THIS WEEK’S L WORD VOCABULARY:
Stereotypes: Best served with cocktails.
Play: What Shane won’t do, where Papi’s concerned.
Wrong: Nadia – but Bette doesn’t want to be right.
THIS WEEK’S GUEST-BIANS: Jessica Capshaw makes Bette veer off the high road; Cybill Shepherd gets dust on her boots.
Literary stalking – Jenny’s screaming. Stay with me here: I know you’re thinking, “Oh, God, not another frickin’ carnival scene.” It’s not that, even though it is in black and white. Jenny, sporting a pained look and a plain white T-shirt, is screaming “Stacey!” She’s standing in a courtyard, staring up at a door at the top of some stairs.
That’s right: She’s Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire, and Stacey (in case you’ve forgotten) is the Curve reviewer who trashed Jenny’s book.
That was a nice homage/parody, complete with barking dog and mournful saxophone. I think we know two things now: (1) Jenny’s truly obsessed with her reviews and reviewers; and (2) Jenny doesn’t make a good butch.
Also? We’re in for some seriously high drama, even by Schecter standards. A Streetcar Named Desire touches on all of Jenny’s pet issues, including rape, infidelity, rage, nervous breakdowns, class struggle and, well, the kindness of strangers.
A head for Dada and a bod for sin – Nadia, Bette’s TA, is rifling through some files. This requires bending over, and Nadia just happens to be wearing a very short skirt today – and probably any other day she’s anywhere near Dean Porter. And Bette is very aware of the nearness of Nadia’s legs.
Am I the only one who half expects Nadia to break into song at any minute – or rather, a particular song called “Dance: 10; Looks: 3“?
Nadia finally finds the file she was looking for and bounces over to Bette, presenting the folder like a proud cat with a freshly killed bird. Bette reacts accordingly, pushing the file away and telling Nadia to take it with her and make it more digestible.
Bette is rubbing her shoulder, so Nadia takes that as an invitation (not that Nadia wouldn’t take the presence of oxygen in the air as an invitation):
Nadia: Do you have a knot? Do you want me to unlock it?
Bette: Uh … it … it’s OK. No, really … it’s fine.
Nadia: [rubbing Bette’s shoulders] Oh, wow. You are really tight. God, do you feel that? It’s right there.
Bette: Nadia, please …
Nadia: Do you want me to find you a body worker? Because, oh my gosh, I have the most amazing Ayurvedic healer, and he went so deep –
Bette: I – I’d prefer a woman.
Nadia: Well. That can be arranged, Dean Porter.
I don’t think I would ever look twice at Nadia, personally, but Jessica Capshaw is pretty good at giving significant looks. Bette tries to steer the conversation back to business again. She’s trying to amass a list of presenters at the various conferences CU has hosted. She mentions the conference on global sustainability:
Nadia: Where Dr. Gorsham sustained multiple hickeys from his two teaching assistants.
Bette: You mean he slept with both of them?
Nadia: Don’t be shocked. It happens all the time.
Bette: Well, that doesn’t make it acceptable.
Nadia: No, but we’re all adults, Bette. I mean, in a cloistered environment like a university, it would be absurd to think that there weren’t relationships between faculty and students.
Bette: I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest, Nadia.
Nadia: Well. I know the students in your college have. I know at least 20 who would love to be with you.
Bette: [handing Nadia a file] That’s very flattering.
Nadia: I hate that I’m just one of the pack.
Nadia struts out, and Bette watches her go. After Nadia leaves, Bette does a little thing with her mouth and tongue. You know, that little thing that means, “I’d love to be putting these to good use right now,” as well as, “I’m Jennifer Beals and I know how to make you rewind this scene eight times and drool all over yourself.”
H.P. Jonson Elementary – Shane is finally taking Shay to school. Be careful, Shane: If you go inside, they’ll probably try to sign you up for the sixth grade.
As they go up the stairs, Shay takes Shane’s hand. Awww. But inside, things aren’t quite so friendly: Shane has no birth certificate or any other kind of paperwork. Clearly there’s no other way to figure out where Shay came from and whether he’s been vaccinated. If only Max were there to do a computer search.
