Digusted, Pacey puts down the fan and comments that this is going to go down as one of the most abysmal movie nights ever. "Look around you, my friend. We're two happening young men in the prime of our lives who can't find anything better to do than sit in some sweat box in the middle of an armpit-staining Indian Summer, (thanks for that lovely mental image!) and watch old movies. Correct me if I'm wrong Dawson, but didn't we used to have a couple of really cute girlfriends?"
Continuing with the Star Wars theme, Dawson tells his best friend that was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Changing the subject every-so-subtly, Dawson mentions he's having trouble wrapping his head around this film noir stuff, which in turn makes it really difficult to turn out a paper on it.
The all-knowing Pacey chuckles. "Of course you can't wrap your head around it Dawson. What we're watching here is the cinema of cynicism. No self-respecting Son of Spielberg would feel comfortable in a morally ambiguous world populated with hard-boiled anti-heroes and duplicitous femme fatales."
Dawson isn't in the mood for big words tonight, asking Pacey to reschedule the verbal jousts because it's a little too hot for spiky repartee. Pacey pretty much ignores him, because he seems to relate to film noir more than Dawson does: "Pacey Witter is nothing if not the walking, talking embodiment of the falliable protagonist." "Okay, Johnny anti-hero," Dawson snickers, nodding to the television. "Explain to me this -- how can this guy not know that this woman is setting him up for a fall of epic proportions?"
"Because, Dawson," Pacey sighs. "Not all of us are as immune to the lure of sex as you are. I mean, not all of us would opt for the warm and fuzzy emotional connections over those of, let's say, a more physical nature, you know what I mean? Most of us are just big, dumb guys happy to sell our souls for the slimmest chance, of gettin' some." (Ya know, that's what I love about Pacey ... at least he's honest!)
Dawson grins. "Can I quote you on that?" Pacey returns the grin. "Oh yeah. Witter. Two t's." He glances at his watch. "Fun time's over. All this rapid fire deconstruction is making me weary, Leery. I think I shall retire to cooler climes, namely the air-conditioned interior of my Pop's squad car."
Pacey leaves, and Dawson looks out the window into the night, taking in the scenery. Across the way at Grams' house, he sees a flashlight from inside one of the downstairs windows. Dawson rushes to the phone and dials 9-1-1. (Okay, hold it right there -- wouldn't he call Jen's first, to see if anyone was home? Maybe they had a power cut or something?) He reports a "possible robbery," then does the stupidest thing in the world anyone in that situation could possibly do: he goes over to Grams' to investigate. (Um, hello? Isn't that why he called the police in the first place?)
Outside Grams', Dawson ducks into a bush as a long, lithe body wearing a black bandana (presumably, as a disguise) a pair of blue jeans (I thought there was a heat wave?) and a burgandy t-shirt with some Chinese character across the chest tumbles out of a window and directly onto him. Whaddya know, it's Eve. (Hey, 10 bucks says the Chinese character is the one for "slut.") She grins up at him smugly with those baby blues and coos "Hiya, Dawson" while he manages to look disgusted, shocked and somewhat pleased, all rolled into one.
A moment later, Dawson's led the little cat burgler into his bedroom, where he demands an explanation. "Ouch," Eve pouts as he slaps a Band-Aid on her elbow. "Thanks to your nosy neighbour antics out there, Dawson, I fell down and went boom." She continues in a stomach-churning baby voice, extending an elbow to him. "Kiss and make better?"
"I just called the police," he replies calmly. "They're going to be here any minute." "Okay, I'll spill," Eve sighs, shimmying her way onto and across Dawson's bed. "We didn't want you to find out this way Dawson, but me and Jen? We're having ourselves quite the torrid love affair. Sleepovers ... late night pillow fights ... brushing each other's hair ... tickling each other's arms ... All that groovy stuff that girls do in pretty pink rooms behind closed doors."
"Eve, there was a breaking, there was an entering and there was a flashlight. All that's missing is a ski mask," Dawson tells her primly. Eve pulls herself up to a kneeling position. "Good God! Not even the suggestion of teen lesbianism can get you off my case!" she says incredulously. "Can't we just, like, make out or something? Make me kiss your queries away?"
He still won't budge an inch. "Eve, either you tell me your version or I tell the police mine." On a dime, she turns off the sex appeal (?) and turns on the hostility. "Fine. Do what your big bleeding heart wants Dawson, but here's a filthy four-letter word for you, and don't you dare blush ... PSAT, baby. Don't you remember where you were when the cataclysmic PSAT scandal of '99 went down? I for sure do."
Dawson stares at her, his jaw set and eyes cold. "Is that some sort of threat, Eve? Might I remind you, you're the one who actually stole the test?" "And may I remind you that you're the one who gladly accepted my trial offer," she counters. A loud knock on the door downstairs interrupts their argument. "So feel free to get all Boy-Scouty on me Dawson. But you should know, I'd get quite the perverse little thrill out of making things profoundly uncomfortable for you and the rest of the Sweet Valley High extras you call your friends." (Cute, considering Brittany Daniel used to play one of the twins on the SVH TV show. Ohh, those witty, witty DC writers and their clever inside jokes!)
Downstairs, Dawson opens the front door to reveal everybody's favourite (alleged) closet case and sadistic older brother, ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause for the return of the long lost Deputy Doug Witter! He stands there, dressed in police blues, smirking, as Dawson stumbles and bumbles his way through an explanation of why he called the cops in the first place. "Doug ... hi. Um ... my sincerest apologies. I just ... I just thought I saw someone next door, but it was actually just ... uh ... Jen ... uh ... sneaking in the window so as to not disturb Grams."
