It was the worst sight Bette had seen in years. Her eyes watered with the horror, the terror, the ugliness of the sight. Her stomach boiled and curdled and Bette thought she
was going to throw-up. Helena Peabody. There. On the corner talking on the cellphone glamourous as ever. A little heavier a little short but no less stunning in her own vulgar way, vulgar
at least in Bette’s view. The worst thing about it was that Angelica was with her, so she could not launch a missile at that woman’s head. In fact she could not do anything at all because
Angelica had no knowledge of Helena or no knowledge of Bette and Tina’s “break-up” either…..she thought her parents had been solid all these years and told others so. Therefore it
was puzzling to Angelica to see her mom stop walking and stand as if someone just died, white and hands trembling. Angelica walked back and poked her mom in the ribs, that
brought her back to reality. “mommy why’d you stop?”    “o just thinking”  “about what you looked like someone just died”  “indigestion”   Angelica didnt buy that bullshit at all but
didn’t pursue it, she didnt care anymore. Instead the store across the street did, it was Le Chataeu…who were coming back in a big way. Angie made a bee-line for it but Bette grabbed
her hand. They had been shopping for some new fiction books. Angie got a typical murder mystery and Bette a critical art book. It had become a kind of unspoken regular outing thing
with the two of them….going out when the time was available to do whatever. It helped to out Bette at ease and Angie seemed to like the attention and had improved her attitude so
much.

 Bette’s grip hurt her wrist annd angie twisted it turning around…”what the *****?”   “come on lets got to the car…”   “the car is this way, i want to look at some clothes first though”
“well you go, i’ll get a coffee”  Unfortunetly she had to cross the street where Helena was standing in order to do that. So Bette stayed behind, careful….barely controlling her urge to
kick Helena’s head. Her behaviour was not lost on Angelica, who quickly picked up on what, who rather, Bette was so….scared it seemed…to go by. Angelica looked at her, a tall lady, rather
pale and utterly overdressed…at least by Angie’s standards….beautiful when young….Angie was young enough to be arrogant about age…an agist. Now she knew by the way
Bette stood behind loking away giving glances at the woman ahead….Angie made a bee-line for the store and waited till Bette hurried past the other side to the shop. The woman walked
fast and furious but Angie sidestepped people and finally caught up t her…..went in front and said “excuse me”. Angelica was never this impulsive, but something in the way Bette
behaved made her terribly curious and this would have to be investigated.

 The woman had a British accent. And a temper. She looked at Angelica like she was a tiny little speck of crud, and sneered “please get out of my way” while moving
around Angie. Angelica looked at her back…then called out …

“do you know my mom Bette Porter?”