S01.E02 - Listing to Port

 

Trisha had the vague look of a woman being drawn and quartered after being falsely accused of being a witch in the 1690s. She stared at the two women who were slaving over her hands as if their reputations depended on the outcome. Jenna and Candy were as far apart as two humans could be while touching a third person.

"This is the dumbest thing to ever happen to me," Trisha announced, wiggling her fingers.

"Stop that!" the two groomers said in unison.

Two fingernails—the middle and ring fingers on her right hand—were clipped brutally short, while the others were being pressed on and detailed as if Trisha didn't have an actual job that required the use of fingertips.

"You should leave me some of the skin on my fingers so they can identify my fingerprints after I murder you both for lying to me."

Candy, perched on the edge of the card table with a bottle of lavender polish in hand, rolled her eyes. "We didn't lie. This is an extremely important and strategic system that we have devised to tell each other apart." she explained in a way that implied that Trisha was disappointing her by having not heard of this before. When Trisha’s blank stare persisted, Candy sighed and grabbed her wrist, turning it palm-up like she was inspecting fruit.

"You’re going to be a pillow princess."

"Or—not." injected Jenna, desperately defending her right to help make such a grand decision. "You know—no one voted yet." Then there was a pause for glances.

"ANYWAY, this is basic lesbian stuff you need to live here."

"Yeah, even butch lesbians look at fingernails to figure out what's what." explained Candy in a voice slightly garbled by her need to look downward.

"It's a semaphore." said Jenna, putting what she thought was a pithy period on the end of that sentence. Trisha cocked an eyebrow.

"What did you just call me?" Trisha asked with faux outrage. "If my fingers weren't cramping right now, I'd reply in kind. I played lacrosse, you know."

"Because you wanted to stare at the other girls in the locker room, right?" insisted Candy, pushing the envelope. "God, do we have to teach you everything?"

"Just don't talk to anyone." said Jenna, as if she was the co-author of a troubled bestseller. Finally it was over and the two roommates released Trisha's hands, allowing her blood to flow again. Trisha rubbed her aching chest muscles.

"You know, I can do that for you. Full service.", said Candy—earning a death stare from Jenna.

Eight of Trisha's nails were painted a multi-color festival full of whimsy and mirth, while the other two nails were a much more practical single field of deep red—like the flag of a Soviet bloc. "We want as few questions about you as possible. This will help accomplish that." announced Jenna confidently, with the unyielding concentration of a neurosurgeon. "Especially from Barbara, who is a bloodhound and a sleuth rolled into one. You are in a game of lesbian chess with a grandmaster." she added.

"So what do I say about my nails if I see the landladies?" asked Trisha innocently.

"Nothing," said Jenna sternly.

"They speak for themselves."

Their faces drove home the seriousness of their directive. Trisha recoiled slightly.

"Alright." she whispered.

=====

That evening, Trisha sat uncomfortably on the sofa trying to tap her mismatched nails against her thigh only to fail. The resulting rhythm was way off because two of them were mostly missing. The afternoon light bled gold through the half-drawn blinds. Candy landed beside her with the grace of a hyperactive gazelle, the cushions bouncing wildly. "What's wrong, T-bear?" she chirped, already poking Trisha's ribs. "Did the gas station only have decaf again?"

"When you say T-bear, is that me?"

"No good?"

"No. No good." Trisha groaned, draping an arm over her eyes. "My life has turned into one of those Russian nesting dolls of bad decisions."

Candy perked up even more, if that was even possible. "I love those! They're called 'marty—somethings'."

"I've got a new bedroom, new expenses, new life of lies. I'm trying to outwit two members of the lesbian Illuminati." She peeked out from under her elbow. "—and as if that wasn't enough, both of my boyfriends..."

"...bleh..."

"...decided that they wanted us to get serious. Literally within hours of each other. I'm not that great a catch."

"You're amazing!!!" defended Candy before switching to a more self-serving tone. "But two serious boyfriends does sound gross. Regardless, moving into this apartment with me is the best decision you have ever made. You'll see."

"Focus, Candy. I need to decommission one of them before this whole operation blows up in my face. It's just one too many things. I'm not supposed to be a wife. I'm supposed to be a squeak toy."

