Chapter Text
The crowd was clamoring outside. Their angry faces would have been pressed against the full length windows if not for the fountains that surrounded the gallery. Bette Porter ignored the hubbub as she studied in detail her last bill for the new panels they needed to install to complete the exhibition before the opening.
With her back turned from the windows, she didn’t see the pixie haired blonde that waved her arms around to get her attention. Fortunately, her loyal assistant James noticed and approached the tall woman nervously. You see, Bette could be a bit harsh when she was stressed out and these protesters, gathered there for the last three days because of her latest show, were getting on her nerves.
Bette unlocked the front door and welcomed the journalist with her usual graciousness. She acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary despite a jab from Alice Pieszecki, reporter for the LA Times. Art didn’t have to be acclaimed or considered beautiful to be important. Most of the time, someone unappreciative of an artwork would get that feeling because they didn’t understand it.
“Maybe I could give you a tour to help you understand the purpose of this show.”
“I was stalling for my colleague, but she is running late,” Alice said checking her cell phone for a text. “Let’s start.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Bette deployed all her energy to present each artwork to Alice. The protesters were calling the show controversial, Bette called it necessary. They arrived in the last room, where the masterpiece had been installed.
It was a sculpture, polished stainless-steel, twelve feet tall, that they had the greatest trouble hiding from prying eyes. They had settled for a custom-made thick white curtain mounted on a circular rod. It allowed them to take a peek every now and then without uncovering the whole sculpture. It was a collective art show. Twenty four artists, twenty four artworks. But this piece by a Korean rising artist would be the most talked about for years to come.
Bette opened the curtain and gestured for Alice to get inside the circle of secrecy. The blonde reporter gasped and craned her neck to inspect the sculpture. She walked around the base slowly as she took in the details. When she came back to her initial point, she was grinning.
“Now I know why the public opinion is so angry.”
She seemed to love drama. Bette shook her head and curly strands of hair danced round her face.
“You don’t get it. This is a reminder of what exactly she could do to us.”
“But she won’t,” Alice replied in a dubious tone.
“We don’t know that.”
Alice seemed ready to argue, but right at that moment, the tumult outside turned to a full upheaval. Bette cursed to herself and stormed from behind the curtains. It wasn’t only yells anymore. They were throwing paint at the windows. Black paint. It splashed on the glass in ugly smears and trickled down gloomily.
“Uh… Bette?”
“I saw, James!” the gallery owner barked.
She strode across the showroom angrily, giving no other choice to James and Alice than to jog behind her to keep up. To think that she had refused to call the cops, arguing that it was a peaceful protest. She had been a fool thinking the best out of ignorant people but that was over. She instructed her assistant to ask for an intervention and the poor man scrambled away to do as tasked. Bette reached the entrance.
“I wouldn’t go out if I were you.”
Bette stopped with her hand on the handle. She glanced over her shoulder with a determined expression on her features.
“Watch me.”
She pushed the door open and the noise almost deafened her. She stepped back just in time to avoid a spatter of paint. The next one narrowly missed her but she wasn’t so lucky with the third one. She pivoted at the last moment and felt the cold liquid hit her back. Now that was enough. She couldn’t get a word out, the mob was closing in on her, they were defiling her workplace and on top of all that, her suit was ruined. Enough.
“Listen to me!” Bette shouted, hands raised in peace.
But they ignored her. She had to duck to avoid an empty paint can and that was when she realized how serious the situation was. Where were the police when you needed them? Bette started to retreat toward the door. There was nothing she would be able to do unless they decided to calm down or their leader–if there was one–took control and decided to talk to her. For now, insults were spat at her with as much vigor as the paint.
Bette was almost at the door when she heard it. It was faint at first, a faraway sound. But even the protesters closer to her turned around to locate its source. She could hear it distinctly. It was an engine. A muscle car to be precise.
