Chapter Text
Bette's morning began like every other. As always, she woke up to her alarm sounding at 5:15am and instantly threw off her duvet. She quickly changed into a sports bra and spandex shorts, grabbed the half-read manuscript that lay on her bedside table, and hopped onto the treadmill in the corner of her bedroom. There, she spent the next hour running and reading, accomplishing a fair amount of work before most people’s days had even started.
She took her standard efficient shower—eight minutes in length, give or take—and fried herself an egg-white omelet, eating breakfast while flipping through last week’s The New Yorker. Finally, at 7:30am, she locked the front door behind her and stalked toward work, pushing past any tourists who dared get in her way.
Tina’s morning likewise began like any other: she woke up at 6:30am to her screeching alarm, tapped the snooze button—and then tapped it again, seven minutes later—and then finally dragged herself out of bed, rushing through her morning routine. She ran through the busy Brooklyn streets toward The Planet, silently praying that Kate was working that day.
She was in luck: as soon as Tina walked through the entrance, the barista waved her over.
Tina heaved a sigh of relief. She hurried to the counter, ignoring the irritated looks from all the businesspeople waiting in line, likely running just as late as she was.
She offered an apologetic look and then turned back to the brunette.
Hate grinned. “Two large coffees with a lump of raw sugar."
Tina smiled back. “You’re a lifesaver.”
As Tina crossed the bustling street, heading toward the high-rise where she worked, she felt coffee spill from one of the cardboard cups and scorch her hand, but she ignored the pain. She was running late.
When the elevator stopped on the top floor and the doors opened, she immediately walked out, not bothering to look where she was going. So, of course, she didn’t see the editorial assistant simultaneously pushing forward to get into the elevator until it was too late.
Just like that, they smacked right into each other, effectively spilling hot coffee all over Tina's crisp white button-down.
"Oh my god," Niki panicked, her eyes bulging wide. "Tina, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. I…" She twirled in a circle, desperately searching the vicinity for some sort of napkin. "I-"
Tina forced herself to slow her breathing, to remain calm, despite her scalded skin. As useless as Niki was, Tina remembered her early days as an underpaid assistant, and she didn’t want to make the young, eager-to-please woman’s life any harder.
So, instead of giving the girl a lecture on the importance of letting people out of the elevator first, Tina just pressed forward toward the bathroom, realizing that there was now one more thing on her to-do list.
“Tim,” Tina nodded to her coworker as she headed toward his cubicle. “Give me your shirt.”
“What?” Tim asked, his eyes fixed to his computer.
Tina frowned. “Give me your shirt.”
That time, he heard her. “What?” he laughed.
Tina gestured toward her shirt. “Well, look at me! I’d ask Carmen, but she’s not in today, so I’m asking you. Give me your shirt.”
“No way!” the man argued. “What would I wear?”
“Your undershirt. Nothing. I really don’t care.” Tina sighed. “Please. I’ll get you two tickets to the Mets. Any date you want.”
"You're kidding," Tim deadpanned, but Tina saw that he was ready to cave.
She looked toward the door, dreading the knowledge that their boss was right about to walk in. "You have three seconds."
And, thankfully, they only needed another moment for their little trade to go through, because—about sixty seconds later—Bette walked through the door.
As Tina attempted to tuck the large men's dress-shirt into her skirt as best she could, she offered a little nod toward the door as she turned back toward Tim. "She-Devil at one o'clock. Better get busy." And with that, she strode into her boss's office with the one coffee that remained in-hand and only a moment to spare.
"Good morning, boss," she greeted as Bette walked into the room and grabbed the coffee from her hand. "You have a meeting with Ms. Peabody in half an hour, and publicity wants to talk to you at 2pm about Dan Foxworthy."
Bette sat down at her desk, clicking her computer on. "What about him?"
"Well, his book's coming out,” Tina reminded her, “and he hasn't been willing to do any interviews…"
"Oh, yes he has," Bette corrected, looking at her assistant for the first time. She smiled, somewhat smug. "I called him this morning. He’s doing Oprah."
