A Town of Empty Rooms Read Online Free PDF Page B

there; the fact was that she was allowed to hold onto it to occasionally pick up his coffee or a gift for his kids. She had been surprised, ten years before, when she had been hired as an assistant to the speechwriting team, and was elated when her boss, Earl Morton, promoted her soon thereafter. But while they used her blather to inspire the sales force, they were not raising her pay, and while others in her group got lavish promotions, rose to accompany the executives on their journeys to Paris, to conferences in Rome, she did not. Earl Morton used just enough of her material to make her feel she was contributing, raised her pay once, to give her hopes that it could happen again, but otherwise he ignored her efforts. And the time she had sent out her resumes to other companies, the city was sliding into recession, and the opportunities for her skills had dried up.
    Her sister Dawn bounded forward, holding fundraisers for Oxfam, for the United Way, to combat global hunger; she posed on red carpets with celebrities, smiling steadily into cameras. How had they become so different? Dawn had absorbed their father’s adaptability; Dawn, somehow, knew how to get out and use the world. Serena didn’t know what she was doing wrong. Was it the wrong job or the wrong
employer? How did anyone know how to create luck? She went in each day and sat at her desk writing impassioned speeches, while Earl Morton used her ideas and didn’t pay her more; she sat in her cubicle, imagining that she was somewhere else.
    â€œHow much are you making?” he asked, softly; it was a question that came up too often.
    â€œFifty.” She paused, inflating it. “Thousand.”
    â€œThat’s not enough.”
    â€œI think it’s pretty good.” She bit her lip.
    â€œThe fools. You should be getting two hundred. Ask,” he said, and hung up.
    The second call was two hours later. “I have good news,” he said. “Dawn met Angelina Jolie. They were raising money for a Ugandan orphanage. She said she was very nice. They may get together with the kids.”
    â€œGreat, Dad.”
    His voice always assumed a deep, theatrical pride when he discussed Dawn, as though someone else was listening. “She showed me a picture. Arm in arm. They’re flying the orphans out. What are you doing? Did you ask?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBy four o’clock, you’re asking. One hundred thousand. No less. They’re robbing you.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat are you waiting for? The clock is ticking — ”
    â€œDad. This is not how it ’s done.”
    â€œI’ll call for you — ”
    â€œDad!” Her voice cracked, like a fifteen-year-old’s. The vice president of marketing looked over at her and laughed.
    â€œI’m calling,” he said, haughtily. “His number is 839-0958.”
    Amazingly, he had it right. He was good.
    â€œDad. Let’s not talk about me for a sec. Tell me about your trains.” Though he was always creating elaborate sets of distant cities, right before he finished his creations, he would dismantle them. “How’s Paris?”
    â€œI can’t find a good Eiffel Tower.”

    This she could help with. “I could look online for one . . . is there a type you want?”
    â€œI’ll find it. Now ask. Or I’m calling your supervisor. Honey. Believe!”
    â€œDad, please!” She hung up and then stared at the phone, aghast; she had never hung up on her father before. But she did not call back when he phoned the next time.
    The caller ID said his name: Aaron Hirsch. The call had come at 2:00 PM. Later, she pressed the button over and over but could not access the message; he had died at four.
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    NOW SHE SAT ON A low brick wall that marked the compound of the First Baptist Church of Waring across the street from the Temple, which had been erected in 1902. The building seemed slanted just