A tremor rippled from the back of the group to the front as the sound of the engine grew nearer. The agitation was a mix of excitement and trepidation that had Bette feeling the same way. Her eyes flickered between the faces of the protesters and she scratched the palm of her hand nervously. People were whispering among themselves, glancing in the gallery’s direction and stepping back. They were getting away from the ever louder noise. It was as if everyone had forgotten about Bette’s existence… until the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Bette felt her mouth go dry. It was a Dodge Charger. Yellow with two black stripes running in the middle. And it wasn’t on the road anymore. The sidewalk was quite large in front of the building and the vehicle slowly climbed on it, facing the entrance. It stopped there, giving people a few more seconds to wonder what the hell was happening. Then, it started again.
The driver stepped on the gas several times and the engine roared angrily. The front of the car lifted, eager to dash forward as soon as the handbrake would be released. If it was intimidation, Bette was too shocked to feel any kind of fear. What kind of sick person threatens someone with their car? Whoever was behind the wheel was toying with her, waiting for a reaction.
The driver put their foot down and kept it there. The tires squealed as the wheels spun on the concrete. The car swerved to the side and the people standing near the vehicle scrambled away. White smoke met the sickening smell of burned rubber and people recoiled some more. What was the driver’s deal exactly? What were their intentions?
The answer became clear when the driver released the accelerator. A semblance of quiet returned. Bette could hear everything: the low rumble of the engine, traffic noises, birds and, in the distance, police sirens. She relaxed her stance. It was over.
The tires screeched and the Dodge lurched forward. A collective gasp of horror rose. Bette’s eyes widened but she stayed rooted in place. This was really happening. It wasn’t a game of intimidation after all.
Her body refused to move, her throat didn’t produce any sound. She just watched the car speed toward her as if in slow motion. She saw someone–a man maybe–run toward her. She heard the distorted screams of the repentant crowd. She didn’t see her life flash before her eyes. She didn’t regret any of the choices she had made, she just—
“Bette! Get out of the way!” Alice wailed from inside.
Bette blinked. And just as her brain fought for survival, time sped back to normal. Bette took a step back and put her arms in front of her, as if it would save her. Too little too late. The car was on her now.
A green blur fell from the sky. It landed right in front of Bette and enveloped her in green and gold.
It , was a woman dressed in a green suit. She put her hands on the hood and stopped the car in its tracks. It was effortless. She wasn't pushing back. Actually, it looked more like she was simply leaning on the car. The back tires screeched and smoked in an effort to dislodge the woman, but to no avail. The car swerved again, yet no one stepped away this time. The situation was handled to say the least.
"It's her. It's her!" People started to whisper.
They pointed fingers, took out cameras in a frenzy and snapped away at her like she was some circus freak.
Her.
Titania.
The superhero that protected Los Angeles.
Like everyone present that day, Bette watched with amazement as the wonder woman lifted the car with her bare hands. The engine roared, the suspensions creaked. Titania didn't even make a sound. She just lifted it little by little until the vehicle stood in a continuous line over her small frame. It challenged every law of physics. The shadow fell over Bette, the vehicle so high that it blocked the sun.
Titania took a few steps away from the building and people stood back reverently in turn. Her green and gold cape flowed gently with the wind. Her hair fell just below her shoulders, blond and wavy. As she walked away from Bette, the sun returned and hit her gold helmet, making it shine bright. Bette sucked in a breath at the picture she made. The woman’s head turned to the side slightly, almost as if she had heard her and the wings on her helmet flashed in the sun.
Bette wished she could commit her side profile to memory. She thought she saw a small smile on her lips and her heart pounded louder in her chest. It was probably the after effect of the adrenaline but in that instant, it felt like Titania had dismantled her completely. She was a living and breathing work of art.
She was magnificent.
The hero lowered the car to the ground again, but flipped it on its roof. The metal whined in pain. This would be the last the driver would use their car for a while. Titania opened the door and shut the engine.
The police sirens were getting stronger. Knowing that their free time was coming to an end, some people tried their luck and pushed forward. They wanted their very own picture. They wanted to see her, touch her, be in her presence. They were fanatics worshiping an icon. Titania was beyond celebrity. She was unreachable and yet on that day, she was just a few feet away. It was too tempting to resist.
