Everything In It’s Right Place by Radiohead plays.
Someone tried to hack into Lacey’s Instagram account. Probably because they’re narcissistically feeling triggered.
*Lacey waves* “Hi!! I love narcissists! You guys are OBSESSED with me. I get SO MUCH attention from y’all. Other than Satan and Hell no beings have ever noticed me more and reminded me that God loves me more.” says Lacey.
“No! That’s not right!” says a narcissist.
“She lies!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“No! Thank you!! Thank you for knocking yourselves into fits and shitting and puking all over yourselves to try to hate me.” says Lacey.
“Oh no!! She’s completely serious! This is a heartfelt thank you.” says a Daniel Craig. He put himself in character and decided she’s being incredibly serious.
“Umm. So…thank you!! I’m a liberal feminist and…I dunno…I find it sad and funny that this could be true for a woman.” says a Rachel Mad.
“Who’s Rachel Mad?!” asks a narcissist.
“A mad woman named Rachel!” says Lem. “Lacey invented her. She’s a character. We’re all invented. Right?!”
“Why do you all hate me so much?!” asks Lacey.
They refuse answer.
“Are some of you almost having seizures?” asks Lacey. “Yeah?! Because I don’t care enough?!” She looks worried. “I hope you’ll all be okay. And I mean that sincerely.”
Lacey is almost convinced that people on the narcissistic spectrum have something legitimately wrong with their brains. And in that case they should not be treated as normal functioning adults in some ways for better and for worse.
“Ha! You said that in a narcissist way!” says a narcissist.
“No! I didn’t! It just looks like that.” says Lacey.
The narcissist smiles. “Why!?” He smiles again.
Just by Radiohead plays.
“I don’t remember! But I started doing it years ago.” says Lacey. “Let me try to recall why.”
“I think I got tired of being labeled a narcissist. I’m not one. But also…I resented the abuse I’ve received from psychopaths and narcissistic people my whole life.” says Lacey. “You do realize you’re being more loving to me right now than most people are.”
“I don’t feel love for you. I’m collecting information to attack you.” says the narcissist.
“If your brain is screwed-up…your spirit could be trying to be a helpful person. Isn’t that tragic.” says Lacey.
“I don’t feel that though.” he says.
“That’s creepy.” says Lacey. “I wonder how screwed-up your brain is.”
“So…we’re possibly the ones who have any inkling how bad off things are in regard to you.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Possibly! Isn’t that creepy?!” asks Lacey.
“How are we seeing when they aren’t?!” asks a male malignant narcissist.
“That’s what I wonder.” says Lacey. “The evolutionary implications are potentially staggering and vile.”
“Hmm. Like what?!” asks the male malignant narcissist.
How We Breath by Pinback plays.
“Is the human species secretly evolving into extinction?” wonders Lacey.
“Because narcissism is actually incredibly destructive to humanity?!” asks the malignant narcissist.
“Exactly! So why were you chosen to self-destruct?!” asks Lacey. “You’ll possibly never know. Because your mind is all messed-up about you sense of self to begin with.”
“This is why you hate Lem.” says a female Narcissist.
“I don’t hate him. But it does hurt. If he was straight he betrayed me.” says Lacey.
“Like…he should have seen through us!” says a female narcissist.
“Yes!! Exactly!!” says Lacey.
“Damn it! You’re right!” she says.
“Yeah! Sorry that feeling of concern between us as friends probably feels gross to you? Just let it pass.” says Lacey.
“You think like us! But you aren’t a narcissist!” says a male malignant narcissist to Lacey, laughing.
“Yes! You guys see what I see.” says Lacey.
“I hate this!” says the female narcissist.
“I do too!! But I’m in charge. …Just…realize that it’s normal. Or used to be. Nowadays people use this…gooey emotional bullshit to hurt people. And we see through it. But it’s what used to be safe. They just poisoned the water.” says Lacey.
“What water?!” asks a psychopath.
“Human agape love.” says Lacey.
“So we opted out!” says a malignant narcissist.
