“Bette, you’ll never make it here in an hour!,” James protested.

“I know… I know… sorry, James, you know how important it is for the gallery that I cultivate Peggy Peabody. And she wanted to talk to me about the new photograph that she’d just purchased, after she’d agreed to talk to that San Francisco artist I want to feature in our exhibit.  The photograph was stunning, James,"she was explaining.

“Okay, Bette, “ James cut in, “Sorry to interrupt you, boss, but what do I tell the Art Magazine people when they show up in … um, 45 minutes?”

Bette pursed her lips. This lame-ass idea of Jodie’s of having the magazine do a feature piece on them just wasn’t going away, despite all her attempts to duck it. She’d have to tell them to forget about her prospective role in that piece once and for all.   “James, can you patch me through to …um, what’s her name?”

“Sonja,” he answered quickly.

“Okay… can you please conference me with Sonja, and I’ll talk to her.  Since it’s getting late, you should just close for the day, check everything, and set the alarm, please.  Ok?”

“Are you sure?,” James asked. Bette was still a little off, fragile even, ever since returning from Paris a couple of weeks ago. Her break-up with Jodie had been rough, and, although she was still going at her usual “Bette-speed” pace, pedal-to-the-metal, working hard at pulling together a new exhibit for the holidays, his boss betrayed her fragility during unguarded moments, such as when he’d caught her holding her head, bent over while seated as she oversaw the hanging of new art that had been brought in, or that time he saw her break into tears when she was alone in the Japanese garden.  Her recent proclivity to take long drives by the coast, instead of taking more direct routes back to the gallery, whenever she’d left town for quick trips, was another example.

“I can handle that call, boss,” James was assuring her.

“No, it’s alright James. Let me talk to her.  You go on home.  And can you please take that girlfriend of yours out to a decent dinner for once?  My treat,” she offered.

“No..it’s okay, boss. You just talk to the Art Magazine people,I’ll close up here,” he paused," I’ll order-in a pizza, and watch the game with her.”