Betty had taken a few much needed days away from work to meet up with Zola and show her the city. She knew patience was the key to unlocking all the secrets about the 'Wings Agency', and she wanted to make sure Zola felt at ease with her as it would help in divulging the information.

     However, she'd forgotten how long she'd been away from her apartment in the city. That morning she had to tackle  the layer of dust firmly settled on all her possessions, clean all the cutlery, plates and glasses that had been sitting in the cupboard for months, throw settled spiders down the toilet and get rid of their webs, sweep and mop the floor, tackle the bedsheets, put a few washes on in the apartment block's laundry room and make the guest bedroom look somewhat presentable. Then she realised she had no food or toiletries, so she had to leave a note on the door for Zola and nip out to the shops.

     She felt a little bad about leaving Zola, but there was nothing to be done about it. She suspected her visitor would take full advantage of her time alone to explore the neighbourhood, but when she staggered across to the apartment door laden down with bags, there was a woman propped up against the door fast asleep.

      At first glimpse Betty assumed it was a homeless woman and she was about to scream, but then she realised they didn't tend to wear smart clothes like that. It was at that point she realised it was Zola, passed out from exhaustion. The woman was a lot heavier than she looked, and as she looked heavy in the first place it took Betty several minutes to transfer her from the door to the guest bedroom. She pulled the covers over her and wriggled the heels from her feet, which let off a repugnant smell that made Betty wished she hadn't bothered.

      Betty still needed dinner, but she couldn't go out with a strange woman sleeping in her apartment, so she stuck on a supermarket pizza, thinking mournfully of the reservations she has worked hard to get at ABC Kitchens.

***

Zola awoke to the aroma of fresh waffles and bacon. She rubbed her tired eyes stiffly, realising that she had somehow ended up in a bed instead of the door. She had to admit, it was much more comfortable, and no doubt the woman she'd spoken to on the phone had moved her.

She swung her feet out to the side of the bed, taking in the cool air conditioning of the apartment. Her feet were bare, and smelly. Mae had often suggested to start washing more, but in her day baths were rarely taken, maybe just once a month or so. She was murdered around the time people started arguing about how washing more led to better health, but Zola was always a supporter of the old ways. If it was good enough for her ancestors it was good enough for her.

She walked into the living room, feeling quite refreshed from her long sleep. The kitchen, living room and dining area were completely open plan, and it was bright and airy. She sat down on one of the white stools at the breakfast bar, where the cook stood opposite dishing out breakfast onto two flower rimmed plates. She slid a plate across the countertop to Zola, who barely caught it.

"Good morning, and thank you." Zola said politely and stiffly in her best upper class accent, so this slave knew exactly where she stood. She was pleasantly surprised at Betty having slaves, because Mae has informed her that slaves were a thing of the past. Already her estimation of Betty was flying up.

"No problem," the slave said with a smile. "I hope you slept well? I moved you in last night."

Zola's fork froze on the way to her mouth. How dare this slave talk back to her! Really, were there no decent manners nowadays? She would have to inform Betty of this, who would no doubt get her father or brother, whichever man took care of her, to beat some sense into the slave. "Where is your mistress?" She asked, trying to refrain herself from adding that slaves slaves should never talk unless specifically asked to as she was doing now. It was Betty's duty to say that, not hers.

The woman's brow crinkled in confusion. "Mistress? I don't know what you're talking about."

What an idiotic woman. The food wasn't even that good, either. Zola pushed the plate away, untouched but for a square of waffle. "Your mistress, Betty." Zola said sharply. "Where is Betty?"

"I'm Betty," the woman answered cheerfully, wiping a hand on her apron and offering it. "There's nobody else in this apartment but us."

Zola stated at her. Betty did not look like a rich young lady, as she had made herself out to be. She had straight brown hair and the same coloured eyes, small breasts, and a large waist. Zola's eyes fluttered up into her head, and she gracefully fell from the chair as if she'd practiced this beforehand.

Betty looked at her guest in confusion, then shrugged and once again carted her off to her guest rooms before polishing off both her own and Zola's breakfast.

Zola finally felt fit again a couple of hours later, but upon walking in on Betty vacuuming she had a panic attack and fainted again.

It was nearly dinner time of Zola's second day in the states when she emerged from her bedroom for a third time. Betty was considerably fed up with her at this point, so before Zola has time to do anytime to jeopardise her current state of consciousness, Betty sent her firmly into the bathroom clutching a dinner dress, heels and towel, looking like a panicked child. "What is wrong with that woman?" She muttered to herself. "Still, surely having a shower can't make her faint again."

How was she supposed to know a shower was a completely alien concept to Zola?