“I worry you did to some degree.” says Lacey. “But! You have to wonder if nature is outsmarting you. I’m sorry! It’s a fallen world.”
“Like it’s using our psychological survival instincts to evolve humanity into extinction?!” asks the female narcissist.
“Yes!! Exactly!!!” says Lacey. “Nature is incredibly sophisticated.”
“So! When did we push the button?” asks Wobbly. He rolls his eyes to insist that Lacey is too predictable in her trite traditional narrative.
“Ha! It’s more interesting than that! …Do you know?!” she asks as if she’s talking to a teenager.
“The 1960’s!” he says.
“Yeah. That’s my guess. Although I think it started to fall apart in the 1950’s really?” wonders Lacey.
“Yeah…they’re a perfectly logical reason she doubts you, Lem.” says Louis. “Be far more careful than you are being!”
“Did we do something?!” Louis’s son asks his father?
Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones plays.
“No!” he says.
“Who did?” asks Lacey looking at the DuPonts.
“A lot of people chose evil after World War II. Fully cognizant of how bad it was.” says Elliott Roosevelt.
“Cognizant as in not narcissistic?!” asks Lacey.
“Yes!” says Elliott.
“Why?!” asks Lacey.
“They were seduced!” he says.
“Probably during the war too?!” asks Lacey.
“Yup!” says Jerome.
“So…was it as evil by choice before the war or not?” asks Lacey.
Louis thinks. “Yes!” he says.
“I doubt that.” says Lacey.
“Why?!” asks Lem.
“Because Americans were more innocent before the war.” says Lacey.
“I mostly agree with her.” says Jerome.
“When we took on the mantle of world imperial power we had a choice to be Godly or be evil. And I think we chose to be rich and evil. Especially in the 1950’s and 60’s.” says Lacey. “Lazy, boorish and evil.”
“And that’s why we’re struggling so much now. We sold ourselves out.” says Lacey.
“But did nature play a part?” asks the malignant male narcissist.
“Yes! Maybe! …Think about all the destruction we caused to nature in the Industrial Revolution and during both World Wars!” says Lacey. “And is it possible that the potato famine was nature’s way of testing the British? And if they failed the test that was actually the destruction of their empire?!”
“Like: I love these humans!! Cool empire! But umm…let’s see how loving you actually are.” says a woman on behalf of nature. “And when they failed the nails in their imperial coffin were sealed.”
“Yup!! It’s nature! It’s brutal!” says Lacey.
“So it’s watching us!” says a woman.
“Yes!!” says Lacey. “Or that’s the idea.”
How To Disappear Completely by Radiohead plays.
“So…they were seduced by easy money.” says Elliott.
“What made them so myopic?!” asks Lacey.
He smiles. “They were idiots, Lacey.”
“No!” she says.
“They were like the Kennedys. They didn’t understand cause and effect. They were idiots.” he says.
“How do you not understand cause and effect?!” asks Lacey.
“No! Mom…some people are really that dumb!” says the female narcissist to Lacey.
China looks at Lacey empathetically.
“No. She can’t believe it!” says an Asian man in genuine empathy.
“But it’s just simple cause and effect!” says Lacey.
“Umm…Lacey…so why did the British destroy their empire in Ireland possibly?!” asks an Irish woman of Lacey.
“Because they were idiots!” says Lacey. “But…not that type of idiot?”
“Like an actual idiot idiot?” asks the female narcissist.
“Yes! Sort of!” says Lacey.
The Chinese look at Lacey empathetically again.
Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 plays to calm Lacey’s anxiety.
“Hmm. How were we idiots? It’s going to be weird Lacey if you know. People are going to wonder if reincarnation is in the Bible. Whether it is or not. But…it bothers you so much!” says Margaret Thatcher.
“We worry about reincarnation too! And some of us are Christians!” says a Chinese man.
“To be honest I can’t scientifically ignore the fact, at least subconsciously, that huge portions of humanity have been operating under the idea that it exists for centuries. …But I’m still a Christian. Very much so. Only.” says Lacey.
“I understand!” says the possible real Pope. “It’s a pressing issue.”
