Remember WENN and its characters are copyeright Rupert Holmes, AMC and Howard Meltzer prods, no infringement is intended. Any original characters are copyright Michele Savage as is the story.

Oops

by Michele Savage

Betty walked into the green room for her morning cocoa break and noticed Hilary sitting at the table with a depressed look on her face. "Good morning, Hilary," she said as she stepped to the counter. When she received no response, Betty turned slightly while making her cocoa, "You all right?"

"Hmm, oh.." Hilary spoke as if she'd just realized Betty was in the room. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little tired, I suppose." She set down the envelope she was holding and picked up her coffee, making a face when she realized it was cold.

Betty carried over the coffee pot and refilled Hilary's cup. She turned and stretched to put it back onto the hot plate. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"I slept fine." Hilary answered, picked her cup up with a 'thanks' and took a drink. "It's just that I received an invitation to the annual PRA Christmas gala tomorrow night." She took a deep breath, "I really should go as the PRAT winner, but I don't want to go alone," she admitted honestly.

"Why don't you ask Jeff." Betty suggested helpfully.

Hilary stood to diffuse an emotion she refused to identify and placed her cup in the sink. "Mister," she began a little too forcefully. Softening her response before continuing, she finished, "Singer ... has informed me that he has a date tomorrow night."

"Mmm-hmmm," Betty turned to face the other woman, "he has a date tomorrow night, like you have a husband."

"Betty..." Hilary started, not wanting to take the direction of conversation any farther.

"All right, it's dropped." Betty moved to place her own now empty cup into the sink. She set a friendly hand on Hilary's arm, "but think about it. Won't you." She smiled and walked away.

Hilary turned, "Betty," she said stopping the woman before she left the room. "Why don't you come with me. We could both use an evening without thinking of our 'male' problems."

Betty considered the thought, it would be nice to not have to think about the decision that she herself had been putting off. She smiled, "why not!"

***

The following afternoon, between shows, was spent at the dress shop three buildings down from WENN helping Betty to find "just the right dress". It was bought in the form of a sleek midnight blue floor lengthed gown with a modestly scooped neckline and white lace around the cuffs of the long sleeves.

Hilary herself splurged and bought a solid black gown with a low draped back and deep V neckline. The gown was elegantly trimmed in red and was matched with a sheer red scarf loosely tied around her neck.

The women arrived at the party and were soon greeted and comfortable in conversation with the other guests. It wasn't long before Hilary heard a voice that sent a chill down her spine. It was the last voice she wanted to hear. No, actually, the second to last voice.

"Why Miss Hilary Booth as I live and breath," Sheldon Glebe, the smarmy Master of Ceremonies for the PRAT awards, sidled up to her and draped an arm familiarly around her shoulders, "it's very lovely to be blessed with your beauty this evening."

Hilary politely smiled and removed the man's arm from her shoulders, "Yes, I'm sure it is. Now if you will excuse me..."

"You know, you still owe me that date," he winked.

"I don't owe you anything, Mr. Glebe." Hilary replied smartly, "I happened to have had a prior engagement that evening. Besides, I do not 'date' men who annoy me. If you will excuse me." Hilary walked away briskly, hoping he wouldn't follow.

Meanwhile, Betty had found solace in the company of Tess Bracken, the ex-publicist for WENN. "It's so good to see you again, Tess." Betty shook the offered hand, "I still feel terrible about having to let you go, but well, we had to cut our budget."

"Oh, don't you worry honey!" The outgoing black haired woman smiled, "happens all the time in my business. A press agent learns to follow her nose for the next big thing." The woman laughed and abruptly grabbed two glasses of champagne off the passing waiter's tray. "Here ya go honey." she chuckled and winked, "Drinks are on me."

"Oh, I don't," Betty started to refuse, "drink," but took the glass anyway as the woman's attention was suddenly aimed at another party-goer who'd just walked past. "But thanks anyway." She shrugged and took a small sip from the glass. She could be polite and what could a glass of champagne hurt anyway. it was Christmas, the world was at war, Scott and Victor are fighting over her ...come to think of it, she decided she *could* use that glass of champagne.

Betty walked around the room, smiling politely at the people she didn't know. She looked for Hilary, hoping to find *someone* she knew. Instead someone found her. She was stopped by the sound of her name, "You're Betty Roberts!" Betty turned to find a tuxedo-clad man advancing with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. She recognized him, having only seen him in passing, as the writer who'd been hired at WEEP. She put on her 'polite' smile and said hello.

