Over Her Dead Body: The Eleven O’Clock

He asks about the Dubuffet with his hand still on the back of the chair.

Emma said he would.

For once this week, she has prepared me for something.

“Please sit down.”

He does, leaving his phone on the table between us. Screen up. Apparently, we will both know if something more interesting becomes available.

I open the file. Emma’s handwriting fills the margins. Three slips of paper mark passages she expected to need again.

One says: Ask whether he read it.

“Have you had a chance to read the assessment?”

“I thought that was what this meeting was for.”

Of course. Why read seven pages when a woman in heels can perform them for you?

“Then let’s start there.”

I turn the file toward him.

Twenty minutes ago, it was on Celeste’s desk. Emma was standing there injured while my boss explained why she no longer worked here. After Emma left, Celeste handed me the file.

Emma looked at me as though I had been waiting years for the privilege.

I had been waiting for lunch.

That is canceled now.

✦

The client wants to know whether he should buy the Dubuffet.

I take him through Emma’s assessment. What she has seen. What she recommends checking. The questions that still need answers.

“Is that a concern?” he asks.

“It’s something we need clarified.”

“Emma didn’t mention it.”

“It’s here in her assessment.”

“But she didn’t mention it.”

I slide the page closer. He looks at the paragraph as though Emma has planted it there to inconvenience him personally.

I understand the feeling.

This morning, my calendar contained work I had agreed to do. Now it contains that work and Emma’s, arranged by someone who apparently believes I can be in two conference rooms at once.

Celeste called it continuity.

I asked which of my appointments she wanted moved.

“Use your judgment,” she said.

Then Emma arrived, and I learned just how much confidence the house currently places in that particular quality.

“What would you do?” the client asks.

“I would get the answer before making the decision.”

“Emma said the same thing.”

How disappointing for him. Two women, one inconvenient opinion.

✦

I was on my way to Vienna when Emma decided the flight she had missed was less interesting than the one she could take instead.

I managed the Bauer viewing. Answered the questions. Secured the offer for the entire collection. Got myself home.

Emma had looked at me as though that last part was especially inconsiderate.

I suppose I could have remained in Austria until she was ready to explain herself. Wandered the streets. Taken up the violin.

Instead, I came home and went to work.

At Philip’s party, she gave me a story about a private collection. By the next morning, she was in my office demanding to know who I had told.

No one. I told no one.

Apparently, covering for Emma obliges me to know when the story she gives me is a lie, keep it to myself anyway, and be available for questioning when the lie becomes inconvenient.

We used to have more fun than this.

The client’s phone vibrates. He reads the message while I wait with my finger on the page.

“Sorry,” he says, without looking up.

“No problem.”

I have said that several times today. None has been accurate.

✦

I keep seeing Emma’s hand.

I have been trying not to, because this is a client meeting and the man across from me deserves an answer about the painting rather than whatever expression I produce when I think about fingernails.

She told Celeste what they did to her.

I heard her.

I want to know whether a doctor has looked at it. I want to know where she went when she left. I would appreciate being told either of those things without first having to prove that I have not secretly been plotting against her.

She saw her files on Celeste’s desk. She saw me beside them. That was apparently enough to explain my entire morning.

I have files of my own. Clients of my own. A perfectly respectable workload that did not need improving.

What do you expect me to do, Emma?

I meant it when I asked.

Tell Celeste that missing Vienna wasn’t a problem? Explain the stories Emma hadn’t explained to me? Apparently, I was supposed to manage those too.

I wanted her to tell me the truth before I was expected to defend it.

I still do.

“So,” the client says. “We wait?”

“Until those questions are answered.”

He sighs. I resist joining him.

✦

“Frankly, I’m relieved to have someone available,” he says. “Emma has been difficult to reach.”

I straighten the pages.

“She’s had a difficult week.”

“So I understand.”

He leans forward slightly.

Of course he does. The Dubuffet can wait now that there might be gossip.

“What exactly happened?”

“I can discuss the assessment.”

“I only meant—”

“Was there something else you wanted clarified?”

He sits back. “No.”

“Then I’ll follow up when we have the answers.”

I walk him out. He tells reception I have been very thorough. The tone suggests he would have preferred entertaining.

I wait until the elevator closes before returning for the file.

✦

My next appointment is in twelve minutes.

I open Emma’s messages. My questions from Vienna are still there, followed by the ones I sent when she finally came home.

I press Call.

It rings until voicemail picks up.

“Your eleven o’clock is handled. He still hasn’t read your assessment. I encouraged him to try it.”

I pause.

There is plenty more I could say. About the files. The calendar. The look she gave me on her way out.

“Call me when you get this. I want to know if someone’s looked at your hand.”

I hang up.

Then I keep the phone in my hand, as though she might call straight back.

There are things I still want to tell her. Stupid things. Things that aren’t funny unless Emma’s the one hearing them.

I look at the files she left me.

I can miss her and be furious. I’ve had years of practice.

But I’m tired of watching her make a terrible choice and then finding out how much it’s going to cost me.

After all this, years of ups and downs, I’d hate for Emma to lose a good friend.

I read her name on the screen again.

Emma losing me. That’s the version I can stand to think about.

The other version, well…