Chapter 8: Remedial Lessons in Pickup Artistry

There’s a Remedial in Savannah, and Audra apparently works there as a waitress. Livia managed to charm an invite out of her after the Hostess Central show, while I was busy charming the amateurs. It’s our last night in Savannah, about a week after the show, but we want to see what it’s like — so Mimi, Livia and I decide to pay her a visit.

I suppose I need to explain Remedial a bit here. If you’re familiar with it at all, it’s likely by the scandals, headlines and litigation. Well, that’s all substantially in the future — none of us know anything about that on our first visit. We know very little, to be honest. Remedial is a breastaurant chain, much like Hooters, where the gimmick is that the staff dress as sexy schoolgirls. There are rumors about at least some locations being more than just eye candy joints — that it’s either an informal brothel, or that the staff give extras if you tip really well. While the very antithesis of classy, it’s supposedly still a pretty upscale place, especially in contrast to Hooters — and it’s an invite-only establishment, which lends it a certain mystique. Well, now we have invites — as well as a group photo of the local waitresses signed by Audra.

Beyond all the obvious pervy reasons, though, Remedial became a topic of interest to Livia for a fairly eccentric reason. After her bustier suffered its tragic chocolate-related demise at the Noodle, we’ve been costume-brainstorming for her. She wants to look like the classic pulp magician for her shows, and loves the top-and-tails look — but she also wants to sexify it. Few professional Vegas magicians are working the pulp look these days, with males going for either modern formal suits or revealing spandexy things like what a figure skater might wear, and women going for bodysuits or flamboyant, bright-colored comic-book inspired looks. But Livia has her fixations, and actively embraces the stereotypes that more mainstream magicians struggle to distance themselves from.

I can see her arguments from a fetish perspective: you want your kinky magicians in a tux and top hat for the same reason your kinky nurses need a tight white number with jaunty red highlights and a sexy nurse’s cap; less the drab but practical powder blue scrubs and more the Roger Corman’s Candy Stripers look.

Anyway. The men’s white dress shirt Livia would like to wear as part of a sexy tux look is identical to the white dress shirt that Remedial waitresses wear for their sexy schoolgirl uniform. The Remedial waitresses, however, are known for having really form-fitting uniforms. We have gotten dress shirts both one and two sizes too small for Livia. They are tight, and they look wonderful on her, especially paired with the right bra to really bring her assets to the fore.

Unfortunately, they’re also a crime against humanity — a badly-fitted tight dress shirt is right up there with high-heels in terms of garments neither gender wants to willingly spend a full day in on a shop floor. If that sounds bad, imagine trying to do agile propwork or pull off a fast misdirection when you’re wearing a dress shirt two sizes too small. As much as we don’t want to admit it, the more respectable magicians have motives behind their spandex.

Audra apparently told Livia, however, that Remedial is a really chill place to work that allows pretty girls a lot of slack. So in this context, Livia and I wonder why they would subject these otherwise-decently-treated waitresses to what she now refers to as “Satan’s Corset” (that is, the undersize dress shirt). It turns out, they make their own uniforms, and the thing that resembles a dress shirt is actually cut and patterned like one, but is made of something stretchy, clingy and — at least, according to Audra — fairly comfortable.

We must get one! More than one, actually, since Livia is going to need spares if she wants to perform in them. (While it wasn’t our first thought, I’d probably look good in one too.) What I’m getting at, here, is that we have platonic as well as libidinous motives to want to get the waitresses’ uniforms off.

Stepping through the door, the first thing that strikes me is how clean and shiny everything is. From outside, a Remedial looks like an avant-garde nightclub with a muscular bouncer, mirrored windows and brick exterior. Inside, however, it’s a brightly-lit, super-stylized replica of a retro-style 1950s diner and malt shop: checkerboard floor, red-padded armless bar stools, red vinyl booths, pinball machine, jukebox. The walls are coated in metal sports logos and corporate insignias, along with portraits and antique records.

There’s a donation stand for Simian Health Network in the opening annex, and Livia drops a twenty in there almost reverently. That honestly surprises me — she seems so level-headed about most things, and has never mentioned being an animal lover in any other context. I guess I need to unpack that a bit for readers who didn’t grow up in the American South or Heartland. There was this kooky New Age fad-charity devoted to vaccinating apes in central Africa that raised ungodly amounts of cash about two decades back.

