Previously on Big Head Wad and the Wankers: Dawson took whatever money he didn't spend on his purchase of Joey a few years back and turned it over to Pacey, demanding a quick and large return on his investment so that he can make what he self-consciously called an "indie film." Little David semi-broke up with Jack because...well, we think because Jack talked to this guy Fred, but that almost seems like it can't be right, so there might be scenes that were omitted where Jack spit in Little David's drink or kicked him or called him "shrimpy" or something. Pacey's boss was a huge, materialistic asshole, so of course Pacey wanted to be just like him. Oh, and there was this chick kind of hanging around, and it seemed like she might be government, but then it turned out she was just media. Joey dumped Pacey for the greener (?) pastures of the reappearing Eddie, who told her to take a leap of faith and made other unlikely suggestions.
In a restaurant somewhere in Boston, North Carolina, an irritatingly happy piano tootles jazzily in the background while a pensive Pacey, alone at a table, stares down at his silverware. Pacey is sad, you see, because Pacey is always sad. If Pacey were happy, the show would end and water would go down the drain the other way and your hair would grow inward and then the earth would explode. He shifts his gaze to look a little farther into the distance, and we become aware that he is thinking of Joey: The One That Got Away. The little mood lamp reminds him of her smile, the wine reminds him of her intoxicating personality, and the salt and pepper shakers remind him of the contrast between the top half of her hair and the bottom half. A perky waitress comes up and asks him if he needs any more bread. He tells her he doesn't want bread, but he'd like another drink, and he'd like her not to call him "sir," because it makes him feel creepy. "Yes, sir," she says, and then apologizes and walks away, knowing she made an idiot of herself in front of what is probably the first hottie to walk into this establishment since 1994. He laughs a bit.
Sadia's boobs, followed by the rest of Sadia, approach him from behind and say, "Hel-looo." He turns to look directly into her cleavage, and then follows her with his eyes as she makes her way to the other side of the table and sits down. She asks if he missed her, and he assures her that although he did miss her, the waitress's flirting helped him pass the time. In the first of many of this evening's Hair Don'ts, Sadia's hair is up, but she has large chunks of it hanging in her eyes. Not subtle little tendrils, but flops of hair. Yuck. Anyway, Pacey assures her that the waitress isn't his type, and he makes with the I-love-the-brown-eyed-intellectuals remarks that are veiled references, of course, to Joey: The One That Got Away. Sadia asks him why it took him so long to ask her out, so we get some more veiled references to Joey: The One That Got Away, as Pacey assures FlopHair that he's recovered from all his past entanglements. Pacey's drink is brought by Bumbling Waitress, who I wish had had more lines, because she is much more interesting than Sadia. Pacey then proposes a toast to getting to know each other better. "Much better," she says, with all the subtlety of a battery-acid martini. They stare meaningfully into each other's eyes. If this were an episode of Saved By The Bell, which it almost is, this is where the audience would go, "Woo!"
Credits. Ah, we meet again, bitches.
Fade up on Joey's studio-apartment-size dorm room, where she is lying boobs-down on the bed while Eddie sits at the end of it on the floor. They are discussing Catch-22, of which they are sharing a copy of the Golden Anvil Edition ("Now with more parallels to your life!"). Eddie explains how Yossarian's escape is a testament to the power of the individual and blah blah blah, and Joey disagrees and says that Yossarian eventually has to accept the meaninglessness of so forth and so on. Joey insists that Professor Flip-Flops interprets the book the way she does, and Eddie suggests that the class isn't very meaningful if all she does is repeat the opinions the professor expressed. She returns to her usual grade-grubbing as an excuse for her pathetic attempts to parrot the teacher. She reminds Eddie that this final has been made rather important by their mishandling of the final. You know what makes a really compelling topic for drama? People's grades. That, and moving your checking account to a different bank in order to have a wider ATM network. Those are pretty much the high points of human drama, as far as I'm concerned.
Comic Relief Audrey comes strolling in, sighs extravagantly, says, "This! Isn't! Happening!" and flops down on the bed. Asked what's wrong, she declares that God is punishing her, and she and Joey take a preposterously long time to exposit that Audrey has been told that because she missed so much class time during her stint in e-ray-ab-hay, she has to come to summer school if she wants to remain at Worthington ("the Harvard of the WB"). I just love that pink fur sit-up pillow Audrey has. It's like someone killed and skinned one of Anna Nicole Smith's dogs. Actually, it was probably her. Audrey whimpers and wails about how she'll be alone for the summer once Joey leaves in a few days. Comic Relief Audrey declares that she's off to "negotiate," and Joey tells her she doubts that the terms are negotiable. If you don't know that Audrey is going to say, "Everything's negotiable," which she does, then you are off your game, big-time. When she's gone, Eddie asks Joey why she's friends with Audrey. "She saved my life once at a bar in Calcutta," Joey says warily. Like, ha ha, everyone Joey knows is such a burden on her poor little shoulders. It's so unfair, considering how kind and loyal and patient she is with everyone she knows. Oh, wait, I forgot something. Like every piece of behavior Joey has ever displayed.
