The Animal Hour Read Online Free Page A

know.”
    But then there were his footsteps on the stairs. Tumbling down the stairs quickly. Practically running. She could imagine Randall shooting a terrified glance back over his shoulder as he skittered past Perkins’s door on the landing below.
    â€œPah?” said the baby, looking around with his big eyes.
    Avis held him away from her so she could look in his face. He stared at her, wondering.
    â€œPah!” she said, blowing on him.
    The baby thought that was hilarious and let out a loud laugh, kicking his legs.
    Right beside them, the phone rang loudly. Avis jumped. The baby thought that was hilarious too. The phone rang again. Avis let her breath out, shook her head. The baby laughed some more.
    â€œAh ha ha!”
    â€œVery funny,” Avis told him.
    She caught up the phone as it rang a third time. She wedged the handset between her chin and shoulder. She held the baby out in the air. Made a face at him through her tears. He wriggled happily.
    â€œHello,” she said. She sniffled.
    â€œOh, Avis,” came the voice on the other end, an old woman’s voice, quavering. “Oh, Avis. Thank heavens. You’re finally there. It’s Ollie’s Nana, dear. I need him. I’m desperate. There’s been a catastrophe.”

“W hat’s that supposed to mean?” she said. She laughed. “I’m not Nancy Kincaid—what does that mean? Who am I then? Am I supposed to guess?”
    But the black woman in the doorway did not laugh. She was not even smiling anymore. She simply stood there, poised and stylish. Her folder under her arm. Her hip jutting a little in her red dress. Her gaze still empty, still unfathomable. Nancy (because she was sure that she was , in fact, Nancy Kincaid) found herself shifting nervously under that gaze. Her weight went from foot to foot. Her hand flicked to her hair.
    â€œCome on,” she said. “Seriously. What is the problem here?”
    The black woman raised one hand: a mature, professional gesture. “Look,” she said. “You can’t be in here without permission. All right? That’s all I know. If you want to wait outside in the reception area, maybe when Nancy comes in you can discuss it with her, otherwise—”
    â€œBut I am Nancy. This is my office. Christ. I mean, I think I know who I am.”
    â€œWell—I’m sorry. But whoever you are, you can’t stay in here.” The black woman did not waver. Her gaze did not waver. “You’ll have to go out into the waiting room. Please.”
    â€œI can’t believe this.” Open-mouthed, Nancy looked around for support. Through the glass partitions, she could see down the row of offices. She could see an older woman hanging up her coat on a stand. A man in shirtsleeves opening his briefcase on his desk. People were going about their business, getting down to work. Only she, of all God’s children, was being persecuted here by the Demon Secretary of Warren Street. She turned back to the black woman. “You know,” she said, as the idea dawned on her, “I don’t think I know you. Do you work here?”
    â€œMiss, I don’t have time for this right now. If you want to—”
    â€œDo you work here?” Nancy said. “I mean, this is ridiculous. Why are you bothering me?”
    â€œAlbert.” The woman had turned, had called the name down the corridor. Nancy glanced to her left and saw the man in shirtsleeves look up at the call. He was a young man with coiffed brown hair. He was wearing a blue-striped shirt with a red tie and jolly red suspenders.
    â€œIs that you calling, Martha, my love?” he said.
    â€œAlbert, could you come in here for a moment?”
    Jesus. This woman won’t give up , Nancy thought. But she was annoyed to feel a little clutch of fear in her stomach. As if she were a high school kid standing up to a teacher. “Look, can I just get to work now