This episode was much better — it felt like a step back to the Scandal of yore, albeit slightly marred by the fact that it’s HARD to backtrack when just last week Huck was cutting the throat of a young woman so casually, for selfish motivations that he made sound so urgent (and yet also so appalling). Cut bait on B-Exhausting, y’all, because your characters flourish more when they’re not under that weight.
It focuses on Cyrus. If you’d wondered how things were going with his contracted concubine, the answer is: not well.
It would seem that Michael is becoming a self-sabotaging drunk. He got caught on camera getting frisky with another man at a bar, which pokes holes in the story that Cyrus and his prostitute fell in love and are deeply committed to making him the male Julia Roberts.
Michael seems somewhat apologetic, but Cy is enraged, and the two of them spit all kinds of insults at each other because Cyrus wants no part of Michael AT ALL — not in James’s sacred bed, nor his sacred closet, nor his sacred bathroom if at all possible — and Michael feels trapped and bored and unloved and REALLY freaking envious of this awesome boardroom table, which he now knows he cannot live without. Me too, Michael. Me too.