(Previously, in “What Eros Made Her”…)

Tina looked at her pointedly. You are not one of my girl friends.

What am I, then?

A suitor. The thought was neither chased, nor contemplated upon.

Tina lost her nerve and dropped her gaze. I dont know.

They were, unexpectedly, the most vulnerable words she had uttered the whole evening.

~*~*~*~

Bette Porter lost supremacy over her speech. She stared helplessly at this character moving about in Beautys encompassing play, drawing out what honesty there was in her script.

Bette, for her part, was wide-eyed, aware that the flood gates had opened and that for her at least, there was no turning back, no rewriting of what had already been written. It registered in her eyes that the whole evening was very well her fault.

She opened her mouth to say something, to regain control, to pull back in what had simply poured forth after the incident with the earring, when she had caressed and was not affronted for that act of tenderness; for that act of –God, the word tasted foreign in her mouth! -love. But alas, control wasn’t hers to take; blind Cupids arrow had lodged itself in the interstices of her heart.

Rejection be damned; there was really, nothing more to say except, Well, God have mercy on me, but I do.

~*~*~*~

(Continued…)

Tina felt the world close in, a cage at once encompassing and cold. But at the edge, where everything was pushed ever farther, warmth seeped through. It was a drug, injected into her through a concentrated needle just to the left of her chest.

She smiled nervously. I dont know how to comment on that, she told Porter. I dont think I have the courage to ask.

Bette shrugged off the almost terrified look she had when the words shed spilt earlier justspilled.

Dont comment, Bette whispered conscientiously, restraining her hands by balling them into fists and hiding them under the table. And I wont answer.

Their surroundings manifested itself like an expressionists painting. Movement apparent in every brush-stroke of people rising, mouths talking, curiosity in hungry eyes. It was static in its canvas. It was incomplete, hurried, whirling. It was, to Bette, hatching a surreal kind of transgression at a time of realism.

And so it was that dinner was brought to a close, people rose, and lingered by the bays of conversation. Eric took Tinas hand; if anything, Ms. Porters expression was blank, careful in its repression of jealousy, or delight, or even, of kindness.

She gravitated towards Alice, watching her as Eric described the paintings with whole-hearted enthusiasm, putting adjectives where they were due, and spilling them with coarse blandness that left Tina wondering. Wondering, wonderingon how Bette Porter would have commented on this piece, or that.

She was unaware that she had been waiting for that chance when finally, Eric said, We better get moving. He looked at his watch. I have a meeting at eight tomorrow.

A stab of disappointment, a wave of panic. They moved towards Porter, who had been sipping at her champagne and talking in earnest with Alice. But the moment that Eric said, Excuse me, Bette, Tina had already dropped her eyes to the floor, unwilling to partake in any more stealthy conversations with her eyes, her sweet smiles; everything, which made Porter nourish a deep desire.

Im sorry to hear that youre leaving so soon, Bette said, shaking Erics hand. Ill see you then. Tina

Tina extended her hand and when Porter took it judiciously, she knew all was lost. And gained.

Bette pulled her in, a soft hand on the side of her neck, and she placed a friendly kiss on her cheek, lingering a few seconds longer than she should have as Alice watched on at the corner of Tinas eye and gave Bette a furtive nudge. Bette started, clearing her throat and leaving the stirring affectations of strength, the smell of subtle yet meaningful musk on Tinas clothes, on her shoulders, bare and suddenly warm.

I look forward to seeing you both again, Bette said, drawing out the rest of her energy to say those words and visibly waning as she leaned towards Alice and whispered, Im going to have to get another drink.

Bette, its already clouding your judgment, Alice whispered back, unaware that Tina listened with senses that had been sharpened by the mere touch, the mere smell, the mere sight of Bette Porter.

Eric pulled her gently to the door, kissing her on her forehead. Bette stared contiguously, her eyes filtering through the glass doors of her gallery.

It was at that moment, that Tina Kennard knew that shed lost everything to the woman on the other side of the glass. Because the lips that she felt the most, the one kiss that persisted on being felt, was the surreptitious craving that Bette had placed on her cheeks.

The ride home was silent, spent on contemplation that passed unseen as Eric stared out the window, thinking about Opies art and its advantages. Tina traced Porters touches on the back of her hand, her shoulders, her waist, with imperfect memory.

As she stepped out of the car, her hands tracing Bettes vaporous fingers on the side of her neck where Porter had touched her last, she felt a yawning absence.

Tina caught herself in a smile. The earring was gone.

~*~*~*~

TBC