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The L Word Recaps 4.11 “Literary License to Kill”

THIS WEEK’S L WORD VOCABULARY:

Fiction: Stranger, and more painful, than truth.

Milk and eggs: If you’re Bette or Tina, these foods are a part of a nutritious breakup.

Homosexual conduct: Tasha’s crime, as far as her commanding officer is concerned.

THIS WEEK’S GUEST-BIANS: Kristanna Loken is surprised; Annabella Sciorra is disappointed; Bruce Davison is devastated; Cybill Shepherd is awakened.

I may never recover — Kit is moaning. And sweating. The camera is beholding her from above and is turning slowly — much more slowly than my head is spinning. Kit is clearly having sex, but not in the way you might expect. Someone’s down there. Not just someone: That is a feminine hand caressing Kit’s face and clutching her shoulder. Someone female is down there. And it’s not me, dammit!

There’s a good tune in the background: “Magic Tree” by Kristen Price. But the music that is composed of the shuffle of Kit’s sighs, not to mention the swerve of her brows and the sheen on her skin, is even better.

But then it all comes crashing down, and not in the way you were hoping. Kit says, “No, no. Just stop.” And a very defeated, sweaty Papi flops onto the bed next to Kit and sighs.

Papi flexes and pops her jaw. She looks at Kit despondently.

Papi: F—.

I’m so conflicted: I’m giddy at the thought of Papi losing at her own game, but I’m a little disappointed because I got my hopes up for a minute there. I know, I know: Kit’s straight — we’ve been warning you about that in the podcasts, Papi. I don’t really think Kit will (as Cary Grant might say) just turn gay all of a sudden. In fact, that would be an absolute transgression on the part of the writers. But I like vicarious pleasure as much as the next voyeur, and for a moment there, I was very pleased.

My pleasure quickly turns to distaste as the dialogue turns trite:

Kit: It’s not you.

Papi: This has never happened to me before, Kit.

Come on. That was such a golden opportunity for comedy. Kit should have said, “I told you to change the batteries first!” or “What kinda yoga did you say this was again?” Or — because we mustn’t forget Kit’s favorite word — “Girl. Girl, next time try your other left.”

But it’s, like, a big deal to Papi the playa, you know? And like every well-trained woman, Kit decides to comfort her lover instead of feeling the bummer that is an elusive orgasm.

Kit: You … you are the sexiest, hottest, baddest, muthaf—–‘ hot, sexy bitch …

Papi: Then what?

Kit: I guess … I guess I’m not a lesbian.

Now that is some comedy gold: Kit’s shrug and expression and tone of voice are like, “I know, I know, I left the cap off the toothpaste again.” Hee.

An adorable motorcycle ride — Yeah, I know, adorable is a weird word to put next to motorcycle, but not in this case. It looks like Tasha has been giving Alice a lesson. Alice seems to be doing very well — after all, most newbies find it hard to balance with someone on the back of the bike, but she’s cruising right along.

Tasha helps her park and put down the kickstand.

Alice: Pretty good, right? Pretty good?

Tasha: [hesitating and laughing] Yeah.

Alice: Come on! I didn’t kill you.

Tasha: Yeah. S—. This time.

Alice, I think you could have totaled the thing and Tasha would still be grinning at your cuteness.

Alice has a surprise for Tasha. Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but Alice is too excited and simply has to tell her right now. She wants to take Tasha to Mexico, to a spa and the beach and (I’ll bet) new heights of ecstasy. Tasha just says, “Mmm” and lets Alice try to convince her.

Tasha: That sounds … really expensive, Alice.

Alice: Don’t worry about the money. You got yourself a daddy.

I don’t know whose belly laugh is biggest: Tasha’s, Alice’s, or mine. Tasha actually doubles over. I think she may have even slapped her knee. I love love love these two together.

Alice suggests that they go around the first of May, when her Web site’s “done.” Oh, Alice. Surely you realize that a Web site’s never done. But here’s hoping your fictional Chart gets off the ground faster, and in a less broken way, than the real one did.

Alice jangles the motorcycle keys; Tasha jokes that she’s “too fancy now.” Alice says, “Max is fast; I wish I had him full time,” which might sound like a complete non sequitur (and possibly something quite sordid) if you were just overhearing this conversation. Even if you do know who Max is and what’s going on, it doesn’t exactly sound like natural banter. That’s the trouble with anvils: They’re heavy.

As they chuckle their way across the street, a nearby car suddenly accelerates and honks and swerves and seems to be aiming right for them. What? Are they near a bank or a bar or a demolition derby or something? Tracy Morgan, is that you?

But it’s more than just a random reckless driver: The mayhem triggers a flashback for Tasha. As she pushes Alice out of the way and they fall to the ground, Tasha sees Iraq in her mind’s eye. There are tanks and bombs and sand and a dead girl. Why, oh why? Can’t we have one light-hearted conversation that doesn’t immediately give way to drama and doom? Does every dog and tennis star have to die, Mama Chaiken? Must every relationship end in shambles and every addict spiral downward? Oh, the humanity!

