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I fire off a round at her targets. Then I walk quietly over to my couch and grab a pillow to scream into. She drives me fucking crazy. She’s the flip side of a good romantic crush. She’s a nasty preoccupation. I pace and Dax laughs.

He says, “Hey, I think I cracked this, but I need you to focus. I’m actually going to use those art skills of yours this time.”

I roar, “Intern number three. The one covering for my theater-loving assistant! Please come in here.”

Her head peeks in. “June.”

“June what?” I shrug. It’s late April.

“My name.”

I shake my head. I’m an ass. “I’m sorry, June. You’re new and I was in a hurry. That was rude. Can you please get the horrible woman from Chicago on the phone for me? Also, don’t tell her about my schedule ever. We’re going to keep her waiting.”

“Um. You mean Ms. Miller?”

“Yes. I do. I’m running downstairs for a bagel. You want one?”

“You want me to call her and you’re leaving the building?” Her brow is furrowed.

I toss my sweater back on and waltz past her. “And I’m getting a bagel for myself and what is it you like to eat, June?” I’m growing impatient with intern number three. Usually, they get on board a little quicker with this game.

“I like croissants.”

“There you go. Croissants are for closers. Be back in twenty. Call her in five.”

BETTE

OH MY GOD. It’s like he knows the exact buttons to push. I won’t react to him, but I can swear like a sailor to myself. He makes me mad. I’ve decided to work from home for the rest of the day. I transfer his call to my cell and take off, while still on hold. I know he thinks I’m going to hang up but I think he’ll be annoyed if I’m still on the line. So, I stay.

He’s not on social and if I google him, there’s only a Halloween picture where he’s wearing Hulk makeup, and some corporate group shot that’s too grainy to see him clearly. He’s tall and insanely ripped. I may have developed a slight Hulk fetish ever since I found that picture.

It’s quite a fucking feat in this day and age to be hidden. If you google me, there’s a million Elizabeth Millers. And Bette always returns Midler. I feel secure in my hiding place.

The intern apologizes every thirty seconds. It’s like she has a timer. After the fourth time, I clocked her and told her it’s fine. And then, thirty-nine seconds later, she was back.

I have one earbud in and my phone is in the pocket of my trench coat. I love this coat so much. It was Kris’s. Her mother gave it to me. She had a bit of an Audrey Hepburn obsession. Her short pixie cut was one of the ways she honored her. She and I found this coat in San Francisco. My father thought I was at some library thing learning about poetry. Kris snuck me out and we spent the day thrifting. I pull it around me. It’s a little big; she was six feet tall and gorgeous. She was the best friend and the universe didn’t see fit to let me keep her. You’d think after the Danny debacle, I’d get to keep her, but nope. Cancer had other plans. This was her Breakfast at Tiffany’s coat. I’m always thrilled when we make it to shoulder seasons so I can wear it. It’s like she’s with me.

I’m sitting on the El, almost to my stop, when he finally comes on the line.

“Bette Miller.” His voice almost purrs my name. I don’t like what my vagina just did. It did that surge of excitement, clenching thing. Nope. Down girl, this one’s not anything. He’s pandering and I’m not sure what he’s up to.

“I was worried your ego had actually swallowed you.”

He tosses back, “Funny. How are you?”

“Since an hour ago, fine. I had a quick bout with the flu, but I’ve recovered nicely. Is there something I can do for you?’

“I was thinking about our skirmishes,” he says slowly.

I put all my stuff into my bag and stand by the door, waiting for my stop.

“Battles?” I say.

“War.”

“Go on,” I answer. The Sedgwick stop is announced, and I hold on, waiting for the lurch.

“Where are you?”