[Hal sidesteps the cabinet before it can land on his wingtips. He, too, looks mighty regretful at the loss of liquor- boozing up before getting Bates Moteled sounds like an amazing idea. His hands came up in an attitude of exasperated surrender.]

What? I'm not suggesting we have sex, Jesus. There's probably creepy Cold War bugs everywhere...

[The rotary phone has no dial tone, the receiver clattering when he drops it back against the cradle. He has a distinct urge to rip it from the wall and toss it into the closet, just to be safe. Collapsing into the room's only chair, a wingback relic that someone from the 50's probably thought was oh so Louis XVI, Hal irritably unfastens the collar of his tuxedo shirt and runs a hand over his face.]

So we just sit tight and wait then.