“But it’s so complicated!! Be calmed by that!” says an atheist businesswoman.
“Mmm. The thing is…I have something to say.” says Lacey.
The Chinese empathetically nod again.
“The British knew…but didn’t. They had good intentions for the British. On a purely isolationistic, selfish level. They…cared. …But they also didn’t think it through. They were…mad. Insane. And for the amount they were actually evil in regard to the Irish…they were likely held accountable. …But…they didn’t get along with the Irish. I mean St. Patrick was an English boy kidnapped by the Irish. Right?! …Or is that a myth? …If it isn’t…think about that being common. The English obviously has reason to be heartless over the centuries after a while. And vice versa, possibly. …That’s the thing. We lie about how dark history is nowadays to feel better about ourselves. But…the truth can get lost that way.” says Lacey. “That’s my impression anyway.”
“You’re hurt by the Irish?” asks an Irishman.
“I thought we were friends.” says Lacey. “When did you decide I was so vile and ugly?”
An Irishman thinks. “The Queen was ugly!”
“Noo! She wasn’t!” says Lacey. “Why did you all think that? That’s so weird.”
Bad Things by Cults plays.
“She didn’t look like Jackie or Grace Kelly.” he says.
“She was less beautiful but more beautiful too.” says Lacey. “Those are completely different types of women.”
Louis smiles. “American advertising.”
“But…maybe it went too far!” says an Irishman.
Lacey cries. Fights it.
Louis looks convicted.
“So…it’s American toxic advertising that screwed up the brains of the whole world?! So what?!” asks a narcissistic man sarcastically.
Mr. Blue stands near an ancient Irish cave. Awkwardly.
Sodus by Cemeteries plays.
“Mr. Blue are you Irish?” asks a Jew.
“Yes!” he says proudly. Defiantly.
Love (Fade) by Tamaryn plays.
Iran laughs. Egypt cracks-up.
“Got you!!” jokes a dead Iranian to America. “You took the cup! Drink-up, bitch!”
They laugh as Love (Fade) plays.
“Huh! So that’s what’s going on.” says the malignant narcissist.
“Yeah! Possibly.” says the female narcissist.
They wonder and wander away from Lacey. They’ve decided they’re tired of playing tennis for the day.
“Poor dad!” says Wobbly’s wife.
“His father?!” wonders Lacey.
“Yes!” she says.
“I agree! He seems like the brother who was the most sane. Possibly. …There’s one who’s like that, oftentimes. I think it might have been him.” says Lacey.
“You’re probably right!” she says.
“I’m the oldest!” says Louis. “And I didn’t disappoint.”
“True.” says Lacey.
“And I disappointed far less.” says Elliott.
And that’s where the DuPonts cry uncle.
“We have to explain.” they say to Lacey.
“Go on!!” chuckles a white man who worries about forever chemicals being in the hearty soup he makes in his trailer to live off his meager US salary. “I have to be so damn careful where I buy my water. Y’all ruined the Earth.” He guffaws. “You ruined…the EARTH!” He looks at them like they’re irresponsible teenagers with behavioral problems. Like he’s their patient, exhausted step-father. “Do you understand what that means?!”
They act antsy. Look dumbfounded.
“Do you understand?!” he asks again more forcefully.
Benjamin Franklin does an interpretive dance to Love (Fade). It’s both hilarious and chill.
“So…we didn’t necessarily realize it would poison the whole Earth.” they say.
The man in his trailer looks at them. He’s confused.
“But things add up.” says Lacey.
“Yeah…but…we thought we could get away with it. In small amounts terrible chemicals are often somewhat innocuous.” they say.
“But…why do you think the structure you’re using will be easy to get out of? You sound like people who don’t understand credit cards.” says Lacey.
“Yeah! We might not always literally understand credit cards either.” they say.
“Right!” says China.
“You really are idiots?” asks an Iranian of the they in America who don’t understand credit cards. He sound’s possibly genuinely concerned.
Kinder Blumen by Real Estate plays.
The man in his trailer looks gobsmacked.
JFK rides on a Segway. On a California beach. In the 1980’s.
