“All right.”

* * * * *

Bette sat on the sofa, sorting through the mail that had arrived through the slot in the door.  The envelopes were either thrown carelessly onto the table in one stack or placed lovingly in another stack.  Bette’s mail.  Tina’s mail.  She sighed and stood.

Padding over to the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and looked inside.  The shelves were empty, but the door held several bottled salad dressings and a few bottles of Pellegrino sparkling mineral water.  She pulled a water out and twisted the cap.

As she was leaving the kitchen, she stopped and opened the top drawer under the counter and pulled out her old address book.  Placing the bottle on the countertop, Bette thumbed through the book until she came across a name.

Following Suzanne’s request of her, Bette reached for the cordless landline phone and dialed the number.  It had been a long time since she had had any contact with Eileen Strickland, her animated and self-deprecating artist chum.

“E. J. Strickland and Associates, how may I direct your call?”

“Eileen Strickland, please?”

“Is she expecting your call?” asked the perky receptionist on the other end.

“No, I’m a friend.  Could you tell her Bette Porter is calling?”

“One moment, please.” 

Bette listened to the smooth jazz that played to her on the phone, but within a few short seconds it was interrupted by a cheery voice.  “Bette Porter?  The Bette Porter?  The ***** pervert, blasphemer?  Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me.  Eileen, how are you?”

“I’m fine.  I’m doing wonderfully,” she said, but then paused and added somberly, “But I thought you were burning in ***** or on the stinging end of some flagellation at the Church of the Holy Rollers.”

“They wish.”

Conversationally, Eileen said, “Bette, it’s so good to hear your voice.  Congratulations on all your recent successes and I’m so sorry I missed your opening–in New York teaching a weeklong seminar.  Anyway, I stopped by and saw it about three weeks ago.  Powerful stuff.  Two years ago, I had given the CAC about two years before it closed its doors.  What you did for that place is nothing short of a miracle.  I guess you can name your price now.”