An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [48]
“Prove it,” he said.
I don’t have to prove anything to him but I’ll be forced to listen to his “I told you so” if he returns after summer vacation and I’ve done nothing about Francis and the People for Privacy. The last time I went to see the Chief Librarian about Francis, it backfired on me. This time it’s different. He has to listen to me now. I’ve been here almost a year and I still haven’t had any access to anything from Special Collections. I open my office door to head to an appointment with the Chief and almost bump into Edith.
“Why didn’t you answer when I knocked earlier?” she says.
“I must have been on the phone. How was your holiday?”
We’re boxed into a corner between my office door and the stairwell. Edith moves closer and squeezes me up against my door. “My holidays would have been better if you came with me like you promised. I’ll take a hug instead of an excuse.” She wraps her arms around me, buries her face in my shirt then gazes up at me. “What did you do all summer?” she asks.
I move her away from me. “I read and wrote reports.”
“Am I in your report?” she says.
I turn the knob of the stairwell door. “I have to go now.”
She pushes on the door. “I’ll walk with you.” She follows me down the three flights, each twenty steps, plus the four landings. “I suppose you were writing reports on the weekends too, were you?”
I hold the door open for her at the bottom of the stairwell. “I was busy, yes.”
“Why don’t we go for lunch together?” she says.
I look at my watch as we stand together outside the Chief Librarian’s office. “I have a meeting now. We’ll be in touch.” I wave goodbye then open the door. His secretary Margaret is on the telephone. She puts the caller on hold. “I’ll let you know when he’s ready.” She continues her phone conversation. “You have to knead it until every breath of air is out of it,” she says. “Put it in a warm place near the stove, wrap it in blankets and let it rise again.” Silence. “There’ll be a crust on the top. It’ll have air bubbles inside like a sponge.” Silence. “You won’t have much left over. Fry it up with a bit of lard, put some molasses on it then have it with your tea.” Silence. She gazes at me with the receiver to her ear. “Just a second.”
I stand up for emphasis. “Any idea when he’ll be finished?” “Won’t be long now,” she says then goes back to her call. “I forgot to say, check the best-before date on the Fleischman’s yeast before you buy it.”
The Chief’s door finally opens. He walks out with his arm around Francis. They’re talking about tee-off times. Francis hurries by without even looking at me.
“Come in, Carl,” the Chief says.
He sits behind his desk. I sit opposite. The office door is still open behind me. He rearranges papers while he speaks to me and to Margaret. “Something came up. I can’t talk for long – meeting of deans and directors. Margaret?” he calls out. “Get John on the phone. Tell him to meet me in the lobby before the meeting.” He turns to face me. “We need to talk about this project of yours. The Biblio Project, is it? Catchy name.” The phone rings. “Hello. John? Car’s in with a brake problem again. Can I get a lift with you?” He looks at me while he listens to John. “Give me ten minutes. Fine. Five minutes. Right. Bye.”
He moves the phone out of the way, scratches his neck, then his ear. “Sorry about that. Margaret said you want to discuss your project. I have a meeting in a couple of weeks with the People for Privacy. Margaret? When’s the privacy group meeting? Twenty-second?”
She pokes her head in his office door to confirm.
“I spoke with Francis just now. They’re nearly finished the policy draft. They’re a hard-working and committed group. I’ll certainly give them credit for that. Where is my copy of that privacy policy?” He goes to the filing cabinet,