Tina's eyebrows flew up. “Wow.” In the past few years, Dan Foxworthy had become somewhat of a recluse—everyone in the publishing world knew that. Editors and publicists had been trying without success to get him to make an appearance—Tina wondered what Bette had said to the elusive author to manage to get her way.
"Oh,” Tina remembered, “and your immigration lawyer called and said to call him back as soon a-"
Bette waved her off. "Tell him I'm busy. And cancel the meeting with publicity. I did their job for them. Again,” she sneered.
Tina nodded in understanding. Recognizing that her boss wanted to be alone, she headed for the door—but then the sound of Bette's voice stopped her.
"Um. Who's . . . Kate? And why does she want me to call her?" Bette raised an eyebrow, fixed the blonde with an expectant look.
“Well,” Tina looked down, "that was originally my coffee."
Bette pursed her lips. "And why am I drinking your coffee?"
"Because yours spilled."
"Ah." Bette slowly took a sip, and Tina stood still, her eyes shifting as she awaited the certain humiliation that would follow.
And, sure enough, the coffee tasted the same as it did every other morning. Bette squinted at Tina. "So you drink your coffee black with a lump of raw sugar?"
Tina nodded. "I do."
Bette stared at her. "Is that a coincidence?"
"Absolutely," Tina lied. Then, before she could attempt to make her escape, Bette's voice stopped her again.
"And Tina?" Bette began, not even bothering to look up from what she was writing. "The next time you decide it's a good idea to wear your boyfriend's shirt to work, maybe you should reconsider."
Tina bit her tongue, as she often did, knowing better than to correct her boss. The last person who had tried to correct Bette Porter now worked as a waitress at the diner on the corner. Then again, Marina Ferrer never had been too good of an editor, anyway.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Porter?"
"Yes, actually." Bette took another sip of coffee. "We have a meeting with Franklin Phillips in five minutes. That gives you enough time to get to the restroom and try to tuck in that cheap polyester button-down a little bit better."
But, instead of heading straight toward the restroom, Tina hurried to her own cubicle and jiggled her mouse, bringing her computer to life. Quickly, she typed, SHE’S ON THE MOVE, giving her coworkers a few critical moments of emotional preparation before Bette came into their space. Only then did she do her best to adjust her oversized dress-shirt, silently watching as people glanced up at her instant message, eyes immediately widening. The cheerful morning buzz quickly subsided as everyone hunkered down to focus solely on work.
Bette began walking toward Frank's office, and Tina had to run to catch up to her. "Hey. So, um-"
Bette took a sip from her coffee cup. "Spit it out, Tina."
"I, um, I was wondering what you thought of that manuscript I left on your desk?" Tina continued, forcing herself to be brave. "I think it has some real promise, and-"
Bette made a face. "I didn't like it."
Tina held her ground. "Did you read the whole thing? I know it obviously needs work, but there's something in there that feels really special."
They stopped outside Frank’s door, and Tina knew the conversation was over—at least for the time being.
Bette strode into the office with Tina trailing behind her.
"Porter," the man gruffed, leaning back in his chair.
"Hey, Frank."
He smiled, somewhat condescendingly. "Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”
He hadn’t even glanced at Tina and, as usual, she stood by the door, silent and at-attention.
Sitting down in front of his desk, Bette crossed her arms. "We need to talk."
Frank raised his eyebrows. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, actually . . ." Bette paused for a moment, building suspense. "We're letting you go."
A beat. Then, incredulous: "Excuse me?"
Nonchalantly—as if she wasn't firing a man who'd been an editor for a decade longer than she had—Bette continued, "I told you to get Jenny Schecter to publish with us, but she wanted Random House, instead."
Feeling awkward, Tina backed toward the door. She knew that this conversation had nothing to do with her—and she was thankful not to be involved.
"Random House said they’d give her more money," Frank defended. "What was I supposed to do? They offered her a better contract. There was no way she'd choose us over them."
"Then explain why I just called her this morning and she agreed to sign with us."
Frank's eyes widened. So did Tina's.
