Day Three

5:15 am – T.S. is on her back, naked, her eyes closed, her body perfectly still. L.D. lays across the bed, also naked, her head resting on T.S.’ stomach. Both women are on top of the blankets. L.D. walks her fingers along the pale, white skin and down to the crease between her legs. T.S. doesn’t move as L.D. slips two fingers inside her. L.D. turns her head and looks at T.S. “It really is amazing.” “What?” T.S. asks, staring at the ceiling. “You’re exactly the same temperature inside as out. Cold,” L.D. says, letting her fingers slide out, then back in. The delicate skin around the opening catches and pulls. T.S. remains still. “Don’t you get wet?” L.D. asks, looking down again. “I get wet,” T.S. whispers, as though the act of speaking was too much work. “This doesn’t feel good?” “It doesn’t feel like anything,” T.S. says, finally moving, reaching down and brushing her fingertips against L.D.’s bleached hair. “You don’t feel anything at all?” L.D. asks, looking back up and kissing T.S.’ fingers. T.S. looks at her. “I feel hungry.” L.D. smiles and pulls her hand up and slips her fingers in her mouth. “Absolutely nothing.”

5:22 am – T.S. walks down the hall of her Manhattan apartment. The hardwood floors are cold, but she doesn’t mind. Banging and clanking echo through the mostly empty Penthouse. She walks past an aquarium full of baseballs, running her fingertips along its glass front.

5:23 am – L.D. is in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors and drawers. “How the fuck do you find anything in this place? There’s no system! I feel like I’m going to have a fucking breakdown. You don’t even have a cutlery tray!” she holds up a hand full of forks and spoons. “It’s all just loose in here.” T.S. stands at the edge of the kitchen, resting her hands on the granite surface of the island. “There’s a Keurig coffee maker over there,” she says, pointing at the machine on the counter. “And milk and a block of chocolate in the fridge “Thank Christ,” L.D. says, walking over and pressing buttons. After a moment it begins hissing and spitting. “Do you want some?” T.S. shakes her head. “No, but I want you to have some. I like the smell.”

5:38 am – L.D. blows on her mug of marocchino. T.S. sits at a huge table. Both women are still naked. “Drink it,” T.S. says,looking up at L.D. “It’s hot,” L.D. says, sipping milk foam from the top. Little flakes of chocolate stick to the corners of her lips. She pulls these into her mouth with her tongue. When she sets the mug down on the table and scoots out one of the chairs, T.S. holds up her hand “Do you mind, um, putting on some underwear?” L.D. looks at T.S. for a second, her head cocked. “Why?” “These are expensive chairs,” L.D. looks at T.S. “You aren’t wearing underwear,” T.S. sighs. “I’m not as…moist… as you are.” L.D. shakes her head, eyebrows raised. “Okay I guess. I’m sorry,” she says, turning to go back to the bedroom.”Wait,” T.S. says, then takes one of the cloth napkins from the holder and spreads it across the seat of the chair. “Here, problem solved.” L.D. sighs and sits down on the napkin covered chair. After a long, quiet moment, L.D. picks up the mug and takes a sip. She smiles.”This is fucking amazing. You should try it,” she holds it out to T.S.who takes the mug and looks at it. “Okay, just a little,” she says,before taking a tiny sip. She puts the mug down on a saucer on the table.

S.G. – no longer an astro pop covered in poisonous semen. just a regular astro pop now. <3

i may or may not have contributed to removing certain elements from her life with what might or might not have been a box-cutter.

5:40 am – L.D. sucks the rest of the milk foam from the top of the drink. “Are you sure you don’t want more?” she asks, holding the cup out to T.S. “No, thank you, but please, enjoy.” L.D. sets the cup down on the table, then immediately picks it up again and places it on the saucer. She looks at T.S. and smiles. L.D says “Hey, I’ve got my OCD shit too. I’ve got my shit and you’ve got your shit. I totally get it.” T.S. smiles.”Thanks,” she says. There’s a long pause while they both sit there, staring at the table. “Do you have any more coke?” L.D. asks. T.S. nods. L.D. grins.