Alice collects herself enough to yell, “F— you!” to the careening car as it drives on. The driver flips her off and says, “F— you, dyke.”

Alice: I’ll show you a f—in’ dyke.

Some comeback, Alice. I think you should have gone with a classic “Your mom” retort instead. (Actually, that might not even be what Alice said — the captions refused to help me out on this one. It’s OK, Leisha; I love it when you improvise.)

Alice’s hand has been injured in some way. She asks Tasha if she’s OK, but Tasha is still kind of stuck in her flashback. She collects herself and says she’s OK, but she doesn’t really seem OK. She grabs Alice by her injured hand and pulls her up. “Ow,” says Alice.

Talk about a plot device — where the hell did that car come from? Did Leonard put a hit out on Alice? Who was the driver? Was he aiming for Alice or Tasha? Where’s Abraham Zapruder when you need him?

The Planet — Angus is gross. Er, I mean, Angus is engrossed in a copy of Lez Girls.You can do it, Angus: Just sound out the words and take your time.

So it seems the book has finally been published, after the out-of-nowhere excerpting in The New Yorker. Vast is the disbelief I have willingly suspended in my TV-loving years, but Jenny’s mainstream success has definitely required the most cranes and scaffolding. A small but rabid fan base and a kooky little press would have been not only more believable, but also funnier. Never mind: There are no words scrawling across the screen and no carnival scenes lurching into view, so I should be grateful and let it go.

By the way, just in case the Lez Girls stuff wasn’t already meta enough for you, this episode was directed by John Stockwell. You know, the first guy Jenny and Tina talked to about the movie. He’s a lot better behind the camera than he was in front of it.

Kit and Papi roll in. Kit is sighing and holding her head and saying, “Oh, girl.” She ambles behind the bar, which happens to be where Angus is sitting. He takes her proximity as an invitation.

Angus: Have you read this? Bette is gonna be piiiissed.

Kit: F— Bette. She can kiss my black ass.

Kit cracks open a Diet Coke and twists the cap off some Advil. Ah, the breakfast of champions. Angus watches Papi walk by.

Angus: [to Kit] Are you … are you involved with her?

Kit: Why is everybody in my bidness?

Angus: I don’t know what you’re doing, Kit. You’re so not a lesbian.

Kit: What the f— do you know, hmm?

It’s a fair question. But Angus has a fair reply, too: He says he knows Kit is drinking.

Angus: And I know that if she cared half as much about ya as I do, that she wouldn’t let ya.

Kit: Well, you know, you shoulda thought about that before you had the nanny’s lips wrapped around yo’ dick.

Girl!

The hallway of hearsay — Who is that robotic-looking woman with the weird hair and weird shirt? Oh, it’s Bette. Sometimes when she’s in administrator mode, she looks more like Miss Hathaway.

She’s sensing something; it seems like everyone is staring at her. Some students are tittering behind her. She turns around and gives them a say-that-to-my-face stare, and they shut up. But knowing how to make people shut up doesn’t exactly help you figure out what’s going on, so Bette just sighs and keeps walking, looking confused.

All is revealed when Bette gets to her office: Phyllis is there, poring over Lez Girls.

Phyllis: Is it true that one of the characters in this book is based on you?

Bette: [peering at the cover] Who told you that?

Phyllis: Everyone’s talking about it on campus. It’s a cause celebre. Let’s see, uh … [reading from the book] “the sexually predatory, emotionally abusive Bev” — that’s you — “who uses her professional stature to bed every girl and woman who crosses her path.”

Bette: I haven’t even read the f—king thing. But I can’t imagine that it has anything to do with me.

Bette snatches the book from Phyllis’ hands, but before she can read on, Phyllis asks whether the book has upset Jodi and resulted in her imminent departure.

Bette: Who said Jodi’s leaving?

Phyllis: It says it in the memo this morning.

Bette, you’re such a gumshoe. When presented with information that is unfamiliar to you, you don’t say “Huh?” like most of us. In response to both of Phyllis’ questions, you asked for the source of the information. Who said so? Who told you that? Who’s trashing me now and where can I find her so I can tear her apart? Predatory may be appropriate in more than one way. It’s like you’ve been hanging out with Joyce Wischnia or something.

Anyway, it seems Jodi has been selected to create a sculpture at the Forest Refuge Art Center in Mountainville, New York. I didn’t find anything when I Googled “Forest Refuge Art Center,” but I’m guessing it’s a fictionalized Storm King Art Center, which appears to be the site of several homages to The Blair Witch Project.

Bette: I don’t know anything about it. Does this mean she’s not finishing out the semester?

Phyllis: You tell me.

Bette: Well, if that’s what she wants. I mean, I guess we should just let her go if she’s not happy here. [looking at the memo] “Origami with Steel.” That’s a nice way to describe her work.

Yeah, that’s a good description. The runners-up were “Sex on Scaffolding” and “Girders with Mojo.”

Bette is sure Jodi feels very honored, but Phyllis isn’t interested in accolades.

Phyllis: Please don’t tell me you’re splitting up. Remember when you came to my house and the two of you were so much in love?

Bette: Phyllis.

Phyllis: You taught me so much about love.

