* * *
—
After that day in the cafeteria—when Eddie looked at Zott in a way he’d never once looked at her—Frask found Zott hateable.
“I was in the elevator today,” Eddie had swooned, “and Miss Zott got in. We rode four whole floors together.”
“Did you and she have a nice chat?” Frask said, her molars clenched. “Find out what her favorite color is?”
“No,” he said. “But I’ll definitely ask next time. Geez, she’s something else.”
Frask had gone on to hear about exactly how Zott was something else at least twice a week since then. With Eddie it was always Zott this and Zott that; he talked about her nonstop—but then, everyone did. Zott, Zott, Zott. She was so fucking sick of Zott.
* * *
—
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you,” Frask said, placing a dimpled hand on Zott’s back, “that it’s too soon for you to be at work—especially here,” she said, tipping her head at the room that had once held Calvin. “It’s not good for you. You’re still in shock and you need your rest.” Her hand moved up and down in a clumsy pat. “Now I know what people are saying,” she said, implying her role as ground zero when it came to Hastings gossip, “and I know you know what people are saying,” she continued, fairly confident Elizabeth did not, “but in my opinion whether or not Mr. Evans was getting the milk for free doesn’t mean his untimely death hurts you any less. In fact, in my opinion, it is your milk and if you choose to spoil it, that is your right.”
There, she thought, satisfied. Now Zott knew what people were saying.
Elizabeth looked up at Frask, stunned. She supposed it took a certain type of skill to be able to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. Maybe that was a prerequisite for a position in Personnel— a certain clunky, cheerful cluelessness that gave one the ability to insult the bereaved.
“I’ve been trying to track you down for several reasons,” Frask was saying, “the first being the issue of Mr. Evans’s dog. Him,” she said, pointing a finger at Six-Thirty, who stared back grimly. “Unfortunately, he can’t be here any longer. You understand. Hastings Research Institute absolutely venerated Mr. Evans and, because of it, overindulged his quirky tendencies. But now that Mr. Evans has left us, I’m afraid the dog must leave as well. As I understand it, the dog was really his dog anyway.” She looked to Elizabeth for confirmation.
“No, he’s our dog,” she managed. “My dog.”
“I see,” she said. “But from now on, he’ll need to stay at home.”
From the corner, Six-Thirty lifted his head.
“I can’t be here without him,” Elizabeth said. “I just can’t.”
Frask blinked as if the room was too bright, and then from out of nowhere produced a clipboard on which she made a few notes. “Of course,” she said without looking up, “I like dogs, too,” although she didn’t, “but as I said, we made allowances for Mr. Evans. He was quite important to us. But at some point,” she said as she put one hand back on Elizabeth’s shoulder and started patting again, “you have to realize, the coattails only go so far.”
Elizabeth’s expression changed. “Coattails?”
Frask looked up at her from the clipboard, trying to seem professional. “I think we know.”
“I never rode his coattails.”
“I never said you did,” Frask said with mock surprise. Then she lowered her voice as if confiding a secret. “Can I just say something?” She took a short breath in. “There will be other men, Miss Zott. Maybe not as famous or as influential as Mr. Evans, but men all the same. I studied psychology— I know about these things. You chose Evans, he was famous, he was single, maybe he could help your career, who could blame you? But it didn’t work. And now he’s gone and you’re sad—of course you’re sad. But look on the bright side: you’re free again. And there are lots of nice men, good-looking men. One of them is sure to put a ring on your finger.”
She paused, remembering ugly Evans just before she pictured pretty Zott back in the dating pool, men teeming about her like frothy bubbles in a bathtub. “And once you find one,” she said, “maybe a lawyer,” she specified, “then you can stop all this science nonsense and go home and have lots of babies.”
“That’s not what I want.”