Joey brings up to Eddie the fact that they will be kicked out of the dorm in two days, which causes him to make an odd semi-Chris Farley reference by telling her they can go live in his car down by the river. "That is not the plan," says a blankly grinning Joey. She reminds him that they had decided to go live with Bessie, get jobs, and save some money. Eddie says he doesn't want to listen to her father lecture him about his lack of prospects. Uh, somehow I think you can survive the Potterfamilias and his Hammer Of Judgment. The man feels blessed that there are now walls between his toilet and other people. I think he can handle the disappointment. The exposition is flying fast and furious as Joey reminds Eddie that he's leaving in the fall for a prestigious writing program, and he adds that it's in California. So if they're going to be "ripped apart by geography" in the fall, he thinks they'd better spend the summer doing something better than "bussing tables." Apparently, he is not aware that Capeside in general -- and waiting tables in Capeside in particular -- is a love magnet. Eddie tells her that he in fact has big plans for their summer, but he's not going to tell her what they are until after she finishes her English final. "What if I can't wait that long?" she asks playfully. "I think you can," he says calmly. She scootches up on the bed, leaving the chest section of her shirt left behind and buried under her navel. She threatens to, I guess, sex it out of him, and then they have a really, really unappealing-looking kiss. He finally pulls away from her with a smirk of "Nice try." "You officially suck," she says as he resettles on the floor, leaving her to stew. She goes back to Catch-22. If there weren't literary parallels or kissing, how would this show fill the time?
A book-to-book cut shows us that Little David is working the helpline to a guy reading a book called Authentic Happiness. Man, I could use a little Authentic Happiness to get me through this show. Little David looks up, surprised to see Jack standing in the door. He hustles the helpline person off the phone, which seems like perhaps not the best display of priorities I've ever seen, but we'll let it slide. "Rough day?" Jack asks. "Yeah, exams bring out the worst in people," Little David snots, because he has been wronged and has not forgotten it. Jack tries to make conversation, but Tiny Gay Snotting David is having none of it. "Did you need something?" he snaps. Jack observes that Little David is still mad, and David comes back with an even snottier, "Speak quickly, Jack." He goes on to blow off Jack as a "feckless ex-boyfriend" whose presence is uninteresting to him as compared to the problems of the people on the helpline. First of all, I think the writers are working without their dictionaries again, because "feckless" means "weak and ineffective," and I don't think that's what Little David really means. Second of all, this is only one of many times on this show where a character would be well served by telling someone who's acting like an asshole to just shove off instead of trying to suck up to them, but Jack takes the suck-up route, as have so many of his friends throughout history.
He begs Little David to just talk to him. "Meet with me," he pleads. I'm sorry, "meet with me"? What is this, the Chamber of Commerce? Are we arranging a welcome breakfast for a visiting head of state? On what planet do you try to heal a breakup with the phrase "meet with me"? Oh, right. The planet of I, Kerr Smith, Do Not Want To Make My Romantic Storylines Seem Too Romantic, Lest I Explode In A Little Purple Puff Of Gay. Little David, swept away by the romance of "meet with me," comes out with a cold "maybe." What a little prick. Despite this, Jack grins as if tickled at being given this tiny opportunity to redeem himself for having done absolutely nothing wrong. Jack says that if Little David wants to meet, he can just come to Hell's Kitchen tonight, where Jack will be. Little David can't tonight, so Jack suggests tomorrow, after eight. Little David gives a tentative grin indicating that perhaps he will forgive Jack for doing absolutely nothing wrong, and tells Jack he works until nine. Blah blah blah tentative possible reconciliation, Jack leaves happy, and Kerr leaves happy because he didn't have to kiss anyone.
Cut to the firm of Glass, Steel & Paneling, or whatever Pacey's workplace is called. In a suit, Pacey walks into a conference room where a crowd of dorky aspiring broker types are seated around a table, looking terrified. "I had sex with a beautiful woman last night," Pacey says. The Thumping Bass Guitar Of Sex starts up. And thus begins a long lecture in which Pacey talks like a complete twit about how he's got this beautiful woman in his bed for one reason and one reason only -- he is making a lot of money, and they can, too. If the sound of him lecturing about how money is the only thing that matters sounds a little ridiculous and out of character to you, you're not alone. As they so often do, the writers are abandoning everything they've ever told us about who this kid is in order to set him up for one more redemption storyline before we all pack up our pup tents and go home. The blank-faced guys around the table stare at Pacey as he blathers about the thrill of riches, tells them that they'd better not be late on Monday, and storms out. I'm so glad they're spending the last few episodes doing important things, you know? Because I totally care about this. When he walks out of the conference room, he runs smack into Boss Man Rich, who asks him how it went. Pacey says that he learned from the best. "That's sweet," Boss Man Rich smarms. "You want to make out, or...?" Wow, funny. Pacey notices some excitement in the background in the subtle form of an off-camera guy going, "Woo!" and Boss Man Rich tells him that Stock-O-Doom is still rising in anticipation of its highly-anticipated FDA ruling. Which I'm thinking will go fine, don't you think? Boss Man Rich uses the terms "nether regions" and "amigo" in explaining this turn of events, so he is pretty much as hateful as ever. On his way out, Boss Man Rich asks Pacey if he "sealed the deal" with Sadia, and Pacey -- suddenly a guy who treats women like shit, in addition to a greedy bastard -- oozes that BMR should "ask those guys in there." BMR says that he is now in awe of Pacey. "Nicely done," says BMR. "You know, that's just what she said," Pacey says. You know, you'd think when they were going to flip a U-turn of this magnitude with a character, they'd give a little more warning. I'd appreciate it, because I'm having a bit of whiplash.