The living atheist businesswoman covers her mouth in worry and empathetic embarrassment.
“Umm…so…did you understand credit cards?” a living gay man asks JFK.
“My whole family was confused about credit cards.” he admits, bitterly. “So to speak.”
The DuPonts nod in agreement.
“Weir &. Sons has been in operation since the 1850’s! Lacey still shops there. Repeatedly. Not all Irishmen are drunken idiots.” says an Irishman. “For all you know…we even had a hand in helping her father obtain liquor.”
“So…Americans don’t understand credit cards. As a concept.” says a Millennial woman.
Jack cries on his Segway. “I’m not JFK!” he yells. He looks awkward.
“Yeah right!” says Lacey in doubt.
“I often spent too much!” he says.
“In more ways than one?” asks Lacey
“Umm…I think Lacey Banks is here to umm…discuss our debt issue.” says Wobbly.
“I think the answer is obviously yes. Or he’s playing along to protect her somehow. Or hurt her?” says a Millennial woman.
“It’s yes!” says Jack.
“So…you just felt invincible?” asks the American Millennial woman of JFK.
Where Is My Mind by Maxence Cyrin plays on behalf the American people. Britney requested it be played for them.
“Yes! We felt unconquerable.” says JFK. “We weren’t suicidal.”
“So you chose evil?!” Louis asks, surprisingly genuinely aghast
“We weren’t a cohesive country!” says a dead Seay. He’s implicating that Louis should have known more about JFK’s mindset without having to discuss it on a blog…after death. “We have no unifying culture that way, in my opinion.”
“So…Louis can be flummoxed.” says a dead female Seay.
“You’re too much like warring tribes?” asks a Native American woman. Suddenly the conversation takes on 1990’s Disney film vibes.
Life & Death by Paul Cardall plays.
“I was a child once. I grew-up.” says Lacey.
The song plays.
“Did you grow-up, Kick?” asks Queen Elizabeth II.
“I did.” she says.
“But did you realize it?” asks Lacey.
“Not necessarily.” she says mechanically. Coldly.
“Can God fix your brain?” asks Lacey.
“If there’s something wrong with it…and I’m in Purgatory…I might struggle to accept that.” she says.
“Why?” says Lacey.
“I hate myself. Possibly.” she says.
“Yeah! If she was a narcissist it’s difficult to accept God’s love.” says a DuPont. “It takes time possibly to accept His mercy when you understand what you’ve done and what He’s offering you for eternity. It’s a difficult thing to watch.”
“So! You misunderstood credit cards!” says a Nazi to the U. S..
“They misunderstood the land too!” says a Native American woman.
(Adult content below)
No Diggity by Blackstreet plays.
“So…you truly don’t understand credit cards?!” asks Lacey, who’s a girl but not a girl.
“Nah! Y’all trying me.” says an African American man.
“Break em!” says another black man.
“No! It matters, Lacey! It still matters!” the African American man says to Lacey. He marches through a house with a gun.
“Alright. But it’s going to get bloody.” says Lacey.
“Yeah!! It’s worth it!” he says to her. “You’ve said so yourself!”
“I know. But…that’s for me. You’re going to suffer too.” she says. “It’s you’re blood.”
Is this in the afterlife for Lacey? As it stands right now?
He thinks. “No. It’s worth it.”
“Okay! I’ll blow them up.” she says.
She presses the button.
The innocent have been evacuated. Including the men with the troubled soup.
An earth in Purgatory explodes.
The evil who couldn’t be tolerated descend to an earth with only them there. Not including children who didn’t grow-up, of course.
Lacey and the black man return to the kitchen. He continues filling safe plastic bags with dry cereal for his kids.
“I wanted to kill them too.” she says. “I suppose it’d be wrong to go to the other earth and torture them to death repeatedly?”
He laughs. “We did blow-up the earth.”
“I did!” says Lacey apologetically.
“I’m sorry. That was cowardly.” he says.
“Gosh, I want to go slowly rip their heads off.” says Lacey possibly politely.
Midnight City by M83 plays.
