“What do you mean?”

“Can we bring home our dates?”

“Oh. Dates.” Bette said, squinting at the TV screen. She sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

“You have no problem with a man walking in your living room during the morning.” Tina said carefully, watching Bette’s face to gauge her reaction. “No problem whatsoever.”

Bette wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure it’d be appropriate. She settled for a chuckle. “I’ve been with men, Tina, so it’s okay. If you can keep it down, better. Other than that…”

I hope you won’t bring anyone—man or woman—into this house. Ever.

“It’s fine.” Bette said, drowning her thoughts in Pellegrino. “Just don’t let them touch all the art in this house. Or they’ll pay with their fucking lives. Anything else you want to ask?”

“I don’t think I’m comfortable with you bringing your dates here.” Tina said shyly.

“I don’t do that kind of thing,” Bette said, grinning. “Not anymore.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want you to,” Tina said, making circles with her bottle. “I mean, it is your house and I’m only staying here, but I just thought it would be good for us as housemates if we knew the things we’re comfortable and uncomfortable with.”

“Tina,” Bette said, putting her hands on Tina’s shoulders. Tina stopped talking and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “I get it. You’re slurring. You better go to bed.”

“Bette,” Tina replied, mimicking her voice and raising an eyebrow. “Did you just turn into my mother, or have I been at home all along, watching Regis Philbin with her?”

“Get up,” Bette said, releasing her hands from Tina’s shoulders. Tina didn’t move at all. “Come on, get up.” Bette said, pulling Tina up with one hand. But Tina tipped over and fell onto Bette, sandwiching Bette between her and the carpet on her floor. Bette immediately blushed and pushed Tina back up, and then resumed dragging her into her bedroom. Tina lay as soon as she felt the bed, and Bette then went to the living room, threw the bottles into the garbage can, turned off her TV, and then headed into her bedroom, wondering if what happened just happened.

What the fuck was I thinking?

The first voice that Bette would hear, of course, was Alice’s.

“So, Porter, spill!” Alice said, her shrill, excited voice on the other end.

It was Sunday morning, and Bette hated to have to be awake at an early time. She liked to wake up an hour before lunch or exactly at noon, eat breakfast near her pool, go for a swim, and maybe read a book. Bette took the phone away from her ear, listening to any sounds of movement. Nothing. Tina was still out cold, what will all the drinking that she’d done last night.

“Alice, the next time you call at,” Bette squinted, looking for her alarm clock. “8 am, I swear, I am going to rip your fucking head off. What the fuck do you want me to tell you?”

“You cannot tell me that Tina resisted the good old Porter charm.”

“Alice, she’s straight. Besides, we just met. We’re friends—nothing else.” Bette said, listening to Alice try and reason out with her. Why did she date Alice again? “No, no, no ifs, buts or whens, Alice. Tina’s straight, she’s my friend, she’s my housemate, and I respect her for being just that. You got that? Okay. Good morning, and fuck off my social life.”

“You know, you’re never going to get laid with that kind of grumpiness.” Alice commented, as Bette looked at her ceiling and prayed that her line would get cut off.

“Alice, you’re turning into Lenore. Have a great fucking morning.” Bette hung up.

Un-fucking-believable.