* * * *
“You can come out now. It’s safe, he’s gone.”
Darla clearly intended irony, but Bette had a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that if Paul Monroe had stuck around, she wouldn’t have been safe.
“I don’t know why you don’t just go out and have some fun with the guy.”
“I told you I—”
“Have a schedule to keep.” Darla completed the sentence in unison with her.
Bette frowned. “Besides, Darla, you were the one saying just a few days ago that all Paul Monroe looked fit for was funny business.”
“I didn’t say that’s all he was fit for, unless you include certain other activities under the heading of funny business.” Heat swept into Bette’s cheeks, more in memory than embarrassment. “A woman would have to be blind to miss that man’s potential in that area, and I may be married, but I’m not blind. Besides,” Darla added with a pugnacious tilt to her chin, “I’ve never seen anyone in more need of funny business than you.”
“Really, Darla, I—”
“Really, Bette,” she mimicked. “You work too hard. You schedule your life down to the minute and you don’t leave any time for fun.”
“That’s not true. How about this weekend? I’m going on a trip—”
“Only because your mother made you feel guilty when you first said you couldn’t go.” True, but Bette wasn’t about to admit it out loud. “And if you can look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t already packed three days’ worth of work and arranged a couple business meetings up in Minnesota, I’ll eat my hat. Better yet, I’ll promise to keep quiet about the whole matter.”
Bette said nothing. Did the Fifth Amendment hold in dealing with scolding assistants?
“Humph.” Darla produced a sound somewhere between disgust and triumph. “All I have to say, young woman, is you better start penciling in time on that schedule of yours for exactly the kind of funny business Paul Monroe can provide, or you’re going to be old before your time.”
Darla opened the door, then added a parting shot over her shoulder. “And while you’re at it, schedule in some hanky-panky, too.”