Tina walked over to Helena, studiously ignoring her drunken wife who
was becoming more obnoxious by the moment. It was simply further
confirmation that Bette was so consumed with bitterness and anger that
it wasn’t even worth trying to talk to her right now.

“What size shoe does Bette wear?” Helena whispered to Tina, who gave
her a puzzled look. Helena glanced furtively in Bette’s direction. “She
won’t make it to Sunset in those shoes before blisters make it tough
going. I’ve got a pair of tennis shoes here but I’d rather.”

“Size 8,” Tina nodded her understanding.

“Close enough,” Helena smiled weakly and pressed a pair of walking
shoes into Tina’s hands, nodding toward Bette who, once again, was
looking off in the distance, unwilling or unable to acknowledge her
friends who were busy taking some kind of action, whatever they could
think of, while she fumed at the utter absurdity of the entire
situation and the outrage of finding herself at Helena’s mercy. Again.

Tina circled her own car, opened and closed the back door, mostly for
show, and walked toward Bette with the shoes. “Here, put these on.”

“What for?” Bette said in a petulant voice. “I’ve got a perfectly good pair.”

“of ***** me pumps,” Tina finished. “You can’t walk two miles in those,
not unless you want to be slapping bandaids on a bunch of popped
blisters when the lights come back on.”

Bette gave her wife an annoyed look, sighed heavily, and snatched the
shoes from her outstretched hands. “All right. Have it your way. Or
hers!” she nodded in Helena’s direction.

“Bette” Tina said with exasperation.

“You think I don’t know? You think I don’t see what’s.”

Tina moved right into Bette’s face and spoke slowly through clenched
teeth. “This is NOT the time for this kind of argument, Bette. If you
want to stay here and stew in your own resentment, fine! But we’re
leaving. You can come with us or stay here. Either way suits me just
fine.” Tina wheeled around and walked away, joining the circle of
friends gathering in the center of the lot.

“***** you, Tina!” Bette muttered, stripped off her shoes and threw them
out onto the pavement, then slipped her feet into the walking shoes.
They weren’t an exact fit, but they fit well enough. And she had to
admit Tina was probably right. Those shoes weren’t meant for walking
much farther than car to bar and back again.