I was amazed to see her eyes well up with tears, but relieved that none actually fell. She said, “I knew this was coming.”
“Of course you did,” I said soothingly.
“You’ve changed a lot in the last few weeks, Art,” she said. “You may not like me saying this, but it’s that Kerner woman’s money.”
Obviously she hadn’t seen that tiny item about Mrs. Dodge’s demise. “I appreciate your concern for me, Gloria,” I said, “but I think I can take care—”
“Jesus, Art,” she burst out, “what’s the matter with you? You never talked like that before.”
It was possible my intense association with attorneys over the last week had had some temporary influence on my speech patterns. “I’ve never sold a company before,” I pointed out, “nor have I ever fired a good friend and a valued employee.” And I stuck my hand out with the check in it “Severance pay in lieu of notice.”
She took the check, and stood for quite some time looking at it. The tears had receded from her eyes. “Two thousand dollars,” she said softly, and looked up with what might have been an ironic smile. “Well, at least you feel guilty about it.”
“Not at all,” I said. “You have been invaluable here, and I think you know that yourself, and this is really a very small token of my appreciation.”
Squinting as though looking at me through drifting smoke, she said, “Art, won’t you need a secretary wherever you’re going?”
“This company isn’t folding,” I told her. “Why not call that lawyer Mandel, meet with the illustrators? Who knows the business better than you do?”
“You do,” she said.
I smiled at the compliment. “Not any more,” I said.
She hesitated, then turned away, holding the check and shaking her head. “I’ll just finish up this letter here.”
“Take your time.”
“Oh. This came for you.” She turned back with a legal-size white envelope. “I didn’t put it with the business things.”
It was marked Personal, and Linda Ann Margolies’ name and address were in the upper left-hand corner. “Thank you,” I said, and carried the thing back to my office with me.
I very nearly tossed it out at once — something about my brief encounter with that girl bothered me, I couldn’t say what — but curiosity got the upper hand. Opening it, I found a greeting card inside of the kind I used to publish, though not one from my company. The front showed a man in the front half of a horse suit, with a theater’s stage in the background. Inside, it said, “I just can’t go on without you.”
Was that supposed to be funny? I threw it away.