Even from across the room I could hear the phone vibrate. My gaze lurched back, at his corner table Anton picked up the phone and stared at the screen impatiently, he was waiting for someone. As I watched, he sighed and pulled his glasses off, he had placed his cane to one side and now looked around the room, his eyes narrowed and imperious. He looked directly at me and I quickly looked away, back to Bettina. She continued, We’ve been very impressed with the work you have done with us this year. It’s a period that has not been without complications, a moment of many transitions for the Court.
I would need to reply, Bettina was already perplexed by my behavior. I nodded and then said, Thank you. That wasn’t sufficient, but I didn’t know what else to say. I thought distractedly of Adriaan, it was delusional to think that the relationship was extant, that he might yet return to me. I knew this. And yet in the moments I was able to see around my emotion and my ego, I was forced to acknowledge this undignified truth: that it would only take a call or other missive for my hope to resurrect itself. If Adriaan sent me a message now, if he said that he was coming back in a few days and nothing more, I knew that I would look up and tell Bettina that I would be delighted to accept, my discomfort with the work notwithstanding.
But as it was, in the absence of such a message, I did not know what to say to her. I had very little more than the persistence of my feeling for Adriaan, my unreasonable attachment. Across the room, Anton was no longer looking in my direction, I was fairly certain he had not noticed me. He was frowning as he stared at his phone, he was at the point where his anticipation was threatening to curdle into irritation and resentment, perhaps he was meeting an important client, or someone who was offering to sell a rare volume, I thought there was something covetous in his expectancy. Bettina was silent, and I forced myself to continue. The trial has been an interesting challenge, I said, and she nodded sympathetically. What has happened to that witness, where is she now? I asked.
Bettina looked away. That kind of information isn’t widely shared. Of course, I murmured. It’s a complicated case, she continued. It may well collapse. But regardless of the outcome of the trial and its consequences for the Court, you should be pleased, you have done well. She paused. I wondered what she meant by its consequences for the Court, what precisely those consequences might be. At that moment, a blond woman pushed through my line of sight, passing directly behind Bettina. She was dressed in a bright purple double-breasted skirt suit and her legs were muscular and bare, the shins shiny with depilation. She walked with both eagerness and apprehension, as if she were scaling a slippery incline. I peered down and saw that she was wearing a pair of red-soled high heels, a brand of shoe that was notoriously expensive and near impossible to walk in.
The shoes were sexy, or at least they denoted sex in an explicit way, it might have been that they were primarily shoes to fuck in, the kind of shoes that were given by men to women. To my horror, I saw that the woman was making her way toward Anton’s table. She wore an expression of giddy determination, as if she would let nothing stand in her way, not the high-heeled shoes nor the slick surface of the floor. As for Anton, he had risen to his feet in a posture of scrupulous and ecstatic attention, he looked exactly like a large dog being presented with a piece of raw meat. She gave a breathless squeal of excitement and hastened her pace, her heels releasing a sudden clatter of noise.
Bettina was still talking. In any case, we would like it very much if you were to stay. There will be a salary increase, and the Court has resources to help you transition more fully into your life here, at least from an administrative perspective. I turned to look at Bettina. What life here? I thought blankly, and then a moment later, painfully. In the face of my silence, Bettina continued, This is not a case of covering Amina’s maternity leave, there is a real position for you, a permanent one. She paused. That is, if you want to take it.
I nodded. May I think about it? She sat back, a little disappointed. Of course, take a week to think about it. Two weeks, even, she said. I thanked her, even as I spoke my gaze slid back in the direction of the corner table. Anton and the blond woman were nestled into their seats. She sat very still, her cleavage on the verge of spilling out onto the table, while around her Anton was a flurry of movement, he seemed incapable of keeping his hands off her, he touched her cheeks, her hands, her hair, his mouth moving constantly as he doused her in the current of his speech. She nodded occasionally, smiling shyly, the poor woman seemed overcome by his attention.