She didn’t verbally answer me. She turned her head and kissed my lips. Then she searched my eyes, I suspect for love and support, and caressed my face with her fingertips.

When we looked over at Barbara, Helena and I found her standing in front of the first piece she’d completed after we’d started living together. Barbara stared at the work, holding her drink in her right hand and sipping it slowly. Then she moved to the next painting.

Helena and I stood back watching her. I know Helena was nervous at the prospect of what criticism may come, because she leaned into me for comfort. I squeezed her waist with my hand that was still securely holding her. Helena took several sips of her martini and pulled an olive from the skewer with her teeth before chewing anxiously. Suddenly, I realized how excruciating this showing was for her.

Barbara had moved down to the fourth and final completed canvas. She turned to us.

“Helena, your work is absolutely incredible. No, amazing! Out of this world! Tell me about it. What is your inspiration? Do I detect a story being told here?” Barbara inquired excitedly.

I felt Helena breathe a sigh of relief. I kissed her head, nuzzling my face into her hair and enjoying its scent.

“What you’ve been looking at is my reflection of how I feel about Bette,” Helena answered quietly. “How she makes me feel about life, about myself, about our relationship.”

Barbara nodded and smiled.

“Well, I’m just absolutely desperate to…”

The security buzzer rang.

Helena turned to me. “Darling? That must be Mummy.”

I knew Helena didn’t want to leave me alone with Barbara so she could answer the door. And at this point, I didn’t want to leave Helena alone with Barbara. While I trusted Helena implicitly, I just knew she didn’t want to be left alone with the cagey Senator.

Helena whispered. “I’ll be fine. Do you mind letting Mummy in?”

I kissed her.

Turning, I said, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back, Barbara. With Helena’s mother.”

“That’s fine. It’ll give me a chance to talk to Helena about her work and what she wants to do with it,” Barbara smiled.

I walked to the security panel and admitted Peggy before making my way downstairs and to the foyer.

Opening the door, I greeted Peggy with a smile.

“Bette, my dear, you look elegant as always. Where is my beautiful daughter?” Peggy asked, stepping across the threshold and bussing my cheek.

“You look marvelous as well, Peggy,” I greeted her.

Peggy began making her way through the house, as if she owned it. I followed her.

“Helena’s upstairs in her studio,” I said.

“Painting?” Peggy asked.

“No. She’s with our dinner guest, showing her her work,” I answered.

“So she’s arrived. And who is this infernal encumbrance to my Helena’s happiness?” Peggy inquired, turning to me.

“‘Infernal encumbrance’?” I said, perplexed.

“Yes,” Peggy acknowledged. “I know my daughter, whether she thinks I do or not. She was upset today when I spoke to her from the plane. She’d confided that you’d slept with this dinner guest.”

Peggy’s expression begged a reply.

I looked away, embarrassed by the confrontation.

“Bette?” Peggy said. “Look at me.”

I did.

“Tell me what’s going on, Bette,” Peggy requested. “Who’s upstairs with my daughter?”

“Nothing’s going on, Peggy,” I replied. “I love Helena. This woman means nothing to me.”

“Again, I ask you, Bette Porter,” Peggy said firmly, “Who is upstairs with my daughter?”

“Barbara Grisham. The Senator. From Massachusetts,” I answered softly.

Peggy’s eyes grew wide.

“What?! That fucking barracuda?” Peggy declared.

“You know her?”

“Unfortunately!” Peggy answered, declaratively.