"You let me down, Frank." Bette sighed. "But I'm going to be nice. I won't tell Peggy Peabody yet. You can find another job and then 'resign.' Okay?"
And, with that, she and Tina left the room—although Bette knew what was coming. She had known Frank for a long time, so she was familiar with his temper.
She heard the sound of his office door open. "Just keep walking," she whispered—more to herself than to Tina.
"YOU POISONOUS BITCH," Frank bellowed, and everyone in the room turned to look at him—Bette and Tina included. "Do you really think you can storm into my office, fire me, and humiliate me publicly?"
"Frank . . ." Bette warned.
"I see through your charade," he continued. "You've always been threatened by me. You're pathetic. You're a monster." He turned and smiled at his coworkers, obviously pleased with his own bravery.
"Frank, stop . . ." Bette tried again, still managing to keep her cool.
"Just because you have no life outside this job doesn't mean you can treat us like crap. It's not our fault that you're going to die sad and alone. It's yours."
And then, in a quiet voice—knowing full-well that she didn’t need volume to command a room—Bette countered, "Listen, Frank. I'm firing you not because I'm 'a monster' but because you're self-righteous, arrogant, and not nearly as good at your job as you think you are. And if you say even one more word, Tina here will call security and stand back and laugh while they throw you out on your ass. Then she'll blog about it."
Tina took a step back, distancing herself from the drama.
Frank stared at them, stunned.
Satisfied with herself, Bette's lips quirked up. "Now," she concluded, "I have work to do."
As she turned and walked away, Bette said to her assistant, "He's done for. But there's going to be a lot more work for us this weekend with him gone. I'm going to need you to be available."
"What—this weekend?"
Bette inspected her face. "Yeah, is that a problem?"
"Uh, well, I was supposed to take a week-long vacation with friends, starting tomorrow. I gave notice like six months ago. We’re all getting together and—"
Bette didn't even look at her, obviously bored.
"But it's fine," Tina lied. "I'll just call them and say I can't. It's fine."
"Great," Bette quipped and walked away.
"Dana, I'm sorry," Tina sighed, worrying the coiled phone cord between her fingers. "Look, I know I promised Shane I'd be there, but I can't go anymore. I've worked hard for this promotion, and I don't want to screw it up now."
She heard heels clacking down the hall and lowered her voice.
"Fine, Alice is mad. But Alice is always mad. Tell her I'm sorry, okay?"
Th clacking sound intensified, and Tina quickly changed her tone, pretending to be on a work-related call. "Thank you so much for that feedback, ma'am. We'll get back to you as soon as we can. Bye." She hung up the phone and turned toward her boss.
"Was that one of your friends?" Bette asked knowingly.
"Yes," Tina admitted.
"Did they tell you to quit?"
Tina sighed. "Daily."
Adele, an intern, tentatively stood by Tina's cubicle, fearful of interrupting. "Um, Ms. Porter?"
Bette turned to her. "What?"
"Ms. Peabody just informed me that she needs you in her office.”
"Ugh." Bette kept her eyes on Tina. "I don't have time for this today. Come get me in five minutes," she instructed. "We have a lot to do."
Tina nodded. "I will.”
Bette strode into Peggy Peabody's office and smiled at her boss. "Peggy."
Peggy looked up from her work. "Bette. Congratulations on the Oprah thing. And on Schecter. This is why I keep you around."
“Thank you.” Bette's smile widened at the praise. "Now, what's this about?"
Peggy cleared her throat. "Bette . . ." she exhaled. "Do you remember when I insisted that you not go to the conference in London last month because you couldn't leave the country while your Visa was being processed?"
Bette nodded. "Yes, I do."
"And you went to London, anyway."
"Well, I had to," Bette defended. "Ian McEwan is writing another book, and we want him to publish with us. I had no other choice."
"Right, well . . ." Peggy paused. "I just got off the phone with your immigration attorney."
"Oh! Great. We're all good, then?"
"No, Bette. Your Visa application has been denied-"
"What?"
