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Authors: Sarah Strohmeyer
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turn on my cell and Janice isn’t here today.”
Janice was the Emerly Economics Department secretary. Her absence was a plausible excuse for why he hadn’t picked up his office phone. “Good!”
“Good?” He chuckled. “You’re glad you couldn’t reach me?”
“No, it’s just that I thought you were doing the avoiding-the-ball-and-chain thing.”
“Why would I do that? Unless . . . oh, god.” He pretended to sound devastated. “Tell me you don’t want me to do a bunch of Saturday errands.”
“Just one.” I smiled to myself, so relieved he hadn’t been avoiding me after all. All those worries about him having an affair with Bree—pure rubbish, I was sure.
“Okay,” he said,“I’ve got my spreadsheet up. Give me just this one errand ’cause I know it’ll turn into twenty.”
He was so jovial, I didn’t have the heart to bring up the condom wrappers. “First, stop at Marksom’s Jewelry. There’s a lovely antique opal ring I’ve had my eye on that you might want to check out.”
“Now, why would I be in the market for a ring? It’s not some special occasion, is it? Wait. Is it your birthday?”
“Cute. You know what day it is tomorrow.”
“Oh, tomorrow . See, now, that’s a different day altogether. Wait. Don’t tell me. I remember. It’s our dog’s birthday. But, then, shouldn’t I be getting him the antique ring?”
I pictured Jasper with a ring on his paw and laughed. Big mistake.
In a flash, the door flew open and there was Chloe glaring like an angry gargoyle. “Do you have a price sheet on travertine? The Perottas are thinking of it for their master bath.”
“Okay.”
In my ear, Griff was softly singing an off-tune version of “Ding, Dong! The Witch Is Dead,” from The Wizard of Oz .
Chloe didn’t budge. “Actually, I’d like it now.”
She wanted to watch me hang up the phone. She wanted to see me depress the power button and see me cringe in disappointment and embarrassment.
Instead, I said,“Hold on a minute,” put down the phone—thankful for more than one reason that Griff had stopped singing—and reached into my drawer for the file on tiles, realizing with dismay that I’d totally forgotten about Madeleine on the other line.
Chloe thrust out her hand. “I’m afraid it’s a rush. The Perottas have to leave by one.”
I riffled past marble and granite, ceramic, porcelain, and limestone. No travertine. Crap. I eyed my phone. If only she’d go back to her office like a normal person so I could say good-bye to Griff and ask Madeleine if I could call back later. But, no. She insisted on standing there like a prison guard, being no help whatsoever as I fumbled through flooring tiles and then wall tiles, finally finding the damned sheet on travertine when I got to countertops.
“There.” I gave her the sheet.
“I need a few copies. At least three.”
No you don’t , I thought, pushing back my chair and turning on the copier, waiting for it to slowly warm up as my phone just lay there.
“Do you mind . . . ,” I asked, my fingers walking toward it.
“Is it Griff?” She folded her arms. “He’ll understand. That is . . . if it’s Griff.”
How did she do that? It was as though she just knew I’d been up to no good, like she had a sixth sense or something. At last the copies were done and, satisfied she’d ruined my personal fun, Chloe went back to the Perottas. This time she closed the door quietly in celebration of her subtle victory.
Griff was off. So was Madeleine, understandably. When I dialed her back she acted distracted and said she couldn’t talk at the moment. Now was not a good time.
I’d blown it. And I’d been so close. Slumping back into my seat, defeated, I debated what to do and ended up sending her a quick email apologizing for putting her on hold and explaining as tactfully as possible why I hadn’t been able to talk.
I also included the information about her house I’d researched, along with a rough estimate
Janice was the Emerly Economics Department secretary. Her absence was a plausible excuse for why he hadn’t picked up his office phone. “Good!”
“Good?” He chuckled. “You’re glad you couldn’t reach me?”
“No, it’s just that I thought you were doing the avoiding-the-ball-and-chain thing.”
“Why would I do that? Unless . . . oh, god.” He pretended to sound devastated. “Tell me you don’t want me to do a bunch of Saturday errands.”
“Just one.” I smiled to myself, so relieved he hadn’t been avoiding me after all. All those worries about him having an affair with Bree—pure rubbish, I was sure.
“Okay,” he said,“I’ve got my spreadsheet up. Give me just this one errand ’cause I know it’ll turn into twenty.”
He was so jovial, I didn’t have the heart to bring up the condom wrappers. “First, stop at Marksom’s Jewelry. There’s a lovely antique opal ring I’ve had my eye on that you might want to check out.”
“Now, why would I be in the market for a ring? It’s not some special occasion, is it? Wait. Is it your birthday?”
“Cute. You know what day it is tomorrow.”
“Oh, tomorrow . See, now, that’s a different day altogether. Wait. Don’t tell me. I remember. It’s our dog’s birthday. But, then, shouldn’t I be getting him the antique ring?”
I pictured Jasper with a ring on his paw and laughed. Big mistake.
In a flash, the door flew open and there was Chloe glaring like an angry gargoyle. “Do you have a price sheet on travertine? The Perottas are thinking of it for their master bath.”
“Okay.”
In my ear, Griff was softly singing an off-tune version of “Ding, Dong! The Witch Is Dead,” from The Wizard of Oz .
Chloe didn’t budge. “Actually, I’d like it now.”
She wanted to watch me hang up the phone. She wanted to see me depress the power button and see me cringe in disappointment and embarrassment.
Instead, I said,“Hold on a minute,” put down the phone—thankful for more than one reason that Griff had stopped singing—and reached into my drawer for the file on tiles, realizing with dismay that I’d totally forgotten about Madeleine on the other line.
Chloe thrust out her hand. “I’m afraid it’s a rush. The Perottas have to leave by one.”
I riffled past marble and granite, ceramic, porcelain, and limestone. No travertine. Crap. I eyed my phone. If only she’d go back to her office like a normal person so I could say good-bye to Griff and ask Madeleine if I could call back later. But, no. She insisted on standing there like a prison guard, being no help whatsoever as I fumbled through flooring tiles and then wall tiles, finally finding the damned sheet on travertine when I got to countertops.
“There.” I gave her the sheet.
“I need a few copies. At least three.”
No you don’t , I thought, pushing back my chair and turning on the copier, waiting for it to slowly warm up as my phone just lay there.
“Do you mind . . . ,” I asked, my fingers walking toward it.
“Is it Griff?” She folded her arms. “He’ll understand. That is . . . if it’s Griff.”
How did she do that? It was as though she just knew I’d been up to no good, like she had a sixth sense or something. At last the copies were done and, satisfied she’d ruined my personal fun, Chloe went back to the Perottas. This time she closed the door quietly in celebration of her subtle victory.
Griff was off. So was Madeleine, understandably. When I dialed her back she acted distracted and said she couldn’t talk at the moment. Now was not a good time.
I’d blown it. And I’d been so close. Slumping back into my seat, defeated, I debated what to do and ended up sending her a quick email apologizing for putting her on hold and explaining as tactfully as possible why I hadn’t been able to talk.
I also included the information about her house I’d researched, along with a rough estimate
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