Visiting the computer science and mathematics building, Liesl came up with the beginnings of a plan. As she walked into the back stairwell, two undergrads were huddled in the corner. One of the kids had an orange prescription bottle, and he got so spooked that he jammed it into his pocket. By the time she understood the nature of the transaction she was halfway up the steps. By then, it was too late to tell the kids that prescription drugs weren’t illegal, and acting as though they were was a great way to tip off a passerby that they were up to something.
Rhonda had a film crew outside her office. A couple of young men in black T-shirts were taking down an elaborate lighting setup. Rhonda was bent over in front of the camera on her laptop, wiping off makeup with a baby wipe.
“Is this a news crew or our internal people?” Liesl whispered as she greeted the woman. “There are some kids dealing Adderall in your stairwell. I don’t want any of these guys getting the idea they’re a journalist.”
“Guys?” Rhonda looked up at the crew. “Can you make sure you take your stuff down through the service elevator? I know the stairs are faster, but they really don’t want you interfering with students coming and going.”
There were nods and mumbles of assent. Slowly, the crew and their lights cleared out.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you as an expert in the collegiate drug trade,” Rhonda said.
“I briefly sent my daughter to a private high school.”
“But you’re not here to bust local amphetamine entrepreneurs?” Rhonda knelt on the floor, picking at the edge of a masking-tape X, a lighting mark that the crew had forgotten to remove.
“I’m not.” Liesl moved to help her but then stopped herself. “Was the crew here for the fundraising campaign launch?”
“Yes, they’re going to run a series on our past Nobel winners. I was asked to speak for the dead ones.” Rhonda managed to lift a corner and began to peel, but it immediately tore. She raised her eyes at Liesl in exasperation.
“I have a favor to ask,” Liesl said. “Sorry to dive right in.”
“Not at all,” Rhonda said. “If you’re interested in what I have to say about dead Nobel prize winners, you can tune into the local news tonight at 7:30.”
“The library has an annual Jackman Memorial Lecture. For our donors. A major event. I was hoping you might come deliver the lecture this year.”
“When is it?”
“It’s a little tight to be honest. The lecture is scheduled for Friday.” Liesl crouched, an unnatural position for a women of her vintage, but towering over someone as you were asking them to do you a favor felt wrong.
“Oh, I see,” Rhonda said, still picking at bits of tape with the nail of her index finger. “I take it that I’m not the library’s first choice. I’m not sure if my feelings should be hurt.”
“I promise they shouldn’t be.”
“Don’t console me too much; it only makes me more suspicious. What is it I’m to be lecturing about?” She crumpled the bits of tape she had managed to remove so far into a satisfying little ball.
“So you’ll do it then?” Liesl asked, standing again before her knees failed her.
“It’s my job to communicate with the public about the university’s research.”
“This is ultimately a fundraising venture.”
“But isn’t everything,” Rhonda said, finally looking up from the tape, “when you look at it closely enough?”
“We were going to be unveiling a new acquisition,” Liesl said.
“I see.” She paused her work on the tape and put her hand to her cheek, likely feeling its soft coolness from the baby wipe. “Liesl, most of your work falls within the realm of the humanities and social sciences. I’m not sure how interesting I’d be to that crowd.”
“You’d be perfect.”
“I’ll bet you said that to the first six people you asked too.”
Liesl nodded, bit her thumbnail for a moment. She knew better than to flatter in this situation.
“There’s been a hiccup, and instead of something new, I thought we might use the Peshawar as the subject of the lecture.”
“Well. You have my attention.”
Liesl really wished that Rhonda would get up off the floor, but she was sitting cross-legged now, craning her neck as though Liesl were a teacher with an acoustic guitar during circle time.
“You said the zero is your area of study…”