The ladies moved upstairs in silence, stepping over shards and puddles. Bette paced around her spacious office moving from her leather recliner to the somewhat uncomfortable futon as she waited for Tina to come out of the bathroom. James arrived at the door with a bag of clothes in hand. A new pair of black yoga pants and a large t-shirt, both labelled with the Porter Gallery logo. “Oh, come on James, I’m hardly trying to indoctrinate her to support the gallery after this little fiasco.” “It was all I could find,” James remarked sheepishly. Bette knocked timidly at the door and passed the bag through the small opening. Sitting down again, Bette’s mind raged within itself. There was something about the entrancing blonde. Her mind reeled with obscene thoughts of marriage and family with the blonde. Not in this world, the brunette chastised herself. And anyway she didn’t know this Tina, nor was she sure if she was remotely interested, or if she lived in London. Or anything, for that matter. This meeting of unfortunate circumstances had turned one Elizabeth Porter into a pansy; and she berated herself for it.

The bathroom door opened, catching Bette off guard, in her dream world, and she jumped up guiltily. “Hi Tina, listen I’m so sorry about all this,” Bette paused looking at Tina, now dressed in Porter Gallery  garments and wishing she could see the sight for the rest of her life, “Would you like to grab a coffee?” Realising her ridiculously inappropriate statement after what had just happened, the brunette back-tracked. “Or maybe a juice, a water, a tea?” she asked desperately wanting to delay their meeting by crash. “Thank you, but no thank you,” Ms Kennard said finally getting her voice back. “I appreciate all your help. I’m sorry about crashing into you. You have a lovely gallery.” And with that she ran out of the office. Bette couldn’t move. She had been turned down for a measly juice. This had been more than a physical fall, she was falling emotionally and felt somewhat inadequate. Slowly James stepped into the office.  “Ms Kennard has just left, she said she would post the clothes back to you.” Bette finally looked up at him. “Did you tell her there was no need,” she asked rhetorically. “Yes, Bette, I assured her we have many people crash into our director and have this kind of effect on her.” Bette could only sigh. Tina was gone and Bette slumped into her recliner as her seemingly set world crashed around her.