Peggy met her eyes. ". . . And you are being deported."
Bette's eyes bulged. "Deported?"
"He said that you also failed to complete some paperwork on time."
"This has to be some sort of mistake," Bette laughed, incredulous. "I mean, I'm not even a real immigrant. I'm from Canada! And I've lived here for over ten years! We have to do something. I mean, there has to be something-"
"There is," Peggy reassured her. "We're going to reapply. But you'll need to leave the country for at least a year."
"Okay . . ." Bette was in problem-solving mode, attempting to think of a solution. "Well, that's not ideal, but I can manage everything from Toronto. We'll have email, video conferencing…"
Peggy shook her head. "Bette, you can't work for an American company if you're deported. So, until we resolve this, I'm turning everything over to Frank Phillips."
"You're joking."
"We need a veteran employee as Editor-in-Chief. He's one of the oldest we have."
"I just fired him!"
Peggy released a tired breath. "We want you to stay, Bette. You're the best there is. If there were any solution, we'd make it work."
"Peggy, come o-"
Suddenly, the door opened, and Tina came in with her punctual interruption. "Hi. I'm so sorry to interrupt. Ms. Porter, Gigi is on phone and says she needs to speak with you. I told her you were in a meeting, but-"
"I know, I know," Bette sighed, recognizing that the woman was often hard to say no to.
"Should I just…" Tina trailed off, feeling something in the air shift as Bette began to stare at her with a strange intensity. Her confusion increased as Bette tilted her head, silently motioning her inside.
Hesitantly, Tina walked forward, letting the door fall shut behind her.
Bette turned back toward her boss. "Peggy, I understand our predicament and . . . um. I think there's something you should know." She backed up to stand beside Tina. "We, um." She tried to smile. "We're getting married."
Tina's eyebrows furrowed. "Who's getting married?"
"You and I." Bette insisted. "You and I are getting married."
And, even though Tina had no idea what was going on, she knew to follow Bette's lead. That was her job. So, she confirmed, "We . . . are. We're getting married."
Peggy's eyes widened in surprise. She smirked at Bette. "You're marrying your assistant?"
"Executive assistant," Bette corrected.
Peggy still looked dubious.
"Look, I know it's kind of unorthodox," Bette defended. "It's unexpected for us, too. We weren't supposed to fall in love, but with all those late nights and book fairs, something,” she paused, “happened."
"Something . . . ?" Tina was concerned that she was having an out-of-body experience, or maybe that she’d been drugged. What the fuck is going on?
"We couldn't fight it," Bette insisted. She lifted her arm, awkwardly wrapping it around Tina's waist. "We were just . . . meant to be."
Peggy Peabody was speechless. "Wow."
"Right, so, um, are you good with . . . this?" Bette asked. "I mean, is this a good solution? Are you happy? Because we're . . . so happy." She tried to smile again, looking half-crazed.
"Yes. Yes! It's wonderful news. Congratulations," Peggy grinned. "Just make it legal, huh?"
"Right." Bette nodded—probably one too many times. "Of course. I guess it's time for us to get married. No time like the present. Right." She cringed internally, worrying that her act wasn't convincing. "Thank you, ma'am.” She clasped her hands together. “Thank you."
Tina offered a grateful nod of her own. "Thank you, ma'am," she seconded.
As they stepped out of Peggy’s office, Tina locked eyes with Tim and knew immediately that everyone had heard the news. Of course, some intern had been tasked with holding their ear up to the closed door, where they had heard about the supposed marriage and then immediately disseminated that information via instant message. She felt the eyes that followed them. She caught sight of Niki’s flabbergasted expression from across the room and quickly averted her eyes, knowing how easily her face would give away the truth. Instead, she followed her boss to her office in silence and shut the glass door behind them.
Inside, Bette sat at her desk and began reading a manuscript, while Tina stood over her, waiting for an explanation. When none came, she cleared her throat. "Ms. Porter."
Bette looked up. "What is it?" she asked—as if she had already forgotten what had just transgressed.
"What's happening?"
"Oh, relax."
