The Animal Hour Read Online Free Page B

please?” she said, a little desperately. “I mean, this is ridiculous. I would like to have my office to my—”
    â€œAlbert.” The young man had joined the black woman in the doorway. The black woman—Martha—was indicating Nancy with one red fingernail.
    â€œYes, oh entrancing one,” Albert said.
    â€œThis woman has come in here without permission.”
    â€œHorrors!”
    â€œShe says she’s Nancy.”
    â€œWhat?” To Nancy’s dismay, the young man, this Albert, looked up at her and let out a surprised little laugh. “She says she’s Nancy?”
    â€œNancy Kincaid?” Nancy said. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Fernando Woodlawn’s personal assistant? Jesus, you guys! I don’t know what’s going on here but …” Then, as Martha and Albert gazed at her, she stopped. Two other people had come up behind them. A tall woman with tinted hair. A doughy blob of a man in a gray suit. They were standing on their toes, looking in at her over Martha’s and Albert’s shoulders. Nancy looked from one to the other, from one stare to the other. Her mouth was still open on her last word as the whole thing became clear to her. “Oh,” she said finally, drawing out the syllable. “Oh. Oh, very, very funny. Very funny, people.” And her cheeks really did turn scarlet now. She felt as if her whole body was blushing and she thought: Damn him! “All right,” she said. “Where is he? Where’s Fernando? What is this, like, some kind of trick he pulls every year at Halloween or something? Break in the new girl? Is he hiding under the desk or recording this or something? Come on. You got me. I’m humiliated, hooray. Enough is enough.”
    She was trying hard to keep her composure, not to show how irritated and embarrassed she was. But this was something that truly bugged her about her ever-lovin’ boss. This sixteen-year-old jockstrap humor of his. The fact that she was an overprotected Catholic girl was just the big joke of the world to him. It was just so, so funny. Practically every day, he went out of his way to mention some bodily function or other in front of her. As if she’d never heard of it before. Then he’d shout out to everyone, “Look. Catholic School is blushing.” And, of course, that would make her blush. And then she was always supposed to laugh and roll her eyes and demonstrate that she could take a joke.
    â€œYou’ve had your fun,” she said now, controlling her voice. She was feeling hotter, more ridiculous, more annoyed by the moment. “You can all go back to Fernando and tell him I blushed and looked stupid, okay? Now I have a lot of work to do this morning, so if you don’t mind …”
    But the people standing in the doorway said nothing. They answered her, all four of them, only with those gazes. Empty and unfathomable stares; stares in a waxwork; unwavering. Nancy felt herself tighten as it went on and on. She felt her whole body tighten with the frustration of it. The frustration—and something else. That clutch of fear again, that cold contraction in her stomach.
    It all seems wrong somehow …
    She swallowed. She put her hands on her hips. She was aware of the silence lengthening. She was aware of the whisper of traffic in the room. The faint Warren Street patter and shush coming in through the open window behind her. She was aware that she was just standing there, jutting her chin at the four of them as they confronted her. She could not think of anything else to say.
    â€œWhat’s going on here?”
    The voice broke the moment. It was a loud voice, deep and authoritative. The cluster of people at the door slowly gave way. A new arrival shouldered his way into the room between Martha and Albert.
    Nancy cried out at the sight of him: “Oh!” She felt a great warm bath of relief. “Henry! Thank