Bette sighed.  Thinking about Candace’s hands on her now made her nauseous.  She felt like vomiting.  In fact, she was positive that she would and jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.  Lifting the toilet seat, she let go of a nearly empty stomach.  Bitter coffee and sour ice cream flooded her mouth as the contents poured into the toilet.  Weak, Bette sank to the floor, hugging the toilet, and waiting for the queasiness to pass.  As she sat there, she sniffed her armpit.  When had she last showered, she wondered.  She remembered that she fell apart in the shower the night of Provocations.  Everything was closing in on her–CAC hadn’t been behind her on this show.  Her career was riding on the success of Provocations.  If it failed, if the bad publicity became overwhelming, it would ruin her.  If Tina found out that she had been untrue, a cheat, an adulteress, her world would cave in.   That night in the shower, she had wanted to come clean figuratively.  As she washed away the day and prepared for the evening, she thought she should wash away the film of deceit that covered her, too.  Desperate was her feeling that night.  Desperate to make things right again between them.  Everything had been going fine, better than fine when Tina was pregnant, but when she lost the baby, something died between them, too.  She was ready to tell Tina, but couldn’t, wouldn’t.  Now, she didn’t have to tell her. Tina knew.  Tina knew.

* * * * *

Bette reached above her, to the coffee table and picked up her cell.  She opened it with one hand and said, “Office.”  As the phone rang, Bette cleared her throat, licked her lips, and hoped that she sounded well, relaxed, and on solid ground.  She hoped she sounded exactly how she didn’t feel.  “James, Bette.  How are you?”

James was excited.  He hadn’t spoken to Bette in a week and he doubted she knew about all of the high praise Provocations was getting in the press.  The LA Times had done a feature that ran in Sunday’s Arts and Entertainment section, Los Angeles Magazine was planning a story on the CAC entitled, “The Little Museum That Could,” and right now, tickets for Provocations were next to impossible to get.  James had actually seen a scalper in front of the building, selling ten-dollar tickets for fifty.