Doug pushes his way past Dawson and peers around the Leerys hallway with a flashlight, poking and probing every corner. Finally, he turns the light on Dawson, Gestapo-style. "You sure about that, Dawson?" "Yeah," Dawson nods. "Yeah." Doug stares him down a moment then nods himself. "Okay, then." He leaves, and Dawson races back up the stares and flings open the door to his room to reveal ... an empty room! (Da-da-daaaahhhh!)
Cut to my favourite storyline of the year so far: the blossoming friendship between Jack and Jen, who, to beat the heat, have taken what appears to be one of Grams' best quilts to the park and are lying down, watching the stars, and indulging in some good, old-fashioned pillow talk. Jack tells Jen he once read an article where astronomers put this "thing" up in the sky so that kids studying astronomy could track something during the night. He points at a constellation, squinting. "I think that's it, ri- ... or maybe that's it."
Jen smiles. "What, you expect me to believe there's some sort of giant disco ball orbiting the earth?" "Okay, when you put it like that, it does sound kinda stupid," Jack grins sheepishly. "Maybe we should start thinking of getting out of here?" Jen shakes her head, still smiling. "I don't think so, not before the main event. C'mon, we got the stars ... we got the moonlight ... it's perfect." She leans her head against his shoulder.
"Yeah, right," he replies. "Lying in the grass on a hot Indian summer night with your gay best friend. That's your definition of perfect?" "A girl could do a lot worse," Jen responds truthfully. Jack is dissatisfied with her answer. "C'mon Jen, I know you too well. You can't tell me there's someone else you'd rather be stargazing with?"
"Okay," she nods solemnly. "You got me. Matt Damon." Jack laughs. "What, you don't approve?" Jen continues in all seriousness. "All right, I'll have to go with Ben Affleck then. He has that scruffy, indie-cred appeal. Well?"
Jack wiggles off the hook nicely with a "no comment," then adds he was walking more about the realm of the possible ... say, for instance, Henry? "The freshman?" Jen scoffs. "Yeah," Jack replies. "The guy who paid 500 bucks just to kiss you? You gotta admit, that's kinda sweet." "Jack, Jack, Jack, my naïve little pet," Jen sighs. "It's the sweet ones that you have to watch out for. They'll run over you like a Mack truck."
He won't back down, though, insisting that not only is Henry harmless, but he worships Jen. "He's a teenage boy. He'll worship anything in a WonderBra," Jen tells Jack dryly, and they share a laughs. "Besides," she continues seriously, "I'm already sleeping with the best-looking guy on the football team. And best friends are nothing to sneeze at." (I thought that line was quite sweet, actually)
There's a short silence, then Jen confesses to Jack that she remembers when she first met Joey and Dawson. "I was so envious of what they had, all that history." Jack chimes in, "Then that whole boyfriend / girlfriend thing kicked in." Jen nods. "See, that's what's so great about us. Sex will never come between you and me."
What will come between them, though, is a sudden gush of water as the sprinklers in the park turn on, drenching them both. Screaming with laughter, Jen shouts to Jack to get the quilt and they scamper off through the sprinklers, giggling. "Not so tough now, are you Homecoming Queen?" Jack teases.
Down at the docks, a new day has dawned on Capeside and poor Joey is hard at work, swabbing down the decks of a small craft. Sleazy Boss Rob insists she take a break to "hydrate yourself" but she doesn't want to. He insists, proffering a soft drink. "It would look very bad for the Logan family if you got heatstroke on me and died." She accepts the can of pop and sarcastically comments it's nice to know Rob cares.
Figuring he's made some headway, Rob doffs his t-shirt and throws it at Joey like some sort of amateur stripper. "How can it possibly be this hot at 7:30 in the morning?" he remarks innocently, then notes the look of disgust on her face as she glances from the t-shirt to his bare chest. "Is this going to offend your delicate sensibilities?" he smirks. Using the mop handle, Joey throws the garment back at him. "I'll probably swoon with excitement," she sneers. "But seeing as though I need this job to support my sister and nephew, I will just choose to look the other way."
Typical of his particular species of obnoxious creep, Rob interprets outright rejection as a sign to try harder. "So, Potter, what do you say ... you and me at the movies tonight?" (Gee, if that's his idea of asking for a date, no wonder she said no) "Oh, joy," Joey answers sarcastically. "Is this the part of the work day where you get inappropriate?" "That depends on what your answer is," he replies. (Oh, smoooooth) "My answer is ... ask me again in two years when I'm legal," she scowls. Rob tells her some other "lucky lady" is gonna take him up on his offer and she'll be "green with envy." Joey tells him she thinks she can live with that possiblity.
Having exhausted all other methods of scoring points, Rob resorts to the most juvenile and primitive of all tactics -- he hoses Joey down with water, assuming she'll a) be happy to be cooled down and b) interpret it as a method of flirting. "Stop it! Stop!" she yells, without the least bit of encouragement or approval. "It's just water," Rob comments, astonished she's making such a big deal out of all this. "Stop it! Stop it!" Joey demands again. Rob stops, and asks if all teenage girls are as uptight as her. "No," she snaps, dripping wet. "Just the ones with half a brain!"
Meanwhile, Dawson has decided to take some time out of his busy routine to find out All About Eve. At school, a woman in the office grills him for his enquiries. "You say this girl is a very close friend?" "Yes," Dawson nods. The woman regards him, unimpressed. "And yet you don't have the slightest idea where she lives?"
