the store selling table fans? What did that have to do with food? Why did they have such a limited selection of salt and pepper shakers? Wouldn’t salt and pepper shakers be a relatively cheap item to keep in stock? Couldn’t they carry some whimsical designs? Most of the salt and pepper shakers for sale here resembled the boring shakers found on the tables in greasy-spoon diners.
She reached the staff-only door at the rear of the kitchenware department, used her key to unlock it and took the private stairs to the third floor. A kind of calm ruled on this floor, due mostly to the absence of clutter. A hall wide enough to double as a reception area was lined with offices, many ofwhich had their doors open so people could scream back and forth to one another without leaving their desks. “Who stole my Seder-in-a-Box layouts?” Uncle Jay hollered from the depths of his office.
“Nobody stole them.” Julia’s mother’s voice emerged through another open doorway. “Besides which, isn’t it a little late to be promoting the Seder-in-a-Box?”
“The Seder catalogs are already out, Sondra.” Jay’s disembodied voice slithered through the hall. “What am I, an idiot?”
“You want me to answer that?” Sondra’s voice shot back.
“I need the Seder-in-a-Box photos to load onto the Web site. Believe it or not, some people order their seders at the last minute. That’s what we have a Web site for.”
“I thought we had a Web site to keep you busy,” Sondra muttered. Julia could hear her—and she hoped Uncle Jay couldn’t.
She stepped into her mother’s office, which was separated from her father’s old office by a narrow room occupied by Deirdre, her father’s tall, svelte secretary. Julia had always been fascinated by Deirdre, partly because of her height, her freckles and her intriguing overbite, and partly because the woman seemed so utterly competent. When Julia was a child, doing her homework or crayoning pictures in a coloring book on Grandpa Isaac’s old desk in her father’s office, all her father would have to do was shout “Deirdre!” through his open door, and the woman would instantly materialize, holding whatever papers he needed, supplying whatever information he was looking for, assuring him that she’d taken care of anything he could possibly have wanted taken care of. Julia was in awe of her.
She entered her mother’s office. “What’s a Seder-in-a-Box?” she asked.
Her mother spun in her swivel chair and leaped to her feet. “You’re here!” Excitement and relief energized her muted voice. “Go to Dad’s office. I’ll be right there.”
Sondra seemed agitated enough that Julia decided not to argue. She could get her questions answered later; for now, she should position herself in her father’s office—which was actually her office now. And maybe, while she was waiting for her mother to join her and explain Bloom’s from A to Z, she could get a little work done on those alimony files.
With a nod, she left her mother, tiptoed past Deirdre’s office and entered the corner office. The vertical blinds were adjusted to let in as much natural light as possible, and in the stripes of sunlight Julia could see specks of dust dancing in the air. The carpet was nearly bald in spots—her childhood memories of this office had included a carpet as thick and soft as plush velvet, but that had been years ago. To be sure, she’d remembered everything as being bigger than it actually was. Her father’s desk was smaller than her desk at Griffin, McDougal, and her grandfather’s idle desk in the corner looked old and forlorn, the varnish eroded and the top surface slightly warped. Tiny cracks laced the leather of the sofa, and the chair behind the desk seemed to list to starboard.
So much for the exalted position of president. Maybe Grandma Ida had named Julia president because she didn’t want any of her other loved ones to have to work in this seedy, dreary room.
Julia crossed
She reached the staff-only door at the rear of the kitchenware department, used her key to unlock it and took the private stairs to the third floor. A kind of calm ruled on this floor, due mostly to the absence of clutter. A hall wide enough to double as a reception area was lined with offices, many ofwhich had their doors open so people could scream back and forth to one another without leaving their desks. “Who stole my Seder-in-a-Box layouts?” Uncle Jay hollered from the depths of his office.
“Nobody stole them.” Julia’s mother’s voice emerged through another open doorway. “Besides which, isn’t it a little late to be promoting the Seder-in-a-Box?”
“The Seder catalogs are already out, Sondra.” Jay’s disembodied voice slithered through the hall. “What am I, an idiot?”
“You want me to answer that?” Sondra’s voice shot back.
“I need the Seder-in-a-Box photos to load onto the Web site. Believe it or not, some people order their seders at the last minute. That’s what we have a Web site for.”
“I thought we had a Web site to keep you busy,” Sondra muttered. Julia could hear her—and she hoped Uncle Jay couldn’t.
She stepped into her mother’s office, which was separated from her father’s old office by a narrow room occupied by Deirdre, her father’s tall, svelte secretary. Julia had always been fascinated by Deirdre, partly because of her height, her freckles and her intriguing overbite, and partly because the woman seemed so utterly competent. When Julia was a child, doing her homework or crayoning pictures in a coloring book on Grandpa Isaac’s old desk in her father’s office, all her father would have to do was shout “Deirdre!” through his open door, and the woman would instantly materialize, holding whatever papers he needed, supplying whatever information he was looking for, assuring him that she’d taken care of anything he could possibly have wanted taken care of. Julia was in awe of her.
She entered her mother’s office. “What’s a Seder-in-a-Box?” she asked.
Her mother spun in her swivel chair and leaped to her feet. “You’re here!” Excitement and relief energized her muted voice. “Go to Dad’s office. I’ll be right there.”
Sondra seemed agitated enough that Julia decided not to argue. She could get her questions answered later; for now, she should position herself in her father’s office—which was actually her office now. And maybe, while she was waiting for her mother to join her and explain Bloom’s from A to Z, she could get a little work done on those alimony files.
With a nod, she left her mother, tiptoed past Deirdre’s office and entered the corner office. The vertical blinds were adjusted to let in as much natural light as possible, and in the stripes of sunlight Julia could see specks of dust dancing in the air. The carpet was nearly bald in spots—her childhood memories of this office had included a carpet as thick and soft as plush velvet, but that had been years ago. To be sure, she’d remembered everything as being bigger than it actually was. Her father’s desk was smaller than her desk at Griffin, McDougal, and her grandfather’s idle desk in the corner looked old and forlorn, the varnish eroded and the top surface slightly warped. Tiny cracks laced the leather of the sofa, and the chair behind the desk seemed to list to starboard.
So much for the exalted position of president. Maybe Grandma Ida had named Julia president because she didn’t want any of her other loved ones to have to work in this seedy, dreary room.
Julia crossed
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