The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(30)

“You usually know,” she said. The elevator dinged its arrival. Everything at the library moved at a crawl.

“Miriam has the first shift.” He wheeled his prop into the elevator. “Makes it especially strange that she’s not here yet. Given that we open in a few minutes.”

Liesl decided she hated Dan. But that might have been the hangover.

“Thanks for alerting me,” she said. “Like I told Max yesterday, I’m sure she requested vacation time from Christopher before his departure.”

“None of my business. I just shelve the books,” Dan said.

He disappeared into the elevator, and she was glad to be rid of him. It was four minutes until nine. She opened the door to her old office. The office she had tidied and closed up before her sabbatical. There was a folder of photocopied notes and pages waiting neatly on her desk. She took it with her to the reference area. Fussing over some work during a quiet reference shift would be a gift, she decided.

“What are you doing up here?” Francis asked, appearing around the corner almost as soon as she sat down at the reference desk.

“Covering for Miriam.”

“Gone again?”

“Looks like it,” she said. “I thought you might take the morning off.”

“I’d have called. I wouldn’t leave you wondering about me like that.” He walked behind the desk where she was sitting and looked over her shoulder. She could smell his laundry detergent. “What are you working on?” he asked.

She leaned back. Just a little. So that he could better see the research materials in front of her. That she was leaning into his chest was a side effect. “My book materials,” she said. Francis reached across to the open folder, and in doing so, he briefly rested his hand on hers.





8


Nearly lunch, no Miriam, and Liesl’s sweat still smelled like last night’s whiskey. Her whiskey sweat and the rest of her were expected at a press conference. She swiveled back and forth in Christopher’s desk chair, unable to focus her eyes or attention on a piece of work. The draft press release in her email said the university was kicking off a billion-dollar fundraising campaign. She’d have given a billion dollars to drag herself, whiskey sweat and all, back to bed. But she didn’t have it.

She would have to see Percy Pickens at the press conference. She would have to see other donors whose phone calls she had been so deliberately failing to return.

“Is it important that you have library representation there?” she asked the impatient secretary who had called to remind her. “The library is such a small part of the university’s overall fundraising.”

It was important, she was told, that they have library representation. She sat at her desk, at Christopher’s desk really, and opened her appointment book to look at the stack of unanswered messages but then closed it because unanswered messages are poison. She wished she had worn a nicer jacket. She wished she weren’t hungover. Noon arrived, and she walked away from the library and crossed the campus once again to go to the administration building. The sidewalks full of students were suffocating, and she felt drenched by the smell of hot dog carts and young people’s hormones. Liesl was a woman who loved the outdoors. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to Christopher’s stale, dark office. Any of these students could grow up to be a millionaire who donated money to the university and got to push Liesl around. Any of these students, all of these students, could one day be an unread phone message. She had worked at the university for decades; she had a pension. Liesl wanted her pension. And an aspirin.

There were press vans parked in front of the administration building. Local news. It was a big university, a big part of the city, talking about raising a big chunk of money. Talking about asking people to donate big chunks of their money that the university would then be responsible for.

“Liesl.” Garber spotted her as she checked in with his secretary. “You look terrible.”

“Percy Pickens,” she said. “He’s been trying to call me.”

“Have you spoken with him?”

“Not yet. We have to get on the same page about what we’re telling him.”

“The man himself!” Garber said, his face blooming into a strained smile. Liesl turned around to see Percy approaching them.

“Liesl. Have you been ill?”

Liesl paused to let the sensation of her pounding heart in her throat settle down. It didn’t.

“Good afternoon, Percy. Yes, a little under the weather today.”

Percy shook President Garber’s hand while he looked at Liesl. “You should ask Lawrence here to make you one of his revolting smoothies. Explains why my calls are going unanswered, anyway.”

“My apologies for that,” she said. Liesl swayed and looked around for something to grab onto. She rested her fingertips on a wall.

“Figured I’d be certain to see you here, though.”

“Yes, we’re very excited about the campaign.” She waited for Percy to ask if she was going to faint. He didn’t.

“There’s always lots of communication when you’re asking for my money.”

“Now, Percy,” President Garber interrupted, breaking up the duo.

“Harmless joke. Is there wine?”

“Not in front of the press,” Garber said with a cluck. “At the reception after.”