“Welcome to reality!” says a living, beautiful Russian woman in 2023. “That’s how we roll too.”
Back in the possible afterlife kitchen.
“No! Because then you’d feel bad for them.” he says to Lacey. “And mad that you had to degrade yourself to bring justice. No matter how much you might enjoy it.”
“You tied the rope…and put it around your own neck.” says a Trump man empathizing with the Democratic Party.
“Well…they could try to kill themselves.” says Lacey.
“Yes! But we agreed to let it go!” he says.
“True!” she says in submission to Jesus Christ, her Lord and savior. “But then will they go to Hell?”
“I checked. No!” he says.
“Gosh, it’s difficult to let go.” she says.
He nods and smiles.
“Are you really in that good of a mood?!” she asks.
He thinks. “Yeah! I am! Sorry!”
“No!! Don’t be sorry.“ she says.
“I’m not! And I don’t want to ruin your good mood! Excuse me.” she says.
“Call us!!” he says.
“Oh!! Of course!” she says.
A second of silence passes.
“I’ll call tomorrow!” she says. “At four!”
“Goodbye!” she says.
Then she leaves. He smiles wide when she leaves. He’s truly in a good mood.
Lacey wanders back to 2023 where she’s alive. She’s hopeful that man, should he exist, have a good mood without her having to blow-up the Earth in possible Purgatory. She’s hopeful she won’t want to go rip people’s heads off in Purgatory. She’s off to go eat. Watch The Crown. Pray. Analyze. Pray.
Lacey is amazed.
Can You Hear Them Sing plays.
Tonight she’s realizing how much her childhood spent on her family’s thousands of acres of oil rich land affected her entire being. They were like landed aristocracy…in their minds. They thought like actual old landed European aristocrats. And it DEEPLY and permanently altered Lacey.
Or did it? If she’s reincarnated…it’s all she’s ever been. But this time it’s without titles and recognition. Except for an intellectual honorary title and an electoral college vote. But…they are different. F. Scott Fitzgerald was right. They’re different. And there’s no way out. And she’s one of them. And people nowadays hate them. And Lacey thinks that too often it’s tragically undeserved.
Ashes To Ashes by Warpaint plays.
They aren’t Margaret Thatcher. Even the Republicans. …Not really. They’re the bullies at Balmoral. And they’re Queen Elizabeth II with her plastic old toothbrush. They’re snobby but not really. They’re…truly just different in their way of seeing everything.
“We aren’t that rich or important or glamorous or powerful.” says Lacey referring to the Royal Family. “But we think a certain way. And there is the oil.”
Ashes To Ashes by David Bowie plays.
“You have a small yellow house.” says an aristocratic who’s family owns a glamorous estate.
“Is that a problem?” asks Lacey.
“Which do you like better?” she asks shrewdly.
“It’s not a tiny house. To be accurate.” says Lacey. Then she thinks. “I think I want the house Thomas Banks was possibly supposed to raise me in.”
“So a huge house?” she asks.
“I think so! The other two houses feel sad.” says Lacey. “If I disconnect them from me…it’s a tough choice. The yellow house is…intriguing and Scandinavian and romantic in genre…and the other is actually far more cozy and grand and terrifying…and I don’t know which is better. The incognito privacy of the yellow house is irreplaceable. But the love of the other is also irreplaceable.”
“Do you feel like a king on that land?” she asks.
“Yes! We all did. And I’ve come to realize that but I don’t know if everyone else has or not. …It was a lot of land. And we lived next to cousins. And then there were my father’s family’s farms. So…basically it was 20,000 to 30,000 or more acres of land in one area controlled by just our family at large.”
“How many wells is that?” she asks.
“30 or 50 or so?” says Fox News. They shrug. “Maybe 40?” They shrug.
Lacey does the math in her head. “No! It’s more like 60 or 70?”
“So…essentially all the oil in that state.” says a reader.
“Well…we have the most. Maybe 3/4 or more.” says Lacey. “And by we I mean families that are interconnected very closely through marriage and live near each other.”
