Her work day was hell. There were no other words for it. That was it: hell. Hell, hell, hell.

Bette Porter slammed the phone down for what must be the hundredth time today, as the whole world seemed to be conspiring to go against her. She wished she could just get up and leave, and go someplace else, start over.

She allowed that thought to linger, as a small smile played on her lips.

Like where?

Why, New York City, of course.

The answer, to her, is glaringly obvious, but not so to the casual observer. Sure, people went to New York and LA to rebuild themselves, and she was already in LA, so that left one other option. No. That was not it at all. The answer was that a year ago her life fell apart, and had uprooted herself to NYC.

Bittersweet. That's how it felt, calling her your life and knowing that at the same time she's not really yours anymore. That's the consequence of mistakes gone so horribly wrong that there was nothing to do or say to fix it.

The phone rang again, interrupting her reverie, and caused Bette's temper to flare. "Bette Porter."

"What are you doing tonight?" Ahh, Alice. Phone etiquette is perennially lost on you.

"Working. This show's going to be the death of me, I swear." Bette muttered.

"Hey, come on. Cheer up. How many people can say that art killed them?"

"Not nearly enough." Bette muttered.

"Which reminds me: Kit asked earlier if you're going to be at Kate and Hannah's engagement party."

"I have to work." Bette frowned. "And I don't think I should be showing my face at any party celebrating monogamy."

"Bette, don't be that way."

"Just stating what I think." Bette sighed, and frowned as she heard the beep that told she had another call. "Look, I have another call. I have to go."

"What? Let them wait."

"I can't-- dammit!" Bette swore, as her cellphone began to ring, too. She picked it up, and pressed the END button, deciding to return the call later.

"What's going on there? What's the cacophony all about?" Alice asked.

"I don't... I have to go." Bette hung up on Alice before she could say anything else. She answered the other line. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon. Is this Bette Porter?"

"Yes, it's... one moment." Bette answered her cellphone as it began to ring again. "Hello?"

"Did you just hang up on me?"

"Alice, now is not--" Bette stopped short, as the voice hit her senses. "Tina?"

"You did! You hung up on me!"

"Tee, I'm on another call, can I call you back?"

"Nah, it's okay. I mean--"

"Tee!" Bette exclaimed.

"If you'd let me finish," Tina said pointedly, "stay on the landline. That's the PA."

"What--" Bette's question was cut off by Tina hanging up. Confused as hell but her day rapidly becoming more bearable, Bette turned back to the receiver in her hand. "Hello?"

"There. Much better." Tina answered. "What are you doing tonight?"

Bette couldn't force a frown if she tried. "Dinner with you?"

"Good guess." Tina laughed. "You're sure? You don't have some art show opening you're swamped with work with and can't leave until everything's completely perfect?"

"Work? What's this 'work' thing you're talking about?" Bette feigned confusion.

"Good. Because there's this show I have to go to, and you can save me from boring art show types. You know, your bread and butter."

"What show?" Bette frowned, glancing at her calendar. She was supposed to be updated on this kind of thing.

"Some set design guy for the studio went into art deco, or whatever. Light installations, or something like that. I have no clue. So be my date?"

"I'm curious: how long have you known about this show and what was your plan if I couldn't make it?"

"Thirty minutes and I was going to ask Alice."