Installation 3 - James Trehorn (you may want to read Installation 2)

There was campaigning for positions on the best work groups for Picchu! Art of the Ancient Incas. No one, for example, wanted to be stuck with Parking & Logistics but everyone wanted to be on Opening Reception & Party. Whenever possible, hints were dropped in front of whoever was handy. “Guess what?” someone would say, “I had a dream last night that I was at the opening for Picchu! and we had the most fabulous entertainment. If I get on the work group, I’m going to make sure it happens.”

After three weeks, Carlotta summoned Phoebe into her office. It was very dark there because Carlotta suffered from headaches and had declared war on overhead lights. In fact, she had taken to wearing sunglasses whenever she had to leave her office.

“How’s it going with making copies?” Carlotta leaned back in her chair. “It’s OK.”

“I was thinking that you may want to watch how dark some of them are getting.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

Phoebe cleared her throat. “I do get a lot of paper cuts.”

Carlotta bit down on the stem of her sunglasses and considered this.

“Listen, I’m going to put you on the Opening Reception & Party work group. You’re going to represent this office.”

Phoebe felt it difficult to breathe.

“Just make sure the committee doesn’t hire those god awful human mannequins again. They scare me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Carlotta leaned forward, so that her face was illuminated by her desk lamp and Phoebe could see pouches of dark skin beneath her eyes.

“See? This is what an hour of sleep does to a person.”

“Another headache?”

“You could say that. What do you think of James Trehorn?”

“Who’s that?”

“You know, James… from the administrative office? Blond hair, tall, wears suit coats with jeans?”

But Phoebe didn’t know who James was and so she was dispatched to walk down the hall and look in through the glass doors at the administrative office, a hushed sanctuary of lush green carpeting, carved oak furniture and African masks. Directly in line with the door stood an enormous desk with few papers spread across it, a gold nameplate fixed to its edge that read, “James Trehorn.” A blond man, very Nordic, sat behind it holding a fountain pen in his clasped hands. He was still, as if just waiting for the next visitor to walk through the doors. As she walked towards him, he fixed her with pale eyes, blue like the edging of ice or skim milk. Under his gaze, Phoebe felt like she did when she was 13 and caught shoplifting at Kmart with her friends. She quickened her pace and made the loop back to the Marketing & Public Relations suite.

Carlotta waited at the water cooler, sunglasses on. “So?”

“He’s not… unattractive.”

“Word is he’s going to ask you out.”

Phoebe’s legs felt very itchy in her tights. “Really?”

“As it happens, he’s also part of the Opening Reception & Party work group.” Carlotta smiled. “Don’t say I never do you any favors.”

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