“So your mother’s family, your father’s family’s their mothers’ family’s and their cousins.” says a Belter
“So…it made you see things differently.” says an actress.
“Yes! Before the oil it was like…this irreverent, American, Norwegian immigrant, farm thing.” says Lacey. “But after the oil…I realized slowly how weird it all actually was.”
“What? The lordly supremacy you feel?!” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Feel?! As in, it’s not real?!” asks Lacey.
“What?! It’s a title and an electoral vote. And what like billions of light crude? And…that’s nothing.” she says subconsciously, without sarcasm or irony.
“You are exact opposite of Michael Fagan.” says Lacey to The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Ouch!” says a British person.
“I don’t know who he is.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater like a valley girl.
“Why doesn’t oil impress you?” asks a Bill Hates.
“It’s a liquid.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater subconsciously without humor intended.
Lacey collects herself. “Does gold impress you?!”
“Meh.” she says.
“What does impress you?” asks Lacey.
“Sex! Drugs! Rock & Roll. …Good hair. …And an estate.” she says.
“Like a rockstar?” asks Lacey.
“Yeah! Like…cool looking people in Los Angeles who hated me.” she says.
“So immaculate looking, bourgeois, pushy, white, blond haired, blue eyed, upper middle class, new money female jerks? They’re you’re ultra elite?” says Lacey.
“No!” she says.
“But that’s who you’re describing!” says Lacey. She realizes saying The Loudest Perfume Hater is Michael Fagan’s opposite was possibly mean and feels bad.
“They’re the most elegant, elite people I’ve ever met in my life. They’re the most…powerful.” she says. “Do you wear the color blue? There was an elite woman who wore blue nail polish and…I’ve been obsessed with the color blue ever since.”
“Those women were millionaires. Or possibly even billionaires. But I’d be shocked if they were powerful.” says Lacey. “They might have been…broke, too.” She thinks. “Like…actually broke.”
“So…what do they control?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Not much. Their house. Or houses. Maybe a local election at most. …A small business. A club or some…social network that is essentially useless. Maybe…a clothing line. A…very wealthy man who doesn’t truly understand world politics or economics at most?” says Lacey. “But I’m sure they keep him looking fly and fresh.”
“So blond idiots? Like your family?!” scoffs The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“No! That’s-No!” says Lacey. “Not all blond people are the same type of people.”
“No! That’s not true. They are. …Right?“ she asks.
Lacey laughs. “Wow! That’s really backward.”
“No it’s not!” she says.
“You can’t possibly want to organize all of humanity into clearly different groups based purely and solely on hair color?!?” says Lacey.
“Well…how does that which I speak of as an objective, observable fact of the universe…not seem…plausible to you?” The Loudest Perfume Hater responds without humor intended.
“It’s just utter nonsense. But…if you’re right then I switched groups. So which group do I belong to? Blonds or brunettes?!”
“Shit!” she says. The Loudest Perfume Hater thinks. “FUCK!”
“And then by that same token, all old people are in the same group. But they weren’t before.” says Lacey.
“Okay! That doesn’t make sense!!” admits The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“A lot of what you have said over the years has had huge flaws in its logic. …I do appreciate your bluntness though when you’re blunt.” says Lacey.
“Maybe my theories are wrong.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Maybe not all of them?” says Lacey.
She shrugs in response.
“I’ve met the sort of women you’re describing.” says Lacey.
“Yeah! They’re mean!” she says.
“They’re baffling.” says Lacey.
“What do they even want out of life?!” she asks.
“It’s a mystery to me too.” says Lacey.
“They’re so uppity!” she says. “They are Margaret Thatcher!”
“At best. Margaret Thatcher was British.” says Lacey. “They’re often impressed by the Kennedys.” She thinks. “Maybe they’re always impressed by the Kennedys.”
Ashes To Ashes by Warpaint plays.
“Joe cheated on you with them. If you’re not just imagining ghosts.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“That’s exactly right! …And they hate me. …And I don’t even know why… They’re vile in their mystery to me at this point.” says Lacey.
“I’m not!” says Pat Wilson.
