Musical Chairs

The lady tried not to stumble to her place, apparently wounded in some manner other than physically, her steps dancing to some momentous stutter.

Eric, as was his tendency, settled beside another beautiful blond -namely Alice, laughing as boisterously as he dared in front of Bettes art critics. Tina felt a stab of irritation at him for leaving her disfigured; it was partly his carelessness that led her to this moment, to this place, which disallowed the proper use of her senses.

Her ears didnt hear the symphony playing; rather, her ears vibrated with the muffled hum of feminine breath, its sweet magic, its sameness to hers that called out in seduction, in passion, in -she hated to admit it -yearning.

Her eyes, instead of the steady browsing it was used to, flickered with disjointed thoughts, knowing in full that turmoil had its place in seeking Bette Porters gaze. And was it rebellious! She found herself staring, gaping, openly mulling over chocolate skin, carefully baked brown eyes, a smile that kindled a grove, dry or not.

Tinas sense of touch, taken for granted once, was now reaching out with its tendrils of soft, invisible hairs. Electric, with every movement of her dress; overwhelming, when Bette reached out and whispered into her ear, Sit with me.

Touch me.

The unspoken missive hung in the air.

Hey Tina, Alice said as Tina slowly sidled up behind Eric and kissed his cheek. If only to remember the idle pleasures of love, to remember and perform its rituals.

Hey, you guys, Tina said, her arms lingering around Erics neck, hanging on as though she could fall through the floor, which yawned dangerously wide with thoughts of Bette Porter. Do you guys know where Im

Seated? Bette finished for her. Tina was unaware that Bette had followed from behind and she nodded dumbly in response. Bette smiled again, prompted by every expression on Tinas face, every word she uttered. In repetition of an action comfortably made many times over, Bette touched her shoulder. Right here.

Carefully, Tina extricated herself from Bettes hand, placed strategically on places where her skin lay exposed by the limits of her dress. Looking at the banquet table, laden with the same white of the gallery and accented by silver, Tina realized that many of Bettes guests were already seated, drifting over their assigned seats. The only place that seemed even remotely available was the seat beside the hosts, which none had dared to take as a claimant of honor.

With gentlemanly ease, Bette pulled up that same chair and helped her into her seat.

She smiled at Tina indulgently and carefully raised her glass. Her guests promptly came to attention, their movements allowing their chairs to sing or screech as they maneuvered to see her and listen.

Tina had to look up and when the words of welcome, of camaraderie, and artistic wisdom, flowed listless from Bette Porters mouth, she didnt just hear the music playing through the gallery speakers. There was an opus which came with sitting to Bettes right and those in attendance gave her the privilege of a curious, knowing glance.

She was honored here and Catherine Opie, seated to Bettes left, lifted her champagne flute not only to Bette, but to her.

~*~*~*~

TBC