Zola looked around the room. Just strip and get in the shower. That was what Betty said to do. Wasn't that rain of some kind? Yes, her first husband had often called light rain, 'a shower'. She could see through the window it was raining at the moment, so she must have to go out and stand in the rain.

She dumped the the towel and new clothes on the floor before stripping off the sweaty clothes she'd slept in. The window to the bathroom was a small one, but there was a fire escape nearly directly below it, so she could drop down to there and make her way onto the street to stand in the shower.

She looked down at her naked body, hesitating. A woman wasn't even supposed to show her ankle in public, let alone her whole body, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable in doing so. But Betty had told her to strip. Perhaps standing in the rain naked was a twenty-first century thing? Maybe she should check first.

She didn't even bother to put her clothes back on before heading back out of the bathroom. Betty was sitting on the sofa reading a magazine. "Betty, are we supposed to shower naked?"

Betty jumped in horror at seeing Zola, and her eyes slid across to rest on a black screen while her cheeks blushed red. "Of course!" She snapped. "Please get back into the bathroom!"

Zola turned to go, but hesitated. Although Betty had confirmed it, she still felt as if it was wrong for a woman to parade herself. "Can you..." She began nervously. "Can you, um, shower with me? I feel uncomfortable doing it alone."

Betty went even redder, and she looked even angrier. "I am not getting naked with you!" She protested, outraged. "I see where this is going! I'm not gay, Zola, like you, so find a man to shower with you next time! Just go shower!"

Hurt at being called gay, and not understanding why she had been called that, Zola headed back into the bathroom. Then she opened the window as far as it would go, and started to get herself out of it.

Betty heard the distinctive creak of the bathroom window opening. Confused, she headed into the bathroom just in time to see Zola fall onto the fire escape. "What are you doing?" She asked cautiously, with a rising note of panic. "Zola, what are you doing?!"

Zola waved cheerily up at her. "Just getting in the shower!" She yelled up, before headed down the fire escape onto the street full of staring people. Betty even noticed one or two men pulling out their phones, and more men yelling disgusting sleazy comments up at her. There were mothers putting their hands over peeking children's eyes, and wives telling off their husbands for staring.

Betty put her face in her hands as a police car, quick to catch on, pulled up outside. The crowds quickly dispersed, and Zola was handcuffed and taken, wide-eyed, into the back of the car. One of the men shrugged off his police jacket and wrapped it around her.

Swearing loudly, Betty ran to the elevator, trying to work out the best route on the Subway to get to the police station.

***

Betty had imagined many things that might happen when Zola arrived. She had planned out her trip so she would get to see the best of New York, and she has thought of all the fun she would have showing her guest around. She had thought of many scenarios, one even involving her stopping a terrorist attack Zola had planned and becoming a national hero. But she had never once thought that she would be bailing Zola out of the police station for running around a street naked.

They let her keep an orange jumpsuit for her to ride home in, which attracted some strange looks on the Subway. Betty thought she would die of embarrassment, especially when she announced she was marrying the guy she'd been in a cell with.

The coffee Betty had been sipping went straight back out of her mouth. "You're marrying a criminal?" She gasped.

Zola nodded happily. "He just robbed a bank, so he's very rich and perfect for me."

"Did he propose?" Betty asked faintly, with a mental image of having to organise Betty and a thief's wedding.

"No, but he kissed and touched me, the way only a husband should, so I told him he must marry me for doing so. He even laughed, bless her, because he was so happy." She smiled to herself. "We shall have to get married immediately before word of our closeness beforehand gets out."

Betty threw up a little in her mouth, feeling a bit sad for Zola's disillusion. "You do act as if you were from the past." She commented. "Nowadays people kiss a lot before marriage."

Zola shook her head in wonder. "Really?"'she asked. "How queer, and undignified. A woman must be untouchable until marriage. Oh, and I am from the past. I died in the eighteenth century."

"Hold on - you died?" Betty suddenly remembered Lea's fingerprints matching up to a Lea who was dead. "Do all of your kind die?"

Zola nodded. "Everyone who works at WA is dead."

Betty's mind reeled from the new information. Zola's earlier behaviour suddenly made perfect sense, and how she didn't know what a shower was, instead mistaking it for rain. And Zola hadn't realised she was coming onto her earlier, which meant she was probably straight. She suddenly felt more relaxed. "How about we go get dinner, and you can tell me all about WA? Then tomorrow, Friday evening, you can talk to my colleagues about it too."

I don't like this chapter. I did it quickly, because I have family over from England at the moment and I haven't seen them for ages so I can't write very much. Only one week until school!

Zoe xxx