Darby and Fluffy went back to the studio while I hoped and prayed Betty Foxx was the assistant of my dreams. I set out her application and the bottle of antibacterial hand sanitizer on the counter. I arranged a couple of chairs in the back of the shop by the coffee bar. As I straightened stools behind the counter, the door opened. “Is anyone here?” An older female voice rang out. I turned toward the door. “Hello, can I help . . .” Holy Moly. I didn’t mean to be unkind, but my first thought was please, please, please don’t be Betty. “Hi, there. Are you Melody? I’m Betty Foxx.” Of course she was. She stood barely five feet in her white sneakers and silk, animal-print pajamas. She radiated attitude with her Dreamsicle lipstick eyebrows. Oh, yeah. I was longing for Vera White right now. “Let’s get this over with,” I muttered under my breath. “I’m Melinda. Melinda Langston. Have a seat. Did you bring a résumé?” She followed me toward the two chairs I’d set up earlier.