Commercials. I miss the Not! Line. ["Oh, it's still open." -- Sars]
When we return, Pacey is snoozing with Sadia in his arms. They half-wake-up and start canoodling and so forth, and there's some boogeda-boogeda about how it's a nice way to start the day, blah blah blah. "I do have a few other tricks up my sleeve," she says, and then offers that she didn't want to "blow [his] mind" too early. I swear, all those mythical monkeys on typewriters could write better pillow talk, except that in every place where the myth uses the word "an infinite number of," you should insert "five." Pacey suddenly realizes it's Stock-O-Doom's big news day, so he reaches for the remote and flips on the TV. She wants to know what's so interesting, and he tells her about the Stock-O-Doom thingie, which he actually refers to as a thingie, which leads to what feels like ten minutes of unfunny banter about the word "thingie." I tell you, desperation is wafting off this script like dead fish stink. (I actually think you should insert "four.") She wants to know how young Pacey became so "career-obsessed," which leads to yet another clumsily placed mention of Joey: The One That Got Away, shoehorned in as an example of the other obsessions he has considered and tossed away in favor of workaholism. Sadia says it's no skin off her nose. "I mean, it's not like you're my boyfriend," she says. "I have one of those, and...they're overrated." Josh Jackson does a marvelously funny take at her "I have one of those" line, proving once again his ability to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, even when the ear is lined with horse manure. He recovers and tells her that he concurs entirely that relationships suck. She picks at his ear as he watches the TV (sexy!), and she says that "this other girl, she doesn't know what she's missing." "She's in a past life," he says unconvincingly while resting his face on her forearm in a genuinely strange way that doesn't look like anything a regular person would do ever, in the absence of a camera guy trying to set up a shot. He says that he always has his work. "And then there's me," she says vapidly, smiling happily at herself. "And then there's you," he repeats, taking this as "proof positive that there is in fact a God." Blah blah blah make-out-cakes, and he eventually turns off the TV to devote himself fully to ravaging her. But -- but -- now he won't see the announcement about Stock-O-Doom and the FDA! What if something goes wrong? Do you think that's a possibility? I also have to say that this scene ends with a little more grinding of butts than I really need to see at 7:15, okay, guys? Some of us in the Midwest are still digesting dinner.
In a cavernous Worthington Classroom Of Solitude, Eddie and Joey appear to be the only people interested in preparing for their final. He offers her more coffee, and she suggests that they're overcaffeinated as it is. He gives her a smooch, and she complains that the Eddie-lovin' was how her "academic downfall" came about last time. In storms Professor Flip-Flops, who makes a rather flat-footed "joke" about Joey and Eddie being "Bonnie and Clyde." Huh? Eddie asks Joey why it isn't a TA monitoring their exam, and Flip-Flops overhears, tells Eddie that his "bionic hearing" is not to be underestimated, and explains that he enjoys proctoring exams. Joey loudly says to Eddie that this is because Flip-Flops likes watching them squirm under the steel-toed boot of his evil eye. Flip-Flops tells Joey that she's good at reading him, so now they'll see how she does with postwar American literature. Ooh, good one! Not. Eddie low-talks to Joey that he never got to thank Flip-Flops for the recommendation. A horrified Joey asks him if he intends to do so now. "What's the worst that could happen?" Eddie asks. Joey suggests that Flip-Flops could act like a prick and Eddie could punch him in the face again. Eddie assures her that this will not happen, because he can be the "bigger person." Joey says she thinks Eddie is correct about the bigness of himself, but underestimates The Unbearable Smallness Of Flip-Flops. Eddie disagrees, and goes off to meet his doom.