Candy gasped, clasping her hands and smiling broadly. "You know what this is like? This is like when I had to choose between joining cheerleading or the chess club!" She paused to prepare her story, not realizing it also gave Trisha plenty of time to register her skepticism with an unguarded eyebrow. Candy hugged a throw pillow to her chest and then tucked herself into a ball for data collection time.

"Okay. We're going to get through this together. What are their names?"

"Jake and Gareth."

Candy pressed her hands together triumphantly. "No, that's all wrong. This is easy. Ditch them both."

"Come on!"

"Those are terrible guy names," protested Candy vehemently before switching to a mockery. "I've never even met them and I can tell you that these aren't the guys for you. What are your kids gonna call him? Gareth? Hey Gareth, take me to the mall. I don't think so."

"They'd call him 'Dad'. And what decade am I living in where my kids still go to the mall?" asked Trisha. "Are we all sitting around the radio every Sunday singing with Humphrey Bogart?"

"Hey, Jake. Brah. Can we have pizza tonight?" continued Candy, now lost in a second daydream future for Trisha's children. "Nobody says that."

"Really?" Trisha inquired with a smile. "So what would a good guy name be?"

Candy saw an opportunity, burning through thousands of calories in mere seconds trying to come up with the perfect answer.

"Andy."

"What?"

"I could totally see you marrying an 'Andy'."

"Stop. You've gone insane."

"I could totally hear you on your honeymoon." Then Candy donned her Broadway actress. "'Oh my God. Andy! Fuck yes. There. Lick right there. Lick it. Lick it! Holy fuck Andy!!!"

Candy checked in with the crowd to see how the performance was going. Trisha's face was beat red as she, for the first time, wondered how thin the walls were. When it was clear Trisha wasn't following along, Candy rolled her eyes then begrudgingly continued.

"Well, whatever. I don't know for sure about Andy, but whatever his name is I know he's probably a smart former cheerleader only because the stupid chess club wouldn't know a surprise attack if it dropped a diagram in their laps." said Candy, honestly believing she was being tricky. "The horses can go out of bounds for one turn as long as they can get back. My dad taught me chess and he's a genius."

Trisha buried her face in her hands for a second to reset life. Leaning her head back against the cushions of the sofa, she dug her phone out of her bra as Candy stared like a woman lost in the desert for three days who just saw a canteen. Trisha scrolled with her new maroon-tipped middle finger. "This is Jake. Reliable. Always remembers my Starbucks order. But he thinks when I say Marvel movie that I want a black-and-white art film. I don't care who Bridget Bardot is. She's hotter than me, and I don't speak French."

"He has no sense of what you want or need. He's gotta go."

"Not done yet." said Trisha, plowing ahead as Candy continued to register her disdain with an outstretch tongue paired with her famed scrunchy nose. Eventually Trisha found an acceptable photo of her second beau. "Then there's Gareth."

"What's a 'Gareth'. Does anyone even know?"

"He writes actual poetry, and I once saw him cry. Both bad things. However, he has these incredible muscles right here under his blue jeans that I grab ahold of..."

"New-friend girl time!" announced Candy as Trisha started to laugh in that weird way she did when she was lost in a sex memory. Her empty, outstretched hands mindlessly demonstrated "sex muscles" much to Candy's horror.

"Why don't we check to see if I have any of those?" asked Candy as a form of subject change. "Just so that I know for sure what we're talking about right now."

Trisha went to get up, complaining, "See, I can't talk to you about this. I need Jenna. Why isn't she home yet?"

Candy waved her hands desperately, trying to assure Trisha that she had the capacity to take this situation seriously. "No, no, no. I can do this. I'm sorry. Don't ask Jenna questions. She's under stress."

"She's under stress?"

"Definitely."

"About what?"

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know if you don't know?"

"We're besties. I just know her vibes."

Trisha considered these words carefully. Suddenly, Trisha wanted more in life.

"When do I get a bestie?" she asked.

"She wasn't assigned to me when I moved in. We just met."

"How?"

Candy got very serious and sat up straight, looking away toward the poster. "No, I can't tell that story yet."

"Why not?"

"The statute of limitations hasn't expired."

"But, I don't know what that is."

Candy pulled the rip-cord on this conversation. "Pick a girlfr—er—you know—boy—whatever." Then the gears kept turning. "Or, become a nun temporarily."