“No! Thank God for you, Pat.” says Lacey.
“So!! So…wait! Wait!!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater. “What did you do?!?”
“I reminded him who we were.” says Pat.
“As a couple?!” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Yes! I brutally, viciously and violently stole him from Lacey.” says Pat. “Possibly.”
The Loudest Perfume Hater loves it.
“So…why are those blond California women so intimidating?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Because they are violent peasants who, at core, want to rape and murder my family?” says Lacey. “And their husbands are often gussied-up arsonists and thieves.”
“They’re all Edna Braithwaite to Lacey. All of them.” says Pat.
“So who are you?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater of Pat.
“Edith! Brutal, tough-minded, sometimes cruel but…possibly still decent…in a way…” she says.
“So do they hate you?!” The Loudest Perfume Hater asks Pat.
“Possibly!” says an Irishman.
“Edith Braithwaite wasn’t British enough maybe?” says Margaret Thatcher.
“What was she then?” asks a Hollywood producer.
“She was British…with an American finish.” she says.
“What was weird about her, Lacey?” asks the Hollywood producer.
“She was too sure she’d be able to rise instantly to the top of the social hierarchy. She had no real anxieties that were shown. She was just all confidence. But…why?! …She could easily have been murdered.” says Lacey.
Louis might agree.
“But Tom was Irish!” says an actress.
“Yes! …And his storyline was already far fetched. …But…-“ starts Lacey.
Lem suddenly gets nervous and it interrupts Lacey.
“What?!” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“He was Irish. And he looked like Joe. But he was a driver. Lacey’s father who raised her drove Tom.” he says. “Sabrina.” He thinks. “1954. The knighting of Lacey’s Great Granduncle.” He looks highly disturbed. “I’m a ghost. She’s alive.” He looks nauseous. He shuts his eyes. “I think they’re mocking somebody.”
Ashes To Ashes by Warpaint plays.
“It’s funny. But…it’s also very mean.” says Lem.
“But he’s married to Pat!” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.
“Yes! But his name isn’t Mike.” says Lem.
“And in reality I’m Katharine Hepburn…not Pat.” says Katharine Hepburn.
“And he’s certainly not me.” says Mike Rockefeller.
“He’s also not an Irishman named Tom.” says an Irishman.
“Did he throw me down the stairs or not?” asks Lacey.
“And at best I’m Edna Braithwaite’s descendant. Everyone in my family is like that.” says a Trump.
Billie Holiday by Warpaint plays.
“So that’s a compliment to your family.” says Lacey.
“Yeah! Life is harsh!” says a Trump.
“What I’m not making clear is that I highly doubt you were as bad as Edna. Anyone. Yuck!” says Lacey. “Any of you.”
“No! We were lowly. Not Edna.” he says.
“Edna was incapable of being lowly. That’s why I doubt she was British.” says Lacey.
“It’s hard not to bully Edna. But we shouldn’t!” he says.
“She might not be trying to bully anyone.” says Lem.
“Why do we think Tom and Edna are unlikely?” asks a California Edna.
“Wow!” says Lacey.
“Yeah! I agree!” says Patricia Roosevelt. “Edna was a maid!”
A gay man cracks-up laughing.
“But Tom was Irish?” asks the California Edna.
“Yes!!! …And I’m not sure it’s even possible an Irish driver would ever have married an actual wealthy, established aristocrat.” says Lacey. “It would have been an extremely rare exception.” She thinks. “But…regardless…he was accepted into the family.”
“Fair!” she says.
“Do you get where I’m going with that?” asks Lacey.
“Yeah!” she says.
“Where am I going with that?” asks Lacey.
She struggles. She shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know!” she says as an attack.
The Rape Jesus Cult that masquerades as Charismatic Christianity tries to kill Lacey.
David Bowie functions as a Christian worship leader.
A living English actor laughs.
A demon or ghost almost manifests. Lacey casts the demon into Hell in Jesus’s name. Then she smiles at the thought of God.
“Please let me worship you. Always.” she asks God. Hopeful for His mercy through Jesus.
