Page 115 of Saint Céline
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When the buzzer rang downstairs twenty-six minutes later, I was elated.
She arrived soaked, furious, and carrying her laptop like a weapon. The elevator doors opened directly into the private vestibule outside my apartment, and for half a second she stood there beneath the overhead light, rainwater clinging to her hair and the shoulders of her coat. She had not brought an umbrella.
“You are unbearable,” she said the moment I opened the door.
“You came. Though I suppose I made you come twice today.”
“I came because I need the work,” Céline says, ignoring my jab.
“Yes, that you do.”
“Not because you told me to.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t agree with me when you don’t believe me.” Her eyes narrowed.
“I believe you came because you found a justification that preserved your pride.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
“I hate your apartment.”
I looked around the room. “You’ve seen it for four seconds.”
“It looks exactly like you.”
“That does not explain why you hate it.”
“It absolutely does. Also, do not mention what happened in the office today. Any more references and I will leave immediately.”
She removed her coat and hesitated for half a second, looking for a place to put it. I took it from her before she could object and hung it beside mine. She watched the movement as if I had done something intimate. Perhaps I had. Her gaze moved through the living room, over the shelves, the fireplace, the papers on the table, the tall windows where rain crawled down the glass.Céline could recognize taste even when she resented the person possessing it.
“This is very professor-with-boundary-issues,” she said.
“I was told the category is popular.”
“With the police, maybe.”
She walked farther in, her laptop held against her chest, and stopped near the windows. The rain reflected softly against her face, turning her features pale and almost severe. She looked tired. I disliked it. She deserved to look warm and radiant, with the world at her fingertips.
I moved to the table and opened the proposal file.
“Sit.”
She glanced at the chair, then at me.
“Ask nicely.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
She stood for approximately fifteen seconds before sitting down with obvious irritation. I did not smile. It would have been unkind, and I needed to get into her good graces.
