her amazing blinkless eyes as I fixed my own drooping gaze at the elevator doors. Finally, they slid open and I escaped inside.
When I got on the elevator, there was someone already on I thought I recognized. At first I thought he must be a movie star or something, then I realized he was the suave elevator guy from the day of my first interview. The one who told me not to be nervous, then informed me I had lipstick on my teeth. He must have thought I was a complete bozo.
“Well, hello!” he said, recognizing me.
He was looking as dapper as he had the last time we had met, while I was sure I had that washed out after-five thing going on. My hair, not brushed since eight AM , hung in hanks around my ears, my makeup had long since faded under the fluorescent lighting, and my skirt had very pronounced sit wrinkles. I was not up to Suave Guy’s standard. Suave Guy didn’t even have a five o’clock shadow.
“So you got the job,” he said. “Congratulations.”
I felt like weeping on his shoulder. “Thanks. Never has the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ seemed more apt.”
“That’s just that new job feeling. It’ll pass when you get that first paycheck.”
Paycheck! I had forgotten all about that concept, even though it was my entire reason for being here. Now the prospect appeared to me like the light at the end of the tunnel. Or a carrot before the donkey. I was going to be paid for all this eventually. The very idea made my spine straighten.
At the ground floor, Suave Guy held the door and waited for me to exit first. (As a suave guy should.) “Good night,” he said as I stepped out.
“Good night.” I walked ahead of him out of the building and headed for the subway, feeling a little more hopeful than I had when I’d stepped onto the elevator. I needed a Suave Guy with me twenty-four hours a day. A pocket size Suave Guy.
On second thought, full size was awfully nice.
The train took forever to arrive and then managed to get stalled in a tunnel, so when I finally climbed the stairs to the apartment, it was almost seven o’clock. The door flew open and Maxwell came bounding out like a carnival performer just shot from the cannon. He quivered with energy and let out a series of yips. Finally, seeing that not even his boundless enthusiasm would hurry me along, he slapped his rump down at the top of the stairs and watched with an eagerly thumping tail as I climbed the last flight. Looking at those adorable brown eyes and those goofy folded ears, I had to smile and make a few cooing sounds.
Fleishman leaned against the doorjamb. “How’d it go?”
That was a hard question to answer, mainly because I wasn’t sure if there were enough synonyms for the word bad to encompass everything I had to explain. I crossed the threshold with the puppy in my arms and deposited him on the floor. Our apartment smelled doggy now. “Where’s Wendy?”
“Where else? Stuck in the NYU gulag.”
I collapsed onto the futon—right on top of Max. How had he jumped up so fast? He hadn’t been wasting his day, obviously. I let him crawl up on my chest and lick the bottom of my chin. I was too tired to be grossed out.
“Are you okay?”
I slit one eye open. Fleishman was bent over me, looking as one might when trying to discern whether that homeless person you just passed was actually dead or alive.
“Fine.”
“Good. How about some dinner?”
I shook my head.
“Come on, Rebecca. You have to eat.”
“No I don’t. Eating will only prolong it.”
“Prolong what?”
“My life.”
I could hear his foot tapping. My life was full of foot tappers today. “You aren’t on some kind of funky diet, are you?”
“I’m on the exhaustion diet,” I said.
“The best thing for that is to go for a walk.”
I had just enough energy left to lift my head and glare at that maniac.
He was smiling at me impatiently. So was the dog. “Maxwell and I have been cooped up all day long. We need air.”
So he had
When I got on the elevator, there was someone already on I thought I recognized. At first I thought he must be a movie star or something, then I realized he was the suave elevator guy from the day of my first interview. The one who told me not to be nervous, then informed me I had lipstick on my teeth. He must have thought I was a complete bozo.
“Well, hello!” he said, recognizing me.
He was looking as dapper as he had the last time we had met, while I was sure I had that washed out after-five thing going on. My hair, not brushed since eight AM , hung in hanks around my ears, my makeup had long since faded under the fluorescent lighting, and my skirt had very pronounced sit wrinkles. I was not up to Suave Guy’s standard. Suave Guy didn’t even have a five o’clock shadow.
“So you got the job,” he said. “Congratulations.”
I felt like weeping on his shoulder. “Thanks. Never has the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ seemed more apt.”
“That’s just that new job feeling. It’ll pass when you get that first paycheck.”
Paycheck! I had forgotten all about that concept, even though it was my entire reason for being here. Now the prospect appeared to me like the light at the end of the tunnel. Or a carrot before the donkey. I was going to be paid for all this eventually. The very idea made my spine straighten.
At the ground floor, Suave Guy held the door and waited for me to exit first. (As a suave guy should.) “Good night,” he said as I stepped out.
“Good night.” I walked ahead of him out of the building and headed for the subway, feeling a little more hopeful than I had when I’d stepped onto the elevator. I needed a Suave Guy with me twenty-four hours a day. A pocket size Suave Guy.
On second thought, full size was awfully nice.
The train took forever to arrive and then managed to get stalled in a tunnel, so when I finally climbed the stairs to the apartment, it was almost seven o’clock. The door flew open and Maxwell came bounding out like a carnival performer just shot from the cannon. He quivered with energy and let out a series of yips. Finally, seeing that not even his boundless enthusiasm would hurry me along, he slapped his rump down at the top of the stairs and watched with an eagerly thumping tail as I climbed the last flight. Looking at those adorable brown eyes and those goofy folded ears, I had to smile and make a few cooing sounds.
Fleishman leaned against the doorjamb. “How’d it go?”
That was a hard question to answer, mainly because I wasn’t sure if there were enough synonyms for the word bad to encompass everything I had to explain. I crossed the threshold with the puppy in my arms and deposited him on the floor. Our apartment smelled doggy now. “Where’s Wendy?”
“Where else? Stuck in the NYU gulag.”
I collapsed onto the futon—right on top of Max. How had he jumped up so fast? He hadn’t been wasting his day, obviously. I let him crawl up on my chest and lick the bottom of my chin. I was too tired to be grossed out.
“Are you okay?”
I slit one eye open. Fleishman was bent over me, looking as one might when trying to discern whether that homeless person you just passed was actually dead or alive.
“Fine.”
“Good. How about some dinner?”
I shook my head.
“Come on, Rebecca. You have to eat.”
“No I don’t. Eating will only prolong it.”
“Prolong what?”
“My life.”
I could hear his foot tapping. My life was full of foot tappers today. “You aren’t on some kind of funky diet, are you?”
“I’m on the exhaustion diet,” I said.
“The best thing for that is to go for a walk.”
I had just enough energy left to lift my head and glare at that maniac.
He was smiling at me impatiently. So was the dog. “Maxwell and I have been cooped up all day long. We need air.”
So he had
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