I always thought they were some kind of pyramid scheme, honestly. They were omnipresent in the Midwest, with a kooky cartoon chimpanzee mascot and everything. They wiped out the simian immunodeficiency virus, SIV, back when I was in junior high. That’s great, I guess — but with the amount of money they were throwing around, I can’t help but imagine the good that could have been done for actual humans instead. Then they just faded away — I haven’t seen their stuff in at least a decade outside Remedial, which I guess has some kind of partnership deal with them.

We’re obviously here for the waitresses, though. They range from fairly pretty to incandescently hot — though I think Audra and the taller lady that’s apparently her friend might be the best picks in the place. All the waitresses are dressed in plaid skirts and figure-hugging white button-up dress shirts, with store-clerk name tags and bow-ties to match the skirts. Beyond that, the uniform is more customizable than you might expect from a breastaurant: the skirts have variable lengths, a few girls have rollerblades instead of heels or sneakers and just over half are wearing prominent nerd-glasses with fake lenses and colorful plastic frames.

Legwear is also at the girls’ elective — some have pantyhose and others go bare; Audra and her friend both have the full garter-belt and sheer black stockings arrangement. I approve of the variant uniforms — new waitresses can start with a relatively chaste look, and then get sluttier over time for better tips in accordance with their own comfort zones. Audra has a band-aid over her left earlobe from the show — but really, it looks minor. I’m glad for that.

The customers look ... not classy, but at least wealthy, respectful and not overly drunk and rowdy. There’s a lot of laughter as waitresses and customers flirt, gesture and tell each other stories.

We’re dressed hot, too. I’m in a black velvet suit jacket, wine-colored dress shirt with a black ribbon-tie and very tight black leather pants with a snakeskin belt. Livia’s wearing a purple sequined cocktail dress — a really dazzling, low-cut number like an old-style burlesque stripper would use; she’s also got her full glamour-girl makeup on. Mimi’s got her buckskin top and jeans from Hostess Central — it straddles the line between casual and glamour, honestly.

She’s also got hot pink headphones — the same kind the Trips use in our shows — connected to a pink designer Walkman on her belt. The setup looks innocuous and trendy enough, but I suspect the Walkman’s cassette tape has no music on it. Instead, it’s likely one of the Little Pink Dress tapes Livia made for Mimi — pre-recorded hypnotic bimbo trance-conditioning in her lover’s own voice. Mimi’s in full-on bimbo mode today, and seems to be enjoying the hell out of it.

Audra rushes up to us and guides us to a booth. She takes out the bubblegum she was chewing and flicks it into a nearby garbage — something I take as a sign she’s actually interested in talking to us. “Livia! Marcelo! I’m so glad you made it! Wow, you all look fantastic! Who’s your blonde friend?”

Livia smiles warmly. “Audra, this is Mimi. Mimi, Audra.”

They shake hands. “So, Audra,” I ask, “who’s your friend?”

“I’m Tempest,” she says as she pours our water and hands out our menus — because Remedial is apparently the kind of chain where it’s totally normal for your server to be named Tempest. “Try not to read the menus while drinking. You’ll choke, guaranteed.”

Tempest is a good foot taller than Audra, and you can add two inches to that if you count her hair. It’s very flash — dark roots that lead into light chestnut crescent-tips, all managing to form into an almost perfect sphere around her head. The complex ‘do is nicely accented by her gleaming silver hoop-earrings. She’s really busty and has an amazing bronze tan; her cheekbones are very sharp, offset by liberal use of blush, and she’s got a deep stare. Her brilliant green eyes are framed by black eyeliner and sultry lash extensions, and her lips are coated in glossy crimson. Her legs, concealed by sheer stockings, are perfectly toned, smooth and seem to go on forever before reaching the plaid hem of her schoolgirl-skirt. She belongs in Vogue (though I’d rather see her in Debonair, obviously).

Tempest is the brassy bombshell glamour girl, while Audra is superficially quiet and shy — the stereotypical girl next door. I don’t actually buy that, though — their body language suggests to me that Audra’s the kinkier of the two in practice even if she lets Tempest handle the social bits. For her part, Audra compensates for Tempest’s raw sexual magnetism by being giggly, apologetic, endearing and submissive — and by not wearing a bra underneath her stretchy dress shirt, apparently. She’s also got the same eye-catching pink lipstick and eyeshadow I first saw at Hostess Central — but it looks better here due to the background color scheme and lighting.