The obviously tipsy man juggled the half-full glass of champagne he held into the same hand that held the bottle. He stuck out his hand, "I'm Peter Crowley. Uncle Chuck told me so much about you. You're my inspiration with all my shows."

Betty shook the man's hand, "Ohh, thank you." she politely responded, "I hope I haven't been *all* your inspiration." She'd heard his programs and they were thinly veiled copies of her own shows.

"Oh!" he laughed, "no! Uncle Chuck said I couldn't to that."

Betty laughed, rolled her eyes and took a rather large gulp from her glass.

**

Betty stared at Peter and briefly thought that it looked as though he wore a toupee. She squelched a chuckle as she imagined the man seated opposite with no hair. She took a drink and set the glass down. The man had one eyebrow. She sighed. She was bored. An hour of listening to Peter Crowley talk was much worse than being trapped in the station on a stormy evening with Mr. Foley. At least when Mr. Foley rambled, he actually went somewhere. Eventually. Betty took another drink.

She felt funny. Well, not funny really, but different. She felt as though she just didn't care. So she stood and left Mr. Peter Crowley in mid sentence. Odd. She suddenly felt like singing.

Hilary sighed as she took the fourth glass of champagne off the tray of the waiter who'd stopped to offer. What ever possessed her to come to this party? Parties of this sort were excruciatingly boring without Jeff. He always found a way to keep her laughing by poking good-natured fun at some of the stuffier attendee's behind their backs. She breathed another heavy sigh and took a drink; deciding that memory was best left alone.

Having not seen Betty for a couple hours, Hilary decided to seek her out. She'd gotten cornered by several gossip columnists who tried their best to get something out of her and lost track of the younger woman. She smiled, Scott would never forgive her if she lost Betty.

As Hilary walked near the front of the ballroom, she heard a very familiar voice. Singing. Loudly. "Oh no!" She rushed into the gathered crowd in time to hear Betty finish the last stanza of "I Gotta Sing."

The crowd applauded politely as Betty dipped into an exaggerated bow, nearly throwing herself into the lap of the hapless woman in front of her. Hilary rushed to Betty's side, steadying her. "Bettybettybetty. I can't leave you alone for a minute can I?" Hilary laughed for the crowd, then pulled Betty off to the side and out of prying eyes.

"How many glasses of champagne have you had?" Hilary asked, seating Betty at an unoccupied table.

"Only one!" Betty answered, then raised her right arm with a smile, "I swear!"

"One?" Hilary glanced at the still half full glass that Betty clutched. "How many times was that glass refilled?"

Betty looked at Hilary as if she knew better than to ask such a dumb question, "It hasn't been empty, Hilary, why would I need it refilled?"

Hilary gave a frustrated laugh, "Okay." Great, she thought, obviously someone has been topping off her glass and we have no idea how much she's had. Scott's going to kill me for this. Hilary took a gulp out of her own glass and smiled back at Betty, who was now balancing a spoon between her nose and upper lip.

"Maybe we should just trade." Betty abruptly said, the spoon falling forgotten to the table.

"What?"

"That would solve our problems. I'll take Jeff and you take Scott."

"Scott?"

Betty caught herself, "I mean, or Victor."

Hilary smiled at the slip. "Betty dear, trading our problems would not solve them. It will only make them," Hilary thought for the proper word, "more confusing."

"I could live with confusing, I'm used to confusing," Betty said quickly, "I work at WENN." Betty nodded very assuredly, and took another drink from her glass. When Hilary reached to take the glass from her, Betty objected. "Nope, I said I could have one glass, so I'm going to finish my one glass. You know, these glasses are a lot deeper than they look."

Hilary just smiled and carefully watched so that no one would refill

Betty's drink.

***

Hilary jumped as suddenly Betty grabbed her arm and squeaked, "Oh no! Hide!"

"Hide?" Hilary looked around and saw no one she knew. She looked back at Betty, who was no longer in her chair. "Wha-?" she felt something brush against her leg. She bent and looked under the table. "Who?"

"Peter Crowley!" Betty reached and grabbed Hilary's arm and pulled her out of the chair.

"Ooow," Hilary protested as her head banged against the edge of the table on the way under, "Betty!" She yanked her arm from Betty's grasp, "WHY are we under the table?!"

"I din'want Peter Crowley to see me!"

"Who is Peter Crowley!" Hilary asked, her confusion frustrating her.

