(better-looking)

and better educated? Answer: a crisp, blinding white lab coat with her name (Dr. Barbara Robinson, Ph.D.) in red script over the left breast. She could feel her authority shoring up whenever her coat settled over her shoulders, when she buttoned it all the way to the top. She kept her long hair in a braid so everyone could see her name. So the volunteers and fellows could easily spot her.

You could, Barb had thought more than once, talk people into almost anything if you were wearing one of the things. It reeked of authority. The lab coat whispered to their subconscious trust me, do your work as diligently as I do, tell me your troubles, promise to work late on Friday.

It was less effective, she thought wryly, in an Au Bon Pain.

“You want to take that off?” Dr. Bimm’s nice gay friend said to her. He’d insisted on paying, almost like it was a real date, and had bought her a bagel with lox and cream cheese, and two milks. (”Dairy is dandy,” Barb’s nutritionist mother had been fond of saying.) “So you don’t spill on it?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. Thank you for breakfast.”

Jonas gave her an odd look. “No big, Dr, Barb. You looked a little hassled.”

“Oh. Well, you know. Saturday morning at the aquarium. Always a bit of a madhouse.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t all need to be on your shoulders. I mean, you’ve got ticket takers and volunteers and stuff to worry about all that, right?”

“Well, I—yes. But the NEA is my responsibility.”

“Boy, you and Fred,” he muttered, working on his second chocolate croissant.

“Dr. Bimm is very dedicated to her work,” Barb said proudly, for she had handpicked Dr. Bimm from a pool of several dozen highly qualified candidates, and had been justified in her decision many times over.

Of course, the odd punk hair made some of the fellows nervous, and Dr. Bimm wasn’t the cheeriest employee she’d ever had, but her work was top quality and her devotion to duty was unwavering. She could think of no greater compliment to bestow upon anyone. “She is a credit to the NEA.”

“Yeah, and two guesses when she had her last date.” Jonas colored and Barb watched, puzzled, then realized Dr. Bimm’s last date—oh, no. It couldn’t have been—

“Not…Phillip?”

“Phillip,” Jonas confirmed with his mouth full, lightly spraying her with crumbs.

“That was most likely a mistake,” she admitted, taking another bite of her bagel. “But she seemed so—and we parted amicably enough—at least I did.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? Who’d be crazy enough to drop-kick somebody like you out of their marriage?”

Barb smiled, feeling a warm glow of pleasure. It was nice that Dr. Bimm’s best

(only)

friend was so nice. It was a pure crying shame he was off the heterosexual market, with that blond hair and the incredible body which, she happened to know, he honed weekly in the dojo.