Bette: Phyllis.

Phyllis: Please don’t tell me you’re splitting up.

Bette: I would rather not talk about it.

Bette gives her a pointed “This conversation is over” look that would silence even Peggy Peabody.

Well, it almost silences Phyllis; at first, she just sighs. But after a brief interruption from James, Phyllis takes her leave and gets the last word:

Phyllis: [taking Lez Girls with her] Well, I just can’t wait to find out what happens with Bev and the plumber.

Bette calls James back in and asks him to get her a copy of “that f—ing book ASAP.”

Bette: And make sure you get a comp copy. I don’t want to have to pay for it.

Maximum geekosity — At Max’s job, a meeting is about to begin. Max is typing on his laptop and looking very professional and serious. The boss calls everyone to attention; they’ll start with an update on Space Gate.

Max launches into a presentation:

Max: The next step of the Space Gate project is the stabilizer module for the neovectors communication satellite. Our project goal is to increase the mean orbital altitude by 18 percent and the orbital velocity by 20 percent.

Whoa. As I say in the podcast (available late Wednesday), Max isn’t just a programmer: He’s an astronaut! I’m starting to think the writers of this show are doing this on purpose, because I can’t believe there isn’t at least one reasonably tech-savvy person on the staff. I mean, it’s not rocket science. Har har. Max has a background in “HTTP and TCP/IP,” remember? So, like, pointing and clicking? Yeah, that’s the key to controlling the trajectories of satellites and colonizing distant planets. Are you going to build a “Death Star” next and populate it with “frickin’ sharks with frickin’ laser beams attached to their frickin’ heads”?

Before Max can reveal his grand theory of time travel, one of his co-workers (one of the douchier ones) interrupts. He says, “Sweeney. You’re not on the account anymore.” This is news to Max. It seems Megan (the one Max defended when she was passed over for a promotion) has taken over, even though Max has been on the project for nine months.

Max’s boss: You went on a vacation during a critical time for them. They had a crisis while you were away. It was a near disaster.

Max: I went to my mother’s funeral.

Max’s boss just continues to praise Megan and ignore Max. So Max gets up and leaves.

Asking and telling — Tasha has been summoned Major Dixon, a stern, terse fellow. He says certain things have come to his attention, and they could have very serious consequences for Tasha.

Major Dixon: Now, your lifestyle is your lifestyle. But I don’t want to see it or hear about it ever again.

Your loss, Major D.: Tasha and Alice are a delight to the eyes and ears.

Tasha listens quietly and says “sir” at the right times. Major Dixon says he’s not going to submit her for review just yet, but if it happens again, he’ll be forced to take action. Tasha nods and leaves.

OK, fine. I give up. Send random careening cars after her. Have her drawn and quartered. Give her cancer, if you must. But whatever you do, don’t let her have a happy, sexy relationship and a long life as a character, because that would just be wrong. After all, we like her.

Forced to take action — Max is on the phone with Alice, who is at a boutique watching Helena shop for earrings. Max asks Alice what she can afford to pay him if he works for her full time. She says he made the business plan, so he should know. Uh-oh, Alice. There might be some holes in that business plan. Like wormholes and black holes and other flights of fancy.

Max: Yeah, I can manage. You know? I don’t need to make a lot of money. I just … I need to live a decent life.

That’s what I told myself when I became a full-time recapper and blogger, Max. Decency only goes so far: Call me in a few months when you’re ready to share war stories over very, very cheap drinks.

Alice thinks Max’s idea is very exciting and says they’ll work it out. She hangs up quickly because Shane has just arrived, and Shane’s hat demands attention. You know, attention in that “Look at me; I’ve just been to the thrift shop and I’m not worried about getting lice” sort of way.

Alice asks Shane to help her pick out a watch for Tasha. She’s worried that the one she has settled on is too femmy. Shane confirms that it is.

Helena, meanwhile, is looking for the femmiest pair of earrings.

Alice: [looking at the price tag on one of the earrings] I think you should underwrite a Third World country instead.

Or you could buy a radio station, Helena. You look like you’re tuning something in via your earlobes. Maybe you’re contacting one of Max’s space stations. But Helena isn’t worried: Her sugar mama, Catherine, is buying her bling today. Catherine’s in Geneva right now, but when she gets back, she and Helena are going to some sort of event. Shane feigns interest.

Helena: And, Alice, I am going to invest in OurChart just as soon as I win back the money that I lost at the races.

Alice says she’s not worried about it and really doesn’t expect anything from Helena. But Helena insists that she’s learned her lesson and will never do something so stupid again.

Shane: Wait, wait: I’m sorry. Did Catherine tell you that?

Helena: Yeah, but she’s right.

Alice: Oh, please. It was her tip on the horse.

Helena: Yeah, but I’m the one who should have known better.

Shane: Oh, please. That is a setup.

Shane, I’m not sure why you’re being so, well, bratty and beligerent at the moment. Maybe the personality of the former owner of that hat has seeped into your brain. But it doesn’t matter: You’re absolutely right about Catherine. I think I’ll start calling her Catherine wheel or Catherine the Not So Great.

