And when I say “a bit snubbed”, I do mean that I felt extremely and tremendously snubbed and hurt and angry. Because it seemed to me, you know, that other people managed to get away from work when it was really important. What I said to myself was, I said, ‘If she thought this was important, she’d be able to get away from work.’

Also, I was hungry.

I changed into clothes that I deemed more comfortable and figured I’d get something from the Chinese place on Santa Monica, but by the time I got there, it seemed ridiculous to eat alone, like I was nursing some sort of ***** broken heart or something.

So I ordered for Bette, too, and drove to The Bette Porter Gallery. The gallery itself was closed and the lights were on in the offices, but the place seemed pretty empty. Bette’s assistant had gone home. I knocked on the door of her office.

“Bette?” I called, knocking again. I could see the light was on through the crack at the bottom of the door. “Okay, I have dinner,” I called, “and it’s kind of heavy, so…” I rolled my eyes and opened the door.

Bette sat up ramrod straight from where she’d been slumped over, head on the desk. She looked startled. “I’m up,” she mumbled. Her eyes focused on me. “*****. What time is it?”

“Uh…” I looked at my watch as I set the bag down on her desk. “Five to ten.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Yeah,” I said, although I didn’t feel very funny. “It’s a big, elaborate joke.”

Bette buried her face in her hands and sighed heavily. “*****. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said reflexively.

“I guess I just-” She sorted through the papers in front of her absently. “I told my assistant to go home and I-I was going to call you, but I took a look at the accident report and I guess I just… dozed off-”

“Accident report?” I came around to sit on the desk, facing her.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Uh, one of the carpenters doing the renovations in the West One gallery-a wall fell on him-”

“A wall?” I cried.

“A-the wall frame,” she explained. “He’s okay, but I figured I’d file an accident report because-Alice, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” I said lightly. “I think you just apologized more in the past five minutes than you ever have in your whole life.”

She laughed. I smiled.

“You’ll work everything out,” I told her.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Absolutely.” Her gaze fell back onto the accident report and the mumbled half-whisper that fell from her lips gave me more than a strange chill up my spine: “Failure is not an option here.”

I waited to see if she would return from her preoccupation without prompting, but her jaw was set, her mind was locked on work. I tried not to let it bother me.

“Anyway,” I went on, standing up straight, “I brought dinner.”

On my way around the desk, Bette grabbed my hand and stopped me. I looked down at her. Her guilt embarrassed me. I had to look away. “Happy anniversary,” she said with a weak smile.

I returned the smile, just as weakly. “Happy anniversary.”