Trouble at the Minx

Ritchie was not pleased.

In exchange for Trevor coming in to help Potter's Theater with Cloud Nine, Lisa agreed to lend some of her people to his production--Cutting Yogurt.

She sent over Wes, the costume designer, Penny, an intern, and Ritchie to act in the godforsaken disaster.

RITCHIE: Lisa, I thought we were getting along.
LISA: It wasn't my choice, Ritchie. Trevor specifically requested you.
RITCHIE: Why? He doesn't even know me.
LISA: He knows you're not one of the regular Potter's regulars, and that's good enough for him.

So Ritchie had been transferred.

Not much rehearsing had been done in the week since he'd been at the Minx Theater. Emma had been left in charge of handling Ivanov, the European dictator Trevor considered a director.

It turns out handling Ivanov was a show unto itself.

EMMA: I'm sorry, but I have no idea where I can get you a little person so late in the rehearsal process.
IVANOV: The role of Terry must be played by a shortie!
EMMA: They prefer to be called little people.
IVANOV: Shortie! Shortie! Shortie!

Wes walked in with Ritchie's costume for the play.

IVANOV: What is that?
RITCHIE: My costume.
IVANOV: It is like looking at a monkey eat its own feces. Take it out of here!
WES: I don't get paid to deal with this.

He walked out and nearly collided into Penny.

PENNY: This is so exciting! I'm so excited to be here! Just to work on a production with you, Mr. Ivanov is--just--
RITCHIE: Exciting?
PENNY: YES!
EMMA: Penny?
PENNY: Yes?
EMMA: Get out.
PENNY: Sure thing!

Emma found that she liked bossing people around. Yet another reason she had to get the Minx under her control, and with Trevor at Potter's Theater that might be easier than she had originally intended.

He had left them all out on a limb, so to speak. Not being here so that he could clean up his ex-wife's show as a favor was, in her mind, incredibly irresponsible. But it did present her with the chance she'd been looking for to undermine him.

She pulled the director aside.

EMMA: Ivanov, listen. Forget the script. Forget costumes. Forget everything. I'll give you whatever you want, but you have to promise me this thing will be your own invention. I want you to go as crazy as humanly possible.
IVANOV: This is what Trevor wants as well?
EMMA: Would I give you instructions like that if they didn't come right from Trevor?
IVANOV: Excellent! I begin immediately!

Wes, Penny, and Ritchie were gathered in front of the maestro.

IVANOV: Gay man--
WES: Wes.
IVANOV: Yes, yes, I know, yes. I want togas--saran wrap togas.
WES: Are you serious?
EMMA: Just do it, please. He's the director.
IVANOV: I am Captain!
WES: Of what? The Hindenburg?
IVANOV: Penny, you are actress.
PENNY: I am?
WES and EMMA: She is?
IVANOV: You are!

A gleam of fame shot through Penny's murky eyes.

PENNY: Do I have lines?
IVANOV: As many as you like--you never stop talking throughout the entire play.
PENNY: I do nothing but talk aimlessly?
WES: That should be a cinch.
IVANOV: Ritchie--you're out.
RITCHIE: Hallelujah.

Ritchie stood up to leave, but Emma panicked. If Ritchie went back to Potter's Theater and told Trevor what was going on, he'd rush back here and fix everything.

EMMA: No! I need you!
RITCHIE: For what?
EMMA: Ivanov, you have to use Ritchie.
RITCHIE and IVANOV: Why?
EMMA: Because...he's your little person!
RITCHIE: What?
IVANOV: Little?
EMMA: Your shortie! He's your shortie!
IVANOV: He's tall.
EMMA: He can walk around on his knees. Look at his little arms.
RITCHIE: I'm not doing that!
EMMA: Oh yes you are! Or I can tell Lisa you're being insubordinate.
RITCHIE: Where's my union rep?
EMMA: You're not in the union and this isn't a union house.
RITCHIE: Great, I'm screwed. Wes, get me kneepads.
WES: I have plenty...trust me.

Everything was set in place. Emma was feeling like a Bond villainess, and loving it.

Once this show trainwrecked, Trevor would be out, Emma would be in, and the days of shorties and European tyrants would be over.

PENNY: So wait--what's my motivation going to be?