Up at the desk, Eddie tells Flip-Flops the following: "Hey, uh, Professor Hetson...I kinda thought maybe I'd like to thank you for, you know, helping me out with that school thing." Flip-Flops repeats Eddie's words back, making them sound just as inarticulate as they in fact were, as Joey looks on with a mixture of trepidation and amusement, trying to side with her boyfriend but tempted to side with Flip-Flops. "Your eloquence astounds me," Flip-Flops flaps. An overheated Eddie, subjected to literally one unkind remark, does just as he promised Joey he wouldn't and wigs out, threatening to "just bail on the whole concept." "Well, that is your specialty, isn't it?" Flip-Flops retorts. An exasperated Joey stomps over to the desk to break it up. "Did I not say this was going to happen?" she asks Eddie. "Hey, he started it," Eddie retorts. "Let me know when you've returned from the third grade," Joey says witheringly, and then turns to Flip-Flops. "All he was trying to say was 'thank you,'" she says. "Two simple words. And I believe the appropriate response is 'You're welcome,' maybe even 'Good luck in future endeavors.'" "Whatever," Flip-Flops snots. "Whatever," Joey repeats, and turns back to Eddie. "I encourage you to accept this 'whatever' as I believe this is the best you'll ever do," she says. ["Shout-out?" -- Sars] "Whatever," Eddie says. "Great," Joey spits. "My work here is done." She asks Eddie to leave, because he's destroying her concentration. "Whatever," he says again. "Great. Goodbye," she says. Flip-Flops fake-smiles at her, and she fake-smiles back as she takes a test booklet from the desk. Considering the tale of the It, it's so ironic how Joey only has any sort of chemistry with people -- like Flip-Flops -- who don't put up with her shit. Or who at least hate themselves for it.
Back at Glass, Steel & Paneling, Pacey is taking off his phone headset. His secretary tells him that Dawson is on the phone, so Pacey, still eschewing the handset, puts Dawson on the speaker. I hate it when people put me on speakerphone for no reason. It's so hard to hear them, and I always wonder what else they're doing. And whether they're dressed. Which is stupid, because it's not like you need speakerphone to talk on the phone naked, but there you have it. Dawson, it turns out, is painting a room while he talks to Pacey. Why? I don't know. He and Pacey greet each other, and Dawson allows as how he's nervous about having all his money in "a stock market that can only be described as 'globally weak.'" Pacey encourages Dawson to "just trust [him]," and all will go well. "Have I ever let you down in the past?" he asks. Of course, it is part of the mythology of this show that Pacey has let Dawson and everyone else down many, many times, despite the fact that I literally cannot think of one time when that has ever happened, so of course Pacey immediately backtracks and says, "Don't answer that." ["Well, there's 'Promicide,' but that was really more of the writers using Pacey's inferiority complex as an excuse to actually make him a shitheel for an episode." -- Sars] Dawson chuckles generously. Because he is Generously Chuckling Dawson, King Of Forgiveness. He is available 24/7, and is prepared to forgive all your non-sins. Dawson tells Pacey that he thinks it might be "time to cash out," because he has to buy film. Pacey explains about Stock-O-Doom, and assures Dawson that it is his ticket to wealth, so there's no point in bailing out now. He encourages Dawson to ride it out for plot purposes. "You just trust me," he says, polishing his anvil, "and everything will be all right." Dawson agrees to put the movie on a bunch of credit cards, accuses Pacey of casting him in a David Mamet movie (okay, slightly funny), and then returns to the activity of watching paint dry, which is pretty much what the rest of us are doing, if you get my meaning. Oh, that conversation between Dawson and Pacey also features a distasteful and long-outdated Clerks reference, but I'd rather not go into it.
Commercials. Thank God.
Fade up on one of the many portions of Joey Potter's life that is covered in twinkle lights. This evening, she is telling Eddie all about her exam, and how obscure the necessary information turned out to be. He figures out that she knew all the answers and completely aced the test, and thus does another young lad fall victim to the passive-aggressive yet academically enhanced charms of our Miss Joey. She brags about her "complete and total mastery" of the material. She says she's ready to celebrate, and wants to know if the celebration will include anything other than standing around. In other words, she's pretty much sitting on her perch, preening her feathers and chanting "Polly-want-a-present." Eddie calls her on it, which motivates Joey to flash her occasional full-on periodontal grin. That is a very rectangular smile she has there. They banter unceasingly about her promised surprise, and he finally shuts her up by producing a red backpack, which she looks upon with disdain. "I wrapped it myself," he tells her. "Yeah, I can see that," she says with cool bafflement. He guesses that she doesn't like it, and she says that she does, maintaining that it's very cool of him to give him her backpack or whatever weird-ass maneuver this is supposed to be. He tells her that it's not his backpack -- he bought it for her, and she should look inside. "You probably should check," he says. "I should check?" she says. "Yeah, just in case there's an additional level of gift." Wow, that's some quality banter. Thanks so much, Tracy-Heartburn. She unzips the pack and pulls out a copy of Europe on $5 a Day. Years older than she was when the show started but still dumb as a bag of hammers, Joey looks at him blankly and says, "I don't get it." Wow. I once failed to recognize a guy sitting to me for two hours at a party and then telling me he wanted to go take a walk as something I should respond to with something other than "Have a nice walk," and even I get it. Unsurprisingly, this all relates back to Joey's status as The One That Got Away, because Eddie has been motivated to take her to Europe by what I'm sure is her constant whiny harping that she could have gone to Paris once. You remember. Back in the day, before Dawson stuck his tongue down her throat and extracted her spine. Eddie wants them to go to Europe together for the summer and suck the marrow out of life, or whatever. She happily says yes. Wow, that was easy. It'll probably last, too. I would also note that it's a good thing airfare is apparently free, because if they're leaving in two days when they get kicked out of the dorm, I would almost think it wouldn't be paid for by the lint in Joey's pockets. Go figure. They hug. They mack. Shut up, Joey and your rectangular smile.
