Palm Royale

Finished.

Finished.

Robert?

Where's my Robert?

Shake me another martini.

And then let's play doctor.

Oh, Robert... please come up.

You can't still be mad at me, can you?

Robert?

Robert?

Robert.

Like the rising of the morning sun,

nothing in Palm Beach has quite the same sparkle of potential and promise

as the daily delivery of The Shiny Sheet.

The rise and fall of social stocks, the cementing and undoing of legacies,

which backs were lashed and which "pas" were "faux'ed."

So much promise, so much peril.

Predictably, Mary Davidsoul's stock was at an all-time high that morning

thanks to her successful auction for fibrosis.

And Dinah's social standing was still at a premium

thanks to everything she did for the Cancer Babies.

Raquel's stock seemed perpetually in question,

but she was placing all her bets

on her own ball to come.

Evelyn, so sure she was

the next in line for the throne, was, that morning, thrown for a loop.

Meanwhile, a certain someone's social standing

seemed even stronger following her embolism.

As I was soon to find out, the end-of-season Beach Ball,

the biggest gala of the year,

which never failed to re-cement her social standing at an apex

as each season came to a close,

was the brass ring every socialite in Palm Beach wanted.

But with vitals trending positive,

who knew what the future would bring...

for any of us?

Hey! What are you do--

Get your hands off my unmentionables, you pervert!

Take your shit and get.

Welcome back.

No. No jewels today. I need to send a telegram.

- Shoot. - Okay.

"Chicago O'Hare Airport, Trans World Airlines, pilots lounge,

Captain Dellacorte aka Simmons.

Big news." Stop. "Norma is on the mend." Stop.

"Inheritance now weeks or months away." Stop.

"Lodging in flux." Stop. "Will let you know where I land." Stop.

- Did you get it? - Two dollars.

What would I do now that the queen was hanging on?

I had long relied on a motto

from my pageant days,

"She who has the nails never fails."

It's a bit of Latin.

- Maxine? - Oh, Mitzi!

My boyfriend dumped me last night.

Honey. Here.

Yeah.

After we had sex and then went to the Great Wall of China

to have hot-and-sour shrimp, which I paid for--

You had sex before dinner?

Look what I happen to have.

You see this framed $20 bill?

This was the first monetary compensation I ever received

from my storied pageant career.

Sadly, it's also the last bit of money that I have.

I just about shattered the frame this morning trying to buy gas.

And as I raised it above my head, I looked at it,

and then I stopped, and I said, "No!

Someone at the beginning of their career

might be able to use this for inspiration.

Or at least for a hot-and-sour shrimp bill."

As the only non-duplicitous person I have met in Palm Beach,

I'd like you to have this, especially now.

Maybe we could also use it as payment for some Cutex Frosted-Ice silver.

My paws need some Mitzi.

Maxine. Didn't you see The Shiny Sheet this morning?

No. What? Why? I was packing.

Well, you're the lead story.

What?

"Who is Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte?"

Oh, my God. I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

Or maybe I'm gonna doo-doo. No, I think I'm gonna throw up.

- Or I might do a little bit of both! - Read the rest of it, Maxine!

"After making a surprise splash by diving into the action

at last night's auction for fibrosis,

everyone wants to know who is Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte."

"And with Norma Dellacorte tragically incapacitated,

what will become of the famous end-of-season Beach Ball

held at the beachfront Dellacorte Estate for an unbroken 49 years?"

Here comes the brilliant Betty.

She's on her way to a pre-dinner cocktail connection

in this silk chiffon confection.

Shown here in the maxi version for the ankle-conscious.

"Will the heir to the name be the heir to the gala?"

Ladies?

I am here to ease your worries.

The Beach Ball is alive and well.

Of course, you'll all be getting an invitation.

Darling, wonderful to hear. We are at a fashion viewing.

Well, I love to view fashions.

Thanks, fellas. Thank you, Grayman.

She was on the cover of The Shiny Sheet this morning.

May we continue?

Here's the delightful Doreen.

She's dressed in an Empire-waist dress, patterned to impress.