I imagine Audra started out as a naïve, cutesy, shy and awkward girl — and is now a cutesy, shy and awkward girl that understands those are three qualities that really sell. There is no firm line between the genuine and the affected, nor should their be. Something tells me she has several regular customers, and pulls tips comparable to Tempest’s despite being a foot and a cup size down on her at a breastaurant.

The delicious duo sashays off to their next table almost curtly — Tempest leads Audra, who I suspect would rather linger. We take a look at our menus — and I see what Tempest was warning us about. I keep it cool, obviously; Livia tries to do likewise but cracks up after a second or two, snorting air through her nostrils so hard she almost chokes. The feature dishes apparently include the Saucy Schoolgirl Special, Veronica’s Big Handy, the Willy Cheesesteak, the Bits ‘n Pieces salad, Beefcake in Brandy and — best of all — Slippery Susan’s Sliders. Yikes!

They put some actual effort into their puns, apparently. The Plaid-Skirted Rapscallops with Cock-n-Tail Sauce are scallops wrapped in bacon, but I’m guessing from the picture they roll them over toothpicks with food dye to make the bacon actually look plaid-patterned, like the waitresses’ schoolgirl skirts. I’d be tempted to order that just on the novelty value — but oh, the calories! The prices are high — way above market value for this kind of food; more in the range of a four-star restaurant. Whatever the business model is here, it’s clearly not just a Hooters clone.

“Ooh,” Mimi whispers to us playfully. “I want the Double-Stacked Rack — and those two busty waitresses, too!”

I whisper back to her. “Psst. Pickup artist tip — don’t order the dish that has the most appealing innuendo if it’s four pounds of spare ribs you don’t plan to eat all of. I eat with you all the time, and you favor salads and micro-portions. You’re probably not the first customer to do that, and the waitresses probably get sick of throwing it out. I suspect you’ll make a better impression with the staff if you don’t flirt via the menu; they’re probably sick of that.”

Mimi pouts. “I guess I shouldn’t order the Fightin’ Fury Burger either, then?”

“Well, decide what you really what — the Fury Burger, or her fur-burger. Order accordingly.”

Livia looks up at Mimi. “Take his advice,” she orders her.

“Okey-dokey, boss lady!” the bimbo replies cheerfully.

“Good girl.”

Livia pats Mimi on the head — almost like one would pat a child or a dog, though I don’t get any scorn from the act. Regardless, the effect of that simple gesture is dramatic to the point of being surreal: Mimi gasps, and a dumbstruck smile of raw bliss conquers her face. She slinks down in her seat and shivers, savoring the rush of ... of whatever the fuck she just got. It’s like Livia’s head-pat injected concentrated endorphins directly into her brain’s pleasure center. It’s not really an orgasm; it’s calmer and more psychological than that. Honestly, I can understand and relate to a hypnotic orgasm trigger better than I can whatever I just saw. It’s simultaneously hot, creepy and oddly endearing.

As Mimi blisses out, though, Livia’s busy staring at our waitresses — eyeing Tempest up and down as she bends over to fill another table’s water, giving a faint flash of the bottom of her firm ass cheeks under the short plaid skirt. She’s got lacy black panties — I can tell that much.

“Prove yourself,” Livia suddenly tells me in an unusually intense voice.

“What?”

“You’re on payroll as our Staff Pickup Artist,” she says rapidly, the words just pouring out. “I want to see you work. See if you can get them to kiss each other, then go further from there. I’d love to take them back to the Beast and share them — all of us, I mean.”

I don’t really have time to reply to that discretely — Audra and Tempest are coming back to our table. Tempest smirks — she must have heard Livia snort-choke earlier. “Yeah, the menu’s a bit much for first-timers — I know. You need a few more minutes to decide?”

I meet her gaze. “Why don’t we start with an order of your Six Piece Leg Openers with the Sticky Sweet Sauce, to share among ourselves?”

Tempest gives me a condescending look. “Opener is singular, sweetie — it’s a synonym for appetizer.”

I’ll forgive her being bitchy — the menu would be less amusing to me after I’d heard it for eight hours a day, too. “Anything to drink?”

“I’ll just get a Diet Coke,” I reply.

“I’ll try your Veg-Gin-Ma,” Livia says. That’s a V8 with gin and a mango slice.