Helena insists that Catherine is just trying to help her stand on her own two feet.

Alice: Really. Really. Your tiny little feet?

Snicker.

Alice notices that Shane is sniffing handbags. OK, so my theory about the personality transfer was right: That hat belonged to some homeless dude who went around sniffing things.

Alice wants to know if the purse is for Paige.

Shane: I don’t know, Nancy Drew. Figure it out.

Oh, my God. Can someone please cast Leisha Hailey in a Nancy Drew movie?

Helena: Shane, are you seeing someone else?

Shane: Jesus Christ, the Hardy girls. Figure it out.

OK, even better: Leisha Hailey and Rachel Shelley in a Hardy Girls movie! Who gets the Shaun Cassidy haircut? But don’t forget to invite Bette, too: She’s the one who knows how to unravel a case and ask “who” before she asks “what.” Plus, she’d just intimidate the hell out of every petty crook.

Alice wonders whether Shane is up to her old tricks and says she feels very comforted by that somehow. I would be comforted too, Alice, if I could remember what anyone’s “old tricks” are at this point. Too many character inconsistencies make for one very confused recapper.

Helena’s cell phone rings; it’s the Catherine wheel. It seems Helena will have to pack her bags because a friend of Catherine’s is coming for a visit. Helena is at first polite on the phone, and then deferential and resigned, and then downright annoyed. After she hangs up, she tells Alice she’s been uprooted, so Alice invites her to stay at her place again.

Helena: I don’t want to get in yours and Tasha’s way.

That’s very considerate of you, Helena. But I do wonder about your people sometimes: You say tacko instead of tahco, and you’ve just done the same thing with Taaasha (like dash-a) instead of Tahhhsha. Very curious, that.

They all present their purchases to the cashier, and Helena presents Catherine’s credit card. Right, on Helena: It’s time to get your spine back. Now that would be comforting.

Max’s exit — Another presentation is underway. This one looks like the opposite of satellites and spaceships; it’s somewhere on the level of Legos and Lincoln Logs. And maybe even Lite Brite: Remember those translucent plastic pieces and the blueprint-y piece of paper you punched out? No? God, I’m so old.

Max marches back into the meeting room and says he’s just there to say goodbye. He shakes several hands and thanks his co-workers for everything they’ve taught him.

Max: [to his boss] I wish you continued success. Give my best to your wife and your kid.

I get that you’re trying to shame them and kill them with kindness, Max, but it’s not really working for me. I wish you’d stayed there and made them fire you, and then sued them for all their satellites and Legos. You could have at least dropped an F bomb on your way out — or changed everybody’s home page to FTMprosthetics.com.

Phyllis’ office — Phyllis is still devouring Lez Girls. Come on: Even if the book is fantastic, doesn’t she have better things to do? Does anyone on this show actually work for a living? With the exception of Max, of course, who has managed to discover new galaxies while Shane is rummaging in Dumpsters for hats.

Leonard says he’s there to congratulate Phyllis for once again taking the old “conventional heterosexual paradigm” and turning it on its ear. He thought he was supposed to be the one who had a midlife crisis and slept with a “sassy little girl” half his age.

Phyllis: Alice is not half my age.

Let’s not comment on that one, Leonard. Oops, you just chortled. Oh, well.

I don’t get this: Leonard is offering to take Phyllis back and is denying that she’s a lesbian, but I thought he was cooler than that. I guess I’m confusing acting ability with character likability — but really, can you blame me? Bruce Davison is an oasis in a Sea of desolate, desertlike Danielas.

There are a few good lines in the squabble, like when Leonard admits that Phyllis might have lesbian tendencies.

Phyllis: What is a lesbian tendency? Can you explain that to me?

Leonard: Well, you know. Every time we’ve seen a movie in the last 20 years — “Oh, I love Salma Hayek, you know, she really turns me on.”

You and me and everybody else, Phyllis. The world mourns, laments and beweeps her straightification.

Leonard gets mean and says it’s a little late in the game for Phyllis.

Leonard: You’re 58 years old —

Phyllis: I am not 58. I’m 56!

Leonard: Oh, look at your driver’s license.

Phyllis: Well, you look in the mirror, Leonard.

Leonard: I am a man!

Whoa. I hate that (a) that does make a difference and (b) Leonard just said so. Go away, Bruce: I’m over you. Also, Phyllis, I’m kind of sad that you’re too Botoxed to sufficiently raise your eyebrows in response to Leonard’s effrontery. I can see them struggling to arch archly, but they just sort of whimper instead.

But then Phyllis reads Leonard the riot grrrl act:

Phyllis: Do you think you’re actually going to get me to come back to you by insulting me and exalting yourself? I don’t care if I never had a lover for the rest of my life. My life is going to be so wonderful because I know who I am and I’m being honest with myself. Don’t you get it?

Nah, he doesn’t. But I’m glad you do, Phyllis.

Priorities — Bette is going over her schedule with James. There are expense reimbursements and thesis reviews and conference calls — oh, my — but Bette just wants to read Lez Girls.