Ladies, did anybody receive a Beach Ball invitation

from Norma before she embolized?

No.

Without those invitations going out,

I'm curious who exactly you'll be inviting to Norma's gala, Maxine.

Just us chickens? After all, the few of us are the only people you know.

The Sheet would smell scandal.

This cape adds flair to this sumptuous, raw silk, bias cut,

A-line gown, if you dare.

I love pink. It says youth... and hot dogs!

Maxine, I would be more than happy to help you assemble your guest list.

Evelyn, thank you. Well, that would be just wonderful.

Well, the secret to Norma's gala is her famous Rolodex,

perhaps the most valuable object in all of Palm Beach,

which she keeps under lock and key at the savings and loan,

- along with her more precious stones. - There are more precious stones?

That's where she keeps her crown.

- Crown? - But the Rolodex--

With that, you could be assured that the rich and famous

would fly in from around the world.

If not for you,

then to pay tribute to dear Norma.

But, Maxine, maybe they will fly in for you.

Certainly, they'll all be asking the same question we are.

Like The Sheet says, "Who is Mrs. Douglas Dellacorte?"

Everyone wants to know.

If you fancy a little peekaboo,

your cigarette-clad pant will show

through this stunning yellow crepe sleeveless tunic.

Maxine, I think this is an opportunity for all us ladies

to get to know the real you.

I would love to host you, ladies,

for a little cocktail thingy. Tonight at the club.

I'm sure cocktail hour works perfectly for all of us, doesn't it, ladies?

But too bad you won't be able to do it at the Palm Royale, darling.

Tonight is the annual

South Florida Veterans of the Great War Horseback Dinner.

Well, tomorrow night then?

We're actually only free tonight, aren't we, ladies?

I am sure everyone would actually love to see where you live, Maxine.

One final look-see.

I think if you had us all over to your place,

it would be wildly entertaining.

Wonderful.

Well, I will see everyone at cocktail hour.

Excellent. Where, oh, where shall we meet?

At the Dellacorte Mansion.

Of course.

Idiot! Shoot, shoot, shoot!

Pull it together, Maxine. Pull it together.

Just make some cocktails and have some ladies over. Fuck!

Pull it together.

What do you think you're doing?

I'm moving in. And you're moving out. Please see to my things. Thank you.

You're not, I'm not and I won't. This is not your house.

Funny, is it yours? Can you tell me again exactly what you do around here?

I told you. I'm Norma's caretaker.

Good job, soldier

'cause she is currently a vegetable in a home for the sidelined.

And I bet you a root-a-toot-toot

your little visit yesterday was your first one.

You can leave now. Is the bar this way?

I will call the police, and I'll tell them I saw you take Stoned Mabel.

The police? Sure, go ahead.

But don't forget to tell them the part about how I returned her.

- Broken. - Oh, please.

It's nothing a little eyelash glue won't repair.

And when they get here, I'll be sure to show them

my new stationery that unequivocally pronounces Maxine Dellacorte.

Tell me, do you even have stationery, Robert?

- No. - And if you did have stationery,

would it say "Dellacorte" on it anywhere?

No. Then I implore you...

dial at will.

So this is how it's gonna lay out.

I'm gonna find the nicest room in the house to lay out my unmentionables,

and then I'm gonna throw a cocktail party for the ladies.

And by the time they get here, you're gonna be gone.

- No. - What did you just say?

- I said no. - Put your shirt on and leave.

I don't feel like it. I'm happy like this.

- Right. You better leave. - Make me.

You're made. And you quit following me!

You should be getting your things together instead.

You can't come up here. This is not your house.

It's more my house than it is your house.

What in the-- This place looks like a crime scene.

- Wait, what do you mean? - You purport to be taking care of Norma,

yet you haven't even cleaned up her room?

Well, this is where it happened.

- Her embolism. - So?

Well, you don't stop mid-embolism to make the bed.

- A houseboy does afterwards. - I'm not a houseboy.

Pool boy, bar boy, whatever boy.

All I know is that you have been no help to me.