The waitress moved to them the instant Bette put the menu down, “I’ll have a Chef’s Salad, light dressing on the side, water.”

            Lindsay smirked, “I’ll have the steak, well done, with the garlic mashed potatoes, a large soda, very easy on the ice.”

            The waitress nodded and scurried away to have the orders filled.  Scribbling on her pad as she moved to the kitchen.

            Bette looked at Lindsay in awe, “What?” asked the blonde, hands up in question.  A small smile graced her lips as Bette shook her head in astonishment.

            “Amazing,” laughed Bette.

            “Who are you eating for?  Your next girlfriend?  Or yourself?  I, personally, enjoy having a little meat every once in a while,” said Lindsay, batting her eyes again.  Her dead pan delivery always made Bette laugh.

            “You have a point…,” sighed Bette, thinking that she really had no one to look good for any longer.  After a few moments, “So any new prospects?  Anyone good enough to have a small corner in our fall show?  I’m desperate to fill three more spaces.”

            “No, but I did see this wonderful mural just around the corner from where Mel works.  The most vivid colors, just washed over the bricks,” gushed Lindsay, remembering the great mural with dazed eyes.

            “A mural, you mean someone spray painted the wall?” asked Bette with some haughtiness. 

            “More than likely, yes.  Yet, the flow was definitely something more than just paint splashed onto a wall.  I’ll have to have you drive by there,” said Lindsay.  She took a sip of her water, looking over her shoulder, wanting her soda.

            “Interesting, you want to have a common spray painter in our fall show, and not someone from your own classes,” scoffed Bette.  Lindsay was sometimes very blasé about the fact that she was now in LA, not in a small gallery in Pittsburg.  Lindsay saw art everywhere, not just in her classroom.

            “I think art takes several forms, on canvas, pictures, body art…” said a voice from behind Bette, the voice had a hint of laughter in it.  Bette turned, seeing Rosita Navarro standing there, wearing a very flattering suit, her purple sunglasses perched on the top of her head, holding her hair there.  Her dark gaze always seemed to be holding her sexual lust at bay.