Over at the strip club, the owner tells him the club is closed. "I'm not here for the titillation, Sir. I'm actually looking for a girl I go to school with. She used to work here."
Cut back to the office, where the lady asks Dawson for his friend's name. "Whitman," he replies. "Eve Whitman."
Cut back to the strip club, where he tells the owner that Eve is "tall, leggy, blonde ... genetically engineered to corrupt the male species."
Cut back to the office. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, young man," the office lady informs him, "But someone's been playing games with you." Dawson gawks at her. "What do you mean?"
Cut back to the strip club. The owner stares at Dawson through steely-eyes. "How old are you? Sixteen?" Dawson nods. "If you're 16, that means you're underage. And if you're underage, you would never be permitted into my establishment. (Ha!) And if you're going to school with one of my girls, that means she would be underage as well. So, what can we take away from today's tutorial?"
Cut back to the office. The office lady matter-of-factly puts it to Dawson that "there is not, there was not, there never has been, an Eve Whitman enrolled at Capeside High."
Further down the corridor at Capeside High, Henry tugs at Jack to hightail it to the football field. Jack complains that he doesn't see why they have to practice in this heat, lamenting that it must "violate, like, a thousand child endangerment laws." Henry is all business, though. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, talk to the hand. Listen, if we're late, big bad Mitch is gonna kick our --" He stops short and gives his best deer-frozen-in-headlights stare.
Jack looks at him expectantly. "Our what?" "Don't look," Henry breathes, muttering more to himself than Jack. "She's coming. (three guesses whom he means?) She's coming this way. Just ... act normal." Jack shakes his head in disbelief. "Henry, when she comes over, just ask her out, all right? Cause this is ridiculous."
"It's not that easy," Henry stammers. "You don't know how hard it is for me to talk to her. Look at her. Look! She's like this perfect thing." Jack follows Henry's gaze down the hall, where Jen is approaching the pair wearing a sundress and sucking on a red, white and blue popsicle. "If you think she looks good in that, you should see her in a towel," Jack teases.
Reaching them, Jen announces brightly, "Boys, do I have good news. The ice-cream man? Right outside." She proffers the popsicle to Jack. "Wanna lick?" (Phallic symbol? What phallic symbol?) He smiles. "No thanks." Jen dangles the popsicle in front of Henry like a carrot. "Henry?" He stutters, then manages to shake his head and reply a strangulated "Mm-mm." Jen looks puzzled. "Mm-mm ... no?" Mutely, Henry shakes his head again. "Okay," Jen nods breezily. "Suit yourself." She turns her attentions to Jack. "See you later?" Jack tells her "Yeah," then she sashays off down the hall, tossing a "Bye, Henry" over her shoulder.
In her wake, Henry turns to Jack. "You see? You see what happens to me? Why I can't ask her out? She gets within three feet of me and it's like my hard drive crashes. I go pre-verbal. Probably if I asked her out, I'd hurl all over her like that little kid from South Park!"
"Okay," Jack smiles. "So, what if you didn't have to ask her out?" Henry's face brightens considerably. "You mean, like, you could get her to ask me out? I'm so down with that feminist stuff!" Jack laughs. "Henry, I'm good, but I'm not that good. No, what if your first date was like, um ... was like kismet? You know, fate? Two people just happen to be at the exact same place at the exact same time."
Two people who do happen to be in the exact same place at the exact same time are Deputy Doug and Dawson -- the former lashing out parking tickets in downtown Capeside, when the latter approaches him gingerly. "Dawson Leery," Deputy Doug peers down at him with an air of superiority. "How are things that go bump in the night?" Ignoring the slight, Dawson asks if he could "pose a hypothetical?" (Is that some sorta police slang for "ask a question?")
Doug tells him to pose away. "I'm working on a screenplay," Dawson begins. "It's a film noir piece with a cop protagonist, and I was wondering if I could pick your brain on a few story points?" Pleased to be asked, Doug is all ears. Dawson explains he needs help with procedure. "I'm stuck at the part where the hero is trying to track down the femme fatale who's all but disappeared at this point. Now, how would a law enforcement professional such as yourself go about finding someone who doesn't want to be found?"
Deputy Doug nods knowingly. "Well, that's a good question Dawson. Now, part of police work is knowing who your enemy is. So, let me ask you this ... who is this girl?" Dawson thinks a moment. "She's kind of a lost soul. I mean she comes off, like, sort of a wild child, but I think there's something really sweet and vulnerable underneath all the posturing." (However he got that impression is beyond me, but what-ev-er)
"Laundromat." "Come again?" Dawson looks at Deputy Doug in confusion. DD reiterates. "Laundromat." Dawson repeats the repetition. "A laundromat?" "Uh-huh," DD nods, sure of himself. "Really?" Dawson wonders. "Really," DD tells him firmly. "You know, Dawson, in a small town such as Capeside, everybody -- except for those with questionable hygiene sensibilities of course -- has to do their laundry at some point." Dawson nods slowly. "So you're saying you'd stake out the laundromat?" "Exactly," DD crows triumphantly.
Cut to ... Dawson staking out the Fluff 'N' Fold from the main street. Pacey approaches and plops down next to him. "Obsession is not a pretty thing, my friend." Dawson blinks at him. "Doesn't it bother you?" "What," Pacey replies, "that we don't know all about Eve?" "Yeah," Dawson nods glumly and Pacey chuckles knowingly. "Let me give you a little life lesson from the Witter vault, Dawson." Dawson and I mutter a collective "Gawd."
