Tina looked away. “I doubt it. Any way she turns, there’s her mother standing in the way.”

Bette’s eyes rounded. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Tina drawled in a soft voice that recalled her southern
upbringingit only surfaced when she was tired, physically or
emotionally. “Peggy put her foot down, moved Winnie and the kids into
an apartment near her, made it clear she’d fight Helena tooth and nail
if she persisted.”

“Sooo” Bette didn’t disguise the smirk on her face, the satisfaction in her voice, “Helena got a dose of her own medicine!”

Tina didn’t bother to respond. Anything she said would only fan Bette’s
angerand insecuritywhere Helena was concerned. Answering her was as
pointless as anything else she’d tried since moving back home. “I’ve
got to get ready. I told Kit and Ivan I’d drop Angelica off at seven.”

“I don’t see why.”

“I know you don’t see,” Tina snapped in a tone a little more harsh than
she intended. “That’s the problem, Bette. You don’t see anyone’s point
but your own. You never have.” She moved quickly to the closet and
pulled out a dress…not just any dress, the dress Helena had bought
her for the Peabody Awards. Behind her back, Bette seethed; Tina felt
the heat and smiled sadly. She shuffled through her own feelings for
motive-fanning Bette’s insecurity for spite, or wanting to look good
for Helena?

She stepped out of the bathroom, a sophisticated, independent woman who
exuded confidence. And glamour. Bette didn’t know how to deal with her,
this new Tina, wasn’t sure she wanted to. But she didn’t want to give
her up, couldn’t give her up, couldn’t let her go.

“I think we should take separate cars,” Tina informed her as she walked
out of the bedroom. “Since the Center is cosponsoring the event, I’ll
have things to do afterwards. You can pick Angelica up if you like.”
Trailing silence, she went to the nursery to get her daughter and
leave. Someday, she had thought, I will do this for the last time.

She was thinking about that discussion now, as she watched Bette
chatting up the bartender, switching from wine to martinis. Leigh Astin
was at the bar. She’d donated two glass sculptures for the auction.
Bette bought her a drink, and ordered another for herself, brushed her
fingers down Leigh’s arm as the artist left to mingle with some of the
patrons who’d come out for the event. On top of everything else, she
knew, Bette would wake up with one ***** of a hangover, which ensured
that tomorrow wouldn’t start off any better than today had been.

I’m all right I’m all right
It only hurts when I breathe

She sighed again, tried to breathe through the pain, let an artificial
smile curve her lips, and reached out to hug one of her comrades in
social organizing. At least there was some purpose to cling to in a
life grown increasingly empty.