“I want Nancy’s Norwegian Nipple Stiffener,” Mimi says blithely. Well, at least it’s something she’ll drink up. I guess I’ll be the designated driver today.

“I’m not sure you need it,” Tempest tells her sardonically, “but I’ll get you one anyway.”

Yikes — yeah, Mimi is visibly tenting right through her buckskin top from that head-pat. At least the fringes cover it a bit. “Anything else?”

I fix her with my best level gaze and use an authoritative tone. “Tell me about yourself.”

She blinks at how I commandeered the conversation, but recovers smoothly. The sarcastic tone of her reply covers over the compliance — I was half expecting a hard shut-down line in response.

“I’m Tempest. I’m doing a Masters in classical Greek history. I used to dance down at Kittens in Heat, but the other girls ganged up on me because I was too hot and too ... open-minded, and thus a threat to their bottom line. So now I work here. I like chocolate, Saint Bernards, long walks on the beach at night and decapitating asshole televangelists with a rusty shovel — oh, yeah, and money. I like money a lot. My turn-ons are candle-lit massages from men worthy of my time and crushing the egos of men who aren’t. My turn-offs are boring shit and people who don’t obey me. My measurements are none of your damn business. Anything else?”

I don’t take the obvious bait, asking her which category I fall into so she can deliver her prepared cut-down line. Instead I look her up and down playfully. “Babe, I already know your measurements. That uniform doesn’t really keep them a secret, you know!”

Audra giggles. Tempest tries to look irate, but ends up laughing in spite of herself.

Audra rolls her eyes. “She wants to be in Debonair so much it hurts — I’m sure you can tell.”

I smile warmly to Audra. “Are you going to hook her up with your own photographer, then? Is this some kind of initiation?”

Audra blinks, surprised at my assumption. “I’m ... I’m not the kind of girl that goes in for those kind of magazines.”

“That’s a shame — you’d land it easy. Still, I can understand that. I guess I’ll just have to fall back on my imagination, then...”

Audra blushes and beams. Tempest has the louder personality by far, so Audra’s not used to being doted on when with her gal-pal. I’m ignoring Tempest intentionally — I want to push her into trying to get my interest rather than begging for hers.

Tempest looks archly at Livia. “I hear you tricked Audra into putting on a bit of a show last night.”

I steeple my fingers in a philosophic pose. “Now, ‘tricked’ is such a loaded choice of words...”

Audra rolls her eyes. “Oh, Temp, it was all in fun! I had a fantastic night!”

Livia, however, fixes Tempest with a steady gaze. “If you mean we got her top off in front of several hundred people — yes, that’s exactly what we did. She had fun, and so did we.”

Tempest bristles angrily — Livia’s line was a mistake. Alpha women clashing isn’t as common as alpha men, but I find it as hot as I imagine girls find the male sparring. I just wish there was an inflatable pool of fudge nearby I could maneuver them toward if things start to get truly heated.

Tempest pivots to leave. “I’ll be back with your Opener.”

Once the duo is out of hearing range, Livia whispers. “I like Audra. Tempest is a sassy bitch, though.”

I grin. “I like sassy bitches, and I like even better girls that use the same kind of flirting-tech as pickup artists do — though, given all she needs with guys is her obvious rockin’ figure, I suspect her smooth, rehearsed dialogue is more for upsell than just getting laid. Even if I crash and burn horribly with her, at least it will be funny!”

Livia’s expression suggests she would not be as entertained by that outcome as I would — which is unusual for her. We make shop talk about the show until the waitresses bring our chicken legs and drinks around ten minutes later.

Tempest puts her hand on her hips and tilts her body slightly, taking out a notepad. She looks so sexy like that. “Y’all picked your poison?”

Livia nods. “I’ll go with your D.P. Tubesteak,” she almost manages to say without snorting.

“I’ll get the Big Puffy Fish Tacos,” Mimi adds. “Just one, though — I’m a petite eater.”

“Sure,” Tempest says. “I’ll get you a discount, but probably not just half price — they come with fries.”

I smile at Audra. “Which dishes do you recommend? I like warm, moist and slightly spicy dishes best of all — but it has to be a lean meat; I watch my figure.”

There’s an awkward pause. Turns out, she’s a total hippie, and vegetarian. “You’ll have to ask Tempest. I don’t eat meat. Well, not as food, anyway.”