Alice ran past Bette with her camera and dictaphone to get her very own exclusive quote from the hero. People were elbowing each other to get a better spot, asking, begging as if the superhero was supposed to sign autographs on cut out pictures. Alice was able to touch her shoulder and Titania spun abruptly in her direction. The blonde journalist fired question after question after question, almost in her face with excitement, the whole crowd forming a semi-circle around them.
Bette saw something then.
Titania took a step back.
She was a spectacle in her own right but the rest of the world wasn’t looking at her the way Bette was. She realized that maybe there was reason to be mad at the masterpiece of her show. Maybe she had been wrong all along. This wasn’t the all powerful being she had pictured. This was a woman, not very tall, with extraordinary abilities, yes, but who had never asked for that kind of attention.
Bette let out a breath as awareness washed over her. As soon as she did, a glare of sunlight hit her in the eyes. The hero had turned her way. More than that, she was coming toward her. Blood pumped in Bette’s ears with each step that brought her nearer.
She could have been marching her way to demand some explanations about her exhibition or she could have been leading the mob straight to Bette, and yet Bette didn't feel threatened. She had watched the news reports, she knew that it wasn't in her character. And if she happened to be wrong, she had this weird intuition when she was in Titania's presence. She felt safe. Safe on a deeper level than acknowledging that she had powers and could protect her if needed, just like she had just proved. Bette had felt it the first time. She was feeling it again.
The issue was that Titania’s fans were following. They soon found themselves in a bottleneck formed by the junction of the sidewalk and the fountains that flanked the entrance doors. It reminded Bette of those bad horror movies where zombies closed in on the heroes. Maybe Titania noticed her look of concern or maybe she heard them the way she could hear every little sound and she tilted her head to the side. She stopped walking.
People behind her didn’t.
Titania turned her head back around and locked eyes with Bette. Goosebumps spread down the brunette's back. Something changed in her on a cellular level whenever she was in Titania's presence. She couldn't quite read her features because of the helmet that concealed the upper side of her face. Only the eyes were visible. Then again, the shadow of the helmet tended to hide their expression.
Bette was still musing when Titania took a step. The next thing she knew, she was rocketing toward the sky at a prodigious speed.
“Hey! Aren't you supposed to take the journalist?” Alice cried from far away.
Bette looked below and let out a strangled sound. The ground shrunk under her feet and within seconds, the population of Los Angeles became nothing more than busy ants. Dizziness overcame Bette.
“Relax,” a soft voice said. “I’ve got you.”
They were high in the sky, over the tallest skyscraper. Titania was holding Bette with one arm under her knees and the other on her back. Bette wasn't certain of how that had happened but her arms were wrapped around the super woman's neck.
They rushed past white clouds at high speed. At this altitude, the chill wind brushed her skin as if it was trying to whip it. Everything felt too fast, too foreign. Bette made the mistake of looking up and panic set in when the morbid thought that they might fall into space crossed her mind. She tightened her grip on Titania then, and squeezed her eyes shut.
“We're there.”
Bette had been so preoccupied by her inner fears that it hadn’t registered yet that the wind had stopped. She opened her eyes.
There, was the Griffith Observatory. Titania had landed not far off, but away from where visitors could see them. She was holding a clingy Bette, who felt very silly all of a sudden. She relaxed and the blond hero let her down. To add to her embarrassment, Bette wobbled on her trembling legs and had to sit on a boulder as soon as she was released.
“Are you okay?”
Bette let out a humming sound of acknowledgment and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Her cheeks prickled as the blood returned to her face. She rubbed her forehead and kept her head down until she felt like she didn’t look so sickly anymore.
“Ah… what is that?”
Titania was looking at her right hand with… well, Bette couldn’t see most of her face, but she seemed confused. As for her hand, it was covered in black paint from where she had held her.
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry. They threw paint at me.”
The blonde wiped her hand on her leg and shook her head. She was mumbling to herself indistinctly. Bette felt a strange yearning to know what she was thinking.
“Did they hurt you?” Titania asked somewhat forcefully.
“No… I’m surprised it’s not tar, to be honest. It ruined your suit, I’m sorry.”
