“Your name isn’t familiar to me, so if my grandmother mentioned you it might have been a while ago, and lots of people have come to interview her, so anyway, what’s your book?”

“Gendered Space in the Workplace, Past, Present and Future. I imagine that she may have spoken of it to you at the time of publication. Perhaps you saw the very good review in the Post-Feminist Studies Quarterly? The quibbles were unjustified, I thought, but you know critics. It came out five years ago from Manatee Press. I devote an entire chapter to the Triangle fire. That fire was a seminal event—”

“Whatever that means, and are you sure you want to use that word?”

“Seminal? But it was, you see. It was a seminal event in the history of gendered space. I inscribed a copy personally to your grandmother, I am sure you have seen it on her shelf—”

“Not really. She usually gave away her books. She pretty much stopped reading a few years ago. She liked seeing the Forward when a copy came her way, but she never wanted to pay for a subscription of her own, and other than that she really didn’t read very much of anything these last few years.”

“Do you mean to say it was not among her personal effects at the time of her passing? I am extremely disappointed to hear that. I had assumed—”

“Really. I’m sorry, but I’m sure I don’t have your book. And I don’t think I have ever seen it. Anyway, what can I do for you right now?”

“Oh dear. I am trying to absorb this information and adjust my sense of the situation. Hmm. I don’t suppose you have retained the distinctive seashell that was placed on her bedside table the last time I called on Esther, in July? That was the occasion on which I brought that seashell to her as a souvenir of my trip to Jacksonville, Florida, for a conference last June, just before our visit. I will never forget that last occasion with your grandmother, when, as I told you, I just knew.”

“A seashell? I don’t know. Maybe. Did you find it on the beach or something? What did it look like?”

“No, I purchased it at the Jacksonville airport gift shop, because I wanted to bestow upon Esther a token of my esteem to celebrate the success of the paper I had just presented at the conference, plus I did not actually ever go to a beach during my time in Florida. The conference was the annual meeting of the Herstorical Society.”

“Historical Society of what?”

“Herstorical. You know, history, herstory, her story—”

“Oh.”

“I assure you, it’s a very good organization, and I can get you information on the next conference, which I believe will take place in Akron, Ohio, next June. You might find it very interesting, although your own work is so different, I am sure, although perhaps you are equally concerned with gender, in your own way. My paper took up the shirtwaist as a representational gesture of early-twentieth-century female expression of desire to be attired with the freedom of male garb. The title of my paper was “Desire and Attire: the Shirtwaist Reconsidered.” It received a great deal of attention, if I do say so. The seashell was a chambered nautilus, I believe; it was a not inexpensive gift, though not the largest size in the shop. I was in the mood to make a generous gesture because without your grandmother my paper would not have been the success that it was.”