"...I was working on this one movie? It sucked vacuum cleaners, and that was when I realized, sometimes you just have to sell your soul every once in a while to get the really good stuff made." Tina continued. "I mean, everything was just easier at Alphaville, because it's a small company, and the forte were independent films. Big studios? Really like to ruin the romanticism of working in the movie industry."

Bette smiled. "Good to know you still find your job a Jekyll-and-Hyde situation."

"Every job is," Tina contested. "Sometimes the good just outweigh the bad, is all."

Bette nodded, conceding that point. "Well, if you hate it so much, why do you keep doing the work?"

"Bills?" Tina grinned. "I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to insult different people on their inability to put together a movie."

"So you're cruel now?"

"Oh, yes. I thrive on the fear and weakness of the people I work with." Tina said dryly. "It's just fun to finally be able to be the one to make some of the bigger choices. Because I got to tell you, some movies? Shouldn't have been thought of in the first place."

"Hey, I don't watch movies as passionately as you do. You're preaching to the choir here."

Tina laughed. "And if you come across a movie about a dog that helps his owner win the girl of his dreams? I personally would like to apologize for that one, although I tried everything in my power to make that script disappear from the face of the planet."

"It can't be that bad."

"The dog talks." Tina said flatly. "Yes, Bette, it is that bad."

Bette laughed. "How did we go from talking about your soul-sucking successful career to a talking dog?"

"That would be the soul-sucking part." Tina replied, grinning.

"How do movies like those even get made?"

"A semi-celebrity takes an interest. Sometimes that's all a project needs."

"See? That's why I like art. If it's good, it holds no argument."

"Regardless that so many artists never sold a painting until they died," Tina pointed out.

"Well, I know what I like. And thanks to my own gallery, I get to choose what I show, and not swallow a bitter pill like fucking Impressions of Winter."

"Excuse me."

Bette and Tina looked up, startled by the interruption.

"We're closing the garden soon," the male hotel staff told them. "May I suggest returning indoors, so you won't be locked out."

"It's early," Tina countered.

"It's one AM," he told her. "The hotel bar closes at three-thirty, though."

"Okay," Tina nodded. "Thank you."

He nodded at her, then at Bette, and promptly walked away.

Tina turned to Bette. "We've been out here for a while."

"You're the one who wanted the Art History graduate to talk about constellations," Bette reminded.

"How was I supposed to know that part of your degree includes a whole course on ancient civilizations and their mythology regarding the stars?" Tina retorted.

"Well, I wanted to talk about your personal life, but you didn't want that," Bette shot back.

"It's boring."

"Well, that's not fair. My life's boring, too, Alice just puts it up on her stupid website and sensationalizes everything," Bette protested.

Tina smiled. "Give her a break. It was the only way I had of keeping track of everyone."

Bette glanced at her.

Often in the past few hours, Tina would reference the time and distance in which she'd been apart, and in the tone with which Tina would say something, Bette knew Tina felt more hurt than she indicated.

As if it hurt her to admit that life moved on even when she wasn't in it.

"Tee," Bette began.

Tina turned to her.

"Everyone misses you." Bette said softly. "We all miss you."

Tina looked at her with a puzzled expression, then smiled faintly, realizing Bette had just given her something she'd yearned to hear for eight years. "Thank you."

Bette smiled back.

For the past few hours, since they walked back into each other's lives - short-lived as the reunion was sure to be - they had discussed their friends, Bette's new gallery, the major film projects Tina had been involved in and was currently working on, places they've been to, exchanging memories they'd had and have waited for years to share with each other.

A little not unlike when they'd first started dating, and every miniscule detail about their life was not above being shared.

It bothered Bette, though, that because of Alice's website and now-syndicated column, Tina had been able to keep close tabs on Bette's life. Whereas Bette didn't even know where Tina lived. Yes, she had shared that tiny nugget of information that tore apart the safety and fantasy of tonight, except as Tina had pointed out, that had nothing to do with tonight.

Tonight was about them. The two of them. Nothing more, nothing less. Just Bette and Tina.

And that was part of the mythology of tonight. They would talk, and when the morning happened, it would be like a dream they had shared. A memory that would make them happy and remind themselves that their love had really existed. It had been special. Possibly even legendary.

Out of nowhere, the lights in the garden went out.

Tina looked up, and smiled wryly. "Well. Look at that. That guy wasn't lying when he said they were closing up."

"Why would anyone close the garden?" Bette asked.