The L Word Recaps 4.7 “Lesson Number One”



Double-dipping: It won’t fly with Tasha. But Alice will.

Semiotics: The quickest way to Bette’s academic, monogamous heart.

Tolerance: You’ll need a whole lot of it to make it through this dry heave of an episode.

THIS WEEK’S GUEST-BIANS: Cybill Shepherd cries into her bourbon; Kristanna Loken speaks in clichés; Sandrine Holt makes Helena pay up.

Not a good morning — Tasha is getting dressed. As she slowly and deliberately puts on her uniform, she has flashbacks to her time in Iraq. She hears the machine guns, feels the harsh desert conditions, sees the blood. She breaks into a sweat and breathes hard and has to hold herself together. So do I, because I’m thinking, "Oh, right. Let’s take a really serious, complex issue — not just an issue, but a dire situation that is depressing the entire country — and see what the writers of a lesbian soap opera can do with it. You know, just throw it into the mix, see how it shakes out. It’ll make for some good drama and thought-provoking discussions."

Just stop it, L Word. Stop indulging your urge to wax poetic about war and cancer and tolerance and carnivals and abortions and whatever other issues make you feel important, erudite and socially conscious. It’s not going to work. Unless you can make the issue — and in this case, we’re talking about an entire fahhkking war — organic to a story line or essential to a character, it’s just not going to work. It’s going to backfire and make you look stupid and make us all wish for those lame art-schooly intros you used to do.

OK, OK. I guess this stuff probably is essential to Tasha as a character, so we should just hope for the best. But I’m fearing the worst.

Now that really is a good morning — Jodi is sketching. More important, Jodi is wearing a tank top, and she looks really great in it. The subject of her sketch looks even more delicious: Bette is waking up, and she’s wearing nothing but a smile.

Bette signs "Good morning" to Jodi, who’s also wearing a big grin. And then Bette sees the clock and says, "Oh, f—." She signs, "Got three hours of sleep. You’re exhausting me." Jodi pretends to play a violin. Hee. Some sign language is universal.

The beauty in the bed stretches in that head-to-toe, bracing way that feels even better than it looks. Jodi gives Bette the sketch she was working on. Bette studies it.

Bette: Is it Gauguin?

Jodi: Sendak.

Jodi, I’m developing a little crush on you: You don’t like kids, you do like tank tops and you’re funny. No wonder you managed to bed the dean.

In response to "Sendak," Bette and Jodi both do a little knee slap (well, in Bette’s case, a sketchbook slap) that just makes them lovelier. Dorky can be sexy.

Bette says she has to go to work, but Jodi disagrees: "You’re the boss. You could be late."

And then Jodi makes sure Bette’s late. We almost get a peek at Bette’s assets, but they’re lovingly hidden by Jodi’s hands. Sigh.

As they begin to move together, Bette whispers, "I think I could fall in love with you." Jodi stops and asks, "Did you say something?" Bette smiles and shakes her head. "Nothing."

Jodi signs something. Bette says, "You wanna be inside me?" Jodi nods. Bette smiles and says, "Please. Please."

Oh, yes. Please.

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