Little David arrives at Hell's Kitchen, where he peeks in the window to see Jack sitting at a table, talking to a guy. Of course, this is a huge deal, because we all know that a gay guy would never be talking to another guy unless he was hitting on him, so David knows immediately that something is seriously amiss. Amiss, I tell you! He unhappily walks in and approaches Jack's table just as the other guy gives Jack a hetero pat and walks off. Jack pours himself another beer, oblivious to Little David's approach or the impending drama. Enter Little David, who sits down opposite Jack. "Thanks for coming," says a happy Jack. Little David asks if Jack's been waiting long. You know, nothing says "I really care" like a passive-aggressive ambush. Jack says that he actually was just talking to a guy who's in one of his classes. "I saw," Little David says sadly, which launches Jack into another it's-totally-innocent routine that he really shouldn't feel obligated to deliver, in my personal opinion. Little David takes that insistence as a tacit omission that the "thing the other night" where Jack also talked to another person was not innocent -- like, whatever, Little David. Why are they turning everyone into an asshole simultaneously? Jack looks stricken, and asks if Little David has already decided not to give him a chance. Jack asks if Little David is convinced he's the bad guy, and Little David nods and says, "Yeah." Prick. Little David accuses Jack of leading him on by pretending to be a vampire, and then he makes some really, really lame Interview With The Vampire jokes, and then he breaks up with Jack. I'm not sure which is more notable about this breakup -- the bad dialogue or the unbelievable situation. But it all goes under "horrendous writing," so I suppose whomever is responsible won't mind the lack of specificity. Jack protests that he didn't want it to end this way and so forth, but Little David cannot be dissuaded. He's sure that Jack is trying to "prove something" about himself by acting like he wants a relationship with Little David when he actually doesn't. Honestly, I cannot figure this out. This whole storyline has become as disjointed as a Brazilian contortionist on Sabado Gigante. They break up, I guess. Jack looks constipated, and then Kerr Smith holds up his hand to reveal a tattoo that says "I [heart] chicks." Okay, he doesn't. "Have a good summer, Jack," Little David sadly commands.
In Joey and Audrey's Better-Than-Rent-Controlled Dorm Room, Joey is lounging on her bed while Eddie paces the room talking about Budapest and the best route to take. He suggests skipping central Europe in favor of more time in Spain, but Joey nixes that idea. She wants to see some castles and visit what's left of Kafka. Eddie tells her that in order to finish the trip before 2005, he may have to limit her to "one writer's grave per country." Heh. She nixes this too, saying it would be impossible to pick between Proust and Flaubert. "Aren't they the same guy?" Eddie teases. Joey flips around until she's half in Eddie's lap and tells him that if he kisses her, she won't tell Flip-Flops that he said that. When did Joey turn into quite this much of a nitwit, anyway? Didn't she used to be earthy? Wasn't that kind of the point? Sigh.
They smooch. Joey says that if they go on this trip, he will need to know something about her. He says he knows she snores. God, don't remind me. Then she says that what she actually wants to discuss is all the art museums she will demand to visit. He acts like museums aren't what he had in mind, which rather shocks me, because if you're going to see Europe on five dollars a day and you don't want to do art museums, you aren't going to really sink into the spirit of the occasion. And why is Eddie wearing a yellow-and-white striped shirt over a cornflower blue t-shirt, anyway? "So what you're saying is that you want to do everything?" he asks her. "Yes!" she says, and then modifies this to "everything within reason." Thus does yet another argument start about Joey's inability to be spontaneous, as Eddie rides her ass till it blisters about how she can't expect to apply logic to something as fundamentally romantic as dashing off to Europe. We also get another chance to see her refer to her history as Joey: The One That Got Away, because she tells Eddie that running away together isn't as easy as it seems. Gee, do you suppose the viewers got it? Maybe they should have had her say, "Especially if you take a boat. With your True Love." That would have clued in at least 26 percent of the target demographic.