"Relax?"
Bette sighed. "They were going to make Frank Editor-in-Chief."
"So . . . I have to marry you?"
"What's the problem?" Bette asked. "Oh. Is it that I'm a woman? We're in New York, for crying out loud. It's not a big deal."
"That's . . . not it." Tina closed her eyes, attempting to make sense of the situation. "I just-"
"What?" Bette snapped.
Tina stared back at her in disbelief. "I'm not going to marry you."
"Sure you are," Bette informed her. "Because, if you don't, Frank will fire you, and you'll be unemployed, and then everything you worked for will have been for nothing, and you'll have to start from scratch if you ever dream of becoming an editor."
Tina's mouth fell open as truth in Bette's words registered. Her stomach dropped.
Her boss continued: "Don't worry. In a few years, we'll get a divorce and you'll never have to see me again. But, until then, if I'm gone, you're gone. You're stuck with me. Got it?"
Tina knew she shouldn't have been surprised that Bette cut everyone in line at the immigration office but, somehow, she still was.
"Ms. Porter, there's a line."
Bette waved her assistant off and focused her attention on the tired-looking clerk at the front desk. "File this fiancée visa for me, please."
The office worker sighed. "Please, come with me."
Bette and Tina followed the employee into a small office and sat down in the two chairs that faced the desk. Bette began answering emails on her iPhone, and Tina looked around the room with a sinking feeling in her chest.
"I'm going to go to jail. I can feel it."
"You're not going to jail," Bette assured her. "It'll be fine. We just have to meet this lady, play nice for a few minutes, and then we'll be married and divorced in no time."
A second later, the door opened, and a tall, lanky woman walked in. "Hello. I'm Joyce Wischnia. And you are . . ."
Bette smiled. "Bette Porter.”
Tina gulped. "Tina Kennard."
"Pleased to meet you."
Bette smiled angelically. "Thank you so much for meeting with us on such short notice."
Joyce sat down at her desk and flipped through the file her coworker had given her. "So," she began. "I have a question for you both."
Bette and Tina waited.
The woman looked up. "Are you two committing fraud to avoid Ms. Porter's deportation so she can keep her position as Editor-in-Chief?"
Bette and Tina looked horrified, but they hoped Joyce would think it was more out of disgust at the notion of unethicality than the fact that she was right.
"What?" Bette asked innocently. "Where did you hear that?"
"We got a phone tip this afternoon from a man-"
"Oh." Bette rolled her eyes. "Was it from Frank Phillips?"
"Frank. Exactly."
"I'm so sorry about that." Bette shook her head in pity. "Frank is only an unhappy former employee. A curmudgeon, really. And maybe a little jealous."
Tina rolled her eyes. How in the world was she supposed to marry this woman?
"We know you're very busy," Bette continued. "So, if you could just sign those papers, we'll be out of your hair."
"Ms. Porter," Joyce offered a condescending smile, "let me tell you how I do things here. First, I'll put you each in a room, and I'll ask you every little question that a real couple would know about each other. Step two: I dig deeper. I look at your phone records, I talk to your neighbors, I interview your coworkers. If your answers don't match up at every point, you," she pointed to Bette, "will be deported indefinitely, and you," she pointed to Tina, "will have committed a felony, punishable by a fine of $250,000 dollars and a stay of five years in federal prison."
Tina's eyes widened.
"So, Tina," Joyce prompted, "is there anything you want to say?"
Tina shook her head. "The truth is . . ." She cleared her throat. "Ms. Wischnia, the truth is that . . . Bette and I are just meant to be together."
Bette nodded in agreement.
"We weren't supposed to fall in love, but we did," Tina continued. "And we couldn't tell anyone we work with because of my big promotion coming up."
"Promotion?" Joyce and Bette wondered simultaneously.
"Yeah," Tina breathed, feeling a little excited about her newfound power. "Bette and I thought it would be inappropriate to announce our relationship with her plans to promote me to editor."
"So…have you told your families about your secret relationship?"