5:56 am – T.S. stands in her massive shower, electric toothbrush poking out of her mouth, and stares at the wall. The water steams around her from the overhead jets. After a moment, she spits toothpaste into the drain.

6:12 am – T.S. stands in front of the bathroom mirror, a towel wrapped around her middle, her hair wet and hanging in stringy clumps. L.D. is in the shower, singing Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads softly to herself. T.S. leans forward and looks at her eyes in the mirror. She pulls the bottom lid of her right eye down and examines the pupil. They’re a brilliant blue. L.D. shuts off the water mid-same-as-it-ever-was. She opens the door and looks at T.S., who is still staring at her own eyes. “Why doesn’t your mirror fog up?” L.D. asks. T.S. responds without looking at her.”There’s a heater behind it.” L.D. nods approvingly. “What are you looking at?” T.S. turns and steps toward L.D., still holding her eyelid down. “Do my eyes look like they’re clouding over? Are they milky?” L.D. leans in and looks for a moment. “What? Like cataracts?” T.S. nods. L.D. shakes her head. “No. They look normal.”T.S. lets go of her eyelids and blinks.

6:31 am – T.S. and L.D. stand in front of a closet in one of the apartments many bedrooms. Inside is an assortment of strange clothes. They take turns examining and discarding items. Most are long sleeved, ankle length dresses. They’re giggling maniacally.

6:48 am – T.S. and L.D. sit on the floor of yet another bedroom. They both wear the long dresses. T.S. has her hair pulled back into atight bun, which makes her look like a FLDS sister-wife. T.S. cuts lines of coke on an album cover. Anticipation by Carly Simon. The record spins on the turntable, the title track blasting so loud the two women have to practically scream at each other to be heard. L.D. leans forward with a metal tube in her hand and snorts a line. Blood is smeared across T.S.’ mouth and L.D.’s wrist. “I fucking love Carly Simon so much!” T.S. yells over the music. L.D. nods emphatically. “Have you ever met her?” T.S.nods. “I sang with her! She’s a fucking coke head!” L.D. shakes her head.”That’s fucking terrible!” She snorts another line, comes back up laughing hysterically, white powder dusting the bottom half of her face.”Is there speed in this?” T.S. shrugs. “Probably!” L.D.stops laughing suddenly and looks at T.S., eyes wide. “Holy shit, have you ever met Kris Kristofferson?” T.S. nods, grinning, her teeth shiny with blood. “Yes!” “Was he amazing?” T.S. nods again. “He was the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” She picks up a scalpel from the floor and holds out her hand. “Give me your wrist!” L.D. smiles and holds out her hand. T.S. takes it and cuts her arm open. Blood drips into the scattered powder between them and T.S. covers the wound with her mouth. L.D. moans softly and lays down, T.S. sucking at her wrist.

7:39 am – T.S. chases L.D. through the house. They both have Nerf guns. L.D. is out of breath and collapses against a wall in the hallway. She breathes in deep, sweaty gulps. T.S. stands over her with her Nerf gun pointed at L.D.’s head. They both wear absurdly thick, messy makeup which makes them look like Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane in their long dresses. L.D. talks through her panting “I can’t run anymore.” “Then you lose,” T.S. says, stepping back. L.D. closes one eye. T.S. fires her gun. An orange dart bounces off of L.D.’s head.

7:40 am – T.S. sits on the floor next to L.D., who is still out of breath. L.D. rolls her head against the wall and looks at T.S. “I really am starting to get hungry.” “You just had coffee.” L.D. looks puzzled. “Coffee isn’t food. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. I am literally starving. To death. I will be dead and it will be your fault because the only food you have in your house is coffee and candy.” T.S. sighs.”Go get my phone from the bedroom. There’s a place across the street. They’ll make you whatever you want.” L.D. gets to her feet and walks down the hall, almost tripping over her dress.

7:46 am – L.D. hands T.S. her phone. T.S. swipes the screen up and dials a number. “Hello, who am I speaking to please? Hello Mia. Do you have a boss or a manager I can talk to? Yes. Thank you. Yes it is. Oh, good.Yes. Thank you. Talk to my friend, okay?” T.S. hands L.D. the phone and says “Don’t get anything that smells. No bacon or anything with syrup.” L.D. nods and takes the phone. “Hi. Yes please. Can I have uh… eggs? Scrambled eggs?” She looks at T.S. who nods. “And toast.Whole grain. With peanut-butter.” T.S. shakes her head. “Wait, no peanut butter. Just regular butter. And uh… do you have some kind of melon? Cantaloupe? Something like that?” L.D. looks at T.S. who gives a thumbs up. “Excellent. Thank you so much. See you soon.”

