Читать книгу Wish Upon a Star - Olivia Goldsmith - Страница 11

The next day the women were sitting, as usual, at lunch and gossiping the usual gossip – the television of the night before, or the latest movie – when Tina came charging into the room all excited. ‘You’re not going to believe what just happened!’ She looked around the table to make sure she had everyone’s attention. ‘A minute ago, Katherine walks right past me into his office. I mean, I try to stop her but it’s like I’m totally invisible. He’s on the phone, but when he sees her, he’s like “gotta go”. Once he hangs up she says, “I don’t know who you think you are but I’m sure as hell not who you think I am!”’

‘She goes!’ said Marie One.

Tina nodded. ‘She goes, but she ain’t goin’.’

‘Goin’ where?’ Michelle asked.

‘To London. She blew the trip.’

‘No shit,’ Marie Two said. Then she paused. ‘Did she tell him to stuff the trip up his ass or did he tell her that?’

‘No ass-stuffing was involved,’ Tina sniffed. ‘They didn’t swear once. She called him “a narcissistic self-parody” and he …’ she narrowed her eyes as if trying to remember Mr Not-So-Wonderful’s exact phraseology. ‘I think he asked her to keep her psychological profiles to herself until he requested one. Then Michael came out to me and ordered me to hold the second airline ticket.’

Then without a beat, Tina moved on to drop a new conversational grenade about a confrontation – almost a scene – in the outer office, between two of the other traders.

‘Well, I think a “go fuck yourself” wouldn’t have been inappropriate,’ Michelle said. Just then Abigail Samuels walked in, in time to hear the vulgarity. Claire hung her head. She was in the company of these people and surely perceived as one of them by everyone but herself. Still, she wished she hadn’t been there when the remote, educated Abigail – who was probably a virgin – heard the conversation.

Abigail, however, moved serenely by them to the refrigerator, took out a yogurt and turned to go. At the door, as a kind of after-thought, she turned back to the now-silent group. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Would you be free to photocopy some important documents for me?’

Every eye at the table turned from Abigail Samuels to Claire. Claire looked first to Abigail, then to Joan. Joan shrugged and nodded. ‘She can do it,’ Joan said.

‘We know she can,’ Abigail Samuels said, and Claire, most probably, was the only one who realized Joan’s grammar was being corrected. ‘The question I asked was if she was available.’

‘She’s available,’ Joan said after a moment’s pause. Claire stood up and wordlessly followed Abigail out of the lunch room.

They were along the row of executive offices, almost to Michael Wainwright’s, when Abigail turned to Claire. ‘You seem like a girl who keeps herself to herself,’ she said. ‘This is a job that I want to be kept exactly where it belongs.’

Claire nodded, and Abigail seemed to feel that was enough. They reached her office outside of Mr Crayden’s. ‘You’ll use the photocopier in the executive supply room.’ She lifted a pile of documents and handed them to Claire. ‘I’d prefer you don’t read them, but I don’t insist.’

Claire was shown through a door she had never noticed. The room was small but paneled, and leather-jacketed pads of paper, engraved personal letterhead and all manner of high-end office supplies were carefully placed on shelves behind glass cabinet doors. A photocopier, a shredder and a fax were built into mahogany cabinetry as well.

‘Do you know how the machine works?’ Abigail asked. Claire nodded. ‘It doesn’t have a collator and I’ll need two copies of everything. Can you keep them in order?’

‘Yes,’ Claire managed.

‘I thought you could.’ Abigail smiled. ‘If you have any questions, just call.’

Claire began the work. It was dull, but it made a break in her usual day. Anything that kept her away from Joan was a good thing, but she had a feeling that, just like in high school, there would be a price to pay for being singled out.

Feeding the first page in, she only glanced at the contents to make sure she wasn’t going to be a participant in grand larceny or fraud. Crayden Smithers was one of the few firms that hadn’t been involved in a nineties stock scandal but you couldn’t be too careful. Once she realized that the work was only employment contracts, and sensitive because of the salaries and bonuses involved, she didn’t look any further and simply did the job.

There was a certain repetitive comfort in lifting the flap of the copier, placing each page just so and removing the two copies and separating them. It was a task that required no thinking, but after she had organized it and gotten used to the robotic rhythm she had set for herself, having time to think was not necessarily a good thing. She didn’t want to remember the conversation at lunch, nor think about Michael Wainwright’s business trips or the companions he took on them. She wanted to get her work done, look out at the skyline on her ferry ride home and then finish her cable sweater. That idea pleased her. It was going to be a lovely garment and, though the purchase of the cashmere had been extravagant, she was glad she had done it. She was also glad that she was going to keep it for herself.

The small room was getting warm. Claire tucked her hair behind her ears and bent over the machine. She felt her face flush from the heat. She wondered if there was a fan, though she doubted anyone often used the room for this volume of copying. The noise of the machine and her concentration on the task kept her from hearing the door open and close behind her.