~ III ~

Days melt into weeks and then months; women come and go in his life but the stalwarts remain. His mother, as blunt and determined as ever, and Alexis, who decides her skills as both a former man and former attempted murderer would best be suited to owning a vineyard in Bordeaux (hey, at least he can stock the Meade cellars full of Meade Merlot now).

And of course, Betty, former assistant and now (best) friend extraordinaire.

It's not Wednesday but their schedules mysterious shift and clear this week and she decides she's going to take him out for a night on the town, courtesy of her promotion.

He had laughed and said he wouldn't be a cheap date, then promptly clamped his mouth shut. Covers it quite cleverly (he thinks) by asking whether he should be dressed up or down.

She murmurs, says she's sure he'll look just fine and she only stipulates that he doesn't wear the black on black ensemble he's become so fond of these days. She thinks he should go back to wearing his brightly coloured ties and shirts like he used to, which he promises to do tonight.

It was only after he had hung up that it strikes him how she murmurs now; it's something the younger, chirpier Betty wouldn't have done. But they're both a few years older and Daniel supposes he's doing a lot of things the younger him wouldn't have been caught dead doing, too.

They meet on schedule and she stuns him with yet another change. Just when he had thought she'd surprised him for the last time, she does it again.

"Do you like it?" Graciously, she pretends not to notice his open mouthed stare, which is regrettably both ungracious and ungraceful and Daniel isn't given to buffonism usually. "Daniel?"

It definitely is a change and boy, is it a doozy. "Betty, your hair –"

"Yes?"

She's cut it short, much shorter than he has ever seen it. It's less frizzy but short, really short; svelte but much too sharp for her features. It's sort of half-way between a pixie cut and well, something else, something he doesn't care to think about because he's pretty sure it doesn't belong to this decade, let alone the last season.

"Ah …" He's not sure how he feels about it – oh who is he kidding, he hates it. Why he cares at all is anyone's guess. "Ah … it's nice Betty. Sort of."

In retrospect he knows that tacking the last two words to that sentence is not his finest hour. Her eyes well and he thinks she's about to cry, but instead her eyes fire with uncharacteristic fury and she starts ranting. He's heard her rants many times before but of course they're almost never directed at him, so he finds it a bit disconcerting to be the subject of said rants.

He listens docilely, Betty railing at how unsupportive he can be sometimes, how insensitive and yeah, he has the sensitivity of a tea spoon sometimes and in a contest between the stupid tea spoon and stupid him she's pretty sure the tea spoon would win. How come every time he's done something stupid she stands right by him even though he can be the stupidest person alive but when it's her turn his sensitivity hightails it out of dodge and runs the other way?

He shakes his head, completely at a loss. He thinks it's unfair of her to forget about the (few) times he did in fact display sensitivity more befitting of a well adjusted person, but she's angry and probably more than a little hurt and yeah, she's entitled to be irrational if she needs to. He can be an ass sometimes and self-centered to boot, but he can't help it and the only thing is to listen patiently and hope she calms down, soon.

She's still ranting, and livid. Gone are the days of her unceasing congeniality; she's more likely to get fired up now and stand up for herself which he secretly likes. The standing up for herself part, especially when it's not directed at him.

She's changed her hair; he of all people should know what a big decision that is for her. She hasn't done it for her own amusement. (He wants to object and point out she definitely has done it for her own amusement but who is he to judge anyway? Wisely, he decides to keep this to himself.) He of all people should know what a huge decision it is for her; she's grown and changed on the inside and now she's ready to start on the outside and can Daniel please say something nice about her hair because although she's an adult and knows this isn't a life and death, at this moment it's all about the hair and how about putting that famous Meade charm to good use once in a while with her?

"I think it really suits you Betty."

He tries to sound sincere but it's too little, too late. She narrows her eyes and stomps off into a dull sunset, leaving Daniel stranded, at a complete loss for words.

* * * * *

It isn't until her hair grows out to a softer, medium length that Betty decides to forgive him for his "typically insensitive man-like behaviour" and she agrees to have dinner with him, again.

He expects it will be a nice one because he's paying but it's worth it. At least it's no longer hair dryers at dawn between them. Not that Daniel uses a hair dryer (that often).

Betty's bangs have grown out (thankfully) and no longer hinder the sparkle in her eyes or the softness of her features.

(What? He's still the titular Co-Chief Editor of Mode; he has to notice these things. It's an occupational hazard.)

She suggests the pizzeria they've become so fond of, a small place in Brooklyn where she had first taken him and forced him to sing karaoke to get half off their meal (looking back he still isn't sure how she cajoled him into it. He's rich, he doesn't need to sing for his food. And his voice is terrible; they should give him half off in return for not singing).

After they're seated at a table with the familiar red and white chequered tablecloth, she begins to make him understand why the hair style change hadn't really been about the hair but was really about a whole other issue which incidentally, he had failed to see.

Of course it had been. Daniel is truly too stupid to live sometimes.

"Don't you see, Daniel, I'm changing. I've been changing for such a long time with my job and my life and my apartment, and then I get this huge promotion and everything changed and suddenly I had all this responsibility and this whole other life. And then I realised – I'm different now, I've changed. I was comfortable with who I was but one day I looked into the mirror and I didn't see me. I saw the younger Betty who was wide eyed about the big city and who looked up to you – not that I don't now, but it's different and in a completely different way – I don't know, I'm not saying this right. I just felt like something had to change, to be me again. Or to be the me that I am now … "

Of course he understands, although privately he rather liked the younger Betty who looked up to him.

" … I didn't know what I wanted to change. I just knew I had to change something. It was either the hair or my apartment and I figured the hair would be easier to manage if, you know, anything went wrong. At least it'd grow out."

She smiles, just to show how completely over it she is. It's only then he's able to relax, and smile.

He decides he hasn't appreciated this side of Betty enough; her giving nature that allows her to be completely hurt and angry, but then gives her the courage to turn around and open herself to him again.

Her explanation makes sense to him, but Daniel finds himself wanting, needing to make sure she's only done it for the right reasons. What a wrong reason is he doesn't know.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I support you, I really do Betty. I hope you know I'll always be here to support you. I just want to make sure you didn't feel like … you know …" For a magazine editor he's sure awful with words. "… like you had to change to fit in. Because you don't. You're beautiful as you are. And … I know you've dealt with a lot of people wanting you to change your appearance and I was worried they'd finally gotten to you. And I wouldn't want that to happen ... to you."

She rolls her eyes but lets him fumble on, a train wreck in extreme slow motion.

"I think it's great. Change is good. But you don't need to change the outside, because if there's one thing I've learned it's that how a person looks is the least important part of someone and …" He trails off, taking a large gulp from his wine. "God, help me out here Betty. You know what I'm trying to say, don't you?"

She cracks another smile and he doesn't know whether it's the wine or something else, but the warmth that washes over him is just a little too giddy for his liking. "That's really sweet, Daniel, it really is. But this isn't about what looks good or doesn't look good, it's about me. I feel like … I can't explain it, but I feel more me than I've felt in a long time. I feel like I'm in the right skin now. Does that make sense?"

Daniel doesn't say any more about the subject; one look at her reassures him and tells him everything he needs to know.

He files the conversation away and finds himself revisiting it more than a few times in the next couple of days; the talk of change and appearances fascinates him for some reason although for the life of him he can't fathom why.