Jodi looked around the cafeteria. “So you actually want to eat lunch?”

Bette signed “Sorry.”

“Me, too” came Jodi’s response, capped off with a wink that caused Bette to give a coy smile.

They each found something edible, the school did provide a fairly good salad selection, and made their way to a more secluded side table.

“So, what’s up with Helen?”

“She’s representing an artist.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jodi gave Bette a knowing look. “She’s hot.”

“Hot?” Bette lifted an eyebrow.

Jodi’s reply was a smug look.

“I suppose.” Bette thought it best to keep her talk of Helen neutral. “She’s straight.”

“You asked?”

“C’mon. Did you see her? She’s like the picture of straight.”

“Whatever, Dean Porter.”

“Anyway, I’m not concerned about Helen’s straightness. I’m concerned about the artist.”

“The artist is straight?” Jodi tried to look like she didn’t know what Bette meant by the segue.

 “The artist, who I’ve yet to get a full bio for to gauge her straightness or to see a picture of to gauge ‘hotness,’ neither of which is important, is in prison in the UK. We’re going to feature both her work and her life.”

“Trying to get her set free?”

“I don’t think so.” Bette cast her thoughts back to her meeting. “From Helen’s briefing, it seems like the goal is to raise awareness of how abuse of various sorts plays into getting women into the system. Once they’re incarcerated,” Bette had to put down her fork for a moment to spell out the word, “other forces work to keep these women inside.”

“So Helen’s a crusader.”

“I guess.” Bette pushed the food around with her fork. “But she’s also informed. She used to work at a prison.”

“That’s hot.”

Bette rolled her eyes.

“C’mon,” Jodi goaded. “Haven’t you ever had thoughts of being locked up in a cell with the hot guard? That hot chick?”

While Jodi seemed satisfied with her fantasies, Bette’s memory flashed to a time in a cell with Candace. A time her life was spiraling out of control. Possibly one of the lowest times of her life. “I need to go back to work.”