Every time the principal (or whoever) asks Shane something, Shane just relays the question to Shay, which is funny. But then the principal condescends just a little too much:
Principal: Does he have any, uh, any allergies, any learning disabilities, psychological problems?
Shane: [to Shay] Do you? Nah, doubt it.
Principal: [irritated] Listen to me. Over here.
Shane stands up and apologizes for wasting the guy’s time. Don’t worry about it, Shane: I’m guessing this guy’s entire life is a waste of time. But I’m not bitter; I didn’t have any run-ins with any school principals. No, I didn’t get sent home one day for bringing “pornographic” material to school. It was a stupid Peter Benchley novel, and I hadn’t even gotten to that chapter yet!
On the way out, Shane thinks better of her traditional cut-and-run approach and goes back in to talk to Principal Krupke:
Shane: I’m not gonna go let Shay live in some homeless shelter the way I did when I was a kid … I promise you, I’ll get you whatever you need. I swear it. But I’m begging you to please just let him go to school here.
Principal Krupke doesn’t look very moved. Shay, on the other hand, is watching Shane go to bat for him and knows it’s a big deal for her to do so. It’s all so treacly, but Kate Moennig is keeping it sincere and fairly low on drama, for which I’m extremely grateful.
Imagine if Tina were making this little speech: “Don’t you try to put my kid out on the street, you bureaucratic bastard! Do you see my finger in your face? Do you see my neck getting all webby and twisted like a tree in a forest? Do you know how courageous I am and how much love my kid deserves for being part of a real family with boys named Henry and Mikey?”
Alice’s flophouse ? Alice is cleaning up after Helena while Jenny gives a report on the Hunt for Stacey:
Jenny: So I found an S. Merkin in Van Nuys, which of course is where that vagina wig’s gonna live.
Alice: Vagina wig?
Jenny: Merkin. Stacey Merkin.
Alice: Oh, right.
By the way, Jenny, I forgot to thank you: You’re bringin’ merkin back. Well done.
Jenny: So I go to the house, and I’m standing out front, and I’m like, “Yo, Stacey! C’mere and say it to my f—in’ face, you f—in’ vagina.”
But of course it was the wrong S. Merkin. It was a “little, like 90-year-old Korean lady.” Jenny proceeds to do a Korean “accent” that would no doubt make Rosie O’Donnell giggle.
Jenny defends her stalkerish actions, saying the review was “fundamentally dishonest.”
Alice: Oh, yeah. I mean, yeah. I mean, lesbians love to eat their own. It’s true.
I think Ilene Chaiken and I just bonded for a moment there. Except I don’t give little speeches about how besieged I am, perhaps because I don’t have such a convenient mouthpiece in the form of one Ms. Schecter:
Jenny: The thing is, the Vagina’s girlfriend was molested, and now she’s like this perfect saint, which is awesome, and, you know, I was abused, and I’m like this f—ed-up nitwit, but that’s my experience. And that’s mine, and I don’t know why she’s slamming me for my own experience.
Alice: Right, I get it. I totally get it. I’m just saying I think you should let it go. It’s a tiny magazine. I mean, who reads it?
Apparently the producers of this show are trying to address that lack of readership by mentioning the magazine at every opportunity.
But really, Jenny: You shouldn’t care. Also, if Stacey Merkin were truly insightful, she’d be slamming you not because you’re a f—ed-up nitwit but because you are once again wearing a doily. Where do you shop? Crochet Hut?
Alice shares her own big news:
Alice: I met Papi.
Jenny: NO! What happened?!
Mia Kirshner has found the key to her character and thus is now just yelling all her lines. It’s ? yes, I’m saying it again ? adorable.
Alice says Papi is a “walking, living, breathing Lothario,” but I think she has the wrong -o word there. I’d go with gigolo. Or, um, gigola? Gigolette? That’s sorta what Jenny thinks, too, when Alice reveals that Papi slept with Helena the morning after she slept with Alice:
Jenny: She f—ed Helena right after she f—ed you? Your roommate? [whispering] That’s so rude!
Alice: No, but that’s her, that’s Papi. ‘Cause, like, relationships and her, they don’t exist in the same universe.
More important, intelligence and Papi don’t really seem to exist in the same universe. Or not as far as I can see, anyway. Let me get my special telescope that zeroes in on the Quantum Singularties of Machisma and the Castoff Moons of Ho.