Some gray-haired guy in an argyle sweater vest (sorry, all these academics look alike to me) interrupts and says attendance is going to skyrocket because of Bette’s infamy-by-novel. He says, “Way to go, ‘Bev.'”

Really? You mean Jenny’s book is sweeping the nation? She’s a household name? An overnight sensation?

Bette: So f—ing unacceptable.

My thoughts exactly, Bev.

In a fit of inspiration, or perhaps desperation, Bette calls Tina.

Bette: I’m sitting here with Jenny’s little f—ing tome.

I can’t even express the disgust with which she says that. It’s like she said she’s sitting there with a dead rat in her lap, which I guess is not terribly different.

Bette wants to know why Tina didn’t warn her about it. Tina reminds Bette that she’s the one who said it was fluff and “frivolous entertainment.” Touché, Tina. She encourages Bette to see Bev as a character and stop personalizing the whole thing. Have you met Bette, Tina? She could personalize the Kyoto Protocol. She probably has; does she drive a hybrid?

We’re only getting Tina’s side of the conversation at the moment, but it’s a pretty funny side:

Tina: No, no. Look, no, you’re not narcissistic. You’re just a little bit of a control freak. But you know what? It’s endearing. It’s endearing.

Aww. It totally is.

Tina has to go; she’s at the Planet, about to have lunch with “her” director.

Bette: Oh, you mean Kate Arden? You’re having lunch with Kate Arden? Enjoy yourself.

Bette hangs up. Tina laughs in exasperation, which is quickly replaced with appreciation — from Kate, who candidly admires Tina’s suit as she struts toward the table. I agree: It’s a good look. And Tina’s coy expression reveals that she was definitely dressing for Kate.

Kate has brought along her manager, Larry Kennar. No, not Kennard, which is Tina’s last name: There’s no “d” in Larry’s last name. Tina doesn’t even seem to blink. Again, another missed opportunity for comedy. Kennar? No, Kennard. Kennard? No, Kennar. Seltzer? No, salsa.

(Larry Kennar, by the way, is an executive producer of The L Word. So much meta, so little substance-a.)

The upshot of the meeting is simple yet profound: Jenny sucks. That is, her screenwriting sucks, because a novelist (if she is that) shouldn’t be assumed to know the first thing about screenwriting.

Larry: She doesn’t think visually; she doesn’t know structure; all of her characters speak their subtext and she writes page after page of description that just has nothing to do with moving the story forward.

Heh. OK, Kennar: You can stop by anytime. But Tina doesn’t like you, because you’ve seen script pages even though she hasn’t. Larry starts to push for Kate to write the thing, but Kate insists she’s not angling for that. Try again, Kate: We all know you’re fishing for something.

Kate: I like Jenny.

Tina: Yeah, well, I think Jenny likes you, too.

Uh-oh. You don’t want to get sucked into that vortex, Kate: So far Jenny’s exes haven’t exactly fared well. And don’t even get me started on her pets. But it doesn’t matter, because Kate’s got her eye on someone else:

Kate: [to Tina] I love working with you. You know? I think we could do, uh, great things together.

Eww. Larry, could you please tell Kate to stop speaking her subtext?

A tense reunion — Jodi is meeting with a student who wants to paint instead of sculpt. Bette walks in; Jodi stops in her tracks for a moment, but turns her attention back to the student.

Jodi thinks it’s valuable for a student to discover something he wasn’t expecting, but Bette agrees with another gray-haired academic who’s also in the room: This is a sculpting studio, and there’s no room in it for a painting thesis. Bette thinks this is even more important because the student’s advisor — that would be Jodi — might be leaving mid-semester.

Jodi looks at Bette with eyes that say she might be leaving behind more than just half a semester.

Shane’s house — Paige and Jared drop by to see their favorite Fraggle. Shane says, “I have something for you.” Paige seems to think “you” means her, but it means Jared. Shane has bought him a special edition El Panda toy, even though it’s not his birthday or anything.

Uh. OK, I’m way out of this El Panda loop. So is Paige, but in a self-pitying way: As Shane and Jared read the description on the box, Paige goes to the kitchen for a beer and mutters to herself.

Paige: It’s not a birthday present or anything. Because tomorrow’s not his birthday.

Shane says she wants to take Jared somewhere to see the “subservient chickens” tomorrow. You mean, like the one you can tell to watch TV and stuff? Shane, you’ve always been too cool for me, but at the moment you’re more confusing than cool. Paige agrees to it, so long as Shane agrees to drop Jared off at his violin lesson. Aww. Why don’t you two just buy a Subaru Forester already? It has side curtain airbags and serious dyke street cred. Plus, you know, windows that fog.

Another house of pain — Henry is clipping his toenails. He has his foot up on the coffeetable or some other sort of table — the toenail table, I guess — and he’s just clipping away while Tina is trying to work. She asks him to go to another room, but he doesn’t see why she can’t go somewhere else.

Yes, Tina: Go somewhere else. Run from the toenails, and run from the stereotype of the Gross Man. I mean, let’s think of something more disgusting for him to be doing. I guess he could be picking his nose at the same time, but other than that, this is about the worst possible light for him to be painted in. No, Henry, I’m not defending you; I’m just scolding the writers. Toenails? Really?

