Then they heard the shouting.
“Embarrass you?” Mrs. Von Bizmark screamed. Anna wondered if word of her speech had gotten out somehow. “Is that why you’re not coming home?” she wailed at top volume. She sounded frantic.
“Drunk . . . lawsuit!” Mr. Von Bizmark shouted back. “Deal with the city . . . billions!”
Anna motioned for Julie and unlocked the door as quietly as possible. The two women attempted to pass the living room entryway without incident. The Von Bizmarks faced off, the site of the flood a backdrop to their confrontation. The television screen had finally been dismantled and all the debris cleared away, including the destroyed couch. Construction was due to start just after the ball. Mr. Von Bizmark, suited and ready for work, clutched the New York Post (“No Free Lunch! The Rich Shell Out”), the Observer (“Billionaire Luncheon Gets Boozy, Saves School”), and the New York Times (“How Many Inebriated Ladies Does It Take to Save PS 342?”). He glowered at Mrs. Von Bizmark. Everyone knew he despised mainstream news gossip and only coveted the attention of a very specific, very small, very wealthy circle of equally inaccessible associates.
Anna and Julie had nearly made it safely to the hallway when Mrs. Von Bizmark called for Anna, who frowned at Julie before entering the living room to stand a few feet away from the Von Bizmarks. Julie took up a protective post by the door. So much for that raise.
“What’s taking so long with this wall, Anna?” Mrs. Von Bizmark asked, arms crossed over her chest. This could happen—emotional turmoil diverted onto the nearest staff member. The luncheon was thirty seconds ago, the press couldn’t get enough of it, they’d nearly saved the school, the anniversary dinner approached with the Opera Ball hot on its heels, but of course, a construction update needed to happen at that very moment. Mr. Von Bizmark pointedly looked at his watch and resumed glaring at Mrs. Von Bizmark.
“First we had to wait for all the plaster, the floor, ceiling, wall, insulation, and so on to dry completely. Remember we had the dehumidifiers here? It rained a lot. Anyway, that took the longest. Now—”
“But, Anna, surely there’s something you could do to speed it along. Mr. Von Bizmark has been living in a hotel for weeks now.” Ah, the Mrs. wanted to blame Anna for her husband’s absence. Mr. Von Bizmark was so annoyed Anna could almost hear his teeth grinding; he did not want to be pulled into this scene, but Mrs. Von Bizmark would not be deterred. Once she started in on a staff member, Mrs. Von Bizmark had to fully crush the screws in. Though Anna had seen it many times, squirming in discomfort until the earliest moment she could jump in, she’d never expected she herself would end up on the receiving end.
“I mean, after yesterday’s gaffe at the lunch—tssk, tsssk.” Mrs. Von Bizmark could literally tssssk, a verbal embellishment she reserved for only the most dire circumstances. “I would just hate, after all these years, to have to micromanage you, but I don’t see any progress here.” Even Julie shrank away, both of them shamed by this unprecedented confrontation. Anna suddenly understood how difficult—how downright unbearable—her work environment could become. At any moment, Mrs. Von Bizmark could fire her for any reason and withhold references, essentially halving her earning potential in a split second. Here she was, faced with an impossible employer looking to exorcise her demons through verbal abuse. And she would have to take it.
It felt like withstanding a great storm as Mrs. Von Bizmark detailed the experience from her perspective, a narrative that Anna dizzily dipped in and out of. “Come home . . . water pouring out, Mr. Von Bizmark clutching his valise . . . endless fans . . . the smell . . .” She paused, and when Mr. Von Bizmark took a half step toward the exit, she grabbed his arm and looked expectantly at Anna. “What do you have to say?”
Both Von Bizmarks turned their eyes on her. He was impatience personified, desperate to conclude this whole nuisance as quickly as possible. But Mrs. Von Bizmark’s eyes clouded over with unhappiness, her emotions so clearly not about the wall and much more about their marriage, and this seemed so obvious to Anna that she knew her usual catchphrases—I’ll take care of it right away, I completely understand your frustration, How about I make some calls right now—would be useless.
Instead, Anna said, “I hadn’t noticed the smell.”
Mrs. Von Bizmark’s left eyebrow spiked for a moment before resettling. Mr. Von Bizmark inhaled deeply through his nose, his expression blank. But the Mrs. would bring the situation to a head in one way or another; this was as cathartic for her as popping a pimple. “I have to imagine you’ve just been distracted.” She employed her haughtiest tone. “But this is our home, Anna. You know? We live here? We don’t get to go home at night.”
“Neither do I!” Anna blurted, so surprised to hear these words come out of her mouth it was almost like she saw them—cartoon bubble letters flying across the room and hitting the Von Bizmarks in the face. She covered her mouth as if she could get the sentence back, and for a single surreal moment, everyone in the room gawked at one another in surprise. Even Mr. Von Bizmark forgot his desire to leave for a half second. Anna stormed out before anyone could see the tears springing from her eyes and stomped blindly down the hallway to the office.
Anna had expected for so long that her life would organize itself into neat little bins. That she would, one day, wake up and be an artist, a wife, a mother, a part-time private assistant, and a grown-up. But she could see clearly then that there were just too many bins! Everything had suffered. And now this breakthrough moment would be snatched from her. No way her art would be part of the Opera Ball if Mrs. Von Bizmark fired her.
She heaved with rage, sadness, and fear. Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed a large pair of office scissors and ever so carefully, confidently, like a surgeon, snipped three little matchsticks of cork off the board next to her desk on the wall. She wrapped them in tissue and stuffed them in her pocket, a ritual that helped to contain the overwhelming tide of feelings. Aimless, she threw herself into her Aeron chair without taking off her bag or jacket.
A hand on her shoulder. Cristina. Alicia and Josefina hovered in the background. Cristina handed Anna a tissue, which was when she realized tears were streaming down her face. They must all think she was or would be fired, and they were probably right. Here it was: the most unexpected thing. And it was happening to Anna.
“It’s OK,” Cristina said. “You’re a good assistant.” She shoved a warm croissant wrapped in linen into Anna’s hand. “You eat, you feel better,” she said. Anna took a bite of pastry and, indeed, instantly felt a bit more human. She sighed heavily and wiped her face with a tissue.
The ladies all watched her take another bite. Josefina’s own eyes were full of tears.
Anna leaped to her feet, taking both of Josefina’s hands in hers. So what if she was about to lose her job when she had helped to save a school? “Did you hear?!”
Josefina blushed and smiled, reaching into her powder-blue maid’s uniform pocket to withdraw the New York Times clipping. “Everyone in my neighborhood knows,” she said, chuckling.
“It’s not done yet,” Anna said.
“Ilana wants you to come for a barbecue,” Josefina said. “To celebrate.”