At any rate, Eddie talks about how much he wants to spend the summer with her, she talks about how scared she is of the fiscal and practical implications of bumming around without a plan for three months...wow, good times. She tells him that they can't run away from things just by taking a trip. As this conversation progresses, we learn that Joey is in fact uncomfortable with the whole trip, or at least at the scope Eddie has in mind. She wants to scale it back and work for part of the summer before they leave. He gives her the ying-yow about how they're going to spend the rest of their lives working and so forth. "Nobody said we have to go tomorrow," she says angrily. "I do," he says. Oh, of course. It's The Giving Of An Ultimatum. One of Joey's favorite things. Because it forces her to act tortured and then have an epiphany, and God knows she loves her some of that. She knows she's never cuter than when she's having an epiphany. Eddie accuses her of not really wanting to go with him anyway, and she insists that that isn't it. She thinks he's asking her to throw her life into chaos, he insists that she's thinking too hard, and every dynamic of Little Joey Potter's life is repeated yet again. She insists that Eddie is living in a literary fantasy that isn't realistic, and Katie Holmes unleashes a really bad acting moment when she instructs him that people always have to come home and "deal -- with the real -- world." "Who you are, Joey," Eddie tells her, "is not some scared little girl who's afraid to take chances on anything, who's afraid to really love someone because of the risk or the pain. That does not define you as a person." Well, Eddie, I hope that speech didn't define you as an orator, because it sucked the bag. "Or maybe it does," he asks inevitably. "Are you done?" Joey asks sadly but with her constant air of superiority intact, and then she throws him out.
Glass, Steel & Paneling. Pacey strolls into the office to find a morose band of suits sitting around contemplating their life insurance policies. He looks around suspiciously. Cut to Boss Man Rich in his office, telling someone on the phone that it's "like a morgue" at the office. I don't think most morgues have this many guys in suits this tragically hip, but I could be wrong. As Boss Man Rich finishes the call, Pacey walks in. He asks BMR what exactly is going on, and BMR chastises him for being late before allowing that he doesn't even want to hear about what happened between Pacey and Sadia. He then breaks the news to Pacey that Stock-O-Doom was rejected by the FDA, and the stock is apparently worth bubkes. Pacey looks stricken, and tells BMR that he promised Pacey it was a sure thing. Apparently, Stock-O-Doom's flu medication has "nasty side effects" (probably the kind that take five minutes to explain in a pharmaceutical TV ad), so the FDA said no. Pacey terms this development "a disaster," but Rich encourages him to calm down. Pacey is heartsick that he's been pushing Stock-O-Doom on clients for months, and now it's worthless. BMR assures him that this is the way the cookie crumbles -- at least, the cookie you get when you're a giant heartless asshole. BMR tells Pacey not to worry about the many people who are inevitably going to rip on him today. "Professional hazard," he explains. Pacey leaves the meeting, looking ill and unconvinced by BMR's attempts to reassure him that he did nothing wrong. Wistful Pacey thinks of Dawson and becomes miserable. Hey, that's always what happens to me, too.
In Flip-Flops's office, Joey is having some kind of advising meeting. Flip-Flops snips at her for not having a major, and she tells him that although she didn't want to give him the satisfaction, she'll tell him now that it's English. He repeats "English" in his smug Flip-Flops fashion. Joey reminds him that she can always change it. "Can I go now?" Joey asks. I'm sorry, why did she come by in the first place? She showed up, he dogged her about having no major, she gave up that it was English, and now she's leaving? Whatever. Incidentally, her two-tone hair has reached the point where the break is right at her ear, so when she tucks it behind her ear it looks like the brunette color goes into her big old ear gully, but does not come out. Flip-Flops asks her if she has any interest in "tripping down memory lane." Joey says she has other things going on. Because she is Joey: The One That Is In The Process Of Getting Away. And now, in an exchange I really don't understand, Flip-Flops says that the first time Joey came to his office, it was her birthday. "The day before my birthday," she says, suspicious and puzzled. He asks her how her birthday was, and apologizes for not getting her anything. What the hell is going on here? Joey is as confused as I am, and she finally lays down the law, waving her hands in Dawson-like emphasis and saying that she is well aware that she didn't live up to her academic potential this year, so whatever he's warming up to, he can forget it. He cuts her off, hands her her exam, and tells her she "more than lived up" to it. Long story short, Our Miss Joey got an A- on the exam and a C+ in the course, and all lived happily ever after. Flip-Flops is fully in the thrall of her It, and kneels on his desk chair (whuh?) to talk to her about how he considered giving her an A, but found her paper "bleak." I'm sorry, would that be a reason for an A-? Joey can't believe that Captain Darkness found it too "bleak." Flip-Flops blathers about how Catch-22 is a story of hope about a "leap of faith," and he hands her a copy with highlighting in it. Oh, for...whatever. Time for the heavy hand of the literary parallel.