8:04 am – T.S. stands in front of one of the slanted roof windows that looks out over Manhattan. The sun is rising. When her phone rings, she answers it immediately. “Yes, thank you Amir. Bring it up. I’ll leave money for you and money for them in front of my door. Thank you.” She hangs up and slips the phone into the hip pocket of her dress.

L.D. – cantaloupe and cocaine

8:06 am – T.S. opens her front door and places a square, red envelope on the floor at her doorstep. Scrawled across the front in black Sharpie is the name AMIR. She closes the door.

8:07 am – T.S. and L.D. sit on the floor next to the front door. They hold hands and smile conspicuously. “Do you think he’s come yet?” L.D. asks. T.S. shakes her head. “No. He’ll knock.” L.D. puts her ear to the door for a moment, then pulls away. She rubs her nose against the back of her hand and blood begins to trickle down her upper lip. “How much money did you leave?” “Two fifties. One for him and one for whoever made the food.” L.D.’s eyes widen. “You’re paying a hundred dollars for my eggs and cantaloupe?” T.S. shakes her head. “And toast. But no. I’m paying a hundred dollars so that the next time someone stays at my house and wants food delivered at 8 in the morning — and I mean good food — I know they’ll jump to do it.” L.D. opens her mouth to speak, but then screams when a soft knock comes on the door. They both scramble away on their butts.

8:08 am – T.S. stands by the door and listens. L.D. steps a few feet back, staring, eyes wide, as though a murderer may be on the other side. “I’ll get your food. Go in the bathroom and fix your nose,” T.S. says, pointing down the hall. “What’s wrong with my-” L.D. touches her lip and pulls her fingers away bloody. “Oh. Shit.” She looks up, suddenly pale. “I better slow down.” She starts snapping her fingers. “Do you have something… an oxy or a klonopin or a fucking… I don’t know…” she looks at her bloody fingers again. “I’ll find you something. Just go clean up. You’re bleeding on your dress and my floor.” L.D. looks down as another fat drop splashes against her dress. “Sorry.” She goes to the bathroom and T.S. opens the door.

8:15 am – T.S. and L.D. sit at her dining room table. L.D.’s right nostril is plugged with bloodied wads of toilet paper. T.S. watches with interest as she shovels eggs into her mouth. “I am so fucking hungry. These eggs are amazing!” “I’m glad,” T.S. says, picking up a spoon from the table and looking at her reflection in it. L.D. picks up a wedge of cantaloupe and pops it into her mouth. “May I have some of that?” T.S. asks. L.D. nods and pushes her plate over. T.S. picks up a fork and stabs a piece of cantaloupe and takes a small bite of it. She chews slowly, with her eyes closed. “Does it taste good to you?” L.D. asks. T.S. nods. “Will it make you sick?” T.S. opens her eyes and nods.

8:20 am – L.D. pushes the empty plate away and dabs her mouth with a cloth napkin. T.S. has wiped most of the lipstick from her face with her own napkin. There’s enough left to leave pink stain that somehow makes her look even more crazy. “I still can’t believe you paid a hundred bucks for that,” L.D. says. T.S. smirks and waves her hand. “That’s nothing.” “It’s not nothing!” T.S. leans in, as though she were sharing a secret. “Do you know how much I paid for this place?” L.D. shakes her head, taking a drink of from her glass of ice water. “I bought this place for twenty million dollars from Peter Jackson. It’s two lofts smooshed together into one.” There’s a moment of silence while L.D. seems to search for the right words. T.S. nods, ignoring her, and speaks again. “I’m so fucking rich, it’s insane. I’ll never be able to spend all the money I have. I don’t know what TV money is like, but this place is fucking Lord of the Rings money.” L.D. just looks at her for another moment then looks away, muttering to herself. “It’s not TV, it’s HBO.”

