Tomb With a View

My hopes were dashed the moment I heard footsteps pounding on the marble staircase. I turned just in time to see Marjorie come huffing and puffing down the steps.

It is important to point out that even on the best of days, Marjorie was not an attractive woman. She was a retired librarian, after all, and while I don’t think that automatically meant she had to be frumpy, she’d apparently led a life so lost in stacks of books, she’d forgotten that, once in a while, she needed to make human contact, and that when she did, it never hurt to put her best foot forward.

Marjorie was nearly as tall as I am, and as thin as a rail, but not in model-gorgeous mode, more in a yikes-is-that-woman-bony sort of way. She teased her poorly dyed maroon-colored hair into a sixties beehive and always— summer or winter, indoors or out—topped off the do with a filmy head scarf tied into a boa constrictor knot under her chin.

The rest of her wardrobe was volunteer standard issue—khaki pants and a Garden View polo shirt that was slightly yellowed under the armpits. In fact, the only thing that stood out about Marjorie at all—and I do not mean in a good way—were her pointed, rhinestone-encrusted glasses, the red lipstick she applied with more enthusiasm than skill, and the perfume she must have put on with a ladle. It was sweet and cloying, like gardenias, and like gardenias, it always made my nose itch.

Marjorie’s skin was usually pale, like she didn’t get out in the daylight enough. That morning, though, there were two bright spots of color in her cheeks that matched the red geraniums on her head scarf.

She saw me standing in the office, came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the steps, and fought to catch her breath. Behind the pointy glasses, she blinked like a startled owl, and she tapped nervous fingers against one hip. “I thought I heard someone. I thought . . .” Marjorie was no spring chicken. If I had liked her more (or even a little), I would have pulled out a chair and told her to sit down and take it easy. The way it was, I counted on her figuring that out for herself.

Instead, she pulled back her shoulders and raised her chin before she walked into the office. I always had the sneaking suspicion that Marjorie didn’t like it that I was taller than her.

“I wouldn’t have bothered to hurry if I knew it was just you,” she said, then smiled the way people do when they say something rude and expect you not to be offended. “What I mean, of course, is that I thought you were a visitor. Obviously, the people in charge here . . .” She said this in a way that made it clear I was not one of those people. “They rightly expect me to show a great deal more enthusiasm with our visitors than with employees. Employees, of course, can wait.”

“Not employees with lots to do.” Since Marjorie lifted her head, I did the same. I’d have her beat by a couple inches, even if I wasn’t wearing sky-high shoes. “Ella says we have to work on this commemoration thing together.”

“Yes.” It was hard to believe anyone could make one syllable sound so sour. Marjorie’s breaths were finally steadying, and all that color drained from her face and left her looking more bloodless than ever. Still, she drummed her fingers against her hip, or I should say more accurately, against the pocket of her khakis.

“I tried to talk some sense into her.” Her comment pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Me, too.”

“I pointed out what she obviously hadn’t thought of, that we can’t afford to let things get out of hand. I have experience with this sort of thing. I know. With a project this big, it can be easy to lose control, and then before you know it, things fall through the cracks. The commemoration is too important to let that happen. I told Ms. Silverman it would be best if all the planning was handled by just one person.”

I wasn’t sure if I liked it that Marjorie and I were on the same page. Still, I managed a smile that was far friendlier, and far less acid, than hers. “Imagine that! That’s exactly what I told Ella, too.”

Marjorie’s smile was as stiff as her hair. “Though my argument was solid, Ms. Silverman didn’t listen. I finally gave in, and I told her I wouldn’t mind an assistant if it was someone who would take the project seriously, someone who has the proper respect for the president and the proper knowledge of history. Someone who’s able to take direction and do what needs to be done without questioning or second-guessing me. I hate to have to be so blunt, Ms. Martin, but I think we’ll get off on the wrong foot if we don’t lay our cards out on the table. I told her I’d rather work with anyone but you.”

“Which is exactly what I told her. Anyone but Marjorie.” Because I knew in my heart Marjorie was the kind of woman who didn’t approve of twinkling, I twinkled like all get-out. “Looks like we’ve got something in common after all.”

She didn’t excuse herself when she sidled past me to get to the desk. “Well, if we have to work together—”