Inside the vestibule, Shelby sniffed appreciatively. “Smells great.”
“It is.” We followed the hostess to a table for two and settled ourselves. A waiter appeared promptly and handed us menus, and Shelby took no more than two minutes to make up her mind. I ordered what I always did, a chicken Caesar salad. When the waiter had left, I sat back in my chair. “So, any second thoughts yet?”
“Nell, I’ve been working at the Society a total of four hours. It might take me a little longer to make up my mind about you all.”
“Take all the time you want. Was there something you wanted to know? Or maybe the question should be, what
“You worried about what’s been said in the news?”
“What have you heard?” I parried. We’d had some lessthan-ideal press recently, and I was reluctant to give away anything I didn’t have to.
“I can read between the lines. You’ve had some problems in-house, but the, uh, judicious relocation of certain individuals has solved a lot of them.”
She could be discreet, too-another plus. “And you gleaned all this from reading the paper?”
Shelby shrugged. “I talk to people, who know other people. Don’t worry-there are a lot of rumors floating around, but nobody really knows anything. And in a funny way, they want to see you succeed.”
Small comfort. But Shelby needed to know some things that would have a major impact on her job. “Thank you for telling me. Cards on the table?” I looked around quickly: well past the peak lunch hour, there were few people in the restaurant to overhear us. “We’ve had some serious theft issues recently. We believe we’ve stopped them, but it may be a while before we sort everything out. I tell you this because if the details get out, it would make your job-helping us raise money-a lot harder. But you have a right to know. And if it’s any consolation, the FBI is working with us.”
Shelby sipped some iced tea before responding. “That’s about what I’d figured.”
“And all that doesn’t bother you?”
“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I’m pretty sure this goes on all the time, only people don’t talk about it much. But I figured whatever news had leaked out might scare off other candidates, so I took a chance.”
“You must really want this job,” I said. “Is there something you haven’t told me? You’re supporting your aged parents in a nursing home? You have eighteen cats with obscure and expensive medical problems?”
Shelby laughed. “No to both. One, I got bored sitting around after I’d done all the sightseeing I could stomach. Two, my daughter, Melissa, is getting married next year, and unlikely as it sounds, she wants the whole show-train and doves and white horses-and that ain’t cheap. Plus, we’re helping her pay off her college loans.”
Somewhere inside me, I relaxed. Maybe this was going to work out just fine. “So she’s already out of college?”
“Graduated last year. She’s got a job, but she and Press-that’s her fiance, Preston-really want to get married now and get on with their lives together.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re on board. Now, let me give you thumbnails on all the board members…” We switched seamlessly to shop talk, and lunch flew by.
As we were walking back to the Society, Shelby said, “Do you want me to nose around, see if I can find you an assistant? I don’t want to tread on Melanie’s toes, since that’s her job, but I might know of a few potential candidates.”
“I would be eternally grateful. I do believe Melanie when she says she’s had plenty of applicants but none of them right for the position. There are plenty of people looking for work, but that doesn’t mean they can do what I need done. Melanie’d probably thank you, too. I’d rather she concentrated on filling the registrar position, and she’s got plenty else to keep her busy. But why would you know any likely candidates?”
“The ‘old gals’ network. Besides, as I said before, I like to talk to people, and I’ve talked to plenty since I moved to Philadelphia. Give me a day or two and I’ll see who I can come up with.”
We’d reached our building, and held off on conversation until we’d passed through the lobby and gone up to the third floor. At Shelby’s office door, she stopped. “Thanks for the lunch, Nell-and for filling me in. I’m glad that you trust me.”
Our lunch, which had stretched well past two, left me with little time to start anything new before I was supposed to leave for Let’s Play. No doubt if I had that magical assistant, she-or he-would have a tidy stack of messages waiting for me, arranged in order of importance; would have updated my calendar; and would have left several letters for me to sign before whisking them away to mail. I sighed. I was beginning to fear that this paragon of efficiency was a fairy tale, or at best, a dinosaur well on the way to becoming extinct. Who wanted to be the nameless, faceless assistant to somebody, after all? As a feminist I applauded that: too many capable, talented women in the past had settled for that type of paid servitude. But as the president of a busy institution, I wished I could resurrect just one. I needed help, and I knew it.
So I didn’t get much done before I had to leave for my appointment. I didn’t even have anyone to tell that I was officially leaving for the day. I stuck my head into Carrie’s cubicle. “Carrie, I’m headed out-I’m going to go talk to Arabella Heffernan at Let’s Play, and then go home from there.”
Carrie’s face lit up. “Let’s Play? Ooh, I loved that place when I was a kid. My mom used to drag me to all these stuffy museums and I hated those, but sometimes she’d let us go to Let’s Play and it was great. Say hi to Furzie.”
“Furzie?”
“The big blue bear at the front entrance. Don’t worry-he doesn’t bite.”
“That’s good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
It was a fifteen-minute walk to Let’s Play, and I knew enough to stick to the smaller streets-if you took the larger ones, it was like walking through a wind tunnel as the tall buildings funneled the gusts at you.
Let’s Play was unique in my experience with museums. It occupied a pair of adjacent two-story brick buildings that had begun life in the late nineteenth century as small businesses, or maybe it was factories. Little had been changed structurally, and there were still a lot of exposed beams and naked pipes inside. The city had changed around the buildings, but their location was ideal for visiting parents, since they lay in close proximity to the other child-friendly Philadelphia museums. Parents had to park only once, and then if they wished they could split up, one parent leading the older kids to the science museums to visit dinosaurs, the other heading for Let’s Play, where hands-on interaction with the diverse exhibits was not only allowed but actively encouraged. I loved the concept. Why should a museum be a dark and stuffy place where everyone kept telling you “shush” and “don’t touch”? Let’s Play was the polar opposite: it was welcoming and friendly. I was curious to see what the new exhibit would be like, but I was sure it would be fun, at least if you were a kid.
I walked in and introduced myself at the front desk, shouting to make myself heard over the noise of happy children. I smiled toward Furzie, who beamed benevolently over all comers. There seemed to be kids everywhere- must be some school group here today, or maybe the usual allotment of children had been compressed into a smaller-than-usual space because of the construction Arabella had mentioned. The frazzled young woman at the desk made a call and nodded encouragingly at me, then pointed toward the gift shop off the lobby. I made the assumption that Arabella would meet me there and drifted over.
I love gift shops, and this one made me wish I had kids. Heck,
“Nell, so good to see you. Sorry to keep you waiting, but things have been so crazy. Of course, that’s been true for months-maybe crazy is the new normal. Let me take you upstairs so we can talk.”
There was no way to stem her burbling, so I nodded in agreement and followed her back into the melee of the hall, then up a flight of stairs. Things were appreciably quieter on the second floor, and became increasingly so as we went toward the back of the building. When we reached Arabella’s office, she pointed me toward an overstuffed armchair upholstered in bright cotton fabric decorated with bunnies. “Sit down, please. I’ve made tea, and there are cookies!” She beamed at me, obviously pleased with herself.
Arabella was clearly the mother figure of her small museum. I would have said Earth Mother, but Arabella liked nice clothes too well for that, and I knew she was a shrewd manager. But she was short and nicely rounded, partial to flowery prints; her hair sprang out in determined grey curls, and her eyes twinkled.
