Helena: Bette I need you to go though these and
pick out all the contributors who will be attending the opening.

Bette: Did anyone ever
teach you to knock before entering a room?

Helena: The door was opened Bette. Open doors are usually an ‘open’ invitation to
enter.

Bette: My mistake.
(reads through the files) Isnt this Leos job?

Helena: (smugly) Usually, yes. But hes out with
Franklin and Charles Benson going over the final layout for the North Gallery.

Bette: He WHAT? I had
an appointment scheduled for Tuesday morning to cover that.

Helena. Yes well he called yesterday, hoping to
push things up a bit. You know how these things go.

Bette: And nobody
thought to inform me about any of this?

Helena: Well Franklin noticed that you seemed to be lagging
behind somewhat and he

Bette: (interrupts)
Bullshit. If anything, Im ahead of schedule. I dont know where you get your
information from Helena, but the last thing Im doing is lagging
behind.

Helena: Yeah well Im sure there was a
miscommunication somewhere along the lines.

Bette: Im sure.

Helena: Well as they say theres no use in crying
over spilled milk. Whats done is done.
Id appreciate it if youd get these back to me, no later than tomorrow.

Bette: Of course. (she
gestures to the phone in her hand) If you dont mind

Helena: Of course. (she turns and starts to leave)

Bette: Oh, and Helena? Close the door on your way out, will you?

Helena gives
Bette a somewhat irritated look, but complies and shuts the door behind her as
she exits. Bette sighs and brings the phone up to her ear.

Bette: Kit? You still
there?

Kit: Yeah? Is there
something wrong? Do you have to get off?

Bette: No, but all of
a sudden Im famished. Any chance of getting something good to eat?

Kit: Ill pick you up
in ten minutes.

Bette: Ok. Bye.

Kit: Bye.

The last thing on Earth that Bette wanted to do was eat. Her
guts were twisted from yet another fun encounter with Helena
and she could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Reaching
into her desk drawer in search of her bottle of Advil, Bettes fingers
came in contact with the smooth metal of the small
picture frame that resided inside.
Pulling it all the way out and holding it up to the light, she gently
traced the lines of the picture resting protectively behind the glass. A small,
sad smile emerged and Bette felt the beginnings of tears prick the corners of
her eyes. Returning the frame and quickly wiping them away, Bette stood and
headed out the door. But not before turning back to her desk, gazing at it
forlornly, secretly wishing that the picture could sit proudly on its surface
and not hidden away inside.