Betty sat on her legs as best she could beneath the table, "Only the most bo-oring man I've ever met." She scooted closer to Hilary, "he's the writer for WEEP and he's *terrible*!"

"Oh. Takes one to know one." Hilary deadpanned.

"Hilary!"

"I'm kidding." Hilary smiled. "Why are we hiding from this man? Or is he another man on your list of men to choose from?"

Betty huffed and glared, "and you have room to talk!"

"Me? I've only got one man fighting over me."

"Why don't you give in already," Betty suggested, "Your being stubborn isn't doing anyone any good. Especially you and Jeff."

"Betty," Hilary snapped, then paused to think. "If we're going to have this conversation, I need a drink." She crawled out from under the table, grabbed both their glasses off the top and motioned for a waiter. When he approached, she took the bottle off his tray with a "thank you." She ducked and handed Betty her glass, then looked around to make sure no one was watching. When she saw no eyes directed at her, she crouched and scooted back under the table. She smiled, filled her glass and topped off Betty's. "Cheers."

Hilary took a large gulp, "Betty, you want my advice on men? Stay single."

"How do I choose?" Betty asked, then took a sip from her own glass, "I mean, I care for them both."

"Which one of them do you love?"

Betty scrunched her nose, "What *is* love?"

"Betty dear, don't get dramatic, I'm the actress here." Hilary reminded. "And please don't get philosophical. I've had too much to drink."

"Which one do you think I should choose?" Betty asked.

"The mail man." Hilary chuckled and took a drink.

"The mail man is not my type." Betty retorted, "and I'm serious. I really need help."

"Any woman in love with Scott Sherwood needs help."

"Hilary..."

"I mean, or Victor." Hilary smiled and took a drink. At the annoyed look on Betty's face, she quit joking. "OK, which of the two of them do you enjoy being with the most?"

"I enjoy being with both of them." Betty sat, crossed legged and drank as she thought. "But they're both so different, like apples and oranges."

"Which one makes you feel alive?" Hilary filled their glasses again. At Betty's thoughtfully confused look, Hilary continued. "For the sake of argument, which would be the apple and which the orange?"

Betty started laughing.

"I'm serious!" Hilary said, with a chuckle of her own. "OK, lets look at the fruits involved. Apples are the same every time, sometimes they get gritty when they're over ripe."

Betty made a face, "I hate gritty apples."

"And oranges are unpredictable." Hilary continued as if Betty hadn't said a word. "Oranges sometimes taste sweet or sour, sometimes they're juicy and sometimes dry. But no matter the flavor or texture, you can still depend on them to be good."

"So what kind of fruit is Jeff?" Betty asked.

"Sour grapes!" Hilary snapped quickly.

"We are talking about apples and oranges," Betty reminded.

Hilary sighed and drained her glass, "well ... he's an orange."

"Hmm," Betty held out her glass when Hilary refilled it as well as her own. "Scott's probably an orange too."

"So which fruit do you like better?" Hilary asked again. "tell me the *first* answer that comes to mind without thinking."

Betty took a long drink and watched Hilary watch her for a moment. She took a deep breath.

"Strawberries."

Then she burst out laughing as did Hilary.

Hilary took a deep breath, "Never underestimate the value of an evening with strawberries and just a dash of cream." She winked and took another drink.

"Hilary, we are not talking about your...your ...well, you know." Betty whispered.

Hilary smiled and wrapped an arm around Betty's shoulder, "Bettybettybetty. I'd elaborate but you are just so ... Betty."

"Can we get back to my problems here?" Betty finally asked in a frustrated tone.

Hilary sat back, then moved to sit cross-legged as it was more comfortable. "Betty your problem is that you have no problem. You know who you love and you're afraid to tell Victor."

"Or Scott!" Betty snapped quickly.

"The longer you go without telling the other, the harder it will be for you and the worse it will be on them."

Betty took a deep thoughtful breath. "Hand me that bottle."

"I thought you were only having one glass." Hilary reminded with a chuckle.

"Who am I kidding." Betty smiled and filled her glass.

Hilary watched as Betty nursed the full glass, her mind obviously thinking. "Betty, look at me." Hilary waited until Betty's trouble filled brown eyes met hers. "You know your choice, don't you." Betty lowered her gaze, the movement alone telling Hilary the answer. She watched Betty take a rather generous swallow from the glass. "Betty? If you admit it to me, you'll also admit it to yourself."

Betty met Hilary's eyes with a challenge. "If I tell you who I picked, you tell Jeff you aren't really married. Forgive him and get on with your lives." When Hilary hesitated, Betty stuck out her hand, "Deal?"