"There are some women," Pacey begins, "who come onto the movie set that is your life and function solely as day players. They'll show up, they know their dialogue, they'll hit their marks, they'll occasionally steal a scene or two from you, but they will remain always and forever an impenetrable mystery." (Yes, they're called Guest Stars)
"But Eve barged into my life and stirred things up for her own amusement," Dawson points out. His best friend gives him a sardonic smile. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Dawson, but didn't she try to go where no girl has gone before?" Taking this particular trip down mammary lane only serves to fluster Dawson, who has long mastered the art of changing the subject. "Snyopsise with me," he tells Pacey, growing increasingly vexed with each word. "She works at a strip club, but she doesn't. She says she goes to our school, but she doesn't. She appears, she disappears, she reappears without rhyme or reason. Who the hell is this girl?"
"This girl is giving you a meltdown!" Pacey pats Dawson on the shoulder and tells him to simmer down. "God. All right, here's what I propose: You and I take a little trip down to the video store. You want film noir, right? How about that one with Matt Dillon, where he has that really outstanding threesome with Neve Campbell and that chick from Starship Troopers?"
Apparently, Pacey's wrong -- Dawson can be buoyed by the prospect of sex, even if it is purely cinematic. He gets up off the bench, but Pacey stops him shrt. "Hey, one more thing. My brother -- he, uh, gave you the laundromat speech, didn't he?" "Yeah," Dawson admits, a tad embarrassed.
Pacey chuckles to himself and they walk towards Screen Play Video. Just then, none other than Eve herself is spotted across the street buying an ice cream from a street vendor, wearing nothing more than a bra and a pair of Daisy Dukes. "Yo," Pacey points out, and the pair duck behind a fountain. "Now, Deputy Doug's laundromat theory may be all well and good, but it's a tad too Andy of Mayberry for my taste," Pacey explains in hushed tones. "Given my druthers, (what the fug?) I'd much prefer a share of Dad's dissertation on how to pin a tail on a suspect. Watch and learn, my friend."
Later on at the marina, Joey is busy doing work things when Rob pulls up in a small speedboat, hops out and approaches her, ringing the service bell non-stop. "Uh, Miss? A little service here, please?" he smirks. "Very funny," Joey smirks back. "I'm serious," Rob tells her. "I've got my father's cruiser over there. Can you fill it up for me? I don't want to get gas all over myself." He saves the best for last, announcing triumphantly, "I'm on a date here."
If that was an attempt at making Joey jealous, it doesn't pass muster. "So I smell," she growls, walking past him. "Um, you may have gone a little overboard on the cK One." Rob brushes off her criticism. "Wait til you see her, Potter, she's a real cutie. About your age, too. Better dresser though ... Not so uptight about showing off a little skin. I'm gonna get sooo lucky tonight," he crows.
Joey rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me you actually found some high school girl so riddled with insecurities that she'd fall for your minor-league Humbert Humbert impersonations?" (A reference to the 1950s novel Lolita, where a much older man obsesses over a teenage girl) Joey inserts the gas pump into the tank, just as Andie comes out from below the boat's deck. "Hey! Joey! Isn't this great? I was at the country club today with my Dad, cause he's thinking about joining, and I ran into Rob."
Overcoming her dismay, Joey manages to tell Andie she didn't know the two of them knew each other. "Oh, yeah," Andie tells her airily. "He went to prep school with my brother Tim." Andie turns to Rob. "So, did you know Joey and I were friends?" "Well," Rob purrs, on his best behaviour, "I had a sneaking suspicion. After all, it is a small town."
Joey doesn't care as much about impressing Andie as Rob does. "So, Andie ... where is Moneybags taking you tonight? All the way down to the Bahamas and back?" The slight against her date goes way over Andie's head. "No," she smiles. "You know, we're just going to the movies. It's too hot to do anything else."
"Well, almost anything else," Rob chimes in lecherously. Andie giggles playfully. "That wasn't a sexual overture, was it?" "Shh," Rob points at Joey. "Not in front of the k-i-d." The k-i-d mutters that she's all finished pumping the gas just then. "Great," Rob flashes her a dazzling smile. "Here you go Potter, buy yourself something pretty." He puts a bundle of folded-up bills directly into Joey's breast pocket. (Creep!) Joey takes it out and thrusts it back at him. "Save it for bail money."
Ignoring her, Rob turns to Andie. "Okay, let's see what this puppy can do!" He revs the engine and pulls away from the marina amid a torrent of waves. "Bye Joey!" Andie giggles from the deck.
Rob isn't the only one who has dating on his mind. Later that evening, Henry sets the stage for his encounter in the park with an unsuspecting Jen. He smooths out a blanket on the ground, then rehearses lines he's pre-written on his hand as if reciting French vocab words. "Tell her how nice she looks," he mutters to himself. "What a beautiful spot this is," he practices, not noticing Jen cautiously approach from behind. "Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke!"
"Henry?" she calls out, a little confused as to what he's doing there. "Uh ... uh ..." is all he can manage to come out with. Jen regards him, wide-eyed. "Are you okay?" Another "Uh" follows. "Gulp once for yes, twice for no," Jen suggests. Henry holds out a hand and emits a lone gulp. "Once!" Jen smiles. "Okay!" She glances down at his hand, still flailing about in the darkness. "What's on your hand?"
"Uhhh ... nothing. Jen?" Henry asks timidly. "Yeah?" she replies very slowly, as if talking to a little boy. "You ... you're awesome," he blurts out. "You look awesome, you smell awesome, everything about you is awesome. I ... I just wanted you to know that."