Tina’s cell phone rings: It’s Kate. They talk about Jenny’s abominable screenplay. Tina’s voice gets all flirty and giggly.

Don’t think Henry doesn’t notice through the haze of toenail fumes.

Freedom — Max and Grace are celebrating his departure from the space satellite factory. They toast “to freedom.” Grace tells Max she’s proud of him and gives him a kiss. It gets very hot very quickly.

Max says he doesn’t want Grace to touch him; this isn’t his body. But Grace says his body was hot for her just then.

Grace: That was your body. It felt good.

Max: I don’t feel comfortable with it.

Grace: I do.

It might sound like Grace is pushing Max into something he doesn’t want to do, but it doesn’t turn out that way. She takes Max’s soft pack out of his underwear. He looks confused for a moment, but Grace proceeds to show him just how good his body can feel. Max watches her in the mirror that’s behind her, and then his eyes flutter and close.

Hot! I’ll be right back.

A different F word — Bette is in bed, angrily flipping the pages of Jenny’s book. Her comments are brief but vehement. (Imagine a violent page turn between each sentence.)

Bette: F— you, Jenny. That is complete and utter total f—ing bulls—. I wouldn’t say that. Never. That’s not even grammatically correct. You f—ing idiot. You’re dead meat. You’re just dead f—ing meat, Jenny Schecter.

I didn’t think I could love you more, Dean Porter. I was wrong. Nice specs, by the way!

I guess the toenails were the last straw — Henry is making breakfast. He’s cracking eggs into a pan. Remember when Tina fell apart while she was making eggs because they reminded her of her miscarriage? I don’t know; that’s a lot of symbolism to pack into a single comestible, even though the incredible edible egg is wondrous indeed.

Tina says they need to talk. She’s not happy. Henry leaps to conclusions.

Henry: Is there somebody else?

Tina: [not very convincingly] Wha? No. No.

Henry: Is it a woman?

Tina doesn’t really say yes, but she doesn’t really say no, either. She says it’s not about “her” anyway, but Henry’s going to be stuck on that little thinly veiled admission for a while.

Henry: I feel like an asshole, you know? I mean, I just, I knew this would happen.

Tina: What do you mean, you knew it?

Henry: Well, I mean, come on, Tina: Once a lesbian, always a lesbian.

That’s probably not really true, Henry, no matter how profound it may seem. And no matter how good Tina may look in her tank top.

Tina says she was attracted to him, but Henry says Tina was just getting what she wanted and is now moving on to something new, just like she did with him. Tina doesn’t really fight back. Henry throws the pan of eggs in the sink and marches out on his newly tidy feet.

See ya, Hank. Again, I’m sorry you got saddled with the whole toenail thing, but I can’t say you’ll be missed.

A gift — Remember when Alice was shopping for a watch for Tasha? It feels like a long time ago. Actually, I sorta wish Alice had bought the director a watch, because even though this episode is pretty, it seems to have no sense of time. Not that that’s a new thing, exactly.

Anyway, Alice is giving Tasha the watch, or rather, she’s arranging it on the table for Tasha to behold when she gets there. It’s an impressive presentation: The lights are low, there’s soft music playing (“Dream” by Bardi and Noemi), and the box is encircled by roses.

Alice hears Tasha entering the apartment and ducks behind a nearby doorjamb to watch Tasha open the box.

The watch is engraved: On the back, it says “TMW, WITH LOVE, A.” The sentiment triggers another flashback. Tasha remembers a fellow soldier, Lisa, who had an engraved watch from her husband. In the flashback, Lisa is calling her husband a bastard and Tasha is assuring Lisa that no court will take her daughter away from her. And then there’s a weird shot of Tasha holding a lifeless Lisa and yelling “Medic! Medic!” in some sort of warped demonlike voice.

Whoa. It was horrible enough already; what’s with the scary Exorcist sound effects? Eek.

Tasha turns on her heels and leaves. Alice, who has been peering with anticipation, could not be more confused.

Getting some answers — It’s the next morning. Alice is on the base and is confronting Tasha about her disappearing act.

Tasha: I can’t get into this right now.

Alice: Well, could you maybe return one of my f—ing phone calls?

Tasha has bigger worries: She tells Alice that she’s on thin ice and could get chaptered out.

Alice: For what?

Tasha: For homosexual conduct. You ever heard of that?

Alice apologizes but still doesn’t leave. Sigh. When did you get so thick-headed, Alice? Right on cue, Major Dixon drives by. He’s definitely seeing what he didn’t want to see ever again.

Since Alice won’t leave, Tasha walks away instead. Forget Major Dixon; this is some major doom.

A break (up) room — Jodi is getting a snack. Bette walks in and makes herself some tea. They stand with their backs to each other. It’s like all the tension from that dinner party scene has been condensed and plunked down in the middle of this little tiny room.

Jodi takes a jug of milk from the fridge. It says “Dean Porter” on it. She signs to Bette, asking Bette if she wants some milk, presumably for her tea. Bette, however, has had her back to Jodi (and her heart in a walled fortress) and is slow on the uptake. She thinks Jodi’s asking for some milk.