I glance up at Tempest. “Any of the grilled chicken dishes should suit you, since we use lean chicken and it’s poached in a sealed brine —”

“Ah,” I interrupt, “Cockaigne-style chicken from that mythical land of medieval sensual pleasures and hedonism, the so-called Land of Toys ... yes, that does sound good!”

Audra smiles, impressed that I get the reference — the word is on the menu for a cock-pun (with ‘cock’ colored in a darker shade for emphasis), but few know what it means or its origins.

Tempest is more terse. “Yes. Correct.”

“Well, I’ll go with the Tex on the Beach, then.”

After the waitresses leave, Mimi elbows me playfully. “I think you’re on Audra’s menu!”

Livia rolls her eyes at us. She’s jealous of me, despite me doing exactly what she told me to. “Did you see her earrings? It’s Transcendental Meditation crap. She’s such a vacuous little moonbat.”

I blink. She’s being uncharitable (and showing a horrible contempt for someone I’m pretty sure she wants to pick up), but that’s not what catches my attention. I have carefully never mentioned politics, on fear that it could blow things up — I figured Livia and Mimi were liberals. It just makes sense for bi chicks, even after the Chambers victories and the Steinmeyer-Turing Realignment. “You’re not?”

Livia shrugs. “They’re all corrupt. I don’t vote. You’re Republican, I guess?”

I do vote. I care a great deal about civics. I was in the Young Republican National Federation — I still have the badges. Whenever possible, I try to politely remind people that mid-term and gubernatorial elections exist, and I’m constantly disappointed by how many patriotic Americans don’t seem to know that. I’m fair-minded — I’ll even point it out to known Democrats.

I’m not a hardliner, honestly. I’ve voted, and even campaigned for, Reagan twice now — mostly on foreign policy issues, meritocracy and broad libertarianism — but even I can acknowledge that President Mondale’s done a number of things of great worth in his time in office. I don’t agree with the basic values, but at least he’s been pretty classy in implementing them. The solid welfare system and fair housing are good; the soft foreign policy and pie-eyed economics less so. I’ve got nothing against a solid welfare system, and right now I think the Cold War might sort itself out on its own. I’d thank Gorbachev for that, though — not Mondale. Yeah, I’m pretty naïve at this point.

It’s funny. I look up to Reagan, but I’d never want to meet him. I know if I ever did, he’d look down his nose at me like I’m some kind of decadent sex maniac (which, to be fair, I am), or even an outright parasite (which, well ... I hope not). It’s tempting, sometimes, to just give in and be a liberal. Don’t worry, be happy — you have no duties, only privileges! Just be yourself! Their policies would certainly benefit me personally a lot more. But I can’t just pretend all the people trapped in the Soviet Union don’t exist — or for that matter, all the middle American working class schmucks whose day-to-day life depends on a solid economy. People don’t stop mattering just ‘cause they don’t own a polo shirt or have a college degree.

I nod. “Party of freedom and individuality, ultimately. I guess my personal ideal Republican is more like a Libertarian that’s chill with a moderate degree of welfare — a compassionate conservative. The Democrats want the loyalty of the Bill Mahers and Howard Heplers as well as the Catherine MacKinnons, Saul Alinskys and Jesse Jacksons — but once they get real power, they’ll always quietly side with the MacKinnons over the Mahers. It’s truer to their radical base, and their basic ideology of wanting to be a paternal government — to reform the nature of the people rather than to serve them.”

Livia cracks up as I finish the brief monologue, and her laugh isn’t a complementary one. “What?”

“It’s just ... you’re so naïve, Marcelo. So many fancy words and ideas to justify picking the Red-Themed Arseholes over the Blue-Themed Arseholes. They’re all still arseholes, and not that different from each other — and none of them actually believe the bollocks they shove at us proles. It’s just turtles all the way down. I can’t really understand people that waste their time on it.”

This isn’t an off-the-cuff comment. Livia’s cynical — she thinks of all politicians as hucksters and puritans. Mimi, of course, ignores politics. I guess that’s what bimbos do. In a way, I suspect it can be merciful — to just never worry about the big stuff. Livia and I gingerly talk about it a bit more, and while I doubt the topic wins me any respect from her, I don’t mind — I’m left confident that a political clash won’t wreck the Trips in the months to come, and that’s what had really worried me.

We eat our chicken legs in quiet silence — Livia sneaking glances at the waitresses with lecherous intent, and me watching Livia with a more contemplative mindset.