8:21 am – “Have you ever seen Heavenly Creatures?” L.D. asks, changing the subject. T.S. blinks. “No. What is that?” “It’s one of Peter Jackson’s earlier movies. It’s about two teenage girls who plot to murder one of their mothers. It’s got Kate Winslet and Melanie Lynskey.” “Is it good?” L.D. nods. “It’s fucking amazing. Do you want to watch it right now?” T.S. nods. “Okay!” L.D. stands up. “Did you say you had Oxy?” T.S. stands “Yeah, I’m sure I’ve got something.”

8:27 am – L.D. crushes two little blue tablets against the granite island in the kitchen with a spoon. T.S. walks in holding her iPad. “They have Heavenly Creatures on Netflix.” She sees L.D. with the metal tube and frowns. “Don’t fucking snort it! You’re already bleeding everywhere. Just put it in your mouth like a goddamned human being.” L.D. drops the tube to the counter. “I already crushed it.” T.S. puts her iPad on the island and her hands on her hips, looking like a frustrated kindergarten teacher. “Then eat the powder. If your nose is bleeding then stop snorting shit!” “FINE!” L.D. says, angry. They look at each other for a moment then L.D. leans forward and licks the powder off the island. T.S. sighs and turns to leave. “Jesus fucking Christ…”

9:20 am – T.S. and L.D. sit next to each other on a leather sofa in front of a massive TV. Heavenly Creatures plays, Melanie Lynskey’s grim narration booming through the loft. “Do you have any microwave popcorn?” T.S. shakes her head.

10:36 am – L.D. is asleep on the couch, her head leaned back at an awkward angle and snoring. The TV is off. T.S. kneels on the floor next to her. She pushes the hem of L.D.’s long prairie dress up, exposing the pale flesh of her leg. T.S. holds her scalpel and feels around with her fingers for L.D.’s pulse. She finds it behind her knee and pokes the spot with the tip of the scalpel. Blood begins to seep from the opening and T.S. latches on with her mouth. L.D. stops snoring for a second and rolls onto her side. T.S. rolls with her, pulling her leg up for a better angle. L.D. resumes her snoring.

10:52 am – T.S. sits at a white full sized piano in a large, almost empty room. The sun reflects off of the East River and through the slanted, floor to ceiling industrial loft windows, filling the room with an orange and pink light. She plays Strawberry Fields Forever and sings softly to herself.

11:10 am – T.S. paces in her bedroom, talking on her phone. She’s changed out of the prairie dress and cleaned the makeup off of her face. She now wears a pair of Ponte Sweatpants, a t-shirt with a unicorn on it and pink ankle socks. “A week is a really long time. How many days to shoot? Yeah. No, it’s okay. I’ve got other business in L.A. anyway. People to see. No, I don’t want to do that. I know. I don’t want to. It’s as simple as that. No, I’m not mad about that. I love Billy Eichner, I just think I’m kind of out of Conan’s league, don’t you? Just because I’m in L.A. doesn’t mean I have to go on every fucking show that films out there. Why are you arguing with me about this? Anything worth being on shoots in New York, and you won’t let me go on the fucking Daily Show, so I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.”

11:23 am – T.S. sits on a leather chair in a soundproof room. Black foam lines the walls. She listens to a pair of professional monitoring headphones, plugged into her phone. Her eyes are closed and her head nods with the beat. The light is dimmed. L.D. stumbles to the open door, still wearing her prairie dress and clownish makeup. She peers in and knocks on the door. T.S. raises her hand in a half wave but doesn’t open her eyes. “Is that the new album?” L.D. asks. T.S. takes one ear of her headphones off. “Yes.” “Can I hear?” L.D. asks. T.S. nods and picks her phone up from the arm of the chair and touches the Bluetooth icon. The sound of a new song fills the room. L.D. steps in and leans against the back of the chair, resting her face along the leather top. “It sounds really good.”