Bette: Oh, anybody can use it. Feel free.

Then why did you put your name on it, Dean Porter? Because you wanted everyone to know you were contributing to the milk stash? Or because you just like to write your title as often as you can? Hmm. Mysterious activities involving dairy products: There’s probably a whole chapter about this in Lez Girls.

Anyway, Jodi’s not happy that Bette has misinterpreted her question — or, more precisely, simply wasn’t listening. And even worse, Bette has just counted Jodi among the many “anybodys” who can use her milk but can’t get her attention. Jodi scowls, then puts the milk back and leaves without a word. Bette seems to know she caused that somehow, but she also seems to be at a complete loss. Next time, Bette, just write “I heart Jodi” on the milk.

Familial blackmail — Phyllis’ daughter, Molly, has joined forces with Leonard. Or, more precisely, Leonard has told Molly what her mother’s up to, in an underhanded effort to get his wife back. Molly is played by Phyllis’ real-life daughter, Clementine Shepherd-Ford. More meta marvelousness!

Molly says all Phyllis ever thinks about is herself. Phyllis says she loves Molly and her sister more than anything else in the world, but she now that she’s figured out who she is, it would be deadly to ignore that.

Leonard: Deadly? Is that what our life together has been? Deadly?

Phyllis: Yes, Leonard.

Heh. Way to bring the snark during a family crisis, Phyllis. She says she hopes Molly will someday be able to wish for her happiness, but Molly doesn’t seem inclined to do that anytime soon. Sigh. Every breakup in this episode seems so inevitable, there’s just no drama. Discomfort, yes, but drama, no. Just more proof that milk and eggs and academia simply do not foster epic emotional scenes.

Speaking of fostering — Or, well, just speaking of mothering, I guess. Paige is picking Jared up from his violin lesson. She asks him if he wants to go out to dinner with her; after all, it is her birthday.

Jared: Oh, I’m sorry, Mom. I forgot.

Paige: That’s OK, sweetie.

Jared: Did Shane call you and wish you a happy birthday?

Oh, Jared, you scamp. Such a concerned, curious kid. Whatever can you be plotting? But Paige thinks his question is perfectly normal and says no, Shane didn’t call, but that’s OK. She asks Jared where he wants to go for dinner. He votes for the Planet on account of their good fries.

Paige knits her brows a little. Yeah, that’s a teeny bit suspicious, isn’t it, Paige? But hey, take the kid to the Planet: purely for him, of course. Just in the interest of being a cool mom.

Sitting on the steps — Am I just really nostalgic today? Bette and Tina are sitting on the steps at Bette’s house, and it once again reminds me of that time they were sitting on the steps in the very first episode. You know, when Shane walked by and thought they were an encouraging picture of blissful couplehood. Dammit.

Bette is asking Tina for advice. And she’s crying. Tina says it’s OK for Bette to cry with her.

Bette: What do I do wrong, T? What do I do wrong?

Tina: You don’t do anything wrong.

Bette: No, really, I mean it. Why is it so f—ing hard to be in a relationship with me? Look, just tell me. Tell me everything that I did to make you run from me. I’m begging you. Please.

Tina: You’re a control freak.

Bette: [laughing]

Tina: You are!

Bette: So? That’s fucking ridiculous. Everybody’s a control freak sometimes. That’s what you have to do to get things done.

Tina: Yeah, but you think your things are more important than everyone else’s, and that’s really, really hard in a relationship. When your work, your needs, your ideas are always right, always on a higher plane. You’re more enlightened, you’re more more informed, you’re more intuitive —

Well, yeah. Tell her something she doesn’t know. But Bette acknowledges that it must have been “hideous” and apologizes.

Tina: I’ll take it over the safe, boring man I’ve been seeing any day.

Bette: You would?

She said she will, not she would! This is not a hypothetical, Bette: Look at the woman’s face.

But Tina reels herself in and says Bette has met her match in Jodi: She’s finally found someone who’s as strong as she is. Bette changes the subject and asks about Kate Arden. Tina gets all goofy and embarrassed and finally admits that she’s attracted to Kate, who is hot and smart.

Tina: She’s not interested in me.

Bette: She’s interested.

Tina: She’s not even thinking about me.

Bette: She’s interested!

I still don’t know what I want these two to be, but whatever they do or don’t do together, I think they’ll always be soul mates of a sort. Also, how amazing are Beals and Holloman together? The shot keeps tightening — just like us, the camera longs to be close to them.

Tina says she’s not ready and wants to be on her own. Besides, it’s messy; it’s unprofessional, and now it’s going to get even messier because she has to fire Jenny.

Bette: F— Jenny. Just f— Jenny. Please. She deserves to be fired. I’ll f—ing fire her for you.

I’m tempted to press “stop” and “erase” right now, because it’s never going to get better than that.

They bond over their anti-Jenny virulence, but then Bette gets serious again. She says she was just starting to do so well on her own when Jodi showed up.

Tina: I’m not surprised that you’re running from her. You finally met someone who won’t put up with your s—.

Bette: You never put up with my s—.