Helena comes in, prompting Alice to whisper, “She doesn’t know that I know.” But Helena wouldn’t care right now anyway: She’s more interested in the bottle of Kahlua she’s bought to help her cope with the fact that “my CV doesn’t even get me in for a job as a receptionist.”
Alice: What’s a CV?
Helena: My résumé.
Alice looks so adorably confused when she asks that question. And I know it’s not the same accent, but I’m now starting to hear Lizzy the Lezzy every time Helena laments her plight. Obviously something’s making me giddy: I think it’s the fizzy, untrammeled banter of this scene, not to mention the generally pitch-perfect tone of this episode so far.
Jenny wants to know why Helena is applying for receptionist jobs anyway. Helena says she would gladly do any job that “doesn’t involve sex or touching insects.” My face just went from “Yay, sex!” to “Eww, bugs.” Yep, it’s just another Sunday night.
Helena worries that if she doesn’t find some gainful employment soon, she’ll be stuck with Alice in her “sweet little one-bedroom.” Alice takes her cue and tries to lay down the roommate rules:
Alice: OK, like I feel like this [stretching out her arms] would be your boundary of your space, so [watching as Helena tosses her shoes over the aforementioned boundary] anything in your space you’re responsible for, and then this [turning around] would be, you know, my space. And anything in my space is mine. Um, which includes my office space, which, I’ll kinda show you where that starts. [rolling Helena and her Kahlua away from the desk] This is my office space. My work space. And um, I’m tidy. I’m a tidy person and I like to keep this tidy. But then, you know, the kitchen would be our space, and I feel like the untidy person should abide by the tidy person’s rules. So.
Alice. Come here.
Alice asks Helena whether she has any rules of her own. Helena starts to mumble something about her sheets that can’t be put in the washing machine, but Alice is saved by the ringing phone. It’s Bette, apparently asking Alice about her activities for the evening.
Alice: Well, what about Tina and Henry’s cocktail party?
Bette: Tina and Henry’s cocktail party? Uh, no, I don’t believe I was invited.
When Alice describes the shindig, Bette laughs in a pitying way: “She did not say ‘a mixer for our gay and our straight friends.'” Oh, I’m sure she did, Bette, but I’ll bet she said it with a Valley Girl accent, a supercilious royal “we” and a heaping serving of self-congratulation.
Bette wants to talk about another imminent event: a party at the Planet, courtesy of an event planner who does “these crazy, hot women’s parties.” Enter Phyllis, whose virgin ears are definitely pricked up. Bette hangs up the phone and gives her attention to her Botoxed boss.
Phyllis: I thought you’d like to know the committee approved your budget to start researching the cost of creating that media lab.
Bette: So you’re telling me that I have a budget to develop a budget?
Phyllis: Welcome to academia.
Bette: Oh, did you hear that Jodi Lerner requested to come a week late? I couldn’t say no. She’s been short-listed for the Rome Prize.
Bette seems quite interested in Jodi Lerner, but Phyllis’s mind is elsewhere:
Phyllis: Bette, did you just say something about a “crazy, hot women’s party”?
Bette: Uh … yeah, my sister Kit, she owns the Planet in West Hollywood. They’re doing this party called Rancho Notorious.
Phyllis: And it’s all women?
Bette: Only Thursdays; Thursday is girls’ night at the Planet.
Phyllis: Would it be too much of an imposition if I asked to join you?
Before Bette can reply, James interrupts to say that Tina is on the phone for Bette. Phyllis says she’ll come back later for the details.
Via the phone call with Tina, Beals gives a master class in How to Act on the Phone. (I hope Laurel Holloman is paying attention.) Tina is apparently inviting Bette to the aforementioned cocktail party. Bette is by turns cautious, exasperated, infuriated and affectionate. It’s a microcosm of everything she feels about her ex. And it all comes down to one thing for Bette: “We have a child together, Tina. I mean, we’re gonna have to learn how to get along.” Well, maybe it goes a little further than that; it seems Tina didn’t know whether to invite Bette because she was concerned that Bette would make a scene:
Bette: You know something? You know, you’ve made quite a scene or two in your time too. So don’t get on your high ? [pausing to listen] No, OK, I don’t wanna fight with you either. I’m just making a point that I’ve moved on, I’ve found closure, and there’s nothing between us anymore that would cause me to want to make a scene.