While I don’t stare at Tempest and Audra, I do cross my arms behind my head and lean back in a cocky pose once I finish my portion — stretching my wine-colored silk shirt over my torso exactly as the pose is designed to do. Tempest and Audra both look twice — it’s got to be a nice change of pace for them, to ogle the customers rather than the other way around. I keep eye contact with Livia, though, trying to look casual. It’s spoiled a bit by her own inability to keep her gaze above my neck as we talk — but I really doubt the waitresses are looking at her right now.

It’s not long until they bring out our entrées. Livia’s is predictably eye-catching — it’s just two shish kabobs with steak, hash-browns, carrots, cucumbers and seasoning, but everything is close together and cut into a perfectly cylindrical shape, making the kebabs look suspiciously like two huge dildos. Livia picks one kebab up and licks it tenderly. The two waitresses stare at her.

Audra grins cheerfully. “Could we ... ah, could we perhaps get a photo of you trying the Tubesteak?”

They do have a wall of photos of their patrons — most of them focused on pretty women. Livia looks really enthusiastic, but I interrupt before she can agree too readily. “For marketing?”

Audra gets a sheepish look. Gotcha! “Uh ... yeah, if that’s okay.”

Livia’s a centerfold, and she’s really glammed up today — she actually looks very erotic and eye-catching doing anything suggestive with the kebab. That’s valuable — we want to leverage it. “I’m sure Livia would love to pose for some photos — but we want something from you in exchange. We’re fascinated by your uniform shirts. No, no, this isn’t a bid to get you undressed — well, not unless you want it to be at least. But we noticed they’re not made from normal fabric...”

“Yeah,” Audra agrees, “aren’t they just to die for? They’re like, spandex or something, made to look like a dress shirt. They’re actually really nice — they show your figure clearly, but they’re also comfy to wear and don’t restrict movement or chafe. That’s very handy in the service profession.”

“Yeah, it’s even handier for a risqué stage magician, too. Do you know where we could get some for our own costuming needs?”

“Sorry — we get them sent in from Corporate in Canada, once they get our measurements.”

“I figured it would be something like that. Can you tell me who to talk to about it?”

Audra can’t, but Tempest does — she actually warms up a bit here. I think she admires the practical thinking. We talk business a bit, which I’ll skim over — the connections we get here will actually be really useful to us, but that comes much later. Right now, Livia’s apparently going to pose for some photos with two really suggestively-prepared shish kabobs.

Tempest goes and gets a nice Nikon camera and snaps several, honestly pretty lurid, shots of Livia playing on the phallic imagery — reaching her tongue out to lick the tip, positioning both skewers pointing at her face like a gangbang porn-star (and replicating their faux-intimidated look perfectly with her eyes) and even deep-throating one. She’s in the stripper gown, with her ‘fuck me’ glamour girl makeup, and she’s right in her element — being ridiculously sexy by just being ridiculous. By the time she finishes playing with her food for the cameras I’ve got a raging boner and Mimi’s staring at her with love-sick puppy-dog eyes.

Livia’s been a bit temperamental recently, but this definitely pushes her toward the manic-optimistic side — she’s energized by attention and desire, and by the end of her impromptu photoshoot we’ve got everyone in the restaurant, patrons and waitresses, clapping and cheering for us. She glances from Mimi to me and back to Mimi, and gives out a rich, satisfied cackle. I have no doubt her photos will bring Remedial thousands in advertising revenue alone. It helps that she clearly has so much fun doing this kind of thing.

Disappointingly, however, while Audra and Tempest are genuinely amused, there’s no sharply indrawn breaths, embarrassed repositioning of legs, unnaturally wide eyes or any of the other signs that say “I need her in my bedroom tonight, no matter what.”

That’s not good — Livia really wanted Cathy, and I think she’s still a bit bitter about not getting her. I hate watching her get her hopes up only to keep getting cunt-blocked by the rampant heterosexuality in our society, and I can see she’s pretty into Audra — and was from the second they talked after the Hostess Central show.

On the drive home, I told Livia that I thought Audra might be bi, based on ... well, let’s just say certain hand placements and facial expressions that emerged in the oatmeal pit. The problem is, though, even if Audra is bi, I’m not sure she’s really into Livia as a person. Bi girls aren’t inherently into every other bi lady they meet, after all.