"I'm doomed. I hate choosing things." confessed Trisha.

"We noticed." said Candy with a smirk. "That's why when we painted your nails we used six different kinds of polish. You cost us $182.50 in product."

"I look like I tried to steal candy from Willy Wonka." said Trisha, lamenting the new state of her own hands while moving them around to find a better light.

"How dare you. There's a reason why it's called a 'queer-icure'. Women will be all over you." groused Candy, more annoyed that Trisha didn't simply absorb the self-evident nature of homosexuality, leave all boyfriends, then find her forever slut.

"I don't want women all over me."

"You take that to your grave." whispered Candy. "Now I'm depressed."

The front door slammed shut with the subtlety of a foghorn, announcing Jenna's arrival. She kicked off her shoes, sending one skidding under the coffee table and the other ricocheting off the closet door. Her handbag, book bag, and side bag all crunched onto the table by the door. She then beat the handbag with the side bag as if it had failed in its duties to carry everything required.

"We have pie for that." explained Candy.

"Shh. Not anymore we don't." explained Trisha quickly, with an edge of caution as she tried to prevent her new friend from promising something she couldn't deliver. She then tried to dodge Candy's incoming glare of consternation.

"I'm going to burn that office to the ground," Jenna announced.

"That reminds me. We're out of marshmallows." Trisha added, looking concerned that she was approaching the point where she would be asked to move back in with her father.

Candy's face changed, looking concerned. "You can quit—sort of—if you're careful—and save up beforehand. You're awesome. You can find another job. That pays better. Or ask for a bonus." The suggestion landed with the weight of a feather—light, obvious, and utterly useless. Jenna turned her head just enough to glare with one bloodshot eye.

"Quit?" Jenna repeated, now pacing around the room like an animal. "Oh, right. I'll just stop eating. And breathing. And paying rent."

"Please don't do any of those things." begged Candy sincerely.

Jenna reached into her sea of bags and dug out a battered notebook held together by two rubber bands. It was covered in what looked like dried coffee stains. She flipped it open to reveal page after page of handwritten lists, each titled "REASONS NOT TO QUIT (TODAY)"

Candy needed to help her friend. Quitting her job would be one of the worst things that Jenna ever did—to their amazing apartment and reputation.

Jenna tapped the notebook with a chipped fingernail, her voice dropping into the grave seriousness of someone explaining nuclear fission to a toddler. "The system works like this: If I can find one thing—just one—to put on the list, then I stay. Doesn’t matter how stupid it is. Yesterday it was because the office coffee machine had a 'Please Be Patient, I’m Hot' sticker. The day before that, I stayed because requisitions finally gave me the cup full of pens I asked for—last month. Last month it was 'I might get pens tomorrow.'"

"What was today's one item?" asked Trisha.

"I found marshmallows in the break room."

"Boy, that's a lucky break." said Candy quietly to Trisha. But a new thought entered Candy's brain, and her eyes gleamed with the dangerous spark of someone who’d just discovered gasoline and matches. "Wait! Wait—wait—wait!" She pointed at the notebook in Jenna's hand. "T-bear..."

"Not gonna to happen."

"...this is the answer for your boyfriend crisis. We need to make a list of pros and cons! Instead of stopping arson, we're systematically extinguishing the love that two heterosexuals have for each other—as Ellen intended."

Candy stood proudly and marched toward the kitchen in search of paper and pens. As she reached out a hand to push the door, she finished her battle plan with, "Come with me! Time to find out who stays and who goes."

"Both of those are 'whom'." Jenna yelled after Candy, already trudging toward her bedroom to become Temporarily Comfortable Jenna. "Not that I care anymore." The door clicked shut behind her with what seemed like a click that announced she would not be seen for the rest of the night.

Trisha entered the kitchen and found Candy elbow-deep inside one of the kitchen drawers, her ass sticking out like an overenthusiastic prairie dog. Various utensils clattered to the floor—a garlic press, gift-wrap tape, and what looked suspiciously like a fondue fork from the seventies. "Aha!" Candy exclaimed, brandishing a small ruled notebook and a pen shaped like a flamingo. She shook it proudly so that Trisha could watch its little feathers move. "Let's do this!"

