“This is a student of yours?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” he groaned, “That is an interesting predicament. Perhaps a fan of your book: Art in the Minds of the Millions? It really is a treasure, you know. Quite the collaborative collection.” He was grinning because he had been one of the contributors – an interviewee. “Instant classic, as they say. Isn’t that right?”

Bette chuckled, and put the picture back on her desk. “Hilarious, Frank. Now listen … as much as I’d love your advice … I really have things to finish so I can get home to Tina and discuss all this with her. I couldn’t reach her today.”

“I know you worry, but she’s alright. If anyone is really in danger here, it sounds to be you. If that’s … any consolation …”

Bette couldn’t help but laugh, comforted by Frank’s socially awkward knowledge chips he so often shared at exactly the wrong times. He was brilliant and practiced, but comfort had never been his strong suit. It was why he’d never made it as a practicing psychologist.

“Nice tweed jacket, by the way,” Bette teased, getting behind her desk to sit with her work. “Keeping the stereotypes alive.”

“I could say the same to you,” he joked back, nodding toward her lipstick lesbian attire and attitude. “Don’t stay too late now.”

A deep inhale filled her lungs. “I won’t.”

***

Tina came bursting into her front door late that night, just as Bette was going to the kitchen to return her glass of water. But with her level of anxiety about the other Tina, Bette dropped the long-necked cup as the door swung opened unexpectedly. The glass fell and broke – the small portion of water spilling onto the hardwood.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Tina panted, closing and locking the door behind her. “I’m sorry, hunny.” She bent down with Bette, each of them picking up pieces of glass. “I didn’t mean to scare you … I wasn’t thinking. I just got so worried at work – my phone died, and then when I finally spared some time to find someone else’s phone to call you, I couldn’t get through, and I panicked! … I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s nothing,” Bette insisted, glancing up at her wife as they brought the chunks of glass to the garbage, sweeping up the remainder and wiping up the water. “I … spoke with Frank for a little bit today. About Tina.”