And this episode has been pretty light on Betty, but the scenes we do have are some of Ali Liebert’s strongest. She’s sitting in the boarding house common room, letting out one of her plaid shirts in anticipation of a heartbroken ice cream binge, when our favorite soldier strolls in.
She’s just come to say goodbye before she leaves for Newfoundland, terrifying both for its Nazi submarines and impenetrable accents. And, tragically, it feels like a forever kind of goodbye. Teresa looks into her eyes and assures her that the world is full of women just waiting to fall in love with Betty McRae, and Betty nods bravely. But her eyes say what we all felt when our first real girlfriend walked out the door: “This is it. My one good thing is getting away.” And they try to kiss, but are too afraid of being seen, so their fists just fall to their sides. And I know comparing relationships is like comparing tomatoes and cherries, but I just can’t imagine anything with Kate making me this sad.
That night, Lorna is all set to hook up with the milkman, but realizes just in time that having a dalliance with Marco, the Italian battalion, is a lot different than being a serial cheater with the guy who brings you butter.
Later, on one of their many moonlight car rides, Gladys begins to realize that “Clifford” (I really do air quotes every time I say or write his name) was using her to snare Marco.
I would quit right now if I hadn’t just invested in a whole new spy wardrobe.
And even later, Betty shows up at Lorna’s house, ostensibly to apologize for her behavior on the line but really because she needs a hug and a home-cooked meal from the only mother figure she has.
The next day, Marco meets up with Mr.Mahoney, the improbably Irish fascist, who asks him to steal a bomb from the factory while “Clifford” photographs the whole thing.
And finally, Gladys announces that she is running away from home to the local hotel (again), for reasons best captured by AfterEllen user Ruthio.
I can’t believe there are only two episodes left. See you next week when Shit Hits The Fan.