Nosferatu, Chapter 02
I’m so GLAAD to see you, again
Notes on a Scandal 2—Cate Blanchett (Actor), Judi Dench (Actor), David Lynch (Director)
In the sequel, which, unlike the first movie, is more of a softcore porn flick than a seat-of-the-pants thriller. Cate Blanchett and Judi Dench reprise their roles as Sheba Hart and Barbara Covett. The movie starts at a full gallop and never slows down. It delivers what the first movie only teased—i.e., plenty of deviant sex between two women.
It is six years after the first movie. Babs is in-between obsessions. Late one evening, Sheba appears at her front door, sobbing and disheveled.
Babs takes the girl in and listens to her story. While touring the wine country in Nice France, Sheba’s husband Richard suffered a fatal heart attack. He was driving, at the time. Sheba’s was thrown from the crash and survived unscathed without a scratch. Her family was killed—the car caught on fire and while Sheba watched helplessly her children, who were trapped in the car, burned to death. Sheba crawled into a bottle and took up with the needle, drowning her sorrows in liquor and heroin, and she has only recently crawled out of her intoxication and her courtship with dope.
Needy Barbara, always the opportunist, takes full advantage of the girl’s plight. She takes Sheba in. They become fast-friends, again. And, as the film progresses, they become much more than just friends. They become lovers—i.e., friends with fringe benefits. Their sex scenes are torrid, borderline explicit. The film’s R-rating is generous, to say the least. By the close of the movie, they marry.—Kim Sill (IMDB.com movie review)
“So, what do you think of the two movies that we watched tonight?”
“I liked the first one, better.”
“Because the second one was just porn, plain and simple. With some nonsensical David Lynch abstraction thrown in for good measure so that the critics can call it an ‘art film’.”
They’re in the sitting room. Just the two of them. Babs is dressed the dowdy way she always dresses. Lucy is dressed in a too-large t-shirt, thong panties, torpedo bra, and crew socks—all of it white, except for the girl’s flesh-colored panties. The girl only has to dress archaic on the job.
But. Increasingly. For reasons Lucy doesn’t know herself. The girl is dressing archaic off-duty, too. For example. The fancy old-fogey brassiere she’s wearing is one that Babs bought her. This anachronism is one of her work bras.
So. Here she is on her own time displaying the pointed projectile breasts that result from wearing an uncomfortable bullet bra, an unnatural look that her employer Babs craves so much, instead of displaying her breasts in a more natural “floppy” fashion in one of her comfortable sports bras.
Of late. Again, for reasons Lucy doesn’t know herself. The girl has taken to sitting in chairs with her long legs double crossed tightly. It’s severe and uncomfortable, and yet she’s come to crave sitting that way. A way that pleases her butch boss to no end.
They live together, employer and employee. Lucy, who doubles as the housekeeper, stays in the guest bedroom. They’ve had this arrangement for the last six months, and it seems to be working fine, but it shouldn’t. Because. After all, Babs is an obsessive-compulsive bulldyke with obvious designs on her employee Lucy—designs that are clearly nefarious and lecherous. And Lucy, the object of Babs’ cravings, is straight.
The girl, of course, has no memory, whatsoever of what happened that fateful night a year ago. The night when Babs sexually assaulted her during a job interview. Whenever she does start to remember what really happened, blinding migraines put a stop to her remembering.
Lucy has always been attracted to older men. At twenty she had an affair with her then forty-five year old college professor Richard, the same Richard who she later married within a year of their illicit affair. Now, of late, she finds herself attracted to Babs, a much older woman. And when she gets the hots for Babs, Lucy is confused about where these carnal lesbian urges are coming out of nowhere from. She’s never in her life been attracted to women.
She and Barbara can accidentally brush up against each other, and Lucy will get a tingly feeling in her crotch. She catches herself looking longingly at the sexually-repressed Barbara, like she did several times during the two movies tonight. When Babs bends down to turn the television off, Lucy entertains the thought of grabbing the butch’s ass. The girl can feel herself get moist in the nethers, spotting her panties, just thinking about groping Babs.
Lucy never experiences these incidents of lesbian sexual dementia, for very long. At their longest, they last only moments. And. Afterwards. She completely forgets about the incidents. She’ll forget about being attracted to Babs. She’ll forget about longing for Babs. She’ll forget about wanting to grab the old woman’s ass. She’ll forget about everything.
