“Can you?” she asked, pausing for a long sip of cool wine. “How’s that?”
“The history of math… It’s all a bit fussy.”
“The field of astrophysics might disagree,” Rhonda said sweetly.
“Less useful than your Latin and your Greek.”
“So you say.” Rhonda gave Liesl, who was now right next to her, a playful nudge with her shoulder.
“So I say,” he said. “It’s for industry. It doesn’t need public support in the same way.”
Rhonda and Percy had an audience for their conversation. Rhonda turned to them, an orator facing her audience.
“I can only presume Mr. Pickens did poorly in math at school and has held a grudge against it ever since,” Rhonda said. Liesl dropped her head and bit her tongue to keep from laughing. How silly she had been to think Rhonda needed her help. Rhonda who was already so much bigger than these men.
“Latin and Greek and the bible. They underpin all of arts and humanities. They shape our understanding of ourselves,” said Percy.
“Well,” she said. “Mathematics underpins all of the sciences and technology that runs our lives.”
He shook her hand to end the conversation. Liesl had been observing and allowed herself to breathe now that the adversaries were separated. Rhonda knew the importance of donors, knew what she had been asked here to do. But Rhonda would not let herself be disrespected, and if allowed to go on, the exchange was unlikely to end positively. Liesl took a drink to soothe her throat and turned to Rhonda to ask her about her study of Arabic, about her interest in advising on a possible acquisition. But Rhonda gave a quick smile and slipped away from Liesl.
A waiter appeared to refill Liesl’s wine. It was hard to keep count when the glass was never allowed to empty. Percy and Rhonda were both in need of Liesl’s handling. She took a swallow of Riesling that left her glass half-full. From across the room she saw that Max had reached Percy before she could. They had their backs to her. They were whispering. They were not like the pink-sweatshirted girls that Liesl had consoled Hannah about during middle school, promising the girl that in the long run their whispers wouldn’t matter. If Max and Percy were conspiring in some way, there would be consequences.
Liesl looked around until she spotted Rhonda in the opposite corner of the room. She had stopped drinking after one glass of wine and was clutching a bottle of Perrier by its neck and nodding as an octogenarian with an unconvincing wig and a large inheritance from her recently departed husband talked at her. Liesl went over and put a hand on each of the women’s shoulders to interrupt. The touching did not come naturally to her, but she had seen Christopher announce himself this way hundreds of times. The wig looked down at Liesl’s hand. Liesl removed it.
“Wonderful lecture,” Liesl said to Rhonda.
“Thank you.”
“We were near halfway through when I realized we weren’t talking about the Plantin,” the old woman said.
“I’m sorry we weren’t more clear,” Liesl said.
“Not at all,” the woman said. “It was delightful once I put it together.”
“We’re lucky to have Professor Washington,” Liesl said.
Max and Percy were occasionally glancing over at Rhonda and Liesl. A waiter refilled Liesl’s glass. The canapés were running low. Liesl needed a moment alone with Rhonda more than she needed the canapés to be refreshed. She took a sip of her wine and made a hand signal to one of the waiters, hoping he would understand to see to the food. Her glass was refilled again.
“Will the Plantin lecture be soon?” the wig asked.
Rhonda looked up at Liesl and waited for the answer. She would have heard about the acquisition, too, and as a student of languages, she might have personal interest in the object.
“It’s not yet scheduled,” Liesl said.
“A fine book, though?”
Liesl agreed that it was but explained that it was actually several books. That the Plantin was bound into multiple volumes.
“It’s very educational,” said the wig. “But I wish it were printed on something vegan.”
“Printing on vellum was a standard practice of the time,” Liesl said.
Rhonda put the Perrier up to her lips and kept it there for longer than was necessary to take a sip of water.
“The idea that sheep and ewes shed blood to print a bible just turns my stomach. My grandson and I are vegans. Do you know what that is?”
The head caterer came into the room and tapped Liesl on the shoulder. She placed her glass on the nearest surface, offered her apologies, and got as far away from the wig as possible. The caterer explained that the reason the canapés had not been refreshed was because there were no more canapés, which was a disaster at a donor event almost on par with the guest speaker getting into a row with an important donor. The suits were hungry. She instructed the catering team to more aggressively circulate with the wine. If their glasses were full, the donors wouldn’t notice that their stomachs weren’t.