The falls in New York weren’t particularly cold, but they were cold enough.  I’d learned early on from living here that wearing layers was the way to go.  As I brave the brisk streets this morning, I tug on my hat, getting it to fall over my ears.  Walking was all I could do these days.  I had sold my car.

After my mother disinherited me, I knew I had to leave Los Angeles.  I needed to be somewhere familiar.  I went to the place that I knew as home.  I rented out a place in Brooklyn with the money from my car.  I was still living off its profits for the time being.

I wanted to go back to the woman I was before Los Angeles.  I wanted to be this ice queen.  I wanted to be impenetrable.  I wanted to approach a woman, give her a smile.  To them, I may seem emotionally aware, but maybe I’m just good at faking it.  I never imagined seeing any of the girls again.  Yes, it saddened me, but it was for the best, I felt.

But as the people pushed by me on the Q-train, heading into the city, I saw a head of bouncy hair.  I knew who it was immediately.  It was this hair that I remembered the most.  Her head was down, her knee bouncing.

“Bette!” I shouted it out, so she’d hear me over the commotion.  She looked up at me, and then memories of her came flooding back.  She stood up and began walking towards me.  Her eyes were tired and red, “What are you doing here?  Where’s Tina and Angelica…”

As the question left my lips I saw the tears spilling over.  My first reaction was to just grab her, to hold her.

“Oh, Bette…please tell me that she didn’t take her away.” I held her closer as the sobs became obvious to those around us.  The door was still open, so I shoved our way past the people getting on the train, not bothering to say excuse me.  I sat her down on a nearby benched and crouched before her, my jeans becoming imbedded with the foulness of the platform, “Tell me everything that happened.”