Acapulco, Mexico, April three years ago

“Carlos has a brunette fascination.”

Bette slowly turned her head from gazing out at Acapulco Bay to look at Raoul, who had just seen Carlos, the grandson of a close friend, off. At the request of his grandfather, Carlos had dropped by Raoul’s to pick up a mid-century painting that he’d purchased for his grandfather from Raoul, before flying back to Mexico City on his private jet.

Bette turned her gaze away from the glistening blue waters of the bay to look at Raoul and offer him a small smile in response. She imagined that if Tina had been here, her golden hair would have picked up the reflected shine of the late-afternoon sun and the blonde’s naturally-reddish lips would have curved in a smile at Carlos’ observation, while her hazel eyes would have sparkled and given Bette a teasing wink.

However, all that only existed in the mind’s eye, as Tina was over 2600 miles away in New York, and Bette had escaped to Acapulco. This was a couple of weeks after Tina had told her about cheating on Bette with Scott, and their immediate break-up thereafter (please see “Let It Happen” Chapter XIV for more).

The revelation from Tina had nearly broken Bette, and in the aftermath, Bette had staggered down the snow-filled path that led her away from where Tina stood on a bridge in Central Park, stumbling and barely able to stand, let alone walk, out of the snowed-in park. Bette had hailed a cab when she’d somehow gotten to the curb, and had asked the cabbie to take her to their rented flat. The cab had waited for her while she moved about their apartment, as if in slow-motion, grabbing her go-bag, and her travel coat and handbag.

Focus, Bette. Pretend that you’re going away for a long trip, she’d told herself, as she had paused before opening the door to their bedroom, clutching her stomach, as if preventing her insides from splitting in half, while she wondered about what she should do. Her head was pounding and her world was crashing down around her ears. She bit into her hand and stifled a cry.

After taking a moment to try to gather herself, without realizing it, slowly a sense of self-preservation had kicked in, and she’d unconsciously willed herself to do something familiar. Something automatic – and get to safety, she told herself. Go to a hotel first. Then get out of New York. Keep moving or you’ll crack.