“I met with Brenda again today about the warehouse space and I told her that it was definitely the one I wanted. The price she gives me is three-thousand more than the last price.”

“How’d that happen?”

“A higher bid came along and she’s getting ready to take it, but she’s giving me some time to decide if I want to bid higher. Isn’t that ***** ridiculous?”

“It is,” I agreed, “and after all that flirting you did with her.”

“I-” Bette cut herself off. “I did not.”

I dismissed that. Whatever. “Bette?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t make me sleep on that couch in the study the whole time, would you?”

“What? Alice, do you think I should try and outbid it? I mean, it’s three-thousand dollars.”

We were having two different conversations, it seemed. I made an effort to dissolve one of them. “It was the best space we looked at. Now, I don’t know if it’s three-thousand dollars better than the second-best space, but we agree that it was the best space.”

“Yeah,” Bette said thoughtfully. “Why are you talking about couches?”

“If I moved in, I mean. Would I have to sleep on the couch?”

“No, I’d get you a bed. I was thinking of turning that room into a guest room anyway.”

“Yeah, what do you need a study for? It’s so pretentious.”

Bette was silent for awhile. I could hear a pen scratching on paper over the phone line and I had a feeling she was adding up figures, trying to figure out the $3,000. Then she stopped. “Are you saying you’re going to move in?”

I sighed and blew my bangs out of my face. “I think I have to. I’m driving Spencer and Kyle crazy and as a result, they’re driving me crazy. Or Spencer is, anyway. I just need a temporary thing until I’m making more money.”

“Right, that was my suggestion.”

“And the only other people I can think of are my friends Chloe and Yvette, but they have this new kid and I don’t love kids, or my brother and his wife, but again with the kids thing… or my mom. And that’s like… I mean, I could shoot myself in the face and get the same result, so why do that?”

Bette chuckled. “Right.”

“So, what was the deal again?”

“You, as my personal assistant. I provide a… slightly lower salary than you would normally get, but only because I’ll be providing room.”

“And board?”

“Board would require my fridge to not be empty so much, huh? Just room.”

“And you’re not at all worried about like, the fact that I could secretly be a serial killer and you didn’t even know?”

“No. I can’t imagine you killing anyone.”

“I have my ways.”

“What about me? I could be a serial killer, too.”

“Pffft. You’d get blood all over your Chanel suits.”

“That would be bad.”

“It’s just a roommate situation,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince myself or her. “People move in with people that they’ve known for less time than we’ve known each other all the time.”

“That’s true. Sometimes they’re serial killers, though.”

“Will you drop the serial killer thing?” I grouched. “It was a ‘for example’.”

“I’m sorry,” Bette said, but she didn’t really sound it. Her pen was scratching around on the paper again. “So, when will you be moving into my trap-I mean, my house?”

“Wow, you’re funny today,” I said sarcastically. “The sooner, the better,” I added. “So this Bobby guy can move in and take care of the rent.”

“All right. I’ll give you a call after work tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.” We hung up. I had reassured myself with the thinking that people moved in with complete strangers all the time and Bette wasn’t even a complete stranger to me. But the fact remained that I was putting myself in a situation where I was going to be living with a woman who I was undeniably attracted to, undeniably intrigued by, and most of the time, undeniably mystified by.

It would either be a wonderful, amazing experience that I would laugh and tell stories about for years and years, or it would be the most tragic tale ever of two girls who had got along all right and then had ended up killing each other.

I, personally, was hoping for the former.