Perhaps you have had occasion to meet them: Two genteel women of independent means and complimentary taste, living together in seeming propriety as the very dearest of friends. Surely, you might think, this is a relationship in which grace and sympathy abound, far more than in most traditional 19th-century marriages. Ah, but this is David Mamet — which makes this a wickedly witty, deliciously literate skewering of convention, class and love itself.