"Good to know," Jen suppresses a giggle. "So ... what are you doing here?" she asks, a little unclear as to why Henry is playing substitute Jack this evening. "Hanging ... out," Henry tells her lamely. "You know, same thing you are ... just ... just hanging ... out."
Jen wrinkles her brow. "Actually, I'm just waiting for Jack." The word "Jack" triggers something inside Henry and he babbles on about their mutual friend's activities for the evening. "Oh, well, Jack couldn't be here tonight. Cause you see, he had these other plans, important plans, so ... so he sent me instead."
Suddenly, Jen's amusement at the situation evaporates and is rapidly replaced by something resembling resentment. "Okay, I think I know where this is going. Continue!" she demands. "Um ... that's it ... that's it ..." Henry mumbles, sounding like a teenage Rain Man. "Out with it, Henry," Jen insists.
"Well, I guess he thought if you were here, and I were here, and we were ..." "Here," Jen joins in, waiting for him to continue, "... together, that it would sort of be like a date. You know, like our first date," Henry manages to finish awkwardly.
The look on Jen's face is a cross between sympathy, extreme anger, betrayal and humiliation. "You know Henry, I know you're new at this, being all of, uh, I don't know what, 14?" "Fifteen," he corrects pathetically. "Okay, 15," she agrees. "Dating is a consensual activity that usually involves some sort of pre-arrangement. Next time, don't skip the part where you ask me." She storms off into the night, leaving a close-to-tears Henry behind.
Across town, Pacey and Dawson have kept up their private dicks impersonations (well, they got the dicks part right, at any rate) all the live-long day and have stalked, oops, I mean, followed, Eve to the marina. They've been in hot pursuit, and I'm beginning to truly think Eve must be some sort of clueless wonder not to see them by this point. They watch her climb aboard a small boat. Pacey turns to Dawson. "And the plot thickens, my friend."
From across the pier, the pair of them watch transfixed as Eve slips below deck and turns on a light. Through a window blind, we see her silhouette as Eve pulls off her clothes and changes. As if she almost knows someone (well, two someones) is watching, she poses and stretches as the voyeurs gasp and gawk. Seconds later, she emerges in a pastel pink tube top dress reminiscent of a cheap Miami hooker and leaves the boat, walking back down the pier away from Pacey and Dawson.
Pacey immediately gets up to follow her. "Where're you going?" Dawson asks. "What, are you daft, man? I'm going after her," Pacey explains. "That girl is in dire need of following. Dawson concurs, and tells him to go follow her while he stays put and checks out the boat. "Sure," Pacey smiles. "Now you're thinking, Butch!"
As Pacey sprints off enthusiastically down the pier, Dawson creeps on board the boat and goes below the deck. The room where Eve changed is a mess, littered with clothes, empty food containers and other random teenage girl debris. Dawson looks around, not exactly sure what he's looking for, but manages to find a photo of a young-ish looking blonde woman. He's so focussed on the photo, he doesn't hear Deputy Doug creep into the room. "Hands up!" DD crows triumphantly, as if he's been waiting his whole life to say them. "You're under arrest!" Dawson whirls around to face down the barrel of a gun, but not before quickly pocketing the photo.
Back on the pier, Deputy Doug gloats over his captive. "Dawson Leery," he says smugly. "Why am I not surprised? Let me guess? Research for your screenplay." "No," Dawson lies, "A friend of mine lives here." Doug narrows his eyes. "This friend wouldn't by any chance be your mysterious femme fatale, would she?" "No, Dawson lies again, "Nothing as lurid as that I'm afraid. Just a friend."
"Oh," Doug nods in mock-belief. "Funny, I never figured you to be the type to be pals with octagenarians." "Come again?" Dawson blinks. Doug stares him down. "That boat, on which you were very much a trespasser, belongs to a Mr. and Mrs. Paul Stepmunk. Sweet little couple, somewhere in their late 80s." "Oh," Dawson says flatly. "Yeah," Doug crows. "Oh. The Stepmunks are big fans of Capeside, but only in the summertime. They spend the rest of their golden years in New York City."
"I, uh, must have clamboured aboard the wrong boat, then," Dawson offers lamely. Doug won't budge an inch on this one, and gives Dawson a supercilious smile. "Maybe you did clamber wrong. Then again, maybe your friend is the one we've been looking for."
Dawson's eyes widen. "What do you mean?" DD explains that a couple of weeks ago, somebody stole a speed boat from the marina and took it for a little joy ride. "Speed boat." The words cause Dawson to blanch at the memory (as we all do). "Really." Doug stares him down again. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Dawson?"
"No," Dawson replies all too quickly. "I mean, why would I?" "Look, Dawson," DD sighs. "I know that you're a good kid, but something is going on with you. All of a sudden, you're the boy who cried 9-1-1, you pose thinly-veiled hypotheticals (that word again!) to an officer of the law, and all of this somehow revolves around some mysterious femme fatale. Which of course, begs the question ... is there something you have to tell me, Dawson?"
Wriggle, little fishie, wriggle! That is, until Knight In Shining Armour Pacey bounds down the pier to remove you from the hook. "Deputy Doug, in the house!" he booms. DD laughs sardonically as he regards his younger sibling. "Oh, I should have known. Wherever there's smoke, there's my imbecilic little brother."
