She waited nervously as Helena rang the bell and several yippy dogs barked on the other side of the door.

She pasted a smile on as the door finally opened and willed it to stay in place when she saw how Alice looked.

“Hey, Al.” Bette stepped forward and was hugging Alice, who didn’t seem surprised to see her.

“Hey, Porter. I figured you’d find your way here.” She nodded at Helena. “Come in.”

***

“I guess you know the whole story,” Alice said as she led them into the living room. Bette tried not to gawk at their surroundings, and replied “Yes… Helena told me the gist of it. I’m sorry to hear it Alice. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alice plunked down on a rather rococo couch and gestured for Bette to take a nearby chair. Helena made herself at home and was immediately surrounded by Chihuahuas wagging their tails and pawing at her legs.

“I just didn’t want anyone to know. I felt like a failure.”

“You’re not that, Alice,” Bette said kindly. “You never will be.” She looked sympathetically at her friend. Alice’s hair was hanging in a loose ponytail and she was wearing the most un-Alice of things: a velour sweatsuit and white flip-flops. Malaise seemed to emanate from her very being. A bag of kale chips sat next to her on the couch, and Alice rustled into it with a shrug.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a place to live. I mean, my mother will never kick me out. And with fewer money concerns hanging over my head, I can concentrate on my writing.”

“Oh, you’re still writing?” Bette said hopefully. She looked around at the very crowded room – the whole house was packed, really – which was filled with relics of Lenore’s career. Piles of yellowing scripts, old wardrobe and costumes hanging from a random rack in the corner of the room, the walls covered with photos and framed posters of the movies Alice’s mother had starred in. It made Bette feel claustrophobic, and she wondered how Alice could stand to sit in this room without straightening it up.

“Well, I’m thinking about what I want to write. That’s like the same thing.”