But Bette declines the invitation anyway. When she hangs up the phone, she just looks sad.
The Cowpoke Planet ? The party planners have turned the place into a saloon. Kit is thrilled, but before she can say too much, Angus makes a screeching entrance. And by that I mean that he’s screeching “Yee haw!” and also that he’s making me scream in a primal way that is going to land me in the looney bin he broke out of.
Kit introduces him as her “boyfriend,” but Angus corrects her, calling himself “your just been offered a hundred thousand dollar record deal with Thrill City Records boyfriend.”
Kit: Nah ahhh. Nah ahhhh!
I can’t really represent that sound with mere letters.
Shop class ? Max is showing Shay how to do neat things with a car, like change the air filter. (Max is wearing coveralls that I bemoan in the podcast: Let’s just say that the term grease monkey is appropriate only if you leave out the word grease.) He looks more like he’s ready to go pick up gum wrappers on the side of the 405.
Shane sidles up and asks Shay if he’s ready to go to Tina and Henry’s party. Shay isn’t exactly excited about the idea. Max says it’s fine if Shay stays with him. They can work on the car and then go get some burgers and do other guy stuff.
Shane: That means you’re not going to Tina and Henry’s?
Max: I wasn’t invited. It’s cool; I mean, I don’t even really know Tina that well, and I’d rather not have to deal anyway, so …
Max is wiping off the dipstick as he says this. I have no comment.
Shane makes sure Shay is OK with the idea of staying with Max and then ruffles Shay’s hair as she goes. Shay smiles after her. They’re kinda cute, as forced-together half-siblings go.
Tina and Henry’s cocktail party ? Henry’s friends ? who are so obviously straight, it qualifies as heterophobic costuming ? are treating this whole event like a mixer with mutants. Not that Kit, Helena and Alice are being any less standoffish.
One of the straight guys suddenly says, “Wow. Who is that?” Tina spins around and takes a deep breath. It’s Bette; she changed her mind. And as Bette stands and talks to Tina, smiling slightly, hands on her hips, she’s undoubtedly changing the mind of every woman there who considers herself 100 percent straight.
Bette says it’s a nice house:
Tina: Yeah, it’s fine. I’d remodel it, but I don’t live here.
Bette: Yet.
Tina just sort of blinks after her as she walks away. I can’t tell whether she’s thinking, “That bitch,” or “How did I ever let that get away?”
Bette goes over to the lesbian side of the room.
Alice: Thank God you’re here. We’re totally outnumbered.
Bette: Whaddya mean?
Alice: Straight people.
Bette: Oh, Jesus.
Jenny strolls up, sort of presenting herself as if she is a duchess and this is her party:
Jenny: Bette.
Bette: [chuckling] Jenny.
Jenny: Hello.
Bette: Hello.
Shane arrives. Tina is happy; she didn’t think any of her friends (or, rather, her friends who tend to stand on the lesbian side of the room) would come. She asks Shane if she wants some food. It sort of takes Shane a while to answer this, probably because she’s not very familiar with the concept of eating.
Tina goes to get Shane a beer, leaving Shane trapped with two straight women who don’t know what to make of her. They tell her that her name is great: “It’s perfect for you.” Shane handles it gracefully, but escapes as soon as she can.
Alice decides it’s time to mingle. “Good luck,” says Bette, muttering “Brave” under her breath. Elsewhere, Helena shrieks and pulls Shane into a hug: “I am gonna be the best receptionist you’ve ever had.” Oh! Fun.
Bette is looking at a picture of Angelica. A random straight woman (you can tell she’s straight by the pink shirt she’s wearing) tells Bette her daughter is adorable and then asks her what she’d do if one day Angelica were to decide she wants to live with her father.
Who would ask someone that? I mean, I do understand (because it’s being so brutally shoved down my throat) that this is a tale of Straight People Go to the Lesbian Zoo, but who asks a stranger such a personal question?
Tina ? yes, that Tina, or I guess whichever Tina has shown up for this episode ? rescues Bette. “We don’t call him the father. We call him the donor.” Bette adds that she really doesn’t think that’s going to happen anyway.
