Chapter 11

The day had been an eventful one and Bette felt the tension of it residing in her shoulders. As Jean-Paul droned on and on about his stellar career, Bette felt her headache return in full force.

“Really Bette,” Jean-Paul was seething. “Who cannot desire to celebrate ze female body?”

“I imagine a lot of people,” Bette said half mumbling.

“Who are zese people?”

“I don’t know,” Bette threw her hands on the desk forcefully. “Maybe other women?”

“You celebrate zis.”

“I’m a lesbian,” Bette said staring at Jean-Paul intently. “Can we get back to the show?”

“How can other women hate each other so much? So much pressure you put on one another as women to be perfect. Each woman comes in different shapes and sizes.”

“You don’t have to convince me Jean-Paul.”

“I’ve decided to show a new piece in this show.”

Bette thumbed through the catalog of Jean-Paul’s work that was in front of her. She allowed her eyes to glance over each page, not seeing a new sculpture on any of them.

“Where is it?”

“In my mind,” Jean-Paul leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “I have a new inspiration and so it will take me a few months to complete yet another masterpiece. My new inspiration will fuel my passion.”

“What is this new piece?” Bette asked annoyed at the logistics of the show already beginning to spin out of control with Jean-Paul. “What is the new inspiration that would force you behind the 8-ball already with this show when we are well within lead-time considering when the show has to be scheduled?”

“Is it not obvious?” Jean-Paul shot back. “That woman is now in my blood, she has done what no other woman has been able to.”

“Who?”

“Zat amazing woman Donna,” Jean-Paul said as Bette steadied herself after almost falling out of her desk chair.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I cannot be shown up by fruit,” Jean-Paul crinkled his nose up at the thought of a bowl as fruit masking as art. “If it is fruit she desires, then she shall have it, but it will be Jean-Paul style of course.”

“That’s what I am afraid of,” Bette rubbed her aching temples as the door to her office opened.

“I just wanted to thank ya Sugah for the tour,” Donna smiled at Bette. “We’ll see ya’ll back at the house.”

“Is there more than one going to your house Bette?”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your tour Donna,” Bette said desperate for Donna to leave her office so she could begin to negotiate with Jean-Paul to not add another piece into his collection for the opening. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Am I to go with you to your house?” Jean-Paul asked innocently.

“No, it’s a Southern saying.”

“I need to leave zis place and begin my new piece.”

“What is this new piece?” Bette asked.

“Fruit, I told you, just my style.”

Jean-Paul got up and abruptly left Bette’s office practically running down Jordon who was closing for the night. She let him out and locked the door promptly, turning around and leaning against it while she stared at Bette.

“What just happened here?”

“Besides the obvious of Jean-Paul spinning out of control?”

“And me selling that piece to Donna grossly under priced?”

“I’ll pay the difference to the artist,” Bette said smiling at Jordon. “She was happy wasn’t she?”

“I think your wife knows,” Jordon laughed. “She saw the real price on the back of the painting.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear about it when I step inside the sanctuary of our bedroom tonight.”

“I’ll lock up,” Jordan said with a smile. “Go home and forget about the craziness of the day.”

Bette took Jordon’s advice and quickly made her way home. She hadn’t even bothered to take the time to put the top down on her car, she was just too eager to get home and have some quiet time with Tina. Bette maneuvered expertly the route that she normally took home, barely cognizant of what was going on around her until she pulled into the driveway and saw a truck parked beside her house with a covered object in the bed of the truck.

Bette parked the car and shut the engine off as she stared at the truck that proudly displayed California plates. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder at the truck as she walked up the pathway and into the house through the front door, fighting the feeling of foreboding in her stomach that had developed quickly.

“I’m home…” Bette’s voice trailed off as she saw Jean-Paul standing in her living room with a smile on his face. “How did you get here? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to show my new masterpiece to my inspiration,” Jean-Paul smiled proudly. “Now zat you are here Bette, we can begin. Come, follow me.”

“How did you…” Bette shook her head in confusion as she watched the group walk out the front door eager to see Jean-Paul’s work. “You just left my studio about an hour ago.”

In the blink of an eye, the entire household was standing in Bette and Tina’s front yard staring at the truck waiting for the unveiling. As Bette looked around, she noticed that the Kennard family was proudly dressed in their pajamas, including Tina. She stared at Tina’s body as it was barely covered by a black nightie.

“Why are you all dressed in your pajamas?” Bette asked shaking her head to try to clear the confusion surrounding it.

“You are too Babe,” Tina said blatantly staring at Bette’s body.

“I am?” Bette looked down to see herself scantly dressed. She threw her arms in front of her chest and a hand below her waist to try to block the view of her body.

“Zer is not need to hide the naked body Bette,” Jean-Paul smiled. “Besides, I have no desire to see you, it is a more experienced and full woman I desire.”

“What in the hell is going on here?” Bette demanded.

“My dear Bette!” Donna shrieked. “Comin’ out here practically naked as a jay bird is a good way to get yourself sick. Glad you didn’t come out here with wet hair.”

“That is an old wives tale,” Bette said in her defense. “I’ve left the house with wet hair so many times I can’t count and I have not gotten sick from it.”

“But this time Sugah you are practically in your birthday suit.”

“Why is that?” Bette said as she continued to try to shelter her body from wandering eyes. “Why are any of us in our pajamas in the light of day?”

“Because we’re slightly bazaar,” Jackie replied as she yanked at her sweatpants to remove them from her rear-end. “God I hate when my PJ’s ride up.”

“Do you know how bazaar it is that you just picked your butt in front of everyone?” Bette asked as she shook her head to clear it once more.

“Not as bazaar as that painting,” Tina muttered as Jean-Paul raised the cloth and threw it to the ground dramatically to showcase his new work.

