Alice was bored shitless. There was no other way to put it.

She should have learned, oh so long ago, that she was never going to find a fabulous artist with the emotional capacity to match their talent at one of Bette’s dinners. And she’d been to a lot of Bette’s dinners. A lot. And here was another one, with Bette fawning all over Tina like a fly on ***** and Alice, bored out of her mind, was yet again caught up in conversation with a guy who kept looking at her ***** rather than her face. And he was cute, so it wasn’t that bad, and he was an artist. But the conversation so far had been about paint, and plaster, and the merits of different sized paint brushes.

Come on.

Alice nodded politely at, what was his name? Stephan? Steven? Michael? before sighing and looking at Bette, and more aptly, Bette’s new girlfriend Tina. Who was, undeniably, pretty hot but had yet to wow Alice in any way. Admittedly, it could’ve been a little jealousy on Alice’s part.

Okay, they’d mutually decided to be friends, or well that they were better as friends than as lovers. And this was true, she knew this was true. But Bette was acting as if she’d found the love of her life, and Alice was being picked up by a guy fixated on paint brush size. Where was the fairness in that?

Alice rolled her eyes as Bette lovingly picked up Tina’s hand, and kissed the back of it. Tina blushed like a school girl, and Alice felt like she was going to vomit. Romance shmomance. ***** this, she was leaving. To ***** with artists, to ***** with public displays of lurve, and to ***** with this dinner.

Just before she stood however, Bette turned her attention to the long dining table she sat at the head of, and cleared her throat purposely. The soft murmurings of everyone sitting around it quietened, and everyone turned their attention to Bette.

*****, her escape plan was thwarted and now she had to listen to Bette kiss *****. Grrrrreat.

“If I could have everyone’s attention please. Before the meal is served, I wanted to graciously thank each and every one of you for attending this evening. You are all valued artists of the Bette Porter Gallery, and I should know, I am Bette Porter…” Bette smiled, Tina looked at her adoringly and every one seated around the table chuckled. Except Alice, who rolled her eyes as her leg started bouncing irritably. “… I would like to raise a toast to each and every one of you, the Bette Porter Gallery family, and that is exactly what each of you are: family.”

A collective ‘Awww’ went around the table. Alice squinted at her butter knife and wondered how much force she’d have to exert to ram that thing through her chest and effectively end her boredom and misery. They’d probably think it was art, and Bette would hang her in the main room as the prize piece of the week. ‘Yes, it was her only piece, that Alice Pieszecki…’ they would say, standing back and admiring her corpse ‘… that’s actually the artist you know, died for her art. By day she was a struggling journalist…’ and they would Oooh and Aaah at her. She’d have to make sure, with her dying breath, that she told Bette she wanted to be called ‘Butter my Blood and call me a Biscuit’ and it was almost poetic in a way, having once been in a band called Butter, killed by a butter knife and with that title forever hanging over her corpse.

She was drawn from her musings by soft applause, aimed at Bette and Alice thanked any higher being, anywhere, that her daydream at least had caused her to miss the rest of Bette’s speech.

“You are so amazingly gorgeous…” Alice overheard Bette murmur to Tina. Alice made a gagging motion which Bette and Tina unfortunately noticed.

Tina looked uncomfortable, and Bette glared at her ex. “Something wrong Alice?” She inquired sweetly.

Alice raised her eyebrows. “No, huh? With me? No no, I was just demonstrating to… uh… Steve, um, Mike here the proper procedure to use if you… accidently… swallowed paint.” Alice nodded, gesturing to the man sitting beside her who had turned his paint brush talk to the man sitting on the other side of him. She grabbed his arm. “Right Mike?”

He looked at her confused. “My name’s Richard.”

Alice shoved his arm away. “Whatever.” She muttered.

Bette looked unimpressed, though Tina was somewhat amused.

The food was served, and Bette and Tina again became lost in each other’s company while the rest of the dinner guests became lost in talk about themselves, and eating the food.

Except for Alice.

She squinted at the mess on her plate. What in the ***** name of bathsheeba was this? “Okay I don’t recognize a thing on my plate.”

Bette looked over at her and frowned. “It’s macrobiotic.”

Tina scrunched her nose up a little, not wanting to appear impolite but agreeing with Alice’s expression, which was one of utter disgust.