Titania shrugged. She put her hands on her hips and moved away to face the landscape. Her suit or uniform—Bette felt too stupid to ask—consisted of form-fitting pants and a long-sleeved top, all emerald green with accents of gold. She wore flat knee-high boots, thank God, although Bette had no doubt that she would be able to kick asses in heels too. At the front, the neckline created a diamond shape that revealed some pale skin, but nothing too audacious. The fabric then covered her neck up to her chin, really leaving only her lips and cheeks bare. A gold cape with a green lining that stopped around the middle of her thighs completed the outfit. Oh, and the helmet of course. Gold with wings on both sides of it.
It was a sensible outfit that didn’t show more skin than needed. It was nothing out of a classic comic book. The first time she had met her, Bette hadn’t gotten the opportunity to look at her closely in the past. But now… It was an outfit that allowed Titania to hide her identity, Bette realized.
“You saved me twice in a month,” she said.
“If I recall correctly, you didn’t need my help the first time.”
Bette huffed out a laugh. She had been mugged or, to clarify, she had almost been mugged. The bony knees that had caused her to be bullied in middle school had been useful when she had smashed one between the legs of her attacker, then up his nose when he had hunched over in manly pain. Titania had arrived right then from out of nowhere and she had handled the rest. It had happened so fast, late at night, and Titania had left almost as soon as she had landed. But the hero remembered her. Bette couldn’t control the fluttering of her heart.
If history was any indication, they didn’t have much longer left together. Bette wished that it didn’t have to be that way. She was also too proud to ask aloud. Titania was still standing there though, when she could have flown away long ago. Bette was pretty sure that crime or accidents in the city kept her occupied twenty four seven. This was a peaceful time, birds chirping happily in the trees around them, the air cool in the shadow of the trees. Bette wondered if she was waiting for something, if Titania was expecting something from her.
“Do you want to hear about the show?” Bette inquired with a shyness she didn’t know she possessed.
The blond superwoman turned around. “Do I?”
Bette’s chest tightened when she read the twist of her mouth as annoyance. She didn’t want her to think that she was hell bent on destroying her image.
“It’s not an anti-hero exhibition.”
Dark eyes stared at her with a quiet intensity. They were sharp. Not unkind but alert. Anticipative. She was listening. Bette thought long about how to explain it. She was reminded of her time with Alice earlier and decided to do the same. This was a “what if” exhibition. It explored uncharted possibilities, some scary, some hopeful. And yes, the masterpiece happened to be controversial, but neither the artist nor Bette were anti-Titania. Far from it. Bette tried to describe some of the artworks but it was infinitely harder to do so when they weren't right in front of them.
“You should come and see it for yourself,” she suggested.
Titania chuckled a cute laugh that surprised Bette, then fought her smile as she looked down at the gallery owner. Bette stared at her lips. They were very pretty lips, a natural girly pink. She forgot to feel embarrassed about her invitation.
“I’m serious. I know your presence would cause a stampede, but I’m at the gallery until 10pm most nights. So you could just… drop by whenever,” Bette offered. She really wanted her to give that show a chance.
Titania crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side just slightly.
“That late? Don’t you have someone waiting for you at home?”
Bette opened her hands with a sorry smile. Domesticity had never happened for her. Her relationships didn’t last longer than three to six months and it had been a while since her last date. She was focusing on her gallery. Every set up date with friends from friends had left her feeling empty, like she would never feel any sort of connection to any woman.
“Why?”
“Why don't I have anyone in my life?” Bette clarified.
Titania nodded in silence. Bette found herself both ashamed at her own failures and fascinated by the turn the conversation had taken. She realized how bananas the situation was. Here she was, discussing relationships with a woman admired by the whole country for her exceptional abilities. She could fly, she had super strength, she could run at super speed, she had super hearing, she was invulnerable… physically. Yet she was asking about Bette’s lack of love life.
“It never happened I guess,” Bette replied eventually.
“Did you give up? A successful woman like you? Smart and beautiful?”
