“He said you would be calling,” Adam said, trying, from under his warm cheeks and absent frown, to get back his sentences. Why had he said she looked wonderful? He never said that to women in the Room. She wasn’t in the Room, though, was she? She was a columnist for Editorial. They were on another floor. She never went there. She was on contract, worked from home. They took her ID years ago. He was still talking, and he said something he often said, “I didn’t hear,” along with the pause that was taken for thoughtfulness, an introspective nature. He had a sense that he had to talk some more. “And I thought that maybe—it’s a big decision. Well, here you are. Have a seat.”

“I don’t need to stay,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know in person how sorry I am.”

She stood there, a tornado.

“Sit. I have some time.”

“No, you don’t,” she said. “Look, it’s close to five.”

“Hard to know what’s going on over there.”

“In the Room?”

“The White House.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on over there. Maybe five or seven hopeful nudniks are sitting around a table trying to figure out how to stop the rest of the world from knowing they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. The ones who know what’s up in their corner of the universe are the loyal toilers thinking about baby-stroller safety regulations or propane-gas subsidies or our nation’s lakes and streams or, more likely, a flowchart. That’s what. That’s all that’s ever going on over there.”

She had a sweating bottle of cold spring water in her hand. Without a hitch, she came close and pressed it to his cheeks, one at a time, for all the Room to see. “Here, you need this,” she said. Then she put the bottle on his desk and sat down in a chair.

“I will sit down,” she said. “I’m tired.”

She kicked off her shoes.

“Do you know how many times I’ve lost my balance on those things?” She held one by its long thin heel and watched it twiddle in the air. “I landed on my ass right outside your office. I’m surprised you didn’t see me, what with these gerbil aquariums. People in glass houses. Editors in glass cages.”

“They let me out, though.” He surprised himself, managing a witticism. He hadn’t recovered from the thought of how the Room was processing his scene with her.

Oblivious, she laughed. He reached for the bottled water. What the hell. He wasn’t thirsty, but he had no idea what to say to her next. He drank a long swig.