“Oh God, can’t you serve steak like a normal person?” Alice pushed her plate away and huffed. She looked at Bette. “I remember the days you used to serve chicken Bette, chicken.” Alice crossed her arms over her chest. “And not be such a *****…” She muttered, sighing and looking around her.

Bette reached over, and as discreetly as she could, flicked Alice’s forehead. Alice flinched.

“Ow.” She glared at Bette as Tina tried not to laugh. “Okay that’s it, can I leave now?” Alice went to stand but wilted under the steely gaze of Bette. Man, she was better than Jekyll and Hyde; adoring one second to Tina, psychotic to Alice the next.

“Behave…” Bette said quietly, but with all the force of a bullhorn.

Alice pouted. “But mom…” She whined, and flinched as someone kicked her leg from under the table. “You suck.” Alice sighed dramatically.

“Uh Alice, what are you working on at the moment?” Tina raised her eyebrows hopefully, in an attempt to stop Bette and Alice’s childish behavior as well as get Alice into some sort of conversation and maybe even to eventually like her.

Alice looked speculatively at Tina. “I’m… in between articles at the moment.” Tina’s face fell, and she nodded, understanding. Bette sighed and Alice rolled her eyes, relenting. “I just finished a piece on women’s golf being the new IT sport, and my editor wants me to interview some tennis player next week.”

Tina nodded. “You work for that… what’s it called?”

Alice sighed. She hated her job. “‘Sport!’ you know, it’s a low key sports magazine… I mean this isn’t exactly what I envisioned for myself but you know, I’m not staying in this job. It’s just a stepping stone, a rope bridge, a quickie in the back seat before I move on to bigger and better things.” Alice waved her hand in front of her. “You know…”

Tina nodded again. “Who are you interviewing?”

Alice thought for a moment. “Some chick called Dana Fairmeadows… or no that’s not it… Dana Fairbanks, that’s the one.”

Tina studied Alice for just a second. “You know, a good friend of mine works for L.A. Weekly Magazine. If you’re not happy, I could help you get an interview with them. I mean, if you want to, I don’t want to impose myself…”

Alice sat straight up in her chair. “Are you serious? That would be great!”

Bette smiled triumphantly, looking at Tina adoringly, kissing the back of her hand again and looking at Alice as if to say ‘Isn’t Tina just the greatest woman who ever existed?’

Tina blushed and lent in to Bette’s kiss. Alice lent back again, and perused the table. God, what a bunch of twats. The lot of them.

Twenty minutes passed, Alice claiming ownership over one of the red wine bottles and steadily making her way through it in that time. Dana Fairbanks. That was such a, tennis player name. Maybe she’d be hot. Maybe she’d be *****. *****, maybe she’d be hot and *****. Alice nodded. To ***** with artists, maybe she should turn her focus on to sports players… ugh. She stopped that line of thought. No, to ***** with all professions. She was going to find herself someone like her. A journalist or something. Who was that woman she’d met at Milk the other night? Gary?

She snorted, the wine taking it’s effect on her. A woman named Gary, God she must be drunk. Gabby. That was it. Gabby. Maybe she’d call her, didn’t she say something about being a writer?

Yeah to ***** with Dana… who she’d never met but already to ***** with her… she was going to go home and call Gabby. If she remembered where she’d put her number. What had she done with that?

Eh, Shane would know who she was. Shane knew everybody. Shane had slept with everybody. Shane was hot. H-O-T. She’d heard of Shane before she’d met her, and while she doubted they’d ever sleep together, particularly after the circumstances of their meeting she could at least utilize Shane’s contacts…

“… and I said to that woman, you wouldn’t know art if bit your cooch and called you Daddy!” The far end of the table erupted into laughter, drawing Alice’s attention. The woman who was speaking reminded her of that woman from Beetlejuice, what was her name? Catherine O’Hara? Winona Ryder’s mother in the movie… Alice squinted at her, yeah she especially looked like her when she squinted at her.

That movie was hilarious. And the dinner table scene? Singing Day-O… man, funniest thing ever.

She knocked back the rest of the red wine in her glass and poured herself another. She just wished old Catherine at the end of the table there would do her look alike proud and start singing. Anything to liven this dinner up.