The girl abruptly gets out of her chair and heads for her room. Two months ago, she stopped dating men, altogether. She’s taken up going out with Babs, exclusively, instead—the cinema, the theater, restaurants, and a members-only ladies club that caters to older monied dykes and their paramours.
Publically, Lucy’s and Babs’ relationship remains purely platonic. In private, it’s another matter entirely. Of course, Lucy has no conscious awareness of this, whatsoever.
The girl slams her door shut and climbs into bed. She masturbates, fantasizing about going at it with Babs. Then she just stops and simply forgets that she just finger fucked herself into mind-numbing oblivion while thinking about doing her butch boss.
Most of the girl’s things are now stored in the basement, in boxes. She doesn’t wear them anymore. What’s mostly in her closet and dresser, are the things that Babs has picked out and purchased for her. The same severe frumpy unattractive things that severe frumpy unattractive Barbara wears. And, when Lucy wears them, she’s just as severe, frumpy, and unattractive as Babs is—i.e., things that make her look just as sexually repressed as Babs always does—couture, a hairdo, and eyeglasses that render her unrecognizable to even close friends and family.
Her make-up got tossed, also. She either wears Babs’ flavor of makeup [i.e., Bolshoi-bare] or she wears no makeup at all, like she’s doing right now. But. There’s a twist, to that. In addition to using Bolshoi-bare, which is conventional makeup and therefore removable.
At Babs’ insistence, she allowed Babs to pay for her to have permanent makeup—i.e., plastic surgery that involved site-specific injections of a retrovirus into her face, finger tips, and toes. Resulting in … Dark cosmetically-perfect eyebrows. Black eyelashes, that look like they have been thickened by mascara. The need for eyeliner and eyeshadow negated by the pigmentation of her eyelids. So, technically, she’s always wearing makeup. No need for manicure, pedicure, fingernail polish, or toenail polish, either.
To reiterate. No eyeliner, eye shadow, or mascara. Yet her complexional affections imply such cosmetic trickery of a painted lady. Chocolate brown eyebrows that are perfectly arched. Long, thick, black eyelashes. Blood-red fingernails and toenails; shiny, wet-look glossy, as if they have been dipped in fresh blood.
These days, in the looks department, Lucy is harder looking, still pretty, more severe looking, and she’s looking increasingly sexually repressed— à la a bitter forty-year-old divorcee who’s been road hard and put up wet one time too many.
Barbara, who followed the girl into the bedroom, watches her covetously. Lucy acts as if Babs isn’t in the room with her—i.e., as if the old lady is masked from her perception.
Babs especially likes to watch the girl shower in the room’s adjoining bathroom, while entertaining a mental replay of that lethal shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 masterpiece Psycho. Substituting her Lucy for Hitch’s Marion Crane (Janet Leigh). And substituting herself for the homicidal Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) in drag dressed in his murdered mother’s dowdy clothes.
The old woman orgasms thinking about hacking Lucy to death in the infamous shower scene, each and every time she entertains that mental replay.
Thoughts like that drive Babs to want Lucy in even worse ways. But … The butch is rushing nothing, though. She’s invested way too much in this and she’s too close to the prize to let impatience fuck things up. This will not be a repeat of her fiasco with Sheba Hart.
Babs believes that it is destiny that these two unrelated obsessions of hers [i.e., Sheba Hart and Greta Hart], share the same last name. By her convoluted way of thinking, it means that she’s fated to possess both women, forever. Currently, she’s only in possession of one of them—that one being Lucy, of course.
Hopefully, Babs thinks, Lucy won’t react the same way Sheba did during full disclosure. Babs went completely bonkers in reaction to Sheba’s total rejection of her as a mate and her offer of immortality.
For almost a year, in total violation of ROE and in clear violation of human laws, Babs kept Sheba confined against her will in a locked soundproofed room in the basement that only Babs had a key for. The room was well hidden behind a false wall.
It was only by pure happenstance and chance, that the authorities eventually figured out what was going on. Sheba is free and back in the world. Babs’ private basement prison has been dismantled. Babs was tried and convicted of her crimes, and is still under probation. A strict probation she is in clear violation of in lieu of what she’s doing to Lucy.