Ben, you piece of trash. You two-timing Nepal-hiking lothario. We see you in Memphis, playing kissyface with that floozy. How many others are there? Tell me. Tell me, Ben. Do you cook Egyptian soup for them? Do you bore them with facts about the origins of lentils or whatever? Do you do tai chi with them, too? You're sick. You sick bastard. Think of Brenda, who is, I guess, technically using you for information about your secret grain project, and has another lover herself, who is her real husband, and they're both Russian spies who are currently inside that phone booth over there in disguises, because they followed you there to find out more about you as part of a mission that started with them murdering a guy named Randy, but still. Still, Ben. This deceit is unacceptable.
(Deirdre seems cool.)