Bette called it an early day on Friday afternoon and by 3:45 she was standing in front of her closet searching for appropriate attire for the evening.  Alice was meeting her there again and she knew Alice would wear something casual and why not?  It was UCLA, so there was no need to dress formally or even professionally.  The campus was as informal as a school could get without classes being held on the beach.  Faculty wore flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirts to teach classes.  However, it was an evening lecture by Ashton Schwartz.  She decided to go for casual chic with a DKNY tulip print silk black and white tank top, along with her latest Nordstrom’s purchase—a Jones NY pair of black trousers and a two-button, thigh length, matching jacket.  She chose a pair of pumps by Lauren to finish off the outfit.  Showered, dressed, and ready to hear a good lecture, Bette was out of her house by 5:15.

Bette wasn’t sure she even wanted Alice there this particular evening, but her journalist friend wanted to make a few contacts for a possible series of articles she planned on writing on art and architecture in LA.   She hoped Alice wouldn’t get in the way of her impromptu reunion with an old friend.

Bette was really late. The traffic on the way to Westwood had been a nightmare.  She had actually considered just returning home, but guessed she wouldn’t be the only one arriving late.  Apparently, everyone else was coming to UCLA from the west or was already on campus.  When Bette walked into the lecture hall, she found the seats filled and the talk underway.  She looked at the lectern and saw him standing behind it, commanding the audience.  Her heart’s beat changed and she literally shook her head out of the past.  Bette scanned the room and noticed that Alice was seated near the front and no surprise, had failed to save a seat for her.  Scanning a second time, she saw one vacant seat nearly in the middle of the room, in the middle of the row. 

As unobtrusively as possible, Bette made her way to the seat, settled in comfortably, placed her purse on the cement floor and listen to Ashton Schwartz discuss his research in the homes of former slaves and their descendants.  Bette smiled at the lecturer who stood with confidence and intellect oozing from him, his face abundantly expressive and dramatic.  He was tall, handsome and slim.  Ash wore a striped shirt that consisted of wide blue stripes with thin gray and white lines running through it.  Shirttails were out under a gray jacket and matching pants that made him look hip and businesslike at the same time.  His head was nearly shaved with a slight amount of peach fuzz showing through; a goatee and moustache covered his chin and upper lip.  His hazel, thoughtful eyes skimmed the audience, making eye contact just long enough to make sure the person was interested in what he had to say and to let them know that he only cared about their reaction.  Ash was good at that.  He always had been.  It seemed to Bette that Ash’s eyes kept returning to the center of the room.  Over and over, their eyes locked and then he’d move on, going left or right, but always returning to her.