Brad, a straight guy: Sorry, excuse me. I know you don’t want it to happen, but, you know, kids have minds of their own, and, I mean, I’m sure your parents would rather you weren’t a lesbian, you know?
Bette: [quietly and evenly] My parents are dead.
Tina Bette ?
Henry: Brad ?
Brad: Look, I’m not a homophobe, you know what I’m saying? But, uh, look, if my son came home and he told me that he was gay, I mean, I’m sure I would come around to it. But you know, at first there would be a reaction. And, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to be honest here.
Bette: An honest homophobe. How nice.
Tina: Bette, don’t get into it.
Bette: No, I understand, Brad. I mean, you find gay sex repulsive, and you don’t care about your son’s personal happiness as much as you do your own comfort level. Right?
Another straight guy: You know, personally, I’m all for it ? between women. It’s just that, the idea of two guys … well, you understand, right?
Angus: It’s not that bad, actually.
Straight guy No. 2: Come again, dude?
Angus: That whole dick-in-ass thing. I used to think it was a little creepy. And painful, too. But I found this great lube; it’s called Boy Butter. Once I discovered that, it was like, [making obscene motions] “Let’s get this party started.”
Bette: [under her breath, to Kit] I love him.
Kit decides this is a good time to leave: “Come on, Butter Boy: Let’s slide on outta here.”
It’s almost enough to make me forgive Angus for the myriad ways he’s offended my sensibilities up to now. But not quite.
Alice suggests a game of Celebrity to ease the tension. I think maybe a game of Let’s All Stop Being Eye-Roll-Inducing Stereotypes would be more effective.
Planet Hoedown ? Cybill, er, Phyllis, is taking the plunge: She’s going to a gay bar (or a women’s night at a gay-friendly bar) for what I presume is the first time. She’s wearing pearls and sunglasses, and she almost turns around and leaves as soon as she gets there, but she tells herself, “Phyllis, you can do this.” Almost immediately, a woman asks if she can buy Phyllis a drink. Phyllis says she’s not ready for a drink yet. Are you sure? Because I think I might like to ride that cowgirl.Phyllis sort of stumbles through the crowd, spinning just like her head probably is. She sees a woman dancing in assless chaps, and is obviously shocked, but she looks again anyway. For several long seconds.
Back at snipe central ? The game of Celebrity is in full swing. Alice and Brad have teamed up; Alice is giving the clues. She says it’s an easy one:
Alice: Actress. She was in I Heart Huckabees.
Brad: Naomi Watts.
Alice: No. But funnier. She was in 9 to 5 …
At this point, Shane and Bette (and I) nearly fly off the couch because the answer is so obvious. But Brad can’t think of Lily Tomlin’s name, so Alice tries to help:
Alice: Major dyke, major dyke ? she came out big time in 2000. I mean, we [looking at the lesbians on the couch] already knew, but, uh … [to Brad] Come on, Big Business. Big Business!
Tina interrupts to say that time is up. When they reveal the answer, Brad can’t believe it:
Brad: Lily Tomlin is not a lesbian. Is she?!
Bette: [disdainfully, shaking her head] Braaaad.
One of the straight women: He was on the verge of getting it. The gay clue threw him off.
Brad: Yeah.
Alice: Oh.
Oh brother, you mean. It gets more ridiculous: Shane and another straight guy play, but this time the celebrity is Kathleen Hanna. I can promise you that several lesbians I know ? including one or two who are closely associated with our own dear AfterEllen.com ? would not get that one. Bette puts her hands behind her head as if she knows this is gonna be good, and it is, if “good” means “awkward and contrived.”
Shane: Le Tigre. Julie Ruin. Bikini Kill.
The guy looks at her as if she’s saying “La Turble. Jooky Raybean. Burpee Nickel.” Alice thinks this one’s easy, of course, but Tina and Helena seem uncertain. Bette just smirks. The guy says “One more time,” but Shane just says no, and Team Gay laughs. When Shane reveals the answer, Team Straight gets all up in arms:
Brad’s wife: What’s she a celebrity for?
Alice: Oh, she just pretty much started the whole riot grrrl music scene, but hey.
