Cutting Scenes - The Fine Line

Emily O’Brien smiled languidly at this statement. “Oh, I
know what you mean. We do need to keep the area as private as we
can.”
Betty Ross sipped at her mocha and smiled imperceptibly.
“If it wasn’t for these damn insects and bugs it would be
paradise out here, you know?” Emily O’Brien said.
“Well, they were here before we were, you know!”
Emily O’Brien smiled at her neighbor and stared out the
screened-in porch. She had ascertained from her husband, who
worked with Stephen Ross at Lockheed Martin, that Betty Ross was
part Cherokee Indian, which she had considered a romantic idea
at the time, but now she wondered if the woman weren’t just a
little too strange for her taste. She was about to light a
cigarette when Betty Ross quickly interjected, “Oh, I wish you
wouldn’t—please.”
“Oh … what … you mean my cigarette?”
“Yes—and thank you very much for not smoking,” Ross
replied, smiling.
O’Brien kept the cigarette between her second and third
fingers but didn’t light it, instead crossing her legs and
leaning towards her neighbor to lower her voice, as if someone
would hear them. “Of course dear, I won’t smoke if it bothers
you. Oh Betty, by the way, could you please let me in on your
secret?”
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