Bette was sorting through a big stack of binders when she heard the knock at her office door. Looking up, she saw Helen standing in the doorway.

“James told me I could come through.”

“Please.” Bette motioned to the spare chair in the room. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Helen went to seat herself across the desk, but was interrupted by Bette.

“Actually, if you could pull that around here, I can show you some of the concepts that I got for the exhibit.”

Helen moved to where she could sit next to the Dean. “Are these from your students?”

“I figured we might as well act as if everything is going forward.” Bette turned towards Helen. “Have we heard anything one way or another?”

“I’m working my connections. The official route is a wee bit unhappy with Denny at present.”

“Fuck.” Then Bette realized that perhaps her guest was not as comfortable as her close circle with such language. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. It’s a cock-up.”

“Interesting term.”

“I have, after all, spent my time in prison.”

“So I’ve heard.” Bette studied the other woman for a moment. “So, you really did meet Nikki in prison.”

“I did.”

Bette continued to hold her gaze on Helen.

“It’s not like those movies, you know,” Helen said playfully.

“That’s too bad. All those sex-starved women.”

“You, as much as anyone, should realize that many of them are not so sex-starved.”

“I should realize?” Bette raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“You’re rather familiar to the Sapphic side of life.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, it must have been interesting to enter such a world.”

“I entered that world with a fiancé.” Helen gave a quirky smile. “I might be married to him now, or some other man, if I hadn’t ever met Nikki.”

“Really?” Bette’s eyes widened in surprise. “So before that, no women?”

“Never.” Helen smiled, her tongue poking out between her teeth. “I guess I’m the sort who just falls for the person.”

“That’s sweet.” Bette glanced behind Helen at the side table which held a picture of Angelica and Tina. “And rare.”

“So your sculptor?”

At the question, Bette gave a wince. “Things didn’t work between us.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Perhaps. But maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.” She stole another glance at the picture.

“Or maybe you just haven’t met the right woman.”

“Or maybe I did, and let her go.” Bette gave a sad smile. “But we’re not here to discuss my life.”

“If there’s an interest, perhaps I’m not the woman to tell.”

“Perhaps not.” Bette picked up one of the binders from the stack. “So, on to the project. We had a few different teams work on multimedia approaches to the displays. I’ve selected what I think are the best, and I have my favorites, but I wanted to get your take.”

“Okay then. On to work.”

(tbc?) (Given the overwhelming silence…the reader’s way of saying they’ve lost interest…maybe it’s time to stick a fork in this one and call it done.)

Postscript:

They all live happily ever after.

The end.