Although Phoebe toyed with the idea of quitting the museum altogether after the Trehorn Incident, she came to her senses after two days at home and the rest of a week spent working half-days. On the following Monday, she went to Carlotta’s office at noon to announce that she was going to take another half-day and would be leaving at 12:30. She also meant to work in the fact that she would need to take an additional half-day on Tuesday, as her strength was only returning in fits and starts after her grave illness.

“No more half-days,” Carlotta said. She was sitting in the dark with her office door open just enough to allow light from the hall to illuminate her mini tape recorder. She was recording her observations from the last marketing meeting.

“But I’m ill.”

“You were hung-over. And maybe you had some side effects from those pills. We never did figure out what those were… Although I suspect roofies.”

“Roofies?”

“They’re a potent tranquilizer.”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you.”

“You should, because I’m a powerful ally in the museum gossip wars. If I’m on your side, well, let’s just say that your version of events gets out to the people who matter.”

“Carlotta, I think I need to go home.”

“No more half-days. Half-days enable people. What do you think I’m doing right now? I’m sitting here in the dark, tape recording my notes from a meeting, because I have a headache. Could I use a half-day? You bet your ass I could. But I won’t take one. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because I don’t want to go down that road. I take a few half-days, I get used to being at home when I don’t feel well and suddenly I’m not coming in a few days a week. Then I’m not coming in at all.”

“This is different. This is a one time situation that requires a few half-days to recover…”

“Trust me.”

Phoebe felt her eyes fill with tears. It wasn’t completely clear even to her why she so desperately wanted the half-day when she was already at work and feeling relatively fine, despite the fact that she’d twice entered the staff lounge to whispered conversations that stopped when people saw her. But she she missed her nest on the couch, her magazines, her comfy pajamas. She missed padding around the house in her bare feet at 2:00 in the afternoon, opening junk mail like it actually mattered. Besides, there were only so many times when she could walk down the hall to go to the bathroom without making eye contact with James behind the glass doors of The Director’s office.

“I’m just feeling very stressed.”

“That seems reasonable. I mean, a co-worker did see you passed out without any clothes on.”

“I was partially dressed!”

Carlotta reached across her desk and turned on one of her dimmest desk lamps. Even the light cast from the 20-watt bulb made her wince. She motioned for Phoebe to have a seat and Phoebe obeyed. It was still in the back of her mind to convince Carlotta that a half-day was, in fact, necessary.

“Here’s what you need to do. Go over there and talk to James. March in and say, ‘Could I have a word?’ Say it in a British accent. That usually has more effect. And then tell him, very calmly, that it was big mistake, you’re sorry and you hope the two of you can still have a professional relationship.”

“That implies I did something wrong and need forgiveness.”

“Well…”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, when I did the wrong things, I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Just do what I’m telling you to do. People will see that things are fine and they’ll stop talking about it.”

“I think I’m getting a headache.” Phoebe leaned forward and rubbed her temples.

“Welcome to the club,” Carlotta said, and snapped off the desk lamp.

---

Two hours later, after a sulky lunch eaten at her desk and an hour of filing to numb her senses, Phoebe made her way down the hall. She looked down at her shoes, until she got to the glass doors and had to find the door handle. James was at the desk, writing something very slowly and thoughtfully in the square of a desk calendar. He did not look up. Phoebe positioned herself before him.

“May… May I have a word?”

“What?”

“May I have a word? With you? Could we share a word?”

James snorted. The phone rang and James scrambled to answer it.

“Yes? Yes… Yes, sure. Right away.” James put the receiver down and leaned forward, then to the side, in a dramatic gesture to see around Phoebe. “Mr. Chambers? The Director will see you now.”

A man in a dark suit holding a briefcase on his lap stood up from one of the mini-couches, nodded and walked around to the door that led to the Director’s office suite. James tapped his pen a few times, let out a big sigh and then went back to writing on the calendar.

“James, I wanted to say… I didn’t… I shouldn’t have taken those pills and had so much wine. I never thought they were anything… Aspirin or maybe ibuprofen…. Certainly not roofies or some kind of… tranquilizer.”

James did not look up. He flipped through some papers on the desk and furrowed his brow.

“And… I feel horrible about the bathroom. If it makes any difference, I did about the same number on my own when I got home; I mean, missing the bowl and all of that. I was so sick… I know I was an embarrassment to you in front of your Skootillians, but can’t we put this behind us? I hope we can still have a professional relationship.”

Very slowly, James brought his hands up and clasped them together, then rested his chin on them. He examined her with his cool eyes, taking in her flushed cheeks, the strands of hair slipping from her messy bun, a smear of something (hummus?) across her chin.

“In the future, if you have a message for me of a personal nature, could you please put it in an e-mail? Or maybe you could talk to Penn and he could talk to me and get back to you? Because what I’m feeling right now is that I need more distance from you.”

“I don’t have messages of a personal nature for you. I just wanted to say…”

“Well, thank you. Thank you for telling me all of this. Thank you for the anecdote about your bathroom especially.”

“But…”

“I do have work to do this afternoon.”

“I want you to know I don’t intend to give up my spot on the Picchu! Opening Party & Reception Committee.”

“No one said that you should.”

Phoebe stood for a few moments longer, watching James make his slow and steady marks on the desk calendar. Then she turned and walked very slowly back out the doors, down the hallway and to her desk. She gathered her things. It wasn’t too late to take a quarter-day.

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