To ***** with it.

Alice started drumming her hands on the table, loudly, causing everyone to look at her and Bette to whisper furiously, “What are you doing?”

Alice looked directly at her. “Daay O, daaay O, daylight come and they wan’ go home.” Bette’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. Alice squeezed her eyes shut, and sang at the top of her lungs. “Day! He say day, he say day, he say day, he say daaay O, daylight come and they wan’ go home…” Alice trailed off and sighed. That didn’t go exactly as planned, everyone was just staring at her as if she was crazy.

“Work all night and I drink a’rum.”

Alice looked at Tina in shock, who smiled sheepishly. Alice grinned at her, and started drumming again. “Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

“Stack banana till thee morning come.” Tina glanced at Bette, who had an unreadable expression on her face.

Alice started bopping along to her drumming. “Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

Richard, beside Alice, piped his voice up. “Come Mr Tally man, tally me banana.”

Alice looked at him appreciatively as he winked at her. “Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

The Catherine look alike from the other end of the table called, “Come Mr Tally man, tally me banana.” up to Alice, who winked at her.

“Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

Bette looked at Alice, then at Tina, then at her guests who in turn were joining in with this ridiculous song.

“It’s six foot, seven foot, eight foot BUNCH!”

Everyone called out that line, and Alice laughed hysterically drumming the table top causing the plates and glasses to rattle.

“Daylight come and they wan’ go home,
Six foot, seven foot, eight foot BUNCH!”

Bette shook her head in disbelief.

“Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

Alice threw her head back. “Daaaay O! He say daaaay O! Daylight come and they wan’ go home!”

Tina joined in with her. “Day! He say day, he say day, he say day, he say day, he say daaay o.”

Bette was the only person no longer singing.

“Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

Alice stopped her drumming, which Tina tried to emulate, while she grabbed her chest as she sang the next line. “A beautiful bunch of ripe banana!” She winked suggestively, and jiggled her chest a little causing some people to laugh and others to cheer. She stood up, swaying, and blissfully drunk.

“Daylight come and they wan’ go home.”

Alice let go of her ***** and turned her hands to claws, reaching toward Bette dramatically before jumping back. “Hide thee deadly black tarantula!”

“Daylight come and they wan’ go home…”

Bette stood up, and every one looked at her. The singing died away, and Tina stopped drumming. The only person left swaying her hips and singing with her eyes closed was Alice.

“It’s six foot, seven foot, eight foot, BUNCH!” Alice punched her fist into the air, and then opened her eyes when she realized no one was singing with her any more. She looked around at all the faces that were looking past her, and turned her head to meet Bette’s gaze. “Oh…” She said, and sat down.

Bette smiled, though it seemed more of a grimace than a smile. “Thank you Alice, for that… performance. I’m sorry I have to cut it short, but coffee… I mean juice… I mean water and macrobiotic friendly deserts will be served in the media room along with a few short filmic pieces by Randal Somersby…” She indicated a man sitting near the Catherine look alike, and he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “… if you’ll all follow me?”

Bette gave Alice one more look, before leaving the room. Every one began scraping their chairs back and standing up, chattering excitedly and laughing and Alice heard a few random “Day O!”s in there too. She sighed.

Soon enough she was the only one left at the table, other than Tina who was looking at her and smirking.

Alice glared at her, and then gave up and grinned. “You’re pretty cool you know Tee. I can call you Tee can’t I?”

Tina smiled genuinely. “You’re not so bad yourself there Al.” Tina stood. “Are you coming to the media room?”

Alice shook her head. “As if. I’d rather stab myself with a butter knife.”

Tina chuckled. “Well I hope to see you again soon.”

Alice nodded. “Yeah, I bet Bette won’t. But you know, ***** her. We can always hang without her.”

Tina walked past Alice’s chair and patted her shoulder on her way out of the room.

Alice sighed. She reached toward the red wine bottle, and filled her glass. She lifted it in toast.

“Daaay O! Daaaay O! Daylight come and they wan’ go hoooooommmeeeee….” She dragged the last deep note out as long as she could before knocking back the wine and smacking her lips together.

Bette would probably kill her yes, but she preferred to look at the bright side of things: at least she hadn’t had to resort to the butter knife after all.