She thinks I'm beautiful, Bette thought. Her heart did a back somersault in her stomach. A part of her brain stored the sound of Titania’s voice. She didn’t want to forget it if this was the last she ever talked to her.
It was not her proudest moment. She wasn’t sure how to explain that although she had quixotic views on relationships, she was so bad at them that she pushed people away. Women tended to disappoint her or bore her. Bette wasn’t certain why, but when she didn’t feel it, that indescribable energy that linked two people together, she couldn’t commit to making the relationship work.
“I stopped forcing myself into relationships that had no future,” she attempted to sum up.
Titania looked away for a second. “Yeah… I get that.”
Bette was curious to know how it was for her. Who was she when she took off that helmet? Did she ever take it off? Who were her friends? Who did she trust? Did anyone know about her other identity? Did she even have another identity? Bette had a million questions but Titania sighed and met her eyes again.
“I have to go.”
It was over, then. If Bette was being honest, this conversation had been longer than she had expected already. She stood up and approached Titania slowly. Her pumps crunched on the gravel. It was weird to her that she was taller than this woman given her name. But it made her more human somehow and the thought was comforting.
“Can you take me back to the gallery?”
“Yes, the police are there right now.”
Bette shifted her weight on her feet awkwardly. They were more clinical now with less distance than when she had been sitting on the boulder a few feet away. Eventually, Titania opened her arms the way someone would if they were offering a hug.
“Put your arm around my neck,” she instructed when Bette tripped over herself with hesitation.
Flustered, Bette did as told, her movements slow like she was in front of a dangerous animal. Not that it was the case, she felt safe with her. But she was about to be very close to that woman again, the closest she could be, really. It was both exhilarating and incredibly unsettling.
With her arm fastened behind the hero’s neck, Titania bent a little and lifted her like she was picking up a pillow. Her hand pressed gently on her back under her blazer to avoid the paint splatter. Bette’s breath hitched in her throat. Even if she had concealed it, the proximity was too important. Titania heard and glanced down with a reassuring smile.
“Try to look at the horizon. You will feel less dizzy.”
Bette forced a smile. If she felt dizzy right now, it had nothing to do with the take off. Looking at the horizon did help, but mostly because the experience made her forget about all the rest. It was like flying on a helicopter but being able to feel everything, the wind whooshing in her ears and flowing through her frame, the weightless sensation… Feeling bold, Bette extended the arm in her lap and felt the air around her fingers. She smiled, wondering how it would feel to touch a cloud. She heard a chuckle and found Titania doing that thing where she was fighting hard to smile.
Up close, she was very pretty. She had a cute bow to her lips. Bette was persuaded that the rest of her face looked just as good. It wasn’t anything like the sculpture or any of the paintings displayed in her show for that matter. Her face was softer than the image artists had of her. It was fuller, the jaw less pronounced than they made it out to be.
“Hold on, we’re almost there,” Titania said.
Bette hooked both arms behind her neck and observed the ground as it grew closer. She had the best aerial view of the gallery and its neighborhood. It was a light grey square, with a green patch in the middle for the patio that she only used to chain smoke when she was stressed out—which happened a lot these days. But don’t be mistaken, smoking is bad and she had every intention of stopping. She should have never started in the first place.
The front of the building was as packed as before their departure, but add the cops to that. Now that they had missed all the action, the LAPD was happy to cordon off the zone and light up their flashing lights while they rounded up the usual suspects. Even from up there, Bette could see the Dodge Charger, still on its roof.
The landing was careful. Titania let go her legs gently and Bette returned to the ground floor reluctantly. One arm dropped from around her neck but the other stayed there. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet but already, officers were swarming them to get a report of the situation for one and to check the well-being of the other.
Bette insisted that she was unharmed, but the man–it was always a man–forced her to sit at the back of an ambulance, where a paramedic tested her pupils reaction. She explained over and over that she had not been hurt in any way, but the woman didn’t pay attention. As soon as she was able to, Bette escaped and went in search of her savior. She only found a giddy Alice with a camcorder and a Dodge Charger magically back on its four wheels.
