phoebe snaps out of it, gapes, and drags Piper into the kitchen.
"She's carrying!" Phoebe squeals. "Carrying what?" Piper asks, rather dimly. "No, she's pregnant," Phoebe explains. Phoebe supposes the undertaker is after Tanya's unborn child, and piece by piece, the ladies assemble a theory regarding the dark demonic force of the week. Reminding Piper of the mysterious alloy forensics found in the undertaker's button, Phoebe deduces that he's been sent from the future to eliminate his various victims for some reason or another. Piper wonders how they'll catch him. Phoebe puzzles over this for a moment, then remembers with dismay that the undertaker saw Tanya at Buckland's with herself and Prue. DUN!
Buckland's. Prue, lost in thought, stares out of the window as Hannah enters awkwardly to apologize for her earlier outburst. Prue levels her gaze at Hannah and sneers, "But you wouldn't really mean that, would you?" Hannah guhs, "No!" as if it were the stupidest question she'd ever been asked in all her long, demonic life. Her mouth then drops open in mortified shock, and she spins around to scamper away in silence. Hee! Can we get a lot more of Hannah, please? She's the funniest damn supporting character they've ever had. The camera tracks Hannah out to the elevator bank. Once she's gone, the undertaker emerges from around a corner to stalk out into commercial.
Back from the break, Prue fiddles with some paperwork as the undertaker invades her office. In a bit of dialogue that's cleverly crafted by Charmed standards, Prue draws the undertaker's mission from him with a few well-worded questions. He was indeed sent from the future to prevent the creation of an as-yet-unspecified vaccine by murdering said vaccine's authors. Prue TKs her desk into the guy and flees.
Manor. Piper's attempts to reach Prue by phone are useless, as the system is automatically shunting her into voice mail. I hate when that happens. Phoebe decides that Piper should head to Buckland's on her own while Phoebe remains in the Manor to protect Tanya. Piper, bless her insecure little heart, doesn't believe she's up to the task. Phoebe assures her that everything will be fine. The Manor Ps hug. Aw.
Buckland's. Prue slams through a fire door and scampers down the stairs to a storage area, followed closely by the undertaker. Prue desperately jiggles the locked handle, then whacks it open with a little TK. She races through the darkened vault to crouch behind a stack of shipping crates. The undertaker strides through the doorway to announce, "I've got eight and a half months to find Tanya, Miss Halliwell. Plenty of time. Yours, however, has run out."
Upstairs, Piper storms into Prue's office to find the debris from Prue's earlier encounter with the undertaker littering the carpet. "Oh, no," she breathes, and takes off down the hall.
Storage room. From her crouch, Prue calls out a question regarding the vaccine. We learn that it was fabricated at some point in the future to eliminate the threat from "warlocks" like the undertaker. No, I don't know how a vaccine can protect against brain-sucking laser beams. I don't know how the undertaker escaped its effects to travel back in time with his brain-sucking laser beam intact, and I don't know how a cadaverous warlock was able to time-travel in the first place, so don't ask me these questions. We're almost done here, okay? During all of this, the undertaker has managed to discover Prue's hiding place, and now locks a paw around her throat. He hoists her into the air as his fleshy aperture swivels open for a little brain-sucking. Heh. Sorry. I just flashed onto that Powerpuff Girls episode where they defeated the razor-toothed brain-sucker by convincing it to latch onto the Mayor's empty head. Too bad Phoebe chose to remain at the Manor. Anyway, Piper magically appears just in time to freeze the undertaker's brain-sucking ass. How did she know they'd be in the auction house's underground storage area? Like I said: Don't ask. So, Piper frees Prue from the undertaker's grasp with a crowbar, and the gals retreat to bicker about who gets to kill him. Heh. Each keeps trying to force the crowbar into the other's hands so that by the time the undertaker worms his way out of the freeze, they're both clutching the metal bar between them. They instinctively jam the crowbar into the undertaker's metal knob. The undertaker howls as the knob short-circuits, and he presently drops to the concrete, dead. An enormous, bulbous, pulsating blue vortex opens up above his corpse and siphons the undertaker's remains back into the future. Well, that's vile. And yet oddly amusing at the same time. "I love it when they clean up after themselves," Prue smirks. Ba-dum-bump! Prue Halliwell, ladies and germs! Let's give her a big hand!
Not.
After a brief pan across the city to indicate the passage of time, we head over to Andy's, where Prue waits for him in the hallway outside his apartment. He appears toting a sack of groceries, and Prue gets right to the point. "Can you or can you not accept that I'm a witch?" she asks. After a regretful pause, Andy replies, "If I have to answer right now? I don't think so, Prue. I mean, there's nothing wrong with it -- I guess. It's just a future I don't envision having." That was close enough to that Seinfeld catchphrase to elicit a groan from me. Shut up, Andy. A clock within his apartment chimes the hour, and a wave of cluelessness passes across Andy's face. "What were we just talking about?" he wonders. Prue confirms that he can't recall a single thing he said to her in the last twenty-four hours, kisses him gently on his cheek, and dejectedly wanders off down the hall. Once she's rounded the corner, she leans against the wall as glycerin trickles down her cheeks. How in the hell did they rig an invisible glycerin dispenser on Shannen Doherty's face like that? Oh, can it. I refuse to believe she's actually crying.
[72virg=ins]. Piper and Phoebe sit at a table over the remains of the meal they shared with Manky Tanya and process the day's events. The Professional Homosexual interrupts them, ordering Piper back into the kitchen. Get it? He doesn't remember she...oh, fuck it. Piper excuses herself from the table to go scream at Jason Stuart some more.
Back in the kitchen, Piper tells her boss that if he doesn't hire four additional staff members immediately, she's out of there for good. Passive-aggressive bloat that the Professional Homosexual is, he responds to her demands with "What took you so long? All you had to do is ask." Piper twitches, then flings an apron into his face, telling him she'll see him tomorrow; tonight, after all, is her night off.
Piper smacks open the kitchen door, biffing the unfortunate Dolt right in the face. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Pause. Slow-forward. Rewind. Play. I could watch that shit all night. Long story short, the Dolt doesn't remember their tryst on the sun porch that afternoon, but has an uneasy feeling he did something of which he should be ashamed. Yeah. You were born. Asshat. Piper assures him he has nothing to worry about, and escorts him to the bar for a cocktail.
Meanwhile, Prue's entered the restaurant and sits at Phoebe's side to relate her tale of Andy woe. Phoebe murmurs, "I'm so sorry," and the two women hug as an ovary warbles us through the final fade to black.
Demian: Dude. It's over. Get out of my apartment.
Twinkle-Toes: What about my mallet?
Demian: Not a chance, prissy-pants. Get out. Now.
Twinkle-Toes: Can I keep the porn?
Demian: OUT! NOW!
time: The episode that launched a thousand continuity errors. Or, at the very least, a thousand confused questions regarding the show's backstory. Melinda Warren swings by the Manor for a cup of tea and a makeover. Have fun.