"Whats that youre scribbling, darling? Its about me, isnt it?" Szuszu reached across the table, nearly knocking over her backup scotch and soda. "Hand it over, Babs. Lets have a look."Babette pressed the cocktail napkin flush to her chest, setting down her slim gold pen. "Its nothing, Szusz. Just my shopping list." She shook her head, eyes wide, guilty as sin. "Just my groceries.""Shopping!" Szuszu cackled, knocked back the scotch in her hand, then slammed the glass down on the table. "Darling, you havent done the shopping since you shacked up with that dairy cow you call a wife. You dont need to shop -- just bend the old hausfrau over a bucket and youve got your milk for free.""Leave Matilda out of this." Babette shoved the cocktail napkin in her jacket pocket."Ah!" Gazing across the table through the amplifying lens of an empty scotch glass, Szuszu pointed to Babettes chest. "There! I see what youve written. Its all smeared across your tits, darling." Squinting, she tried to make out the loopy handwriting smudged on Babettes skin. "noitaroda… lautum… rof… What is that, darling, Latin? Or have you had a stroke?"Babette glanced down at the writing on her chest, wetting another serviette with Szuszus next scotch and rubbing it over the pen marks. "Its backwards, darling. Its an imprint, you know." After setting the wet serviette down on the table, she pulled the dry one from her pocket. "Fine, then. Fine, if youre so curious. Here it is. Thats what I wrote."Squinting at the flimsy square of paper, Szuszu held it up close and then away from herself, but the words still wouldnt come into focus."I think you need to get yourself a good pair of specs, Szusz."Szuszus eyes twitched at the blasphemy. "Nobody wears glasses, darling, except librarians and Elton John. I was a model, you know.""Yes, I know, Szusz. Everybody knows." Babette rolled her eyes like a teenager. "You do realize youve gone up to every person in this bloody lounge to tell themI was a model?""Well, I was on the cover of all the magazines in my day.""In your day, right, you were. Headlines read: War is over. Szuszu greets sailors at port."An overwhelming desire came over Szuszu to kick her dearest friend in the shins, but when she let loose, her snakeskin boot met the cylinder of metal holding up the table. "Oh, for Christ sake," she moaned, rubbing her toe. "If I wasnt legless, I bet that would smart." Defeated, she handed the napkin back across the table. "Here, read this for me, Babs. I cant see straight.""Cant even think straight," Babette mumbled. "All right then, you want to know what I wrote while you were babbling on about your glory days? I wrote up a personal ad, darling: Narcissist seeks narcissist for mutual adoration. Turn-ons include mirrors, soup spoons, darkened windows, and other reflective surfaces. Must enjoy photo albums, the sound of her own voice, and endlessly reliving days of cover girl glory. Doppelgangers will receive preferential treatment--see attached photo. Looks trump substance. Models preferred. Serious enquiries only."When Babette had finished reading from the serviette, Szuszu offered weak applause. "So youre going to dump the dairy cow after all these years. Good show, darling. Its about time."Babettes ears turned bright red and she shook her head. "I am not dumping anybody. This ad isnt for me--its for you. Youre the narcissist, darling. Youre the one unlucky in love.""Luck has nothing to do with it, Babs." Szuszu polished off the last of her scotch and held up her glass for more. "Im not like you, darling. I dont buy into your little cult of Noahs Ark, everyone in neat little pairings.""Its hardly Noahs Ark if its full of lesbians," Babette muttered.