Joey reads the part where Yossarian says that "there's nothing negative about running away to save my life." Joey looks flummoxed. Or at least her hair does. I'm sorry, are they implying that Professor Flip-Flops knew about Eddie and set her up to read this? Is it a coincidence? Why does he look so smug? Why would he make her read it out loud? I guess it really is true that nothing ever changes, because this show still reeks so aggressively sometimes that it leaves its stench in the curtains long after it has left. Anyway, The Tinkling Piano Of Life's Lessons Learned earns its paycheck in the background as Flip-Flops yammers for a while and Joey goes through Her Own Private Sigh-daho, thinking about the implications of art for her own life as she so often does. As Joey gets up to leave, he scolds her. "I'm sorry, did it seem like I was done?" he says. Oh, calm down, Rocket Romano. Joey tells him she has places to go. They agree that they will never see each other in class again, but she asks him to be her advisor, and he agrees. And then they smile at each other. Man, that's some It she's got.
And I am sorry, but Professor Flip-Flops is so completely Scary One Life To Live Todd to me, now and forever, that I half-expect him to knock her on the back of the head with something.
Pacey and Sadia sit by a large fountain -- yet another scenic location in Boston, North Carolina -- where she chatters about how nice it is to find that Pacey has a soul and is not just another heartless financial bastard. Pacey laments that he has inadvertently "screwed over" Dawson. He tells her that the rest of his clients knew what they were doing, but Dawson left his money in Stock-O-Doom at Pacey's recommendation alone, so he feels more responsible for it. Sadia assures him that this is "the life of being a broker." Pacey says he can't accept it, and needs to fix it. She hems and haws before saying she has a few questions to ask on the record, and he asks if they can do it another time. (Hee, "do it another time.") He says yes. She says she can't tonight, because she has plans. "Let me guess," Pacey says. "The boyfriend." "Fiancé, actually," she answers. Wow, nice. That's basically what Pacey says, laughing and looking amusedly horrified at what he has once again gotten his cute ass into. "The hits just keep on coming," he says. She tells him that it's a long-distance relationship, and it's boring, and so forth. "All right, well, so long as it's boring, that makes everything okay," Pacey says. They share an uncomfortable look, and Pacey says that "it was good while it lasted." She kisses him on the cheek in that "I love you, you disarmingly charming ruffian" way that Capeside women are always doing to him. "Call me if you want to talk," she says. Bitch. Don't tell him that! Man. He stares off miserably, then sits down to ponder his options, of which he has none.
At the helpline offices, Jack is sitting depressedly on a couch while Jen finishes up with a call. Hey, remember Jen? She's also on this show, at least occasionally. When she's done, she comes over to join Jack, and tells him that he's so glum that it must be either school problems or David problems. Jack says it's not the first one, and Jen cringes sympathetically. Jack asks Jen if she buys Little David's theory that he was just trying to prove something to himself. She doesn't know. "Who wants to be that thirty-five-year-old guy who's still living alone and going out to bars trying to find the right person?" HEY! Okay, I'm not a guy. Or thirty-five. But still, shut up, Jack. Jen tells him basically this, saying that she doesn't think you have to meet your great love in high school, at twenty-five, or at thirty-five (whew!). You just keep looking no matter what. Jack, surprisingly, yaps to her about how much he and David like her with CJ. He congratulates her on finding somebody who makes her happy. "Somebody who's not gay," he says with a smirk. Jen says that CJ is somewhat gay, at least in the seventh-grade sense. Heh. Jen agrees that he does make her happy. She says she'd share CJ with Jack if she could. Hey, I know a lot of people who would watch that episode. They might even buy the DVD.
Up in the offices of Glass, Steel & Paneling, young Pacey has dealt with all his angry clients and has only Rod Tidwell -- er, Dawson Leery -- to deal with yet. Unable to face it, Pacey gets up and walks out...directly into the big conference room, or BMR's office, or whatever this big room is. Pacey asks Boss Man Rich if he'll lend Pacey some money to cover a friend of his who lost some money in Stock-O-Doom. He explains that Dawson is his "oldest and closest child hood friend," and Pacey "cannot screw him like this." Pacey offers BMR whatever interest he wants to demand on a loan to cover Dawson. BMR asks Pacey what happened to his own money, and Pacey explains that he had his money in Stock-O-Doom, too, so he's worth "like three hundred bucks right now." Ouch. Of course, counting my debts, I'm worth far less. At least Pacey is worth a positive number. BMR tells him to go to hell, essentially, insisting that it's not his fault that Pacey was stupid with Dawson's money. Pacey calls BMR an "unfeeling prick," and you can tell that it will soon be on. BMR tells Pacey to "watch [his] tone," but instead, Pacey raises his voice, getting angrier and angrier and saying that he just needs a favor "this one time." BMR pauses and gets all up in Pacey's face. "I...don't...do...favors," he spits. Pacey makes the obligatory Gordon Gekko reference in continuing to beg for a shred of decency from BMR, but BMR tirades right back about how Pacey has been a "holier-than-thou pain in the ass" ever since he showed up. Wow, if that's true, I have to wonder whether when Dawson gave his money to Pacey, some of his soul was stuck to it. The scene takes an unexpected and Cameron Crowe-ish turn when BMR hands Pacey a pen and tells him to write down the date, because this will be remembered as the day that he became totally worthless. Ow. Pacey certainly does run into some very unforgiving and uncreative plot devices in his travels. People are always saying things like that to him, although I suppose at least it's no longer people he's related to. But honestly, that slam isn't even all that creative. The pen really seems like a bit of an afterthought. It's also a blue and white Bic stick, and nobody in an office like Glass, Steel & Paneling would use blue and white Bic pens anymore.