Pacey partakes in the cutting dialogue that puts the "Wit" in the Witter family name, admonishing his brother in a condescending tone. "Doug, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times -- despite his dapper, Gap-clad appearance, my friend Dawson does not play for you team, okay? You're just going to have to find another date to the policeman's ball." (tee hee hee)
Doug frowns. "Little brother. Your obsession with my sexuality is just ... plain weird. Look, do I have to talk to Dad again, huh?" Pacey smiles benevolently at his big brother. "Doug, it may not be today. And it may not be tomorrow. And it might not even be the day after that. But one of these days you're going to go to your mailbox and open it up, and that Advocate cover story will be yours. The copy's gonna read: Good Cop, Gay Cop -- The Douggie Witter Story." Pacey mock-cries as he continues. "And I'm telling you, Doug, we are gonna be so proud of you, really truly."
Big brother laughs for a second, then stops suddenly, decreeing at the top of his lungs, "I AM NOT GAY! (Yeah, and denial is a river in Egypt) Now, both of you, off this dock! Now! I mean it!" He storms off down the pier, as Pacey salutes his retreating form. When the coast is clear, Dawson turns to Pacey eagerly. "So?" Pacey shakes his head. "She's squirrelly, that one." He snaps his fingers. "Lost me like that."
Meanwhile, over at the Rialto, Joey walks around the theatre lobby and after a moment, finds exactly what, or whom, she's looking for. "Oh, my God! Joey!" Andie gushes. "What are you doing here? It doesn't matter. Come here!" She pulls Joey into an alcove and lowers her voice. "Isn't this great? Me, on a date with Rob Logan, Senator Logan's son. I mean his parents are loaded. Not that that matters, but it doesn't hurt either, and he's sooo cute!"
Joey is less than enthused for her friend. "Slow down, Andie, okay? Rob Logan is not a nice guy. And since I started working for him, my life has become one gigantic leerfest. He's a creep to an exponential degree." Andie frowns. "Okay, Joey? This may come as a surprise to you, but not everybody minds being looked at as a sexual object." Joey sighs. "The guy hits on me daily in a wide variety of creative and not so creative ways. First day, he walked in on me while I was changing my clothes."
Andie pouts at her friend. "Why are you trying to ruin this for me?" "Look, I'm not trying to ruin anything. I just thought you should know what kind of a guy Rob Logan really is." Andie gets on her high horse now, feeling clearly insulted. "Joey, guys is hardly your area of expertise. I mean, between Dawson and my gay brother ... I'm sorry, but it's true. I mean, you're not exactly sophisticated when it comes to dealing with guys."
Joey speaks for me loudly and clearly when she tells Andie, "Get a grip, okay? This is not about me." Andie begs to differ. "Yeah, it is, Joey. I mean, you're still fixated on Dawson. And you're so closed off to any new experience that a guy so much as looks at you, and you freak out. Joey, staying home every Friday night isn't going to bring him back." (Hmph. Words of wisdom from Dear Andie, the Relationship Guru and Expert Extraordinaire? I think not)
Fortunately, Joey doesn't need me to drive the point home to our numbskull neurotic here. "Oh, and going out with a nimrod like Rob Logan is a recipe for recovery?" she counters. "Andie, if you think this little escapade is going help you get over Pacey, you --"
"Joey," Andie interrupts. "I'm moving on with my life. Somehow, I thought you, of all people, would understand that and be happy for me. I guess I was wrong." She leaves in a huff, returning to her seat in the theatre with Rob. "Sorry," she apologizes as she settles into her seat.
"I was getting worried," Rob smiles. "You missed the previews and dancing candy." "Sorry," she apologizes again. "Long line." The lights dim, and Rob the Letch places an arm around Andie's shoulder. "This is going to be great," he proclaims.
Spoken a moment too soon, perhaps. Just then, Joey bustles down their row, an assortment of movie theatre fare in hand. "Excuse me ... Coming through ... Sorry ... Sorry." Reaching her destination, Joey sits down next to Andie, who glares at her with unbridled annoyance. "Joey, what are you doing?"
"These are great seats," Joey pronounces obliviously and offers Andie a soft drink. "Regular or diet? I couldn't remember, so I got both." Andie refuses and tells Joey to get out of there, now, but of course, Joey won't budge. "Andie, in the light of the day, you can psychoanalyse me all you want, but I am not leaving you alone with this guy."
The guy himself leans over and hisses at Joey. "What the hell's going on here, Potter?" Joey gives him a sunny smile. "Do you like nachos? Personally, I find them to be one of the more disgusting innovations in movie food. I mean, all this congealed stuff ... it's not even cheese, you know? It's kind of cheese food." She holds a cheese-infested nacho out to Rob. "Here, try them."
Andie turns to Rob with a distressed look on her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." He looks from Andie to Joey miserably. "Now, this is comic gold, this stuff," Joey smiles up at the screen. She holds out a packet to Rob with another happy grin. "Goober?"
At Grams' house, we find Jack rummaging through the fridge looking for something to eat. None other than Grams herself enters just then, and tells Jack there's ice cream in the freezer. He grins self-consciously. "Ever since I started playing football, I've been eating you out of house and home, huh?" "No problem," Grams says with a generous smile. Jack sighs. "I just wish I felt a little more like I was earning my keep around here," he confesses. "But you are," Grams tells him fondly. "You are making my granddaughter happy, happier than I've seen her in quite a long while."
On cue, Jen storms into the kitchen, slamming the front door behind her. "Oh Jennifer, you scared me half to death," Grams admonishes. "I'm sorry, Grams," Jen apologizes flatly, her angry gaze never staying from Jack's eyes. "Getting surprised really sucks, doesn't it Jack?" "Jennifer," Grams begins, but Jen sharply but politely tells her the matter is between Jack and herself.