Brad: What’s the riot grrrl music scene?
But then the tables do turn, right over Jenny. She draws a name and promptly says “I don’t know who Terrell Owens is.” One of the straight women nearly spits out her margarita, and the straight guys look around in amazement. Tina asks, “What?” and Henry explains it to her.
Straight man: He’s the most talented receiver in football.
Straight woman: And he appeared with a Desperate Housewife in a commercial. She dropped her towel.
Helena: The desperate … what?
Bette and Shane mumble to each other that it’s excruciating and they should just leave, and then they do. Tina watches them go. She looks embarrassed and annoyed and sad ? and like she’s wondering how she ended up in this game of Red Rover in the first place. Alice starts the “it’s getting late” pronouncement to put everyone out of their misery.
Planet Pitchfork ? The saloon is swinging, and our lesbian curiosities are there. Alice says, “Thank God for my little lesbian planet.” In case you didn’t get that before, about the straight people and the lesbians being from two different planets. It was subtle, I know.
Helena sees Papi in the crowd. Papi comes over to say, “Hey, chicas” to Alice and Helena ? and to show off the fact that she has two new chicas in tow. Like a tugboat or an unsafe tuna net.
Alice waves Shane over. Papi hears the name “Shane” and squares her shoulders. “Ah, this oughta be interesting,” grins Alice. And it is: not necessarily in theory, but definitely in execution. Suddenly the scene changes to black and white and the music starts rattling like a snake. A tumbleweed rolls by Shane’s beat-up Converse. Shane and Papi are campy cowpokes at the Gay-OK Corral, and this town ain’t big enough for the both of them. Papi even adjusts her, um, gun.
It’s funny ? I actually giggle ? and that’s in no small part because of Alice, Helena and Bette, who look almost concerned for their welfare. When the campy interlude ends, it gets even funnier.
Papi: You’re Shane?
Shane: Yeah.
Papi: You’re just a skinny little white girl.
Shane: Oh. [looks down at her skinnyness] Yeah, I guess I am.
Alice: Shane, this is Papi.
Shane: Who?
Alice: [meaningfully] Papi.
Shane: So what?
Papi: So I’m your competition.
Shane: Oh. Oh, OK. Well, you know, I don’t know exactly what we’re competing for, but, uh, you win. So. It was nice meeting you.
That? Was awesome. I don’t know what the equivalent of “owned” was in the Wild West, but I think Shane just demonstrated it.
The latrine ? Jenny is waiting in line. Behind her is a sign for the reading she did. It makes her smile to herself. But then the woman next to her in line confirms (like Jenny needed confirmation) that lesbians do like to eat their own:
No-talent extra with earrings that look more like pasties: I missed that reading.
Jenny: Oh, yeah, it was last week.
Extra: Anyway, the book is really awful.
Jenny: Have you read it?
Extra: No, but the review in Curve magazine? “Some of Her Parts makes me ashamed to even call myself a lesbian.”
Funny ? that’s what some people say about Curve.
A table in the back ? Helena feels like she doesn’t even know how to talk to women anymore. Bette says that’s because she’s reinventing herself. Reinventing? Is that what you call the seismic character shifts that have been taking place since Helena first arrived in L.A.?
Bette looks around and sees Phyllis, and she immediately starts swearing to herself. But she offers a friendly wave, which of course sparks the table’s interest:
Alice: What what what? Did you sleep with someone?
Bette: No, not in this century. OK, girls, girls, here’s the deal: [taking a deep breath and speaking rapidly] Phyllis Kroll, Executive Vice Chancellor, California University, very accomplished, very dignified, very much my boss; I repeat, very much my boss. She’s been married 25 years and is now, at this relatively late date, is convinced she’s a lesbian and is peeking out of the closet as we speak, so please please please be nice to her and try to talk to her and try not to make her feel like she’s the oldest living lesbian on the planet.
Phyllis comes over to the table and she says she’s been hiding out in the back. Bette says, “You are now among friends,” prompting Helena, Alice and Shane to stand up like nervous schoolgirls. So then Phyllis takes a seat, and Bette smiles as broadly as she can.
