8
Nearly lunch, no Miriam, and Liesl’s sweat still smelled like last night’s whiskey. Her whiskey sweat and the rest of her were expected at a press conference. She swiveled back and forth in Christopher’s desk chair, unable to focus her eyes or attention on a piece of work. The draft press release in her email said the university was kicking off a billion-dollar fundraising campaign. She’d have given a billion dollars to drag herself, whiskey sweat and all, back to bed. But she didn’t have it.
She would have to see Percy Pickens at the press conference. She would have to see other donors whose phone calls she had been so deliberately failing to return.
“Is it important that you have library representation there?” she asked the impatient secretary who had called to remind her. “The library is such a small part of the university’s overall fundraising.”
It was important, she was told, that they have library representation. She sat at her desk, at Christopher’s desk really, and opened her appointment book to look at the stack of unanswered messages but then closed it because unanswered messages are poison. She wished she had worn a nicer jacket. She wished she weren’t hungover. Noon arrived, and she walked away from the library and crossed the campus once again to go to the administration building. The sidewalks full of students were suffocating, and she felt drenched by the smell of hot dog carts and young people’s hormones. Liesl was a woman who loved the outdoors. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to Christopher’s stale, dark office. Any of these students could grow up to be a millionaire who donated money to the university and got to push Liesl around. Any of these students, all of these students, could one day be an unread phone message. She had worked at the university for decades; she had a pension. Liesl wanted her pension. And an aspirin.
There were press vans parked in front of the administration building. Local news. It was a big university, a big part of the city, talking about raising a big chunk of money. Talking about asking people to donate big chunks of their money that the university would then be responsible for.
“Liesl.” Garber spotted her as she checked in with his secretary. “You look terrible.”
“Percy Pickens,” she said. “He’s been trying to call me.”
“Have you spoken with him?”
“Not yet. We have to get on the same page about what we’re telling him.”
“The man himself!” Garber said, his face blooming into a strained smile. Liesl turned around to see Percy approaching them.
“Liesl. Have you been ill?”
Liesl paused to let the sensation of her pounding heart in her throat settle down. It didn’t.
“Good afternoon, Percy. Yes, a little under the weather today.”
Percy shook President Garber’s hand while he looked at Liesl. “You should ask Lawrence here to make you one of his revolting smoothies. Explains why my calls are going unanswered, anyway.”
“My apologies for that,” she said. Liesl swayed and looked around for something to grab onto. She rested her fingertips on a wall.
“Figured I’d be certain to see you here, though.”
“Yes, we’re very excited about the campaign.” She waited for Percy to ask if she was going to faint. He didn’t.
“There’s always lots of communication when you’re asking for my money.”
“Now, Percy,” President Garber interrupted, breaking up the duo.
“Harmless joke. Is there wine?”
“Not in front of the press,” Garber said with a cluck. “At the reception after.”
“Good man. Liesl, can I come see my book this afternoon?”
“Terrible delays with insurance,” Garber said.
“You really don’t look well,” Percy said. “Lawrence, does Liesl look right to you? Your skin is the color of one of Lawrence’s smoothies.”
Liesl, using the wall to stay upright, barely breathing as the intensity of her own pulse choked her, managed the only reply Percy wanted. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are, Liesl,” Garber said. “Percy’s right. Why don’t you pop back into my office and have a seat. I’ll send my assistant back there to check on you in just a minute. Get your legs back. If you’re feeling better, come out and join us, but stay there otherwise. Maybe it’s best to give someone else at the library a call to come fill in. Max? I’ll have someone call Max, and you go on and have a seat.”
“My apologies.”