"That appears to be a grocery list from, like, years ago." Trisha said, reviewing the contents of the first page.

Candy looked bewildered at the inductive reply. "How do you know?"

"That energy drink is illegal now. It destroys people's kidneys." explained Trisha.

Candy waved off Trisha's confidence with some of her own. "Irrelevant. This," she said, drawing a line straight down the middle of the page, "is where we separate the sprinkles from the doughnuts. The laces from the sneakers. The—"

"—Jakes from the Gareths?" Trisha offered as a way to refocus the effort.

The feathered ass of the flamingo wobbled back and forth while the names of the victims were engraved at the top of their respective columns, ready for execution. "Exactly. We're drafting breakup criteria. I don't want to know the good, the bad, and the ugly. I want the ugly, the terrible, and the godawful. So spill it. Go!"

The door to the kitchen swung open with no enthusiasm. It didn't even make it's normal squeaking sound. Jenna stood in the kitchen doorway like a lost Victorian ghost, her shoulders slumped under the weight of whatever fresh hell corporate America had dumped on her that afternoon. "I need pie," she confessed, her voice hollow.

"Uh oh.", said Trisha quietly under her breath.

Candy said without looking up from the flamingo pen currently stabbing Gareth's column with alarming vigor. "No pie. Very sad. Get out."

"You can't put, 'They have testicles' in both columns." protested Trisha. "They gotta be different."

"Hey, which of us has done this before?"

"It's gotta be stuff like, 'Cries too much'."

"Perfect. Which one does that?"

Trisha looked back over her short dating career. "Okay, they both do that."

"So, does one of them have testicles that are more hideous than the other?"

"I've seen all kinds of testicles, and they're all hideous."

"You nurse that thought, then grow it like a seed." Candy pointed her self-serving flamingo pen directly at Trisha. "The worst thing that could happen to us is if you got pregnant."

"What the hell is going on in here?" asked Jenna, finally leaving behind the disappointment over the missing pie as if stepping out from a fog.

"Nothing. Get out."

Jenna was instantly suspicious. Something was up. She could feel it. This was more reckless abandonment of the lesbian code of ethics. A crime was afoot, and she wasn't about to let that happen on her watch. "Out with it!"

Trisha answered innocently. "Candy is helping me break up with a guy."

"Is she now?"

The gaze of Jenna met the gaze of Candy like an auto accident. The air crackled between them with words unspoken. They had an agreement. It could not have been simpler: there would be no attempts to date Trisha. Even if by some miracle Trisha—of her own accord—became a lesbian, neither Jenna nor Candy would shoot for that hoop. No matter what. Everything depended on it.

Jenna’s jaw tightened. "Rule Six!" she mumbled in a way that made everyone worried the neighbors would hear. Candy stood incredulously, her eyes as thin as razors. Her poker face put in overtime as she realized that maybe her secret plan may not have been so secret. "I am well aware of rule number six. Rule 19."

"Rule six trumps Rule 19."

"What's rule number six?" asked Trisha innocently. Her inquiry into the nuances of the Lesbian Handbook was met with four waving hands and two voices making unintelligible noises.

"A-tut-eh-tut-a-tut." both women said, trying to persuade her not to delve too deeply into the subject underlying the spat.

Jenna opened the freezer and yanked out a toaster popper.

"I'm gonna go eat my dinner." announced Jenna, her voice dripping with disdain. "And while I do—everyone in here better behave." She and Candy never broke eye contact until the kitchen door made the divide between them official.

"There now. Where were we?" asked Candy innocently.

"You two are not normal."

"Focus. We've got to get you single. And quickly." said Candy. "We can't have stress like this in the apartment. It's bad for the soul. Also, ending up homeless."

"Not single. Down to one."

"A-tut-eh-tut-a-tut."

=====

The flamingo pen bled ink across Gareth's column like a crime scene. Candy leaned over the notebook, her tongue poking out in concentration as she added "Owns multiple fedoras" under his growing list of offenses. "This is worse than I thought," she murmured, circling it twice for emphasis. "How have you been living like this?"

"Did you know they make pleated fedoras now? It's like Satan learned origami."

Candy's hands were on her forehead in disbelief. "How are you still not convinced?"

Trisha slid her hands past the belt of her shorts. "He has these muscles."