“Where is she?” Bette snapped.
She didn’t bother to be polite about it but the journalist didn’t seem to mind. She was too absorbed by something on her device.
“Oh, she’s long gone.”
Bette scrutinized the sky as if it would make any difference. She saw nothing but bright blue all over. Titania was gone. Without saying goodbye. Bette’s stomach tied itself in knots. She shook herself out of it and squared her shoulders. She was lucky enough that she had gotten to talk to her, let alone be in her company. That was more than enough, right.
“Alice!”
The holler jolted both women out of their thoughts. They turned to the wooden blue police barriers and the owner of the voice, who was… limping her way to it. Bette’s jaw went slack in stupefaction. It was yet another blonde woman, hair messy, in a black pencil skirt, matching jacket and pale peach shirt. Two officers stopped her like she was the most important threat they had met that day.
“Tina!” Alice tapped on one of the cop’s shoulders to get his attention. “She's a journalist, she's with me.”
To prove it, the woman named Tina flashed her press card and was let in begrudgingly. Alice smoldered her like a mamma bear.
“Where have you been? What happened to you?”
“My heel broke in the commotion and I fell.”
“What’s with the black on your hand?”
“That’s from when I fell.”
Indeed, there was dried paint all over her right palm. The poor thing seemed to have gone through hell. Her cheeks were still a healthy pink from the ordeal. She had a youthful face; the girl next door type. Cute. Pretty even, with nice cheekbones and sweet brown eyes.
“You missed everything... again,” Alice’s tone had gone from concerned to accusatory.
“I know, I know. I'm sorry I was late.”
The new blonde combed her hand through her hair with a sheepish expression. Bette stood on the side with her hands in her pockets, waiting for the introductions. Alice remembered her manners—yes, Bette hadn’t forgotten how short she had been with her just seconds ago, she was aware of the irony—and gestured toward the fellow journalist.
“Bette, this is Tina Kennard, my colleague from LA Magazine. I’m showing her the ropes,” she winked, proud of herself. “Tina, this is Bette Porter.”
Bette extended her hand toward Tina with a polite smile.
“Nice to meet you.”
Tina made eye contact and slid her hand in hers. Bette noticed immediately how soft it was and her smile froze for a half-second. She had kind eyes too.
“Nice to meet you.”
Bette turned to Alice again. Her hand tingled from the recent touch. She had to distract herself. But the first blonde of the day didn’t seem willing to be of help. She nudged Tina in the shoulder and almost sent her flying when it jeopardized her precarious balance.
“Guess what! I just got an exclusive quote from Titania!”
“What?” Bette intervened despite herself.
Alice was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She waved her camcorder around childishly before she realized that her interview—or whatever it was—needed to be protected.
“Yeah! Isn’t that amazing? So, anyway, Tina, I need to get it to CNN or something.” She was walking away already. “Tune in tonight because I’m gonna be on TV baby!” She shouted the rest and followed it with a whoop whoop that had the policemen look in alarm for an instant.
A quote from Titania… Regarding what exactly? Bette balled her hand in a fist unconsciously. After all the events of the day, she didn’t want more fuel added to the fire. She sighed and peered at the other woman. The sound she had just made had brought the attention onto her and Tina smiled awkwardly at being caught staring.
A pretty blush darkened her already pink cheeks. She was intimidated. On any other occasion, Bette would have said it was warranted, since she had never showed up for their meeting. But on that day, Bette didn't feel like dragging her down. This poor girl had been through enough as it was.
“I should go back to the office... I'm so very sorry I missed our meeting, Miss Porter. I was really looking forward to it.”
Bette chuckled at the title Tina had given her.
“I will just have to hope that your colleague won't burn me at the stake,” she joked. “And please, call me Bette.”
“Alice is very competent,” Tina defended immediately. “I'm sure she will do your gallery justice.”
“Hm... Let's hope so.”
Bette's lips curled in a smile. The openness of Tina's face and her eagerness to please were charming. Refreshingly so. Tina shuffled on her feet and staggered once more.
“I have some glue inside. For your shoes.”