Tina: Whaaat? [laughing] Right. OK.

Tina insists that Jodi scares Bette, because Jodi is as accomplished, as opinionated and as powerful. And they have an incredible energy between them.

Tina: I could feel it from ten feet away. It sucked. It was really hard for me.

Bette reaches an arm around Tina’s shoulders. Tina accepts the comfort, though that’s probably really hard for her too. And really, really easy.

The Planet after dark — Oh, look: The whole gang’s there. Well, almost: Alice, Shane, Jenny, Tina, Helena and Kate are laughing and teasing each other for telling lame stories. Tina and Kate are flirting, but Jenny is turning a blind eye. She tells Alice and Shane that she thinks Kate is funny and kinda brilliant. Jenny, why don’t you just ask them to ask Kate whether she likes you too? Or give her a note that says, “Circle one: I like you. I don’t like you.” Kate would probably stub out her cigarette on the note and put us all out of our misery.

Tina asks where Tasha is. Alice says she’s having a “dark night”; Papi explains that that’s a military term for working at night. Papi, where did you come from? I didn’t even see you there. I guess Kit really did deflate your ego. Don’t shrink away, little violet.

Paige and Jared arrive. Paige sees the crowd and explains to Jared that there seems to be some sort of special show going on; they probably won’t be able to find a seat. Uh, duh, Paige.

Kit sees her and points her to her table. Everyone claps and wishes her a happy birthday.

Shane: Did you think I forgot?

Paige: I did think you forgot!

They kiss. The captions say “indistinct conversation,” and I think that probably just about sums it up.

CU, later — Jodi is giving a farewell speech at the School of Art. She tells her students they’re in good hands; Dean Porter has passion and conviction and will no doubt continue to push the boundaries of their lives. Aw, Jodi. Next time Dean Porter pushes something, don’t let her get away with it: Push right back. Wait. Um.

The Planet — Hear that? It’s Goldfrapp. It’s awesome. The song is “Ride the White Horse.”

In the crowd, Alice asks Papi if she’s talked to Tasha. Papi just says, “You guys gotta talk, all right?” Alice knows that can’t be good.

Jenny tells Kate that Alison Goldfrapp should play Jessie. Some awkward banter ensues. I’m sure Jenny thinks it’s comfortable and sexy. Or maybe not; Jenny excuses herself and makes her way to the crowd so she can get closer to the music.

Elsewhere, some random guy offers Kit a bump. You know, a bump. So she can ride the white horse. Me, I just want to ride a subtle horse for a change, because this music-as-commentary horse is really chapping my ass.

Kit asks for another taste for the road, but the guy says he’s out.

Kit: F— you, motherf—er! F— you.

Maybe it shouldn’t delight me so much when Kit gets so very Pam Grier, but it does. But delight is not her destiny tonight: She can’t even enjoy her high. She spies a disappointed Angus and asks him to take her to a meeting tomorrow. Blah. I mean, OK, yes, good. But must a healthy Kit be an Angus-attached Kit?

The song ends, and it seems like the episode should too, but no: This horse is still a-kickin’.

Too late for goodbye — Bette shows up for Jodi’s farewell party, but Jodi isn’t there.

Phyllis: Jodi said beautiful things about you.

Bette: Where is she?

Phyllis: You know, I think she’s gone already.

Bette goes somewhere else — it sorta reminds me of that place the Project Runway rejects go to pack up their things. That’s what Tom is doing: packing Jodi’s things. He says Jodi is on an airplane to New York. Guess you’ll have to carry on and make it work all by yourself, Bette. She wars with herself briefly, then goes back to the Scaffolding of Sex and thinks some more. I know I always think better when my brain waves are reflected back to me by shiny aluminum thingies.

Now that would have been another good ending to the episode. How many curtain calls are there?

Alice’s apartment — Alice is sleeping. Tasha, in her MP uniform, is watching Alice sleep. It’s almost creepy, and Alice is a little scared when she first jolts awake.

Tasha thanks her for the beautiful watch but says she can’t accept it. Sleepy Alice tries to understand as Tasha tells her what happened to Lisa. The husband who gave Lisa that watch also dumped her while she was risking her life in Iraq, and then he tried to take her daughter away. It takes Alice a while to wake up enough to get what Tasha’s trying to say: Lisa won’t ever get her daughter back, because Lisa’s not coming back from Iraq.

Tasha: This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t going to fall for anybody while I was back.

Alice: What do you mean, “while you were back”? Are you going somewhere?

Alice. Wake the hell up! How much gold did you frapp at the Planet, anyway?

Tasha: My unit’s being mobilized back to Iraq. I’m leaving in two weeks.

Yeah, I don’t want to wake up to that either. Let’s go back to bed, Alice, and hope it was all a dream.

NEXT WEEK ON THE L WORD: Tasha and Alice holler; Jenny preens; a whole lotta other stuff happens in an effort to tie all this up. And I think I saw a certain dead gay lady in the preview: Can the apocalypse be far off?

Hear more of Scribe Grrrl’s thoughts on the episode in her weekly podcast Talking to Manatees. Find multiple download options available here, or subscribe through iTunes.

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