Jean-Paul stood in the bed of his truck with the portrait to his side. The painting was of Jean-Paul himself, holding a full basket of fruit in front of him. It was painfully obvious that beside the fruit, Jean-Paul was naked as the day he was born. The lighting was such that it accented his muscular chest and broad shoulders. His skin was painted to be softer in nature, leading one to believe he had soft, smooth skin. The basket was low enough that it covered his penis, but the only hint of hair he had on his body was peaking out from the basket.

“You have not one stitch of hair on your body do you?” Donna asked.

“Just around ze penis.”

“As we can see,” Tina said with wide eyes. “You think highly of yourself don’t ya Jean-Paul?”

“I took a photograph of myself so that I had a picture to work from,” Jean-Paul said proudly. “It is impressive because I am impressive. Zis piece is called ‘Ode to Donna, My Beating Heart’ and zis is my best work to date I feel.”

“You’re a sculptor!” Bette said loudly as she covered her eyes, shielding them from the frightful sight in front of her. “What are you doing painting?”

“That piece is amazing,” Jackie said as she stared at the portrait in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it and you should be so proud of yourself Jean-Paul.”

“Nobody has ever done something like this for me ever,” Donna whispered as tears came to her eyes. “I can’t thank you enough, but Darlin’ you need to do this for yourself, not me.”

“Pffffft,” Jean-Paul jumped down and walked toward Donna. “I can have sex with anyone, but only a woman of your love and experience can hold my heart. Zis piece was created from my heart for you Donna.”

Jean-Paul placed his hands on Donna’s hips as he leaned toward her. Donna anticipated his kiss by tilting her head and slowly wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue.

“Donna!” Bette screamed. “No!”

Bette shot up in bed into a sitting position before she realized it was only a dream that she had been having. Within a few quick seconds, she felt the familiar hand of her wife on her damp shoulder.

“Babe?” Tina asked as she searched for Bette’s face in the dark. “You’re sweating, what’s going on Babe?”

“I had a bad dream.”

Bette laid down and worked to control her erratic breathing. Quickly, Tina gathered her in her arms and began to stroke her sweat-drenched hair. She kissed the top of Bette’s hair as her breathing began to slow down and she began to relax in Tina’s arms.

“You want to talk about it?”

“God,” Bette shook her head as she listened to Tina’s beating heart. “It was the strangest dream I’ve ever had.”

“Let’s talk it out Babe.”

“It was about your Mom,” Bette said thinking back to her dream. “And Jean-Paul.”

“You’re kidding right?” Tina asked as her hand stilled in Bette’s hair. “What do you mean ‘and’ Jean-Paul?”

“He painted a picture of himself naked,” Bette chuckled at the thought. “He was holding a basket of fruit to impress your mom.”

“Impress her how?”

“With what Jean-Paul seems to think God blessed him with,” Bette shuddered at the thought.

“Bless him as in….” Tina’s voice trailed off and she dropped her voice to a soft whisper. “Are you saying that he was holding a basket of fruit but you could still tell his was…”

“Very blessed in his mind,” Bette finished Tina’s thought. “We were all dressed in pajamas, it was just very strange.”

“Why were we dressed in pajamas?”

“Hell if I know,” Bette shrugged as she felt the tension begin to leave her body at the hand of Tina expertly massaging her back. “I just had the dream, I don’t claim to understand it.”

“Didn’t Alice take a class for an article on dream interpretation? We could ask her what it all means?”

“No,” Bette insisted. “I just assume to leave it in the sub-conscious now and move on.”

“But it’s a message Babe.”

“Not one that will likely come true,” Bette said as she picked her head up and looked into Tina’s eyes. “He is a sculptor, not a painter to begin with. I don’t believe that dreams can be the window into the future if you interpret them and take lessons from them.”

Tina picked up Bette’s hand and brought the palm of it to her lips. She gently kissed it before she moved it slightly away from her lips to stare at it.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading your palm,” Tina said with a playful smile. “I see a lot of the dream in your future.”

“Oh really?” Bette cocked her eyebrow in a challenge to Tina. “Do tell since you’ve had so much experience reading palms.”

“I have,” Tina laughed. “Well I read the book Alice gave me after her article was done.”

“An expert that makes you,” Bette said in a joking manner.

“I see a woman in your future,” Tina cleared her throat and pretended to concentrate on Bette’s palm to the point of crinkling her eyebrows together in concentration. “She’s mysterious.”

“Does she have a basket of fruit in front of her?” Bette teased back.

“No, I don’t see fruit.”

“What do you see then?”

“Blonde hair,” Tina fought to suppress her smile and continue her assessment. “I can’t see her eyes, but I know she has the biggest smile on her face as she looks at you.”

“Why can’t you see her eyes?”

“She has…” Tina allowed her voice to drift off as she focused on Bette’s palm. “She has a mask on.”

“Oh no,” Bette shook her head and quickly pulled her hand from Tina’s grasp. “There will be no unmasking of anyone until the Kennard clan packs it up to go home.”

“I had a dream,” Tina rolled over and pinned Bette’s body under her. She used the ball of her foot to massage Bette’s calf as she leaned in, just a few inches separating their lips. “We were in a store buying a hammock.”

“Just so you know it won’t work,” Bette shut her eyes as she began to repeat the same sentence over and over to herself. “Jean-Paul’s fruit basket, think of Jean-Paul’s fruit basket!”

“No fruit basket,” Tina nipped at Bette’s lips playfully while she pinned Bette’s arms above her head. “No windows to throw yourself out of either.”

“Oh,” Bette moaned as Tina attacked her neck with passion and hunger. “Tina…”

“And if I kill you now,” Tina licked the sensitive area behind Bette’s ear before continuing her thought. “It will be purely from pleasure and not to escape my family.”