Elsewhere, Angus is getting some bad news from his bandmates. It seems the record company has a younger, hotter lead singer in mind, so Angus is officially out of the band. Kit overhears and gives them an earful: “You candy-ass piece o’ s—, you. You’d be nothin’ without Angus. Nothin’. You must be outta your m———in’ mind. You must be f—in’ crazy. Get the f— outta here.”
Pam Grier!
Back at the table in the back, Jenny has taken a seat and is holding forth about Stacey Merkin. Phyllis is sympathetic.
Phyllis: What I find so utterly specious is the assertion she made about her own ladyfriend.
Jenny: I know, I mean, Saint Lindsey? Why is she the pantheon of honesty?
Helena: It’s pathetic, writing about her own girlfriend in the review.
Phyllis: The fact that she compared the two of you is proof enough of her stupidity.
Jenny: I know. Thank you. I mean, the whole thing was, I wasn’t writing about all survivors’ stories. I was just writing about my story and my experience.
Phyllis: It’s a shame you can’t do what I did when I got my first bad review.
Bette: Oh, Phyllis. You never got a bad review.
Phyllis: I did so, of my second book. A reviewer from the Journal of Education and Policy absolutely ridiculed my premise. So with a wicked rebuttal, I dismantled him point by point. He lost his job because of it. It’s too bad you can’t prove your critic was wrong about her girlfriend’s unimpeachable integrity.
Alice: That is for sure, Jenny. I agree, Phyllis. Totally agree.
Bleak house ? Angus is lying on the bed, feeling sorry for himself. Kit comes in and tries to comfort him, but he’s not having it. Oh, poor little Angstus. He whines about how he’s too old to be a musician. That’s true, Angstus. Well, it’s not so much that you’re too old; rather, you’re too boring. It’s not that you have negative qualities, it’s that you seem to have no qualities whatsoever.
Angstus: Don’t try and make me feel better, ’cause I’m just not gonna. You know, I think I just need to be alone.
Leave him there, Kit. Check on him in a week or so. Maybe he’ll have disappeared in a puff of mope and mediocrity.
Max’s studio ? Max is lifting weights. He’s grunting and squeaking like … well, like he always does. Jenny interrupts to ask for a favor. She spins some yarn about a “friend” named Lindsey from summer camp, who was assaulted and had to go to Coldwater Community Hospital. She wants Max to help her track Lindsey down.
Max: Well, that’s not really much to go on. But I could do a computer search.
Do that. And while you’re at it, look for information about telegraphs, transistor radios, horseless carriages and other newfangled inventions.
Jenny claims she’s writing an article about the hospital for Salon magazine, and then stands there impatiently. Max says, “You want me to do it now?” ? as if he doesn’t know that in Jenny’s world, her needs are more important than everyone else’s. That makes him seem even dumber than that whole “computer search” thing.
The Planet ? Two women are dancing on hay bales and licking beer off each other. A Goldfrapp song is playing in the background, and Goldfrapp can make almost anything hot. The woman on the left played the waitress in Bar Girls (the one who was on a juice fast), and I’m really, really sorry I know that.
Phyllis is watching with great interest. Bette starts to apologize for the inanity of it, but Phyllis lets out a whoop. “Go get ’em, Phyllis!” says Alice.
Back to school ? It’s the next morning, and Shane is dropping Shay off at school. Shane sort of sighs and then says, “OK, go ahead.” She starts to walk away, and then looks back and sees that Shay is looking back at her too. He smiles and goes inside.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this Shayne stuff is kinda cute.
Colliding worlds ? Dean Porter is finishing up a lecture. Phyllis is there, observing. Nadia raises her hand and says, “You wanted me to remind you to assign everyone topics at the end of the session, Bette ? I mean, Dean Porter.” You know, Nadia, there’s really nothing less attractive than a sense of entitlement, even if the thing you think you’re entitled to is sex with the hottest thing on campus.
As the class disperses, Phyllis approaches the teacher’s desk and thanks Bette for the fun at the Planet.
Phyllis: I had a lovely time.
Bette: Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.
Phyllis: I especially loved Alice. She’s so vibrant.
Bette: Yeah, she’s a great girl.
Phyllis: So … do you think she liked me?
Bette just sort of sighs and smiles.
