Two Girls, A Gay, and A He-She Joke
Fandom: Ugly Betty
Disclaimer: ABC, a bunch of media conglomerates, and Salma Hayek own the show. I don’t.
Summary: Marc has to deal with Amanda’s new home video, oh noes!
It went around Mode faster than the time Betty wore her Jennifer-Beals-in-Flashdance inspired number to work and Marc got the cameraphone shot of her undies when the tights split: a three-second video of Amanda caught under Alexis Meade, like under, in the “if you know what I mean and I think you do” way.
And not really in the way one would expect Amanda to get under Alexis in hopes of a promotion. Whoever got it — and Marc was dangling the keys of his Hummer around in hopes of finding the lucky bastard — caught Amanda in the middle of a screaming O.
Tacky, and so much more of the vag than Marc ever needed to see in his post-hetero life, but it was so deliciously juicy. Amanda, dumping the fierce fag haggery for her very own piece of the pie.
The hair pie, that was.
…damn it, there needed to be two Amandas — the straight one who was meowing over Marc’s quippy quotes, and the one who was totally going to start listening to Indigo Girls CDs at work.
Betty of course got the IT nerds, who were always on her side and no fun at all, to get rid of the video on the company intranet within an hour. But Marc knew that Amanda knew that her little sapphic paradise was finito when he swished up to her desk.
No signs of incipient dykeadelica yet — the ensemble highlighted the cleavage, was not in an earth tone, and did not involve Birkenstocks — but Marc wasn’t going to let that stop him.
“Hey there,” he said with a smile. “How’s my favorite sister in the struggle?”
“Oh, God, so you saw the video,” Amanda said. “So spill whatever catty swishy comment you came to spill already.”
“Well, I always thought it would be Betty and Christina who went lezzie,” Marc said. “Imagine my surprise to find out that Amanda’s the one going downtown for something OTHER than sample sales.”
“Ha, ha,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes. “The Betty and Christina bit isn’t bitchy enough. The rest of it’s kind of funny, but you’ve said nastier things about Betty when she saved your ass over that file you lost.”
Marc shrugged — this was all true, but she was Amanda and this was a shock — and perched on Amanda’s desk, looking at what Amanda was working on. “Why didn’t you tell me, anyway?” he asked.
“Because I’ve heard all your lez jokes and they’re not really very funny,” Amanda said.
“Oh? Come on, you loved that one about Oprah and Gayle,” Marc said, folding his arms. “Come on, Manda, don’t tell me just because you’ve gone gay that you’re getting the lesbian sense of humor. I mean, the music is bad enough, but…”
“WhatEVer, I bet you don’t have a single lez joke that isn’t, lesbians have bad hair, bad style, and listen to Indigo Girls,” Amanda said. “Or Xena jokes.”
Marc paused, tilted his head, and tapped his lips.
“Damn,” he said.
Amanda snorted and tapped her fingernails on the desk with complete exasperation. Marc paused. They were totally shorter, but he hadn’t noticed because she was rocking her manicure anyway.
“You changed your nails,” he said, looking at the awesome iridescent pinkish-green with slight envy. Alexis Meade clearly knew some seriously stylists. “They look fabulous, but are you like…seriously into the he-she?”
The look Amanda gave Marc could have dropped a charging rhino in its tracks. Marc was totally surprised by it, and winced back with a cat-claw meow.
“The he-she thing is, like, a little old,” Amanda said. “I mean, remember when you got all teary when Isaiah Washington called that cute little dork guy from Grey’s Anatomy the f-bomb and totally cat-scratched those two models?”
“Okay, OKAY,” Marc said, blushing. That had NOT been his finest hour. “Geez, you are into Alexis, aren’t you?”
Amanda sighed, and rested her face on her fabulous hands. “Will you laugh at me if I say yes?”
“Only a teensy bit, because I knew you weren’t totally hetero from the time you were like, ‘I wish Daniel and I could have more threesomes because it’s like, totally hot!'” Marc replied with an honest, sheepish expression. “I mean, it’s me. I have an inner bitch who must keep her claws sha-arp.”
“Broadway gay,” Amanda muttered.
“Lipstick lez,” Marc replied. “Shouldn’t we be, like, posting the Daily Moment of Betty instead of fighting?”
Amanda perked up, a smile curving her lip gloss. “Oh my God, she’s wearing CLOWN PANTS today. Or, they look like clown pants, anyway,” she said, snickering. “But no, we are not okay yet. I am totally down with your faggery, like to the point where I never had to say something dumb like that before. Are you really going to give me lip for being into Alexis?”
“Oh, come on. If any of the other girls were dating man hands, you would be all over them,” Marc said. “I tease with love. You know this.”
“I’m not the other girls. I’m your Manda-bear,” Amanda said. “Besides, if you’re mean to me, Alexis will totally kick your ass.”
“You would sic your girlfriend on me? No way,” Marc said. “I’m a lovable catty fashion queer. Making politically incorrect jokes is my raison d’etre.”
There was, suddenly, a hand on his shoulder. With a firm, totally not masculine because Marc was suddenly not going to say that, grip. And somehow, the perfect, ruby-red manicure tapping Marc’s shirt didn’t make Marc any less afraid of it.
“Is this clown bothering you, doll?” Alexis Meade asked, pulling Marc back just a little to give him a look. A look that said, supermodel hot or not, Alexis would kick his ass boy-style if Amanda didn’t love a clown.
“Oh, Marc and I are having a discussion about what a bitch he’s being about my girlfriend,” Amanda said airily. “He thinks he-she jokes are a raison d’etre.”
“Is that right, Mr. St. James?” Alexis asked. She wasn’t threatening violence, she was just…there. Being all protective-like of Amanda.
And Alexis was bigger than Marc, and according to about five people, who heard it from Betty who heard it from Daniel, Alex Meade would punch a guy in the face for breathing wrong on his woman. So Alexis Meade? Just as likely to do it.
“No, it’s more like a gauche faux pas,” Marc said lamely. “I just get all giddy and silly when I’ve had carbs and gossip for breakfast.”
“I understand. You gotta watch the carbs, I guess,” Alexis said, taking her hand off Marc’s shoulder, leaning over the desk, and planting a big, wet, girly kiss on Amanda, who was TOTALLY into it, getting up and leaning into Alexis.
Like, it was actually cute, except for the drool and boobs.
Alexis pulled back, smiled toothily, and gave a little wave to Amanda. “See you later, baby.”
“Bye!” Amanda said, turning to Marc with a triumphant smirk. “What does Little Miss Mouthy have to say about man-hands NOW, huh?”
“Uh, I want the name of your manicurist, because I am dying of jealousy?” Marc inquired. “Also, no wonder you’ve gone lez. Finally, there’s someone in your life who wants to go out for martinis and a pedi, and totally cares, too.”
“Also, I love tits,” Amanda added. “I mean, who wouldn’t with these to look at every day?”
She quickly cupped her boobs, smirked, and swiveled away.
Marc quietly choked, blinked, and smiled. Okay, so maybe there were lesbian jokes to be made that weren’t about all-natural granola and mullets. He would have to work on that.
Honestly. What a wild world they lived in.