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I say! This glittering city before me: is that�Las Vegas? Why, I believe it is!
Catherine walks through the Labitrail to DNA, where she unloads a couple of sealed samples and an accompanying true-crime story on Mia: a wife caught her husband in bed with a hooker, cut him, then got killed by him, and the hooker ran off with the gentleman's wallet. Catherine says she caught him sitting on a curb and swabbed blood spatter off his hands. Mia says she's more backed up than Interstate 15, and asks if the samples can wait until tomorrow. "He's not going anywhere," Catherine says, and leaves Mia to her backup. On her way out, she meets up with Warrick and Nicky and invites them out for a drink. They pass, pleading prior commitments. What, do they have tween daughters to go home to or something? In any case, it looks like Catherine's on her own.
But not for long, because by the time we cut to a crowded piano bar called The Highball, she's already being chatted up by L.A. Law's Alan Rosenberg, who played the ex-husband from Cybill who wasn't also an ex-Duke boy. He also happens to be Marg Helgenberger's husband in real life, which might explain why she's able to play this scene without cringing away from his squinty, craggy puss. He's leaning way into her, wearing a black leather jacket and reaching levels of smarm I wouldn't have thought possible for him. But Catherine seems to be eating it up. The blonde bartender offers to bring Catherine another drink, but she declines. Rosenberg has taken advantage of the brief distraction to start stroking Catherine's bare arm with his fingertips. Well, that's kind of forward. Catherine allows it, looking somewhat titillated by his boldness. They're swapping life stories in pickup-bar-speak, and when Catherine lets slip that she has a daughter, Rosenberg oozes, "If she's got her mother's looks, you're in trouble." He leans in and whispers something in her ear that we mercifully don't hear, but Catherine seems to dig it. Although she says she's going to be in trouble anyway if she doesn't get home. Rosenberg makes a big show of dismay at getting shot down, and writes down his phone number on a matchbook cover. Catherine drops it in her purse with a smile and she makes to leave. Rosenberg jumps off his barstool and insists on walking her to her car.
That must have been some walk, because we cut right to a few minutes later in the parking lot, where they're making out next to Catherine's SUV. Scandalous! I certainly hope Catherine will be rightfully and thoroughly punished for her wanton behavior. Suddenly a chirping car alarm nearby seems to bring her back to reality, or at least remind her that every time she tries to have a little fun her life inevitably turns to shit. She pushes him away, saying, "I can't do this tonight. I'll call you." He doesn't respond at all well to the news that he's not going to get a helgenberging. In fact, he goes directly from smarmy to scary, slamming her car door while she tries to enter and snarling, "What the hell is your problem?" Catherine tries to force her car door open, but he's not moving. I don't think she's going to call him now, do you? Not after he went from Mr. Goodbar to Mr. Nutbar in nothing flat. She in fact invites him to go to hell, whereupon he suddenly releases the door and it appears to smack her in the face as it swings open. She gasps and puts her hand to her cheekbone. "You're not worth the trouble," he spits. That was the worst apology ever. He stomps back toward the bar, pissed that he came out here and scraped up his knuckles on the pavement for naught. Catherine's left standing there, holding her hand to her face and wondering how she's going to get her SUV out of a spot that's entirely surrounded by parked cars. Could I be more glad that I'm married? No. I could not.