"So," she addresses Jack, "How does it work? Do you take cash? Credit card? And is it just Henry, or am I going to have to service the whole football team?" Jack tells her to calm down and that she's over-reacting, while Grams asks which one of them is going to tell her what's going on. Jen says nothing.
"I ... I just thought I'd do a favour for a friend, so I set him up. I thought it'd be romantic," Jack tries to plead his case. His heart is in the right place, but Jen is still furious. "About as romantic as a car-jacking." "Jen, he's just a kid," Jack pleads. "A nice kid, and he likes you." "Oh yeah," Jen laughs hysterically. "He's a real nice kid. He stares at me like I'm a pornographic fantasy come to life!"
Jack tries to explain. "That's because he's infatuated with you." "Well I'm not infatuated with him, and I told you that a thousand times and you didn't listen to me! You took his side!" Jen shouts. "I didn't take anybody's side," Jack insists. "I ... I just --" "Wanted to get your little football friend lucky," she finishes for him. "Well, sorry!" With that, she storms out of the kitchen, mightily pissed. Whoa, girl! Methinks the lady doth overreact just a smidge, dontcha think?
Next door, Dawson walks into his bedroom only to find Eve perched in his windowframe. He frowns. "What the hell are you doing in my room?" Eve frowns back. "I want my picture back." "And I want some answers," he replies evenly. Eve looks at him, her expression something between contempt and a pout. "Well, Dawson, what would you like to know?"
"I'd like to know why every single word out of your mouth has been a lie. Why you claim to be a high school student and you're not. Why you're living in a yacht that doesn't belong to you. I want to know, once and for all, who you are." Eve nods gravely. "You have every right to ask those questions, Dawson, and I promise you, the answers are forthcoming."
That's not good enough for Dick Tracy here. "I'm sick and tired of being toyed with," he snaps. "Ever since you slamdanced your way into my life, (oooh, nice metaphor) I wrecked my father's boat --" "That was so worth every penny and you know it --" Eve interrupts. (as I say, once and for all, EWWWWW!!!) "It's been one disaster after another," Dawson insists.
Eve smirks. "I turn a dork into a stud in a matter of weeks and this is my thank you note? Where's the love?" (I'll grudgingly admit that line made me snicker) "Eve, the hip and amoral routine is getting really old," Dawson tells her bitterly. "Is that what you think I am? Amoral?" Eve replies, mock-chagrined. "Either that, or a criminal," Dawson throws at her. She looks hurt. "Sticks and stones, Dawson. Now give me back my picture."
He sighs. "Eve, for the last time, what were you doing in Grams' house?" "Looking for something to steal to get bus money out of here. There. Satisfied? Now give it to me!" she demands, but he won't hand it over that easily. "Not until you tell me how a faded old snapshot could mean so much to someone so cold and detached as you."
Now it's Eve's turn to sigh. "You're right, Dawson. I never was a student. The yacht ... not mine. I was sort of squatting. And that girl is my mother, Dawson. Whom I've never met. Whom I'm trying to find. And that picture is my only clue."
Dawson isn't sure whether to believe her or not. "Talk," he orders. "I'll listen." "Okay," Eve starts. "Let's see. Where to begin ... How about last Christmas? I was rummaging around in the attic, looking for some wrapping paper, I found the photo in question, of the girl that bears an uncanny resemblance to me."
"What did you do?" Dawson asks. Eve replies that she asked her parents, and, painted into a corner, Mom and Major Dad finally told me the truth. "That you were adopted," Dawson pronounces. "That's right," Eve smiles ruefully. "No more calls, we have a winner."
"What did you do?" Dawson asks again. "Nothing," Eve answers simply. "Very strangely, I had no angst whatsoever. It's only after it crept up on me that I had this estrogen-charged urge to seek out the missing pieces of the puzzle." "Which brings you to Capeside," Dawson nods. "Why?"
"All I know about my birth mother is that she lived somewhere in this part of the country, near the ocean. So, I've been travelling up and down the Eastern seaboard, asking questions along the way ... hoping to get lucky," Eve explains. "And have you?" Dawson asks. "Depends on what you mean," Eve grins at him coyly, but it fades when she sees the look of dismay on his face. "No, Dawson. I haven't found her. Not yet, anyway, and not here. Which means it's time for me to move on. So ends another instalment in my melodrama."
Dawson smiles at her sympathetically. "It's more movie of the week than film noir." "With an edge," Eve adds with a smile. "A lot of edge," Dawson's smile widens. "I don't know. Eve, call me gullible, but this time, I actually believe you." He hands over the photo.
"Thanks, Dawson. You're a hugely sweet boy," she tells him gratefully. "And you're right, I played with you. I do that, I guess. I move into a new town and chances are I'm not staying forever, so I play a role. That way no one can get close to me. And believe me, most guys are content with me the actress. But you dug at me. You wanted to see inside my screwed-up little soul."
He looks at her sadly. "Well, I mean, once you get past the lying, and the stealing, and the using a sex as a weapon, there's a lot of good stuff in there." Eve laughs. "I hope I haven't done anything irredeemable. Because I like to think you'll remember me once in a while and smile."
"Well," Dawson grins conspiratorially, "Riding my father's boat will always elicit a giddy grin or three." "See?" Eve grins back, "There you go. Maybe I'll even get a footnote in the unauthorized biography." "You might just warrant a whole chapter," he tells her warmly. Eve gets up and crosses to the windowsill again, ready to leave. "I'll be checking the credits for you, Dawson," Eve says with a smile. Dawson tells her to take care, and she leaves. (For good! Buh-bye!)
