The Big Dream by Rebecca Rosenblum Page A

questions, that Rae herself was not responsible for questions. Then Luddock pointed at the inner wall.

    â€œNot far at all. Right next door. Just sit still and ask. She’ll hear you.” Luddock winked, and disappeared down the aisle.
    Andy dropped all her things and opened the cupboard. “Lots of Quark manuals.”
    â€œDon’t worry, we don’t really use a lot of the weird features here.”
    â€œWeird features? I’ve not worked with it at all really.”
    â€œOh.”
    Rae left her reading the first page of the manufacturer’s guide. Without Quark, the job pretty much didn’t exist.
    When she got to her desk, Rae had 19 emails. She didn’t touch her voicemail.

    12:55. Rae was re-ordering Mallick’s list of corrupted files, missing her good mouse. A rustle, then: “Rae? Um, for lunch? Is there a caf?”
    â€œA lunchroom.”
    She could see the mouse, wedged between wall and desk. She just couldn’t reach it. “Down in the basement.”
    â€œOh, good.”
    â€œNot really.” Rae kicked off her left shoe, stretched her foot up under the desk.
    â€œI don’t mind. I brought a sandwich.”
    â€œIt’s the . . . atmosphere.”
    â€œI have a spot.” Hamid’s voice over the wall. “And I can spare fifteen. Then I gotta razor this frickin’ sailing spread.”
    Rae felt her nylon snag under the desk. “Andy, this is Hamid. He does our more complex Photoshop stuff.”
    â€œThat’s cool. I used Photoshop once, to make a collage of wedding cakes.”
    Rae stuffed her foot into her shoe. “Have a good lunch, guys.” She touched her spacebar and the cosmos dispersed.
    Andy’s voice: “Couldn’t we just . . . all go together?”

    Rae thought about the blaze-red voicemail light, Amelia’s unsorted files. She also thought about the meals she ate alone – most of them now. Every weeknight she put everything from the pot or pan or takeout tub onto her own plate. Every weekday she ate all the toast that popped out of the toaster. When the children came on Saturday, she was weakened to the point of pizza out of the box, red Gatorade, ice cream, all in front of the TV. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll come.”

    It was more than an hour before Rae could log out. She took a fork from her F folder, went to Hamid’s cube, and muttered, “Lunch!”
    â€œShe used Photoshop once ? You better show her some tutorials,” he whispered.
    â€œI am not training her. That’s not my job.”
    â€œJust today.”
    â€œNo. They imprint, like baby geese. Scared new juniors, you show them how to do one thing, they think you’re their mother, follow you around. I don’t have time.”
    â€œThat’s a fascinating theory, Rae.”
    That’s how it was with you was another thing she thought to say but didn’t.
    In Andy’s cube, all the Quark manuals were open, bathed in the glow of a fishbowl screensaver. Andy knelt on the desk tacking up photos of a blond boy on skis.
    â€œHow’s it going?”
    Andy twisted. Her hair was down now. “This is my boyfriend? Topher?”
    â€œTomorrow Ursula will be here. She’ll give you . . . something to do.”
    â€œI’m looking forward to it. Topher skis competitively? And he works in a bank?”
    â€œRight. You want to go for lunch now?”

    â€œSure.” Andy slid off the desk.
    Rae turned towards the kitchen. She didn’t check to see if Andy followed. She heard what was probably her own phone ringing. Her ring on its chain bounced hard off her sternum, catching the inside of her buttons.
    Hamid came and led them to the fridge, then the stairs, the fire door. It was hot outside. They started across the parking lot.
    â€œSo, wedding cakes,” Hamid said.
    â€œI like wedding cakes.”
    â€œDifficult to light molded sugar. Very matte, and then