Jay perches himself on the yoga meditation ball, almost overbalances and then spends an awkward five minutes trying to figure out how to sit on it properly. Eventually, he reaches an uneasy equilibrium, albeit one too shaky for him to want to his taking the champagne flute.

Then he folds his hands in his lap, squares his shoulders and says into the empty room, "well, darlings? I'm waiting." He's perfectly calm, though underneath it, just a hint of anger and impatience stirs.