"It's more complicated than that." Hilary quickly said.

"One man is more complicated than two?"

"You've never lived with Jeffrey."

"Funny, he says the same thing about you."

Hilary growled and took another drink, this time from the bottle.

"Do you love him?" Betty asked. When Hilary ignored her, Betty took the bottle and then grabbed Hilary's hand. "You are the most stubborn.. I thought *I* was stubborn," she scooted out from under the table dragging Hilary with her. As she dragged Hilary across the room, she continued, "I thought Scott was stubborn! But no! You are the single most stubborn person I have ever met."

"Betty," Hilary tried to pull her wrist out from Betty's grip, "Betty ... let... go." When she saw where they were headed, she strengthened her struggles. "Betty, I mean it."

With a rather satisfied for herself grin, Betty stopped in front of Jeff, who she'd seen earlier talking to Tess. She turned to Hilary, "Now talk."

"Betty," Hilary seethed, "see if I ever read your scripts again."

Betty smiled, "wouldn't be much of a change would it?" She looked at Jeff who's look of comical confusion nearly was her undoing. "Hi Jeff, Hilary has something to tell you." She handed Hilary the bottle she still held. "You might need this." She glanced again at Jeff. "Bye Jeff."

"Do I want to know?" Jeff asked with an amused look on his face.

"She's drunk!" Hilary threw as an explanation.

Jeff took the bottle, "Oh yeah ... I see that. How much of this bottle have you drunk." The comment earned him a glare as she abruptly took the bottle away from him.

"Not quite enough."

He took Hilary's arm and guided her outside in the cold crisp air. "Betty said you wanted to talk? Is it about your husband?"

Hilary jerked out of Jeff's grip and walked a few paces in front of him. She felt him put his suit-coat over her shoulders and hugged into the warmth. "I don't have a husband." She sighed and turned slightly, meeting his gaze, "though I often wish I did."

"Was that a proposal?" Jeff asked seriously, "and will it be conveniently forgotten in the morning when you sober up?"

"Yes," she smiled, "and no."

OK, then I will answer your proposal," Jeff returned her smile, "in the morning."

The Next Morning...

Scott walked into the green room, loudly, and plopped an ice pack onto Betty's forehead. From approximately six inches above her head. "Good Morning, Betty Roberts!"

"You're doing this on purpose," Betty groaned.

He smiled and leaned over her, "You bet your sweet brown eyes I am." He walked toward the sink, "Why I heard you were the star of the evening!"

Betty sat, "Who told you that?"

"Mrs. Mellon told me that Betty. It was her lap you nearly bowed into, we'll be lucky if she doesn't pull her sponsorship."

"Scott, I didn't have too much to drink on purpose ... well, until later."

"I know. Hilary explained everything to me ... after I threatened to reveal her age to the listening public." Scott laughed at himself. "I don't think I've ever seen Hilary talk so fast."

Betty sat straight, "What else did she say?"

"Nothing Betty," Scott said honestly as he sat in the chair opposite her, "She just told me that someone kept topping off your glass without you realizing it."

Betty visibly relaxed, "yeah, that's about the size of it."

Hilary and Jeff entered the green room laughing at a shared joke. Hilary lay a comforting hand on Betty's shoulder. "The headache usually goes away when Scott leaves the room." She winked and grabbed her coat off the rack, then slipped out of the door again.

"Hey wait," Scott stood and stopped Jeff just before he was able to follow Hilary out, "where you going? You're supposed to be on the air in ten minutes."

"We're getting remarried."

"You can't do that now, who's going to do Bedside Manor?"

Jeff clapped Scott on the shoulder, "Scott...Hilary proposed to me. This is HER idea. I'm going to hold her to it before she changes her mind!" With that, he left the room.

"Oh great." Scott slumped into the chair he was nearest.

"You and I could do Bedside Manor," Betty tentatively suggested.

Scott looked at the serious look on her face and realized the double meaning in her statement. "Betty are you saying what I think you are saying?"

"Well, Hilary held up her end of the deal. Guess I should too."

"Deal?" Scott wondered.

Betty took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "I chose you." she whispered almost hoping Scott wouldn't hear.

"BettyBettyBetty, you've just made me the happiest man alive." He pulled her into a bear hug, the ice bag falling from her forehead.

"Scott?"

"Yes, Betty?" He asked and stopped twirling her.

"I need an aspirin."

The End!!