11:54 am – Back in the bedroom, T.S. and L.D. lay across the bed, looking at an iPad. L.D. has cleaned the makeup from her face and is wrapped in a blanket. “We should do The Addams Family next!” L.D. says. T.S. nods as they shop for clothes. “I can be Wednesday and you can by Pugsly,” T.S. says, grinning. L.D.’s face falls. “Why do I have to be Pugsly? I want to be Wednesday. You can be Morticia.” T.S. shrugs. “Fine. I can be Morticia.” She looks at L.D. sideways. “Because you have short hair.” L.D. frowns. “I don’t want to be Pugsly.” “You’re too sensitive. It was just a joke.” L.D. sits up. “I’m not too sensitive! I just don’t know why you’d say I should be Pugsly. That’s mean.” “I’m just fucking with you! Jesus!” L.D. sighs and then smiles. “Okay okay. I’m sorry, I’m just… it’s been a weird week. You know that.” “I know, I’m sorry, okay? You can be Wednesday.” T.S. pulls up a Pinterest board on the iPad. A pin with a black, long-sleeved dress with a white Peter Pan collar. “Amazon Prime has same day delivery in New York now.” L.D. says. “Fuck Amazon Prime. I can call my girl and have whatever we want brought here in forty-five minutes.”

12:26 pm – T.S. and L.D. sit on the floor in the bedroom with the turntable. She Bop by Cyndi Lauper plays on the sound system. L.D. dabs coke up with her finger from the She’s So Unusual album cover sitting on the floor between them and rubs it on her gums. T.S. smiles. “Do you want more blood?” L.D. asks. T.S. shakes her head. “No, I’m full.” L.S. frowns. “Really? I want you too,” she says before dipping down and sucking up a line with the metal tube. “No, it’s not a good idea. I’m full and you’ve lost enough blood already.” “Huh,” L.D. says, sitting back, her robe falling open on one side, unceremoniously exposing a breast. “What would happen if I drank your blood?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip. “You would get very sick,” T.S. says.

12:48 pm – T.S. stands at the turntable and takes She’s So Unusual off and slips the album into its paper sleeve and cover. “Holy shit do you have Purple Rain?” L.D. asks. T.S. nods and bends over, scanning through her vinyl. She pulls out the white and purple album, slips the record out and drops it onto the player.

1:03 pm – T.S. and L.D. dance and sing with wild abandon to Darling Nikki, holding hands and spinning in a circle. T.S.’s phone lights up on the floor and she stops, and picks it up. “Our stuff is here!”

1:16 pm – T.S. and L.D. are in another bathroom. Both are naked. L.D. sits backwards on the closed toilet lid. T.S. stands behind her, working black gel into her hair. She wears rubber gloves. L.D. rolls her head back and around to give T.S. access to various sections. “Okay, turn around,” T.S. says, pulling off her gloves and dropping them into a trashcan next to the sink. She opens a cabinet and takes out a white facecloth, then gets a corner of it wet under the tap. “Do you want me to do your eyebrows?” L.D. twists her mouth into a contemplative frown. “What do you think?” T.S. leans and examines L.D.’s face. “I don’t think so. I think you’d regret it.” She uses the wet corner of the towel to clean errant smears of dye from L.D.’s face, ears and neck.

1:19 pm – L.D. still sits on the toilet, her legs crossed, a shower-cap on her head. T.S. reads the instructions from the Loreal Paris dye kit. “Okay, twenty-five minutes.” L.D. uncrosses her legs and begins to stand. T.S. puts her hand on L.D.’s shoulder. “No no no, you have to stay here. You’re a mess. You can sit on the toilet or in the bathtub.” L.D. sighs. “Okay. Can you get my phone for me?” T.S. smiles “Sure. You want an iPad?” “Yes please.”

1:26 pm – L.D. sits on the toilet holding an iPad. She watches a Maria Bamford stand up special on Netflix. With her free hand, she reaches down and scratches her leg, behind the knee. Her fingers come back up bloody. She looks at them for a long moment, then reaches down and and finds that her leg is bleeding. She pauses the video and picks up her phone and texts T.S.