Over in the park, Jen sits on her quilt, contemplating the events of the evening, when Jack approaches her. "Should I just fall on my sword now, or wait until the battle's over?" he asks, trying to break the ice. "What do I care?" Jen tells him bitterly. "Either way, you're a dead man."
"Look," Jack sighs heavily. "This whole Henry thing ... you got it all wrong. I didn't do it for him, I did it for you." Jen looks at him as if he'd just donned pom-poms and a miniskirt and started leading cheers in the middle of the park. "I'm serious," Jack insists. "I just wanted to show you that the things that you want are there for the taking. You just, you know, have to believe you deserve them."
Jen shakes her head. "You don't get it. This was our place. Yours and mine. Doesn't that mean something to you?" "Yeah, of course it does," Jack replies gently. "But don't you want more?" "No," Jen looks at him, half hurt and half frustrated. "Not from us. Jack, I've had lovers, I've had boyfriends, but what I've never had is a boy who was first and last a friend. Who wasn't secretly trying to get in my pants, or who wouldn't walk away from me the second I said I didn't want to sleep with him. Who like me for me." She tries to lighten the mood a bit. "Unless you've recently decided to be bisexual?" Jack laughs, and Jen smiles as she continues. "You know, I think you setting me up was a lot more about you than it was me."
"Come on, give me a break," Jack looks at her, confused. "I do not have a secret crush on Henry Parker." "Neither do I, but that's not what I'm talking about. I mean that ... maybe it's you who's lonely for the relationship." Jack takes a moment to digest this, then admits that maybe he is. "But this isn't exactly New York, where gay kids are tripping over each other coming out of the closet. This is Capeside, gay population one. It's me. I'm it." (All kidding aside, my heart just breaks for him when he says that, you can really feel how lonely he must be. Well acted, Kerr!)
"Jack, you're going to have a love life," Jen smiles poignantly, her eyes almost welling up with tears. "You're going to have a fantastic love life. It's gonna be awesome and terrifying, and, when it happens, it's going to change your whole life." "Yeah, it's easy for you to say," Jack says sadly. Jen agrees that she knows it is, but "you have to have faith that sometimes things happen when they're least expected." Of course, the park sprinkler system turns on at that exact moment. "See what I mean?" Jen grins, and the pair of them pick up the quilt and dash off through the spray, laughing all the while.
Next morning at the marina, Joey is busy at work when Andie walks up to her. "Hey," Joey nods. "Stud puppy isn't here yet. You must have kept him out pretty late last night." Andie sighs in exasperation. "Okay, nothing happened. And not that you deserve an explanation, but right after the movie he walked me to my front door, and he was a perfect gentleman." "Yeah, he's a prince, all right," Joey mutters. "Prince of darkness."
Rob walks up to the girls just then. Andie greets him like an excited puppy dog, but he chooses to ignore her and coldly addresses Joey. "Slacking off on the job again, Potter?" Joey shoots him death rays with her eyes. Andie tells him they were just indulging in some good, old fashioned girl talk. "Yeah, I know," Rob replies dismissively, then turns to Joey again. "So, last night ... quite a threesome. Only next time I want to be in the middle. It was quite an unexpected pleasure though, I mean, I assumed you were working. Don't we usually stay open until eight on Friday nights?"
Joey's eyes narrow defensively. "Nobody ever comes in after seven, you know that, Rob." "Just answer the question, Potter." Joey knows he's got her over a barrel. "Yeah, we usually stay open until eight on Fridays," she concedes.
"You're fired." "What?" Joey says sharply. "You heard me," Rob replies coolly. "I'm in charge here, and it is unacceptable for an employee to close early without my permission." "Oh, yeah," Joey snaps venomously. "And that's really why you're firing me, Rob." "Spare me the adolescent mini-drama, Potter," he sneers. "You're fired because you closed early, end of story."
Andie tries valiantly to save her friend's job. "Joey, um ... she can explain! I mean, this is all just a really big misunderstanding!" Joey glares at Rob evilly. "Don't bother, Andie." Rob can't resist one final dig at her. "Nice working with you, Potter." Joey is about to walk away, but not before delivering some choice parting words: "You know what Rob? The day your out-of-whack libido lands you in so deep that not even Daddy can save your ass? Don't call me as a character witness. Rot in hell."
Over at the Ryan home, Grams opens her front door to a panting Dawson, who staggers inside carrying a heavy-looking air conditioning window unit. "Oh, my word!" she exclaims. "Beware of heretics bearing air-conditioners." (Jeez, how's that for gratitude?) Dawson's out of breath and explains it's his father's orders. "He wanted me to take this extra of ours over to you."
Staggering into the living room, he trips a bit and ceremoniously drops the unit on the ground. When he pulls himself up, he catches a glimpse of a photograph which features a younger-looking Grams with the same blonde woman from Eve's picture. (Da-da-DAAAAHHHH!!!)
"Mrs. Ryan?" he asks casually, trying to control unusual tones in his voice, "Who is that in that picture?" Grams smiles serenely at a child's drawing she taped on the wall. "That's our Lord Jesus Christ, as interpreted by one of our gifted Sunday School students."
"I meant the one below it," Dawson corrects. Grams tells him that's her daughter, Helen. "She can't have been more than 18 there, as I recall. It was right before she went away to college." Dawson stares at her, wide-eyed. "So, that's Jen's mom?" "I have only one daughter, Dawson Leery," Grams replies calmly, as the truth of it all suddenly dawns on Dawson's astonished face.
Fade to black ...