"You're a sex addict. How am I supposed to help you?"

Trisha gnawed on the cap of a highlighter, watching Candy eviscerate her dating history with the enthusiasm of a tax auditor.

"Last one is 'Farmers market'. I'm unwilling to let that one go."

"Fine," said Trisha. "So what do we have?"

"Twenty-four against vs. twenty-four against." Candy said tapping hard on the little pad, which was now so warm from use it could have cooked a steak.

"How did that happen?"

"You know what that means. Celibacy."

"What?"

"Celibacy until you can't take it any more and you just have to hump anything that moves."

"We need a better system." begged Trisha like a politician trying to end a filibuster. "I have to have a penis in my life."

Candy waved her hand dismissively. "A-tut-eh-tut-a-tut." she stammered, waving her roommate off. "We don't use the p-word in this apartment. I wrote down 'Pants don't fit' in both columns. We both know what that means."

Candy stretched like a cat waking from a sunbeam, arching her back in a way that would have made a yoga instructor take notes. The hem of her tank top rode up just enough to prove she had a bellybutton, and she deliberately let one strap slip off her shoulder. The whole thing was as subtle as a foghorn. Trisha, meanwhile, was oblivious to the overture, her head hung in frustration.

"Now *I* want pie."

Just then, Jenna eased the door to the kitchen open like a cool breeze and stood there staring at Candy, well aware of what a "stretch" means in this particular apartment complex. However, Candy played it off like she was swatting at a nefarious mosquito, then recovered to the seated position one would expect from a normal human.

Trisha emerged with a jar of pickles and a plastic container that only contained fuzz at this point. "I'm sorry, but this meal and its container have to be thrown away. They are unrecoverable."

Jenna took the offending take-out and placed it carefully in the bottom of the trash. "If this was the CDC, alarms would be going off right now."

Jenna held up six fingers in the air as she returned to the living room. The door swung shut, leaving behind only the noise of wood sliding past wood to warn Candy of her verbal commitment to maintain a happy living space.

"Now I want pie." Candy said to herself as Trisha made the sign of the cross over a now slightly fuller trash can while chewing on a pickle.

====

No one was actually paying attention when the knock at the door came. It could have been any number of neighboring lesbians. But it wasn't. It was THE neighboring lesbian. When Jenna opened the door, Barbara was there looking positively un-celebratory in one of her most professional business suits.

"Barbara." said Jenna in a way that only air being sucked out of a lung could make. Barbara's sharp gaze swept across the apartment like a lighthouse beam scanning for endangered ships.

"We're investigating reports," Barbara began, tapping a manicured nail against her clipboard, "that someone assaulted the vending machines again." Her eyes narrowed as Jenna pushed the half-eaten candy bar behind her under one of her many bags. "The vending machine company and I rarely have anything in common. And yet today, we are both—displeased."

Before Jenna could formulate a lie involving raccoons and an elaborate pulley system, Delilah materialized behind Barbara.

"That is not what we talked about." chided Delilah.

Delilah immediately switched to the cadence of someone selling solar panels. Her hand gently landed in the center of Barbara's back, urging her forward into the apartment with three delicate fingers. "Hi, girls!" The roommates all waved and welcomed them in an uneasy unison.

"Hey, Delilah!"

Delilah caught sight of Trisha's nails. "Oh my God! Trisha, I love those nails! Those are divine."

"Thank you!" said Jenna and Candy in unison.

Still to Trisha. "They must have cost you a fortune."

"They did." said Jenna and Candy in unison.

"What my darling wife meant to say," Delilah chirped, pausing to silently stare deeply into Barbara's annoyed eyes as a way of encouraging her to participate in tonight's festivities, "is that we have decided to get to know our wonderful tenants better! We love you all and we want you to feel welcome." Barbara had ended up nearly face-to-face with Jenna, who was stunned to be so close to a gay celebrity.

"Yes. Eh—Hello." began Barbara, making a genuine attempt to enact the plan she had formulated to appease her wife. It was an actual attempt to engage other humans. She continued, directly offering pleasantries to Jenna, who continued to wave sheepishly long after the acceptable amount of time as her eyes continued to widen. "I am happy to be inside of the apartment I own, which you rent from me. Please tell me more about how you haven't violated the conditions governing the return of your security deposit!"