1:28 pm – T.S. enters the bathroom, holding her phone.”Yeah?” L.D. holds up her wet fingers. “I’m bleeding. My leg is bleeding.” “Did you want a band-aid or something?” L.D. looks at her fingers again and then at T.S. “Did you drink my blood while I was asleep?” T.S. stares at her a long moment, seemingly considering how to approach this. “Yes, I did.” L.D. looks down at her fingers again, unrolls a few pieces of toilet paper and wipes blood from her leg. “That’s kind of fucked up, don’t you think?” “Why?” L.D. looks up at her like she’s crazy. “What do you mean why? Because I… I was asleep! It was, like, non-consensual. You violated my body.” T.S. sighs and shakes her head. “But you like it.” L.D. stands up. “Yeah, I do like it. I like it when WE do it,” she waves her hand back and forth between them. “Not when you just take it from me when I’m sleeping. That’s fucked up!” L.D. storms past T.S. and into the hallway. “Where are you going? Your hair is still wet! And you’re bleeding! Please don’t stain my home!” “Fuck your fucking Lord of the Rings house!” L.D. yells as she stomps down the hall.

1:29 pm – T.S. follows L.D. down the hall to the bedroom they woke up in. L.D. is putting on her underwear. “I don’t understand what you’re so upset about! It’s not like I raped you or something!” L.D. throws her hands up in air. “It’s actually kind of a lot like that!” T.S. frowns and folds her arms across her chest as L.D. pulls a shapeless dress up over her hips and slides her arms under the straps. “You’re the one who molested your sister,” T.S. says with a ‘gotcha’ tone. L.D.’s jaw drops and she flinches, as though she were slapped. “You are so fucking mean to me!”

1:32 pm – L.D. sits on the bed crying into her hands. “I didn’t molest my sister! You fucking KNOW that! We talked about it! How DARE you throw that in my face?!” T.S. sighs again and shakes her head, then kneels down in front of L.D. “Look at me,” T.S. says, tapping L.D. on the knee. L.D. shakes her head. T.S. pulls L.D.’s hands away from her face. “Look at me,” she says again, putting her hands on L.D.’s cheeks. Tears mix with black hair-dye and smear across her face and T.S.’s fingers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was uncalled for and I know it’s not true, okay?” L.D. pulls away from her, but T.S. climbs up onto the bed next to her and stays in her line of sight. “No, it’s not okay,” L.D. says. T.S. ignores her. “And I’m very sorry I fed on you when you were asleep. I thought we had an understanding. Listen, we both have a lot of chemicals in our system right now and we’re both going through some shit and a little fucking crazy. Let’s just…” she wipes tears off of L.D.’s cheeks with her thumb. “Let’s try and reset, okay? Just listen to me. You’re my friend, and I love you, and I respect you, and you’re beautiful and you’re an amazing filmmaker and storyteller and the honesty and truth in your writing is absolutely staggering, understand? I would kill for even a fraction of your artistic bravery.” L.D.’s eyes search T.S.’s face, which is completely earnest. She bites her lower lip and nods. “Okay.” T.S. smiles and kisses her on the forehead. “I don’t want to be Pugsly.” T.S. laughs. “You don’t have to Pugsly. You can be anyone you want to be.” L.D. takes a deep, shaking breath and lets it out. “And you could have woken me up. I would have let you. I would have enjoyed it.” T.S. nods. “I understand. I’m very sorry. It was a misunderstanding.” “It’s okay,” L.D. says as she leans in for a hug. T.S. pulls away. “Oh oh no. You’ll get black dye in my hair,” she says as she stands. “I’m sorry,” L.D. says, looking at the floor.

2:18 pm – T.S. and L.D. stand in front of a floor to ceiling mirror in yet another bedroom. At least eight shopping bags and four garment boxes lay discarded in a pile on the bed behind them. They’re both wearing new clothes. T.S.’s curls have been blown out and brushed straight and spill around the pointed black shoulders of her ankle length Zac Posen dress. L.D. wears a vintage long sleeve black dress with a white Peter-Pan collar. Six intricately detailed silver buttons run up the front. Her hair is black, parted down the middle and pulled off into short but serviceable pigtails. She wears knee-high white socks and saddle shoes. They both wear thick, black eye-makeup. T.S. has on her trademark red lipstick. She puts her hands on L.D.’s shoulders. In her Christian Louboutin boots, she’s nearly a foot taller. “You’re much more of a Wednesday than I am.” L.D. looks at T.S. in the reflection.”You’re much more of a Morticia.” They both smile and turn to face each other. They pick up black lace parasols from the floor and put them over their shoulders in unison.

