Elsbeth

Straighter.

As in "less crooked," if that's too complex for you.

Jules.

Are we at an octogenarian forehead festival?

No.

Then why are there so many wrinkles?

Steam every table now.

A Rockefeller is debuting tonight.

Sorry, Izzy.

Ms. Langford.

Mrs. Langford.

-Can I help you? -You'd better.

My daughter Plum needs to attend this ball next year.

Is that so?

There are other debutante balls

whose barriers to entry are much lower than mine.

-(laughs softly) -Ms. Langford.

-Mrs. -Uh, do you know who I am?

-Do you know who my father was? -Of course I do.

But it seems you don't know who I am.

A Langford.

Of the railroads family, I presume.

Anyway, you are aware that my wife Gwen...

-Your third wife, correct? -Gwen is a Wallace McKee.

We were married here in this very ballroom.

No, that was your second wife.

The Barlowes and the Wallace McKees

practically built New York.

Oh, my, what calluses you must have.

We belong here.

Who belongs here is at my discretion.

And whilst the proceeds of this event may go to charity,

my invitations are not philanthropic.

Plunk-- I'm sorry, Plum, is it?

She just doesn't fit.

But my daughter is at the very top...

Please, let's avoid the shame of begging, shall we?

Money doesn't get you everything in my world.

Your daughter Plum just shines.

Or maybe she needs some powder.

Oh, she does look beautiful.

Despite that Hollywood trash on her arm.

Brando is a much sought-after escort

on the debutante circuit.

You have a vintage car collection, correct?

-Mm-hmm. -His father just signed on to

the Fast & Furious franchise.

You'll have to excuse me.

I have a tight agenda to attend to.

The lighting is gorgeous. Would you like a photo?

Oh. We can't waste friendly lighting.

Not at your age. I'm sorry, our age.

Oh, could you unlock it?

I want the best possible filter.

-Plum, fix your hair. See?

Mom, I told you the stylist didn't know what she was doing.

They just do not use hair spray the way they used to.

Pesky ozone layer.

Okay. Go.

Oh, uh, Gwen.

You have food in your teeth. Or is that plaque?

: Okay.

Oh, never mind.

-The lighting is terrible. -(phone thuds)

What's "au naturel"?

Buffy.

Look. I tell you girls every year,

you'll rue the red.

You didn't tell me that.

Do you want my help or not?

I've tried to clean them.

Worst case, we do have extra gloves.

Honestly, I'd be psyched not to have to wear

my Aunt Jackie's gross old gloves.

Your wife is causing a scene.

Gwen? Oh, damn it.

-Apologies. Your first wife. -Paulina?

-Is here? -She won't leave until she speaks with you.

She'll meet you in the second-floor Astor Suite.

Thank you. Tell my wife Gwen...

...nothing.

Hot Mama, yeah.

: Hot Mama.

-(camera shutter clicks) -(chuckles)

Oh, man.

-I finished the presentation cards. -Ah.

Rouge Bouche Buffy got lipstick on her gloves.

Where are the spares?

There's one pair left

-on the top shelf. -Only one?

And why is that, pray tell?

Several debs have been smoking and stained their gloves.

What is the pulmonary propaganda

behind young people smoking again?

Do we have any club soda?

Or have there been a rash of upholstery stainings

-I'm unaware of? -On the bottom shelf.

-I can take care of it. -No, no.

You get out there and keep your eye

on the little nicotine freaks.

And no more stains. Do you understand me?

-Where's Paulina? -(door closes)

I will not let her ruin Plum's debut.

The way you ruined mine?

Your what?

If Paulina doesn't understand...

Sterling, shut up.

44 years ago, at this very ball, you destroyed my life.

It was my moment to ascend in society.

And everything was perfect.

My presentation.

My curtsy.

My dress.

Then you humiliated me.

44 years later,

you threw around your name and your money

and you forced your way into my ball

for your perfect third wife

and your perfect prunus daughter.

You decided you had to have your way.

So I decided I finally get to have mine.

Oh, my God.

You're Half-Off.

Whatever's the matter?

Where's my dad?

He'll be here any minute.

Like Brando? Where are they?

I'm sure your father will be back for Deb of the Year.

If not, I will find him.

Now smile.

Don't worry, dear.

This could still be a big night for you.

But first, fix your hair.

Presenting...

Miss Plum Wallace McKee Barlowe,

daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Sterling Barlowe,

granddaughter of the late Mr. and Mrs. Albert Barlowe.

And now,

for The 72nd Empire City Debutante Ball Deb of the Year,

I'm pleased to announce...

...Miss Plum Wallace McKee Barlowe.

-Sterling has been stabbed. -(attendees gasping)

And he's dead.

That's not red velvet.

NARRATOR (over video): No to crybaby Alec Bloom,

still crying over his privileged childhood.

Wah.

Paid for by the Coalition of Concerned Voters of New York.

Can't wait to dive into the pomp and circumstantial evidence

of this case.

The what?

It's a debutante ball.

No way.

I thought it was, like, ten weddings.

The victim is Sterling Barlowe.

Fatal stabbing. I was about to speak with the ball director.

What a terrible thing to happen at such a beautiful event.

And mine, at that.

I'm Izzy Langford

of the Empire City Debutante Ball.

We're Elsbeth Tascioni and Detective Nina Taylor

of the NYPD.

Did you know the victim?

He was a ball attendee, and he's a Barlowe.

Of the Barlowes. Everyone knows him.

How terrible that his wife discovered him.

We're just starting our investigation.

-Who is his wife? -His third wife.

Gwen Wallace McKee Barlowe.

: And, yes, of the Wallace McKees.

Is "the" part of their last names?

I noticed the blood on the sword

as soon as they began cutting the cake.

Wow, an actual sword.

You must have good eyes.

Exacting standards are how

I pull off this event every year.

-Who was holding the sword? -Brando.

Well, Plum, but it was Brando's sword.

Which makes perfect sense, because Sterling

was furious that Brando was Plum's escort

for Deb of the Year and not him.

But I told him, no matter how unhappy he was,

I would not break protocol.

Escorts escort debs, not fathers.

Why are there plums?

So, I assume that Brando will be placed under arrest soon.

Weapons, fury and male ego?

What a deadly combination.

Sorry, Izzy.

They're demanding to speak with you.

Oh. If you'll excuse me.

My assistant Jules will fill you in