Tales From the Black Chamber Read Free

learned that Lindsay loved rare books, but had no particular attraction towards the business of buying and selling them, and was taking a couple years after Yale to decide what to do with her life. Her father understood and had made her one of the six most overqualified receptionists in Manhattan with the firm agreement that she had three years in the job, not a day more, after which professional employment, continued schooling, or an entry-level position at H&E was mandatory.
    Anne had availed upon Lindsay for advice any number of times and never found her less than forthcoming and helpful. On the basis of this collegiality, a genuine friendship had grown up, even though Anne was almost a decade older than Lindsay, and Lindsay’s privileged East Coast upbringing was a world away from Anne’s youth in the high mountains of northern New Mexico.
    â€œSo, did you see Grey’s Anatomy last week?” asked Anne.
    â€œOh. My. God,” Lindsay elaborated.

    Anne sat in the back of the firm’s auction room watching the Rudolfiana auction poker-faced. Inwardly, she was giddy at the excellent prices the major pieces had fetched. Her partnership offer was now a mere formality. She’d established herself as acquirer, evaluator, and seller. She expected to have job offers from Sotheby’s and Christie’s on her voicemail by the close of business. Though she had no intention of leaving H&E, it would be nice to feel courted.
    When the final gavel fell, Anne slipped out the door, adding up the sale prices in her head. Arriving back at her office, she found Mrs. Garrett sitting at her table with a pot of tea and plate of cookies at the ready, and the Aldine Breviarium dæmonologicum she’d paid a healthy but not unreasonable price for.
    â€œHi, Mrs. Garrett! Congratulations on getting that breviary. Nothing else interested you?”
    â€œOh, everything else interested me, dear. I’m just a little old lady who saves her pennies. Or rather, the Foundation’s pennies. But congratulations to you, Anne. I haven’t seen a better-run or more entertainingly contested auction in, well, twenty years.”
    â€œThanks, Mrs. Garrett. I was pretty happy with how it went.”
    â€œYou’re too modest, my darling. It was a coup of the first order. Please, have some tea and cookies to celebrate. I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring a port to celebrate, but you didn’t let me know what a day it’d be for you.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Garrett. It is a little more than my average day at the office.”
    Mrs. Garrett chatted with her about the books and the prices. Anne was, as always, amazed; this time, at the elderly lady’s knowledge of not only the book market but of the oddball milieu of Rudolf’s Prague, as well as an enormous amount of history and art to which she alluded offhandedly and unselfconsciously.
    After a relatively brief chat, Mrs. Garrett excused herself. “I should leave you to the company of your peers, now, Anne. I suspect they’ll have lots to say to you.”
    Their probable congratulations (laced with well-concealed envy) flashed through Anne’s mind, but she said with absolute sincerity, “Nothing as interesting as a talk with you, Mrs. Garrett.”
    â€œI see you have mastered the art of flattering your customers,” Mrs. Garrett deadpanned. Then drawing herself up to her full four-foot, eleven-and-three-quarters inches, she placed a hand on Anne’s arm, an unexpected intimacy, and said, with a smile, “Celebrate your success with the élan of youth, dear.”
    Anne saw her out, then settled in for a delicious afternoon bath of praise and celebration. Her peers were genuinely happy for her (if indeed a little envious and worried that she’d set the bar very high), the partners were ecstatic (if clearly doing the math on enlarging the partnership and feeling a little old and mortal), and her voicemail