Chanel slips out of her dress to reveal an elaborate undergarment setup that isn’t so far away from what she’d actually wear at parties for the fun of it. She takes pains to fold her dress carefully, and drape it over an auditorium chair, out of sight.

Only when satisfied that it’s going to be carefully preserved does she collect the record and examine it, with a little shadow of a smile. “...God, you were in my brain.” Ugh.