**warning to non-US readers: L Word finale spoilers**

It seems like just the other day that I was sitting in front of my television in that semi-vegetative state watching one of those sexy L Word promos and waiting anxiously for the first episode to premiere, and now it's all over (the first season, at least).

Since it premiered in January, the show has drawn legions of fans and detractors within its broad cross-section of straight, gay, male and female viewers. Even while we are grateful to have such a series to argue over in the first place, with the burden of representing a very invisible and very diverse community on its shoulders, the series was destined to provoke diverse opinions about what does and does not work.

By and large, I liked the characters, and was glad to see lesbians portrayed as something other than truck drivers or criminals. I also found the acting very sensitive and engaging, particularly performances from Mia Kirshner as the conflicted Jenny, and Leisha Haley as the quick-witted and always-endearing Alice.

I also gave the show brownie points for featuring Jennifer Beals as biracial museum director Bette Porter, one of the most consistently captivating characters on the show. Before the series began, Beals and creator/executive producer Ilene Chaiken communicated in countless interviews their intention to explore the tricky intersections of race and sexuality, and as a multiracial woman myself, I eagerly awaited these plotlines.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. In the pilot, Bette and long-time white partner Tina (Laurel Holloman) are going to therapy in preparation for starting a family. They are desperately trying to find a perfect donor, and conflict arises when Bette selects a black donor because Tina believes “That’s a lot of otherness to put on one child.” True, but it doesn’t make the reaction any less problematic.

The couple seems to get over this speed bump and Tina becomes pregnant by the black donor. They continue to go to couple’s therapy, where Bette encounters Yolanda, the living embodiment of The Angry Black Woman. Yolanda launches into Bette for passing and not “coming out” as a black woman, a scenario that seemed contrived at best, and a negative reinforcement of black stereotypes at worst.

Many viewers had already chosen to overlook the fact that of Bette and Kit (Pam Grier), the bi-racial (half-white) sister was the successful one and the black sister was the deadbeat mom-alcoholic-entertainer. But it was impossible to ignore the fact that the character of Yolanda was two-dimensional, disturbing, and even embarrassing to black viewers of the show who, up until this point, had not seen a non-bi-racial black lesbian portrayed on the show.

Granted, we all know a Yolanda – but did she need to be the first black lesbian character on a show trying to make invisible communities visible and shatter stereotypes about them?

While we can support Bette for advocating that she will not identify as exclusively black any more than she would choose to be exclusively white, as Kit pointed out to her in the very first episode, Bette lets people see what they want to see, and by her lifestyle and her appearance, she most likely and conveniently will be seen as white. No wonder her girlfriend, Tina, sometimes forgets, and doesn’t understand why Bette gets so riled up about Yolanda’s attacks on her racial identification.

Therapy does end up being good for one thing: Bette begins to wonder if she’s falling out of love, which sets the stage for her affair with Candace Jewel (Ion Overman). When Bette and Tina lose the baby, and Bette ends up at one of Kit’s shows solo while Tina grieves at home, the stage is set for infidelity. Bette runs into, of all people, Yolanda, whose ex-girlfriend, Candace catches her eye; Bette checks her out, as do we. Candace, a carpenter by trade, is beautiful and mysterious. Even some of the other characters notice their chemistry: the pimp/playa/entertainer Slim Daddy (yet another stereotypical black character, played by Snoop Dogg) expresses to Bette that she and Candace have that “basic instinct” together.

Bette invites Candace to bid on installing an art show, Provocations, which has been landing her in hot water, and despite Candace being the most expensive, she gets hired (surprise, surprise). But Candace is picking up on the vibes Bette has been sending out, and is not only surprised to find out she has a girlfriend, but also finds that she won’t be able to sleep if she doesn’t tell Bette, “all I’ve wanted to do all day long is kiss you…please tell me if you don’t want me to.” Bette doesn’t say a word, and probably the hottest kiss of the season ensues.

Bette is overwhelmed, and continues to be as the two complete the Provocations job together. But there’s a protest at the gallery, and when Candace and Bette land up in jail – in the same jail cell – for getting into a scuffle with protesters, we are treated to one of the quirkiest and sexiest scenes of the season. The two women, breathtakingly, consummate their relationship without even touching each other; for Bette, a wall is enough.

And then comes the season finale, in which Candace and Bette share a steamy sex scene, Tina figures it out, and Bette and Tina engage in violence-laced sex before Tina leaves her to temporarily move in with Alice.

But where does that leave Bette and Candace? And more importantly, where does that leave representation of women of color on The L Word next season? Candace has been one of the few positive representations of black lesbians on the series (even if racially, Ion Overman is difficult to read: she has been claimed and championed by bi-racial/multiracial, Hispanic and African-American lesbians alike). Candace also is the least “lipstick” of the cast, sporting androgynously sexy overalls at work, but appearing stunningly femme with those magnificent cheekbones in her first and last encounters with Bette.

Candace is also college educated, an entrepreneur, and an activist (she has done abortion clinic defense, while Bette just funds it); she is confident and articulate, and the only character on the show so far to “top” Bette, both verbally and physically. Bette becomes completely dismantled in Candace’s presence, and we get the sense that Candace is the one character (apart from the psychiatrist) who doesn’t buy into all of Bette’s endless verbal dances around what she is actually feeling. With a look, it seems, Candace sees through Bette’s game and shuts it down.

Candace and Bette shared only a couple of hasty flings, but they left many fans salivating for more--one need only look to the Showtime message boards to hear the parade of questions from her fans, eager to know more about her background: her upbringing, her college, her coming out story, her sexual history, her own class, racial, sexual and gender identifications.

It also left many women of color wondering: who else will be there to represent them if Candace does not return for Season 2?

The L Word has had its hands full trying to tell a number of stories, and address a number of issues in a community which is tremendously diverse. I applaud the writers for what they have accomplished under such pressure and scrutiny, and for the ground they have laid, but it's important that they improve the visibility of lesbians of color on the series.

With Ion Overman and the character of Candace, there is a possibility not only of more fully developing another three-dimensional lesbian of color on television, but really engaging on the issues of race and class with the character of Bette, and portraying, if only briefly (since Beals and Chaiken seem invested in Bette and Tina’s relationship), a relationship between two lesbians of color. Los Angeles is a city with staggering Hispanic population, and a thriving black lesbian community, so there seem to be no credible excuses for not having another one in the cast. And in the mind of this author and many other viewers, that character should be Candace Jewel.