Anyway. "You are a failure and a loser," BMR says contemptuously, "and you deserve everything that you -- oof!" He says "oof," of course, because this is Pacey's Moment Of Self-Destruction, Part XII. He tosses BMR backwards into the desk. BMR hits a computer, which gives out a dramatically satisfying but technically unlikely shower of sparks. For a minute, it looks like Pacey is trying to take BMR's belt off, but it turns out he's just hitting him some more. The computer on the desk appears to have returned to full operation, which doesn't seem terrifically likely what with the shower of sparks. It's up and running, though, showing what appears to be a DOS-based graph of some sort. I can't tell you much about the graph, except that two things are trending down, and one thing is trending up, so it looks like whatever it is, it isn't going very well. Above this fascinating piece of statistical analysis, Pacey and BMR grapple with each other's faces. Finally, BMR manages to haul off and punch Pacey in the face. Pacey flies backwards, but recovers, grabs BMR again, and hurls him into a different desk. A different computer produces a shower of sparks. This time, the shower is so massive that I was afraid BMR might be electrocuted. After all, resolving a murder case would only take one episode on this show. Things would be wrapped up as soon as Joey discovered how the jury instructions related to her love life and the judge discovered that Pacey was just an irrepressible scamp. The not-dead BMR is grabbed by Pacey again, but just as Pacey warms up to throw another punch, he thinks better of it. BMR's mouth has a picturesque daub of blood at the corner as he smugly eyes Pacey. "It's all over, Pace," BMR says. "Don't worry. You're fired. It's what you wanted all along anyway." Pacey looks up at him sadly. "Loser," BMR says, exactly the way Kelly Preston says it to Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire. And then they make out. Okay, they don't make out. Instead, Pacey does the other thing that passes for emotional resolution in The Wonderful World Of Williamson, which is to look miserable, look around as if disoriented, and leave the room.
In Joey's Giant Dorm Room, Audrey is reading the Europe-on-the-cheap book. As Joey enters, Audrey complains to her that seeing Europe on five bucks a day would suck, as it wouldn't even buy "a pint of Guinness in Dublin." Joey points out that Audrey is supposed to be thinking about summer school, and she'd better shake a leg, because the registrar's office is closing in ten minutes. Audrey whines loudly that the classes all look boring, and she recalls Joey telling her never to take a class where Beowulf is required. Joey chastises her that she has no choice and had better hurry. As Audrey reluctantly gets up to head out, Joey says that she needs the book -- she needs to start reading up for the trip. Spotting her little smile, Audrey returns it and asks when Joey decided to go. Joey says just now. Oh, the excitement, the thrill, the very Magic Mountain of it all. "Joey Potter," Audrey says, in order to avoid referring to all the other Joeys in the room, "you are just full of little surprises." And most of them are hair colors. "Ciao, bella," Audrey calls out over her shoulder as she leaves. Ooh, low blow of endearingness. My friend Pool Boy says "ciao, bella" to me from time to time, and I always really like it, and then I always really hate myself. It's like what Mr. Miyagi said about the crane kick -- "If done correctly, no can defend."
Anyway, Joey looks giddily at the book and heads for the phone, presumably to call her beloved. When she gets there, though, there's a note for her. Eddie voices over that he's not good at goodbyes, but he's telling her goodbye. More than he wants to be with Joey, he explains, he wants to live life with no questions or doubts and no reservations -- you know, like a twelve-year-old before the first time he breaks his collarbone riding his skateboard on the roof. He claims that he wants to be "someone who dares to disturb the universe," and BACK AWAY FROM THE PRUFROCK, ass, because there are certain things you don't trifle with. He tells Joey that she isn't that kind of person. "Maybe you'll prove me wrong," he continues, as we fade to Dawson's house, where a miserable and still suit-clad Pacey is walking up to the house, presumably to tell Dawson about the whole financial-collapse thing. "Maybe people can't change," he says, pretty much apropos of nothing except fitting in with the image of Pacey staring into space with regret. "Maybe we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, no matter how hard we try." Wow, subtle. "I always hoped for a happy ending," Eddie's voice says. "How crazy is that?" Fade to black, Pacey still looking miserable.
I don't know about you, but I'm certainly glad that we spent an entire episode dealing with Boss Man Rich, Sadia, and Eddie, considering how deeply invested I truly am in all of them.
week: It is awn!