CHAPTER FORTY FIVE: Color Schemes

Present time. Saturday afternoon.

“Bette, I swear it wasn’t my fault. Al was the one who–”

“Shut it Shane.”

“But its the truth..”

“Don’t listen to her Porter, she’s just as guilty as I am.”

Siiiiiiiiigh. “What the hell did you guys do?”

“Well, we.. um.. just.. um.. you know.. um.. oh fuck.” Grooooan. “Al? A little help here?” Nudge. Nudge.

Roll eyes. “What Fatty was trying to say – very eloquently, I might add – was that the TWO of us pooled together our creative juices and–”

“Oh shit, that can’t be good.”

“Tsk.. have a little faith BP. As I was saying, we channeled our inner artistic beings and did a few things with the paint..”

“…”

“Um.. all I can say is that it’s um.. pretty unique.”

“Shane’s right. It’s definitely eye-catching. Mind blowing, even.”

“…”

“Bette? Are you okay?”

“Shane?”

“Hmm?”

“Will I feel the urge to kill myself after the unveiling? The truth please.”

Sigh. “Yes, but not before you kill us first. Bette, since it’s mostly Alice’s fault, can you dispose of me quickly and give her an extremely slow and painful death? I think she deserves the honor.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Heeeey!!!”

————————————————

More than a few hours ago.. early early Saturday morning..

It was nothing short of a miracle that Bette found the strength to drag herself out of bed at six o’clock in the morning after the long and emotionally draining day that she had. The shooting debacle, the whole Helena-Sam drama, flowery Dee Dee and the Tina hugging incident left her jaded and worn out. She went to bed anticipating the worst. But unexpectedly and quite uncharacteristically, she woke up completely energized and far from sleepy, cheerful and not a single bit grumpy. Maybe it was the excitement of the long workday with friends or the promise of a better looking home that got her going, but whatever it was, she couldn’t wait to get her hands dirty and start working on her apartment.

Last night, after hanging out a few hours longer than intended in Sam’s house and waiting around for her girlfriend to finish an extended shift at the Planet, Bette knew that she needed to get up at four in the morning or earlier if she wanted to get the preliminary preparations out of the way before the real renovation work began at six. Luckily, the ever dependable James was able to pick up the slack. Well, James and a couple of hired experts, that is. But of course, Bette didn’t know that; she was under the impression that the guy only asked one of his cousins for help. She went home at quarter past eleven in the evening completely surprised to see that some of her furniture, specifically the few good ones, covered and moved out of the way to clear the space for the remodeling. The hopeless cases like the lumpy and wonky couch, the lopsided coffee table and the ugly ass bed frame were promptly discarded and left near the dumpster below. Initially, the absence of the eyesores brought her immense joy and relief; but when she was opening a window before hitting the sack, the sight of a homeless man treating her throwaway sofa like a king-sized bed totally stupefied Bette and made her think otherwise. Like a bitter slap in the face, she had come face to face with the reality that there was a truth behind the old saying that one man’s trash was another’s treasure. And for a moment, she grew a little repulsed at her old self and how she took every single thing – material or otherwise – for granted in the past.