2:39 pm – T.S. and L.D. strut down Greenwich Street, parasols in hands clad in lacy black gloves, toward Kaffe 1668. Photographers snap shots of them. They both grin and stifle laughter.

4:07 PM – T.S. and L.D. sit across from each other at a marble table in the middle of Kaffe 1668. Both look at their phones. A digital projector displays the film The Dark Crystal on the wall behind them. Through the window, photographers snap photos.

i wish that when i went to los angeles it was the l.a. in mulholand drive and the l.a. that l.d.r. sings about.

instead it’s just traffic and sad palm trees and check cashing places and people selling bootleg t-shirts and maybe you might see pauly shore in a starbucks yelling at someone he believes is beneath him.

4:15 PM – T.S. sets her phone down and folds her hands on the table. L.D. glances at her, sends one last text and does the same. “How’s your tea?” L.D. smiles. “Lovely. Would you like some?” T.S. shakes her head and smiles. “I’d like a latte and some chocolate biscotti. Can you order some for me please?” L.D. squints, unsure if T.S. is serious or not. When T.S. doesn’t change her expression, L.D. smiles and gets up. “Sure thing, no problem.”

4:21 PM – “How long are you going to be in L.A. for?” L.D. asks, tearing a piece of croissant off and smearing it with butter. “Six days. Filming for three, visiting and taking care of business for the other three.” L.D. rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out as though she was gagging. “I only go out there when I absolutely have to. I try to keep it down to one week per quarter.” “I don’t mind it so much. I know a lot of people out west. I just don’t like being in the city.” “Who does? That city anyway. It’s like a city someone bought at a swap-meet.”

4:23 PM – A waitress sets a latte and a plate with a piece of chocolate biscotti in front of L.D. L.D. smiles and thanks her, then pushes the cup and plate across the table to T.S. T.S. picks up the biscotti and dips it in the coffee and lets it soak for a few seconds before biting the end off. She chews slowly and methodically then swallows.

sometimes i’m just happy to have made it to the other side alive. the other side of what, i don’t know.

4:36 PM – T.S. and L.D. stand and straighten their dresses. The photographers outside become more animated, taking hundreds of photos as the two women leave the coffee shop. They shout questions and requests to look at the camera. “How was your coffee T—–?” T.S. smiles and nods as the crowd parts to let them onto the sidewalk. “It was fine, thank you,” T.S. says, lifting her parasol. “L—, is T—– going to be on your show?” L.D. smiles and shrugs. “You never know!” T.S. looks at L.D. and smiles. “L—, why did you molest your sister?” one photographer says. L.D. stops walking for just a moment, her shoulders tense, but then tries to pretend she didn’t hear. T.S. whips around. “Who said that?” The photographers look at each other, then at a young guy with a straw pork-pie hat and ironic mustache. “Was that you?” A large black man with two cameras hanging around his neck steps away from the kid in the hat. “Yeah. It’s a fair question,” the young guy in the hat says. “Who do you work for?” The hat guy folds his arms across his chest. “I’m an independent contractor. I work for whoever pays me.” T.S. narrows her eyes, then holds up her phone and snaps his photo. “Hey!” the kid says as T.S. turns around and walks away, taking L.D.’s hand. “You fucking idiot,” the black guy says to the kid.

6:58 PM – L.D. sits in an over-sized leather chair, looking at an iPad, one leg tossed over the arm. T.S. lays on her bed, writing in a notebook. She chews the back of her pen. L.D. looks up from her iPad and stares at T.S. for a moment. “Can I try and make you cum?” she asks. T.S. looks up at L.D. “You won’t be able to.” L.D. looks disappointed and goes back to her iPad. “That’s a shame,” she says. T.S. still looks at her. “You can go down on me if you’d like, but I won’t be able to cum. It’s not personal to you. I’ve just only ever been able to do it when I’m alone.”

7:19 PM – T.S. sucks breath through gritted teeth, staring at the steel rafters in the ceiling. Her fingers are curled, tight, in L.D.’s hair, holding her head in place. “Do you like that?” L.D. asks from between her legs in a muffled voice. “Yes,” T.S. hisses. “Don’t talk.”