"Oh, I would, but I, uh, don't speak to mine. And my father's dead." Bette tried to chuckle, working to swallow her pain.
Joyce gave Bette a sad smile, then she turned her attention to Tina. "What about you? Are you estranged from your parents, too?"
Tina pursed her lips. “I’m more interested in chosen family.”
"We were actually, um," Bette paused—using the limited knowledge she had of her assistant to attempt to trick the immigration official. "We were actually planning to tell Tina’s closest friends the news this weekend.”
Tina turned toward her boss in surprise.
"They’re all getting together this for a big girls’ trip for a week. We're leaving tomorrow. We thought it'd be a nice surprise."
Joyce crossed her arms, unconvinced. "And where will this girls’ trip take place?"
"At, um . . ." Bette paused. “At a house.”
Joyce leaned forward. "Whose house?" she pressed.
Bette looked over at Tina, her eyes desperate. "I'm so sorry. I'm doing all the talking. You can tell her . . . sweetie. You go for it. Just jump in!"
"Of course," Tina nodded ironically. She faced the official. "Galveston."
"Galveston," Bette seconded with a nod.
"Texas."
"Texas . . . ?" Bette couldn't control the way her face scrunched up in disgust. Texas? Really?
"You're going to Texas for a week?" Joyce asked, unconvinced.
Tina smiled. "We are.”
"Yes," Bette seconded. "That's where, um. That's where my Tina's dear friends are from." She reached for Tina's hand and patted it gently.
"Okay," Joyce chuckled. "I see that you two are not going to make this easy for me. I'll see you next Monday, then, for your individual interviews."
"Sounds great," Tina lied.
"Great," Bette confirmed distractedly as her phone began to ring. She hurried to answer it. "Jenny!"
"I'm looking forward to this one," Joyce confided in Tina, and the blonde saw a mischievous twinkle in the woman's eyes. Clearly, she didn't believe their story one bit—and who could blame her?
"Me, too," the blonde fibbed. "We'll see you next Monday." She hurried to open the door for Bette, and then they ambled outside.
"Okay," Bette decided, "so here's what we're going to do. We'll fly down there—upgrade us to first-class, will you? You can use my miles—and then we'll tell them we're getting married, we’ll make a big announcement, and-"
"Excuse me," Tina interrupted, stopping in place and turning toward the taller woman. "Were you not in that room?"
"What? Oh, are you talking about that thing you said about the promotion? Brilliant,” Bette chuckled. “She totally bought it."
"I meant it," Tina insisted. "I'm looking at potential jail time. And a fine of hundreds of thousands of dollars."
Tina shook her head. "There's no way I'm promoting you to editor."
"Then I quit," Tina shrugged. "Good luck with everything, Ms. Porter. Hope it works out." She turned to go.
"Tina!" Bette called after her. "No. Wait! Fine," she surrendered. "Fine. If you do this for me, I will make you an editor."
"Right away,” Tina insisted. “Not five years from now."
"Fine."
"And we'll tell my friends about us on my terms, when I think the time is right. Deal?"
"Fine. Fine. Deal."
"Good," Tina quipped. "Now . . ." She offered a wicked little grin.
Bette crossed her arms. "What now?"
Tina's smile widened. "Aren't you going to propose?"
"You're not serious," Bette deadpanned.
Tina just stared at her, expectant.
Bette sighed. "You are serious."
Tina nodded. "It seems only right."
"Do I have to get down on one knee?"
Tina made a face. "Something tells me that you won’t want to scuff your pants."
Bette sighed in relief. At least she would forgo a little embarrassment. "Okay. Tina: will you marry me?"
"No. Not with that attitude. More feeling."
Bette looked around self-consciously, fearful that someone on the busy sidewalk might overhear their interaction.
"Tina. Amazing, wonderful Tina," she continued sarcastically.
"Yes?"
"Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?"
Tina scrunched up her nose, pretending to mull over the offer as she let Bette sweat. "Okay," she finally accepted with a shrug. "I'll see you at the airport tomorrow morning."
And, with that, she walked away, feeling more strength than she had in a long time.