Dealing with the ladies is easy -- a few nice comments about their lucky husbands (sorry, ex-husbands), a couple martinis just how they like them (extra dry extra olives) and they're practically eating out of his hand. Richie doesn't stick around though, just drops their order at the bar and heads out away from the party, scanning the shadows beyond the neon for his cousin.

"Carmy! Hey, Carm, where the fuck are you?"

He spots the flare of the cigarette before he notices the specific pattern of Carmy's curls backlit against the house. Climbs carefully over the fence and trots across to join his cousin, hugging his Hawaiian shirt closed. Now he's away from the pool he's noticing that it's not exactly a balmy summer evening.

"Hey, cousin. That was fucked up. Shoulda got there sooner, that's on me."