To say that her eyes lit up was an understatement. Tina beamed at her like Bette was Titania.
“Really? You would... I wouldn't... I don't want to bother you,” Tina managed after the third try.
She was flustered, from her face to—and it was only because the shade changed so fast that Bette noticed, of course—her cleavage. Bette focused on a rebellious strand of hair on Tina’s face instead.
“Nonsense,” she said with a shrug.
She enjoyed being the savior after having been on the receiving hand a few minutes ago. She indicated to one of the cops that she would be in her office if they wanted to take her statement. Bette didn't give him the choice to agree with the location. It wasn't a proposition.
Leading the way inside, Bette clenched her fists at the drying paint. Someone would have to pay for this and it wouldn't be her. The splatters darkened the white rooms. They blocked out the sun and created a murky atmosphere.
Bette looked over her shoulder to make sure that Tina was following and what she saw brought a secret smile on her face. The young reporter was looking everywhere with curious eyes in wonder. Maybe Bette could give her an avant-première if Tina wasn’t in a hurry. But for now, they had a wardrobe malfunction to deal with.
Tina sat on the couch in Bette’s office, more careful with the way she observed her surroundings, now that Bette could catch her at any moment. She leaned forward to unbuckle her sandal but her long hair kept falling in front of her face despite her attempts to push them behind her ears. Bette wouldn’t call her clumsy exactly, but there was something very sweet about her.
“Here,” Bette said. She kneeled on the carpet and made quick work of the buckle.
She placed a hand on the back of Tina’s ankle and took off the shoe with the other. Her ankle felt delicate in her hand and Bette noticed that she had a tattoo on the foot. A lotus in color. This woman was proving more surprising than she thought she would be.
“Thank you,” Tina said.
Bette glanced up and lost her breath momentarily. With the hair partially covering her face, she could only make out gentle hazel eyes and a shy smile.
“You're welcome,” she whispered.
She stood up and found refuge behind her glass desk. She had a cabinet where she stored a box of supplies. Tape, spare pens, a desk phone—phones these days could barely handle being thrown across the room—post-its and...
“Glue,” Bette announced, feeling like a dork.
“Oh, you're truly saving my day,” Tina chortled with that same embarrassed smile.
Dear God, could Bette make her feel more uncomfortable? Because it seemed that the more she talked, the more flustered Tina became. It was rare that Bette felt that awkward around people. She was used to dazzle just by entering a room. The tall woman berated herself mentally while she applied the glue on the heel. It was a nice pointed toe T-strap shoe with a heel that was about 2.5 inches. Feminine but suitable for work. Tina seemed to be a practical woman.
“I think it will do the trick. You need to hold it that way until it dries. You got it?”
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
Bette released the shoe in her care and ignored the tingle she felt again when their fingers brushed.
“Um…”
Tina gestured toward Bette and the brunette stared back with raised eyebrows in questioning.
“What happened to your back?”
Her back… the paint!
“Shit! I forgot!”
Bette slipped off of her jacket and flipped it around to assess the damage. It was black on black, which made her squint, but touching the fabric carefully told her that it was almost dry. Probably from her two trips in the air. Fuck. She wasn’t a perfect housewife, but she knew that dried acrylic was a pain in the ass.
“They really came at you, did they?” Tina’s voice reached her from behind.
Bette angled the jacket to see the extent of the stain. It was bad.
“While it’s not exactly pleasant to be on the receiving end of critics and anger, I don’t mind. However,” she looked over her shoulder at the blonde, “I could do without the murder attempts.”
Tina smiled a real smile then and Bette captured the girly way her face transformed. Simply lovely. Reenergized by her small victory, Bette dropped the jacket on the coat rack to deal with later. She sat next to the blonde on the office couch and took off her cuffs so she could roll her sleeves.
Tina was still pressing on the heel of her shoe. She was sitting with her toes barely grazing the rug, trying to hide the fact that her foot was bare, but Bette kept coming back to the tattoo on the bridge of her foot.
“I’ve read a lot about you,” Tina admitted suddenly.
Bette looked up and acted as if she hadn’t been ogling her legs.