"No. No business talk." corrected Delilah.

"Or your day—if you must—but only if it's absolutely necessary."

Jenna reached behind her back while maintaining a faux smile, cleaning up what was left of the enraged mess she made earlier with her bags.

"Why us?" asked Trisha, with deep concern.

"It was a compromise." explained Barbara, joyful to be telling the truth instead of pretending. "Delilah agreed that we would work clockwise starting from the north to make me more comfortable. Congratulations. You're first."

Candy bounced up from the sofa with the sudden energy of a jack-in-the-box, flinging her arms wide like a game show hostess revealing a new car. "Delilah, darling! I am all about this. Let’s whip up something fabulous in the kitchen!" The two kindred spirits marched into the kitchen to get to work, leaving Jenna and Trisha alone with the person most likely to destroy their lives at any moment.

"It was damp, today." suggested Trisha.

"Yes. Damp." agreed Barbara, looking for cracks in the ceiling.

"Do you want pickles?" Trisha asked, yanking a jar of pickles from between the sofa cushions as if that's from whence they always arrive.

Barbara’s eyelid twitched as she turned to Jenna. "I left my clipboard downstairs. I will pay you twenty dollars to go get it—and then beat me to death with it."

=====

Delilah opened and closed cabinets wildly as Candy poured various random juices and vodkas into a bowl. "I make this stuff all the time. It's how we met Trisha."

"If I had known how barren these cupboards were, I would have brought supplies."

"If you want to go get some more vodka, we'll keep Barbara entertained until you get back."

"She's actually very delightful company. But she thinks she has to be 'Landlord Barbara' all the time."

"So, what brought all this on?"

"We're spreading our wings. Together."

Candy pressed both hands to her heart in response to the deeply romantic nature of such a comment.

"Cosmo?" asked Candy.

"I'm trying to catch up on our subscriptions."

Candy took out a tablespoon from the drawer and began stirring her punch bowl.

"Do you need a bigger spoon?" asked Delilah.

"It's the only one that won't dissolve."

"I would love a delicious beverage over ice!"

"Bag of ice in the freezer. Hammer's in that drawer there."

"Do you have wine for Barbara?" asked Delilah.

Candy leaned over and opened the cabinet where they kept the fancy booze. "Does she like port?" offered Candy, placing the bottle in front of Delilah.

Delilah roared with laughter. "Sweetie, you are delightful." she complimented, placing the bottle back in front of Candy. "Put that away before she sees it."

Candy was partly offended that her offering was snubbed, but more relieved that this party would be a lot less expensive than it could have been.

"That was fun." said Delilah, as she turned around and gazed off randomly into the kitchen, trying to imagine what a glass of ten-dollar wine would do to the paint job of an old car.

That's when it happened.

"What's this a list of?"

It was only natural for Candy to scream, "Noooo!" and then push it off of the table like an unwelcome cockroach in response to such a shock. The two women looked at its new home on the floor of the kitchen, then back at each other, then back at the floor.

"I mean…" Candy said, regrouping herself and casting an aloof hand. "...nothing."

Soon, Trisha entered the kitchen to find out what all the ruckus was about.

"What is going on in here?"

"Hello, eh—T-bear..." welcomed Delilah in a tone that obscured the upcoming interrogation.

"Really?" said Trisha to Candy.

"She said it in the wrong tone. Give her another chance."

"Who are Jake and Garreth?" asked Delilah suspiciously. "And why don't their pants fit?"

"You read that far that fast? That was incredible." complimented Candy, truly astonished by Delilah's abilities.

Trisha saw Delilah. She saw Candy. She saw the notebook on the floor. She correctly replied, "Noooo!" in a tone normally used by bank robbers as the cops arrive. "What? That? Nothin'." parroted Trisha.

But Trisha knew the stakes. "Funny story about that—" She held up a finger, turned, then leaned through the kitchen door into the living room. There was only one person who could dock this vessel. Trisha held up a single finger and caught the thankful eye of Jenna, who was sitting as Barbara was—literally on the edge of their respective sofa seats as they pondered what they could possibly say to one another. "Jenna, my dear. May we borrow you for just a moment."

"Oh my god, yes!" said Jenna as she fast-walked for the kitchen door.

