The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(94)

She was marking up a Christie’s catalog with a fine-tipped mechanical pencil when President Garber’s shadow fell over her. She recognized him by the chrome bicycle helmet dangling from his hand by its leather strap.

“Liesl,” he said. “Why on earth are you working in here?”

“I’m reading,” she said. “It’s a reading room.”

“You’re responsible for this library, and no one can find you.” He did not speak quietly, and it was a library. The reading room supervisor looked up, trying to catch Liesl’s eye.

“Not so. The staff all know exactly where I am.” She smiled when she said it.

“I expected you to be in your office.”

“If I’d been expecting you, I would have told you otherwise.”

“I didn’t realize I was required to make an appointment.”

The reading room supervisor and the handful of readers were trying their best to pretend to ignore the exchange—necks bent, pencils moving furiously—but the tension was out in the open for all to see.

“I’m responsible for this library. Wouldn’t you hope that a person in my position is keeping busy?”

“I came to take you to lunch, not to suffer one of your moods.”

“All right. Let’s go to lunch.”

John had made pizza the night before. It had sausage from their favorite butcher, rapini, chili oil, and a luscious dough that John made by hand. The leftovers were in the refrigerator of the lunchroom, and she’d been thinking about cold rapini-and-sausage pizza all morning. The day was cold and sunny, and Liesl glanced down at the bicycle helmet often as they made their way outside. It wasn’t clear if she would be expected to jog alongside him while they made their way to the restaurant. It was just absurd enough to be possible. He led her right past the bike racks and around the corner past the zoological building, by which point she knew exactly where they were going. They gave their coats to the ma?tre d’ of the Faculty Club. Garber didn’t wait to be seated. He made his way over to the corner table of the robin’s-egg-blue room. Staff in black coats scurried to bring them warm rolls and cool water.

“Don’t we need menus?” Liesl asked.

“I always get the same thing,” Garber said. “Are you looking to try something new?”

“I’m not sure,” Liesl said. “I don’t often eat here.”

“It’s the Faculty Club. Where do you eat if not here?”

“The campus isn’t lacking for lunch options,” Liesl said.

A menu appeared before her. There was meat and more meat and a couple of half-hearted attempts at salads.

“Bring me the usual,” Garber said.

“A Ni?oise salad, please,” Liesl said.

Garber tore open a roll and smeared it with butter. He ate loudly, like someone who felt entitled to take up a lot of space. Liesl’s Ni?oise salad had been listed at thirty-eight dollars on the menu, and it wasn’t as though she couldn’t afford a thirty-eight-dollar salad, but she objected to it on general principle. The whispered conversations of men in gray suits bounced around the high ceiling of the club.

Their plates were delivered only minutes after they ordered, no doubt a nod to her high-ranking dining companion. Garber’s usual was plain steamed fish and vegetables. Liesl’s salad included one small piece of potato and only a quarter of an egg. What did they do with the other seventy-five percent of the egg, she wondered.

“It’s yours, Liesl,” Garber said. “The library is yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Liesl said. “Mine in what sense?”

“I’m appointing you chief.”

“I’m set to retire,” Liesl said. “Those plans haven’t changed.”

Garber took a bite of his fish before continuing.

“Where do you take donors if not the Faculty Club? That will need to change once your term starts.”

“I take them to a local restaurant,” Liesl said.

“That’s charming, but they don’t write us checks so they can eat dinner next to an undergraduate.”

“Did you hear when I said I was retiring?”

“I’m offering you a leadership position. The chance for more thrilling discoveries in auction catalogs and special presentations on the news all about how clever you are. Control of the acquisitions budget. You’d be the first woman in the library’s history. Surely your knitting group can wait.”

“I’ve never been much for knitting,” Liesl said. “Despite what you’ve assumed about me.”

“Well then, you have lots of free time. You’ll take the role.”

“I have no desire for a leadership position,” Liesl said. She was mostly telling the truth; she had spent plenty of time thinking about having the reins to the acquisitions budget and the ability to set new coordinates for the team and all the library’s resources. She’d tried on the leader’s clothes and found they fit, found that her instincts were sharp when she got to follow them.

“Fine. You don’t want the role,” Garber said. “But think of what the library needs.” He smacked his lips and waited for her to respond. But Liesl, to her credit, wanted more for the library than someone who could be as good a leader as Christopher. She didn’t want to get the leader’s clothes pressed and ready for their next wear; she wanted to toss them in the bin and install someone who wore leadership as an altogether different color. At the same time, Liesl, here eating a thirty-eight-dollar salad with President Garber, planned on making one last move while the leader’s clothes still hung on her body, while Garber sat across from her and saw how well they’d been tailored.