“You did?”
Tina nodded and her head dropped as she bit her lip. Bette followed the movement of her mouth unconsciously.
“I was really excited to be part of this article about your gallery, but then I was late and when I arrived, there was this mob at the front…”
Bette pursed her lips to conceal her smile, but it crooked just about, giving her a roguish look. She caught Tina staring at her and felt a warm feeling sparkle in her. The journalist looked away again and pretended to check on her shoe, face crimson. Bette took pity.
“And what exactly did you read about me?”
“Um…” Tina breathed out a shy laugh and got lost in her thoughts for a couple of seconds. “They say that you are a force to be reckoned with, that you are daring and you’re not afraid to push boundaries.”
Tina paused and licked her lips.
“They say that for someone as tenacious and ambitious, your elegance is captivating.”
She stopped talking and the air grew thick around them. Bette could almost hear the clock tick on the wall. The only reason she couldn’t was because she could hear her heart thump in her eardrums instead. She swallowed thickly and realized that it was her turn to react. The shy hazel eyes were a bit wary now, but there was a light in them that was unmistakable.
A knock at the door made them jump. Bette looked into Tina’s eyes for a second longer, then yelled at James to come in a bit more harsher than she would have done usually. Her assistant poked his head through the crack and checked that he wasn’t interrupting—he had already—then opened the door fully. An LAPD officer stepped in, thumbs hooked in the loops of his belt and informed her that he was there to take her statement. Bette asked James to lead him to the conference room and once the men had left, she turned to Tina.
The peculiar look was gone from her eyes. Her face was serious, grave even. And when Bette smiled apologetically, Tina’s mouth twisted in what seemed like a disappointed smile for an instant.
“I have to go,” Bette said in a low voice. Part of her wanted to stay right where she was. The other wanted to run away as far as possible.
Tina nodded with an understanding smile. “I’ll wait for the glue to dry and I’ll let myself out.”
Bette shook her head. “You can stay as long as you want, it won’t be an issue.”
She offered another uncomfortable smile and stood. She paused at the door and took one last look at Tina.
“It was nice meeting you, Tina,” she said and she felt stupid as soon as it left her mouth.
“Yes, it was really nice,” the blonde replied.
Her voice took the softest tone Bette had ever heard. Nice, she repeated in her mind. Nice didn’t begin to explain what their meeting did to Bette. Nice was the only word she could think of while she waited to process everything, tonight as sleep eluded her. With one last look that engraved Tina’s face in her mind, Bette left.
To say that Bette couldn’t sit still as she gave her statement was to put it lightly. She couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. This was a preliminary statement, but if she intended to sue—her thoughts went to the windows of the gallery—she would have to go to the station to make an official claim. Bette rolled her eyes at that.
Every few seconds, she would check her watch nervously. She took her leave as soon as the cop finished reading his recap and she burst through her office door. Empty. Bette scoffed at her own stupidity. At least, she had an answer now. The part that had wanted Tina to stay had won.
Bette dropped on the spot Tina had occupied and relaxed on the couch. The ceiling was spotless. Desperately bland. Like… Bette censored the thought that followed. She leaned forward with her arms on her thighs to see if the carpet was any different. She frowned. There was something on the floor.
It was a top-spiral notebook. Some pages had been torn off already judging by the thinness of it. She sifted through the pages. There were drafts of articles, sometimes just titles. Bette chuckled when she read “vaginal rejuvenation” and “astrology and relationships”. She flipped a page and read some very different ideas. “Millennials won’t be able to afford housing”, “Why men don’t read enough books written by women”, “obstetric violence”. Bette froze and went back to the previous page. The writing had been more of a bored scrawl for the rejuvenation and all its themes. The next page had a clean round writing that seemed to clash with the topics.
None of those sounded like LA Magazine from what Bette had read when she was researching Alice Pieszecki. That made her like Tina even more. Bette turned the page and saw her name in that same feminine writing with the time of their meeting next to it. She closed the notebook and smiled up at the ceiling. The little black notebook found its place close to her chest and two hands covered it protectively.