7:25 PM – “Stop,” T.S. says, letting go of L.D.’s hair. L.D. looks up from between T.S.’ thighs. She’s panting. “Yeah? Are you sure?” T.S. nods and motions for L.D. to come lay next to her. L.D. sucks on her fingers as she climbs up the bed and lays down as the little spoon. “You got really wet,” L.D. says. “Yeah. It was nice, thank you. It felt really good,” T.S. says. “But you couldn’t cum from it?” L.D. asks, looking back over her shoulder. T.S. shakes her head. “Can’t do it. Not for lack of trying.” “That sucks so much for you.” T.S. shrugs.

7:33 PM – “Do you think they’ll say yes?” L.D. asks, her lips against the back of T.S.’ fingers. T.S. closes her eyes and doesn’t speak for a moment. “I honestly don’t know.” L.D. rolls over and looks at T.S., trying to read her face. “They might though, right? It could happen?” T.S. smiles. “It could.” L.D. grins. “We would have so much fun. It would really be amazing, right?” T.S. kisses her and whispers into her mouth “So much fun.”

8:50 PM – L.D. stands on the sidewalk holding her purse and three big shopping bags of stuff. T.S. stands next to her, looking up the street. Headlights make her eyes glow momentarily. “What time is your flight tomorrow?” L.D. asks, buttoning up her windbreaker. “I have to be at JFK at 6:30.” “Yikes.” L.D. says, looking at her phone. “Instagram some In-N-Out Burger for me, okay?” T.S. laughs and nods. A cab pulls up to the curb.

9:21 pm – T.S. sits on her bed, her laptop open in front of her, and plays guitar and sings.

9:59 PM – T.S. cleans the music room, slipping albums into their envelopes and cardboard sleeves and back on the shelves. She rubs the residual coke off of the Carly Simon album and the floor with disinfectant wipes.

10:10 PM – T.S. hangs the clothes they wore that day on hangers and lays them over the back of a chair. She sticks a post-it note that says “dry clean” on the top prairie dress.

10:17 PM – T.S. puts the dishes from the day in the dishwasher and starts it.

10:23 PM – T.S. kneels in front of the toilet in her master bathroom, a white towel under her knees. Her hair is pulled back in a scrunchy. She closes her eyes and throws up into the bowl. Dark brown coffee and crumbs of wet biscotti stand out against the white porcelain. Bright orange bits of cantaloupe float among the dark chocolate and coffee. And blood. T.S. flushes the toilet and stands.

10:29 PM – T.S. stands in the shower, her hair tucked into a plastic shower cap, a toothbrush poking out of her mouth. She washes herself and brushes her teeth.

10:53 PM – T.S. sits at a desk in her bedroom, her laptop open in front of her. She looks at her phone, browsing through photos. She pauses on one and texts it to someone.

11:14 PM – T.S. Skypes with J. through her laptop. “What’s the status on L—?” J. asks. T.S. sighs and leans back in her chair. “I don’t think it’s a good fit.” “No? Why not? Management is ready to go on her. They’re all very excited.” T.S. shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s brave and she’s interesting and confident and they’re right, there is a certain ruthlessness about her, but I just don’t see her working out. She’s a bit of a mess and she’s extremely needy. If she’s as clingy with everyone else as she is with me…” J. nods. “The thing with her sister came out of left field,” J. adds. T.S. nods. “Who knows what other weird shit is buried in her past?” They sit silently for a moment before J. sighs and speaks. “Well, we’ve all got weird shit in our past, but I trust your judgement. I’ll let management know it’s a pass on her.” T.S. nods and reaches to turn of the computer. J. interrupts her. “Hey wait, who is this guy you texted me a picture of?” “Oh yes. I need you to find out who that is. He’s a photographer. A pap. He was here, near the condo today.” “Why? What do you want from him?” “Nothing. He’s a piece of shit. I want something bad to happen to him.” J. nods. “Understood. Anything else?” T.S. shakes her head. “Goodnight,” J. says. T.S. kisses the tip of her index finger and touches the camera. J. rolls her eyes and the screen goes dark.

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