By the time Jenna entered the kitchen, Delilah was seated at the kitchen island, holding the notebook that was formerly on the floor. Her eyebrow was almost on the ceiling. She knew something was up, but not quite what it was. Jenna managed to maintain a face of stone as she walked into the hornet's nest. Because she had to. The only other option was homelessness, and sadly her car had a no-pie policy.

"Ah. That. It turns out—that—I—eh—have been—writing a—"

"—heterosexual porno!!!" screamed Candy, as proud as she had ever been to contribute to one of Jenna's lies. It was a winning solution, and she came to it all by herself at the last possible second. She bounced in place with a gleeful expression while silently clapping her hands.

Jenna looked straight into Candy's soul with the burning heat of a soldering iron. As Delilah gawked at Jenna in stunned disbelief, there was no room to maneuver, and Jenna had to take it right in the teeth as Candy pushed her hands forward as if to say, "Take this gift I have given you and use it to save us.".

"Yes. That is accurate. Because of course it couldn't have been any other type of creative writing. To make rent this month..."

Jenna took a deep breath to keep herself from slapping Candy across the face.

"...I have been writing heterosexual pornography in a freelance capacity and then selling it on the Internet under a pseudonym to the highest bidder."

Trisha and Candy held up approving thumbs. Delilah sat the book down carefully as if it was full of contamination and then wiped her hands gracefully on a nearby towel. "Well. First of all," began Delilah's diplomatic response. "Your entrepreneurial spirit is to be commended."

"Um," said Trisha to Delilah. "Side note: I have pickles in the living room if you need a snack."

"Here's what I want to do." said Delilah, not even acknowledging the offer of food. "I will speak with Barbara about possibly finding you a better way to raise money. Perhaps you could do chores around the complex. Trim a hedge, or something."

"Well," said Jenna, relieved to be on the far side of this conversation. "I'm sure one of us will gladly do the chores needed to resolve this situation to everyone's satisfaction."

"Oh, man. That's me, isn't it."

Jenna nodded calmly.

Delilah stood and considered her next words very carefully. The three roommates leaned in. "I think it best that we not discuss this with Barbara. For any reason. Ever."

All four women nodded their heads in agreement.

"Also," announced Delilah, rising to her feet like any good reviewer would do. "Clearly this Gareth is a poor suitor with a horrible name. Jake will easily make you this month's rent, plus a pizza."

"Bang!" yelled Trisha, turning to Candy excitedly as Delilah glided past her toward the kitchen door. "How about that? The list worked! Aren't you excited?"

"Oh, yes. I'm so obviously thrilled."

Delilah entered the living room through the swinging kitchen door with the grace of a princess. "Barbara, my dearest. It's time to go." Barbara shot to her feet, retaking her normal statuesque position with the rarest of smiles.

"I love you with all of my heart."

At that point, it was a race for the door even as Delilah disguised it well with an, "I'm terribly sorry, ladies, but something has come up. We'll have to do punch and pickles at some other time.". The three roommates followed behind, waving eagerly as the two landladies returned to the courtyard from whence they arrived.

=====

Jenna cleared her throat with the gravitas of a judge about to sentence someone to life as Candy and Trisha tried using doe eyes to beg for leniency. "Apartment rule number eighty-eight." she continued, underlining it twice on what was now HER little book of lists.

"Why doesn't the flamingo move when she writes?"

"He's too afraid."

"No heterosexual paraphernalia or written evidence is allowed past the parking lot." continued Jenna.

Trisha squinted. "What exactly counts as—"

"*Anything* that would make Delilah say, 'What is that?' in her philanthropy voice is no longer allowed." Jenna interrupted, stabbing the pen toward Trisha's chest. "No boy-band posters. No ex-boyfriends. No words containing 'boy' at all, including 'tomboy' and 'attaboy'. You're in the big leagues now. Act like it."

"And no sports bras." said Candy, taking one final shot at gaining something from the situation that avalanched against her. "They're bad for morale."

"Rule number six!"

"No, I was just saying."

"Guys, what's rule number six?"

"Nothing!" Jenna and Candy responded in unison.

"Nothing?"

"No. Different thing. Unrelated to you. Don't worry about it."

"'cause you said it like three times."

"Because that's how comedy works."