Wax ? It’s Helena’s first day at her new job. Trouble is, Helena has no idea how to be a receptionist or help customers, even though she looks good trying. Before she can even learn to say “Wax” instead of “The Wax,” she has a meltdown and tells Shane this just isn’t the job for her. She’s humiliated and defeated, but she thanks Shane for the opportunity.
Shane offers a little encouragement; she tells Helena that she just needs to figure out what she’s good at. Meanwhile, a guy from Hugo Boss is there to tell Shane what she’d be good at: modeling underwear. But Shane says no, even though the guy tells her it’s a “lucrative gig.”
A great girl indeed ? Alice is visiting Bette’s office. She’s impressed: “Wow, fancy. I like this. This is good. A whole new Bette, huh? Artsy … a little artsy-fartsy going on here.”
I think I understand why Angstus is so bland: Alice is a vortex of cuteness and there’s none left over in the universe.
Bette closes the door and tells Alice about the “situation” with Phyllis. Alice, of course, is amused rather than worried. Bette says twice, “Alice, this is not funny,” but I think even she knows it kinda is.
A pool party ? Max is flipping burgers while Brooke and her friends splash around in the pool. Brooke tries to get Max to go in too ? and starts to unbutton his shirt ? which of course causes him to freak out and make up an excuse about an “ear condition.” Brooke forgives him, and Max tells her he’s crazy about her. They smooch as Brooke’s parents look on affectionately.
This whole thing is so doomed. Clearly there’s a big conversation on the horizon, but shouldn’t it have taken place before they ever got anywhere near the first kiss? I mean, yeah, in an ideal world people would fall in love with people, not genders, but Brooke might not quite be living in the same world as Max. For example, she probably just Googles things instead of doing “computer searches.”
Steppin’ out ? Bette and some other dean-type people are meeting with Chancellor Kroll. As they wrap up, a decidedly un-dean-like-type arrives: Alice. She smiles sweetly as she enters.
Alice: Phyllis.
Phyllis and Bette: Alice.
Alice: Hello, Professor Porter.
Phyllis: Dean Porter, Alice. You’re demoting her.
Alice: I am taking Phyllis to Murakami.
Bette: [nodding] Lesbian sushi.
Phyllis Really? Lesbians have their own special kind of sushi?
Alice: Oh, yeah.
Alice tells Phyllis to order Bette out on a date, but of course what Bette wants to know is whether Phyllis and Alice are on a date. Phyllis and Alice just ignore that question, and Phyllis jokes that she can’t really order Bette on a date, “But I do hope you’re taking care of your personal needs, Bette. Academia can be so very suffocating.” Alice nods in agreement as Phyllis goes on ahead.
Bette snarls, “Have a good date.” Alice grins and goes, leaving Bette to shake her head and swear.
Just following the boss’s orders ? Bette goes to her office. Guess who’s there? Nadia, of course. “I seem to remember when you were interviewing TA candidates that you said, ‘If I’m working, you’re working.'” She shows Bette some designs. Bette tells her she’s very talented, which of course means a lot to Nadia.
Next thing you know, they’re outside and Bette is offering Nadia a ride home. She does it so nonchalantly: “It’s more or less on my way home.” Less of a ride home and more of a ride, you mean.
As Bette walks ? still aiming for nonchalance and cool ? I start to drool. Nadia probably does too. Anyone would, because that skirt fits Bette really, really well.
In the car (which is a sensible, academic-looking thing in keeping with Bette’s new career), things take a turn for the sexy:
Nadia: Would it be wrong if I told you that I can’t keep my eyes off of you?
Bette: Yes.
Nadia: Would it be wrong if I told you that you are the most intriguing person that I’ve ever met?
Bette: Yes.
Nadia: Would it be wrong if I told you that I have never wanted to kiss someone more than I want to kiss you right now?
Bette abruptly pulls the car over to the side of the road and gives Nadia a gloriously stern stare. She says “Nadia” in a warning sort of way, but we soon learn that the warning is more “stand back” than “back off.”
Seat belts fly off, lips meet and hands dip down ? and the credits roll. And I rewind. And rewind. And rewind.
Hear more of Scribe Grrrl’s thoughts on the episode in her weekly podcast Talking to Manatees – multiple download options available here, or subscribe through iTunes.
