Alice said nothing (a world first). When Tina drew back, they were both verklempt.

‘Offer’s open, honey,’ she said. Then she gave Joan Didion a kiss on her little tufty head. ‘You, too!’

***

Bette, it turned out, was not done. After an espresso, a bowl of granola and a visit to the bathroom, she got her second, maybe her third, wind. Tina, meanwhile, was talking about a trip she wanted to take, to New York, to see 860 and The Jellicle Ball and a bunch of other things.

‘I want that big city feeling for a few days, y’know?’

‘Uh huh,’ said Bette, coming back into the room, her open robe billowing behind her. ‘Skyscrapers and car horns and high heels on asphalt.’

‘Exactly!’

‘Only smell grapes when it’s a glass of 2010 Barolo at Dante.’

‘Yes! Can we go?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Oh, wait, I said we’d take Artie next month. And we have to see Wendy again . . .’

Bette knelt down by the bed. ‘Well, do you wanna go or not?’

‘I do.’

‘Then we’ll go.’

Bette took the empty bowl from Tina’s hand and dropped it on the rug beside the bed.

‘You mean it?’ 

‘Clear your schedule.’ 

She undid the tie on Tina’s robe.

‘Bette . . .’

‘Why are you so talkative?’

Bette trailed her finger down the middle of Tina’s torso, then parted her wife’s thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Tina laughed, then sat up, and they kissed. Deep, passionate. Bette pushed the robe away from Tina’s shoulders then gathered her breasts and stroked her thumbs across the nipples. When the kiss ended, Tina was trembling with arousal.

‘Can I put it on?’ she asked.

‘Oh, c’mon . . .’

Bette looked pained. Very over the whole pirate thing.

‘No,’ said Tina, shaking her head as she held Bette’s gaze. ‘Not the patch.’

Bette stopped breathing for a second, then without another word she got up and went to the quilted leather lockbox that sat on a shelf just inside their joint dressing room.

She came back and laid it on the bed. 

‘Been a little while,’ she said, flipping the locks.

‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ asked Tina.

‘I can’t wait,’ said Bette.