“Since I’m not certain whether you want to take another chance, I’m returning your earring by trustworthy courier. I would be remiss, however, if I didn’t mention how absolutely lovely it was to see you yesterday. ”

The note was signed with a flourish. – Bette.

Tina laid the small card flat on her desk and leaned back in her chair. She gazed at the exquisite white and pink orchid in front of her. Her earring had been returned, tied securely with raffia to the stem, delivered with stammering, anxious care by Bette’s intern James.

For the 40th time that Monday morning, Tina turned the card over. It had been written on the back of a piece of Bette’s gallery stationary, and on the reverse were listed the gallery’s address, hours of operation, email and phone. Bette had inked in her cell number below, with a note. “You know you can stop by absolutely anytime.”

The black ink of Bette’s penstrokes seemed to glow and shift as Tina stared. She closed her eyes and pressed her head back against the chair’s headrest. She remembered Bette’s hand tangling in her hair, pressing their mouths to each other in a desperate, ragged kiss.  Tina felt herself flush, grow aroused.

“Tina!” The intercom on her desk squawked to life, snatching Tina out of her reverie. She started, as embarrassed as if she had been caught.

“Caught at what?” She wondered to herself.

“Call on extension ten.” Her assistant went on, over the intercom.

Tina hesitated. “Who is it?” She held her breath, hardly daring to hope.  

“It’s Eric.”

She picked up Bette’s card and slid it into the top drawer of her desk, laying it gently on a stack of unused post-it pads. She the drawer slowly shut, careful not to catch or crush the card.

“Put him through.”

Tina watched the indicator light for extension ten blink four times before picking up the receiver.

“Hi Eric.”

“Babe!” Even in a one word greeting, Tina could hear his customary cocky grin.  “Feeling better I hope?”

“What? Oh.” Tina remembered just in time that her excuse for missing box seats at the Lakers game last night had been a throbbing headache. She had held in a slightly hysterical giggle on the phone with Eric yesterday afternoon; something had been throbbing, but not quite her head.   In truth, she had spent the night squirming alone in bed, at first avoiding and then abandoning herself in replays of her encounter with Bette.