1-2-3-4 → 2-1-3-4 → 3-1-2-4 → 4-1-2-3
Ex-husband-to-be is in there this time, talking to the lesbian over a green liquid in upright glasses. Limeade? Odd choice of refreshment for guests. The man is saying serious things, as evidenced by the woman’s careful reactions: her face has that dowdy downtrodden look as before. She can’t retain the same graceful beauty as the lady, life is always shown on her face. Giving his side of the story, no doubt: “Wasn’t my fault, she betrayed me, she not me, etc.” The lesbian loves this. Ammunition for seduction.
Smiles now. The serious words are over, green liquid is consumed. Some strange witches’ brew. The man kicks back on the sofa and looks around: let the small talk commence. Clearly, with the lady next door, he doesn’t want to sit there, talking to this weaker specimen of woman, but he needs her for something. Needs her to pass on lies to the lady, to worm his way back into her affections before his incompetence as a husband kills the marriage stone dead. The sooner the better, the lesbian thinks, and I think too: the lady needs a gentleman, not this pearly white New Man. He leaves summarily.