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The Hump Whale Inn — Claire has finally read Noel's book. She proclaims that it's “not my cup of tea,” but rather fascinating nonetheless. And she wants to know more about “this butch/femme thing — sounds simulated to me.”

Noel: In some cases, it can be. But in our world, butches like to give pleasure, not take it.

Also, in our world, we're no less likely to make sweeping generalizations.

But Claire seems a little turned on by the aforementioned generalization. There's a lot of flirting going on, to the point of Claire covering Noel's hand with her own, but then she just pats it and winks, as if she's just being chummy. You know, like the hip-bump thing: courtship by oblique gesture.

Noel asks Claire what she's working on: more “jaded views on contemporary dysfunction”? No, says Claire; she's writing a novel. About sex.

Noel: Ah, a sizzling sexual tale.
Claire: Sure. Some of Tara O'Hara's sanitized sex.
Noel: [laughing] I hardly think that's your métier.
Claire: What is?
Noel: Oh, I would say very rough, raw, down-and-dirty sort of sex.
Claire: Well, as a therapist, I suppose you have the exact definition of rough, raw, down-and-dirty sort of sex.
Noel: Yes. It's called f***ing.
Claire: Ouch. That sounds like a nasty habit.

I still don't have a clue what they're talking about, but at least this time I'm laughing.

Claire: Lesbians do f***, don't they? Tell me, I mean how do they, exactly, without the proper apparatus?
Noel: It doesn't take a great deal of ingenuity to figure that one out.
Claire: I've been wondering: I mean, if they are so goddamn well-adjusted, why are they so attached to their dildos?
Noel: Dildos have nothing to do with penises. It's about penetration, which feels good.
Claire: Sex is sex.
Noel: It may be for you, but sex between women is as raw as it gets.

Um. OK, let's summarize: Claire likes raw sex, which is what lesbians do with dildos because it feels good, which is one of several activities that make lesbian sex “as raw as it gets.”

Well, yeah, but only if you forget to bring lube.

Claire: What are you doing?
Noel: Answering your questions.
Claire: This isn't about me.
Noel: Isn't it?
Claire: No.
Noel: Then why such potent curiosity?
Claire: Merely … academic.

Say that again, Claire, but try to keep your voice from trembling this time. Noel asks Claire what she's afraid of, but all she gets in reply is a face full of French smoke.

Fantasies — Claire is playing the piano again, but don't do yourself the disservice of trying to make her motions match up to the music you're hearing. Meanwhile, Noel is tickling the ivory keys of her word processor, but she can't make them match up to her Claire-shaped brain waves.

Next thing you know, Noel is releasing Claire's hair from its braid, and then they're kissing, dramatically and erotically. And it's all a daydream, sucka! Or, er, an actual dream: Claire was napping. She wakes up to still-braided hair and no more cigarettes, and we fade to black.

Of course — Claire is making out with the guy from the bar, right outside the kitchen window so Noel can behold the glory of Claire's true orientation.

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