Edna California struggles. She may be demon possessed. Lacey prays for her.
“You were already a Christian!” says Summertime Sadness in biting condescension.
“Getting back to why Tom doesn’t have a moment for Edna. …He’s nice. He’s not one to kill maids who he’s slept with and impregnated. So he can’t bother with her. It’s too much of a risk. …And I doubt he’d be able to handle organizing an adoption of any sort.” says Lacey.
“But he’s an impetuous, idiotic, low class Irish fool!” says an actor sarcastically.
“Unless you can guarantee that the Irish are inferior take out Irish…otherwise it’s all true.” says Lacey. “Michael Fagan was British. Low class. But…he’d never have fallen for Edna.”
“I doubt I’d actually make the mistake of taking her seriously.” says an Irishman.
“That sex scene was written for an American audience! Edna and Tom are Americans in that scene.” says an actress.
“Tom does seem like a Kennedy.” says Joe Sr.. “So who’s Edna?!” Iuiuuuuiiiii
“She’s partially inspired by the living.” says Edna California.
“But the wife didn’t fall or get tied-up.” says Joe Sr.. “Although…Lacey has almost died in childbirth in a way.”
Lem looks repulsed by himself.
“NOOOO!” Lem screams.
A moment later.
“I’m Edna. But we’re roll playing.” says Pat.
“My father is Tom. He’s English. Mostly. And he’s not a driver.” says Lacey.
“Well…I’m not a driver either.” says Joe Jr..
“So then don’t call yourself Tom.” says Lacey. “That’s gross.”
“What name do you suggest?” asks Pat.
“Philbert O’Toole.” says Lacey. “Or Philbert Patrick O’Hara.”
“What about George Wilding?” asks Joe.
“That’s too dangerous.” says Lacey.
“You’re not confident like an American.” Lem says to Lacey. “And it hurts whether I was ever your husband in the past or not.”
“So! You’re not confident like an Australian either.” says Joe Jr..
“No! But Edna was!” says his father.
“What is that?!” asks Lacey.
“Imagine a lower class person in England. They have an attitude.” says an English actress. “And it’s edgy.” She smiles. “Lem might have some of that edginess in his DNA. It’s very attractive. If the person is attractive.” She thinks. “But…they’re not Lem. And they’re not us. …They’re…pushy.” She thinks. “And I find that revolting. But…other people find it arousing.”
“How is it arousing?” asks Lacey.
“It’s not.” says Lem.
“What is it?” asks Lacey.
“No!! No! I really think some people think it’s attractive! …Because it’s so easy.” she says bluntly.
“It’s sometimes covert and manipulative too though.” says Summertime Sadness.
“Fascinating!” says Lacey.
“So…no. I don’t like it.” says Lem. “Obviously.”
“So…throwing yourself at someone in the middle of the night in some suicidal passion isn’t pushy?!” asks Jackie O. of Lem. “What if I had done that?!”
Edith Beale cringes.
“I’m not going to dignify that insult with much of a response. But I’ll say that I’d rather have been accosted by a wet dog than you trying to be near me at all. …Just because I don’t like you Jackie doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to women. I’m attracted to only women but you’ve never been particularly arousing to me. Not to that degree.” says Lem.
“What would you have done?!” she asks.
“Acted like you had lost your mind.” he says. “Carried you away to your own bed and…thought you’d genuinely lost your mind. That’s not your personality. It’s Lacey’s. It’s mine. It’s not yours.”
He looks angry.
“It’s not pushy. It’s romantic.” says the English actress.
“I’m not like that.” says Jackie.
“I might have fallen for you and cheated on Lacey wit you.” Joe says to Jackie.
“Sure!” says Lacey.
“Let’s go to bed!” says Lem.
“What’s going on?” asks Lacey.
“They don’t get your lack of understanding of the American culture.” says Louis.
“It’s due to social class. But also…it’s just me.” says Lacey.
“You’re not going to say you were reincarnated to be kind. But it’s a great analogy. …I’m sorry we confuse you.” says Louis.
“Goodnight!” says Lacey.