34

The Library Committee meeting was in session when Lida got there. Jerry, a stack of papers on the arm of his desk chair, was gesturing at a man to his right, a florid specimen, complete with beer belly and, Lida noted, white socks.

The subject at hand was security. Jerry had located a company that produced a device designed to stop the theft of library materials. White Socks was the sales representative of that company.

“They pass through this invisible beam,” Jerry was saying, excited, “and if they’ve stolen anything, a buzzer sounds.”

“And then,” Lida asked, “does a little chopper come down and sever their hand, or what?”

Jerry’s laughter was halting, more like a cough. “I’ve researched this very carefully, Lida,” he said.

“I’m sure you have, Jer. I know how thorough you are.”

Halfway into the presentation, Lida pulled the stolen Wendolyn book from her purse and began to read.

White Socks passed out brochures and then went on to recite the copy aloud. “Are there any questions?” he asked when he had finished.

“Yeah,” Lida said, putting the Wendolyn back into her purse. “How much does this thing cost?”

“Well,” he said, “the device alone would come to …”—he scratched some figures onto a pad—“approximately seven thousand dollars.”

“What about installing it?” Lida said.

“Well, the installation depends on a number of factors, any one of which could work to reduce or inflate the cost structure—”

“Rock bottom,” Lida interrupted, “how much?”

“Rock bottom,” he said, “I don’t know.”

“I have a feeling”—Lida looked around the room—“that we’re talking about spending our entire allotment.” The Library Committee had twelve thousand dollars to work with, less than half the money it had requested.

“I have a feeling,” she went on, catching the cadence of Martin Luther King, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, maybe, “that we won’t have any money left to buy books. Books!”

She turned to the chairman of her department, who also served on the committee. His name was Lance. Lida had once confided to Diana her suspicion that he’d changed it from Tyrone, better to serve as the black community’s answer to Norman Mailer. “I have a feeling that if we wanted to stage a reading of the novel that Lance has been working on”—she saw Lance’s teeth appear in his corner of the room—“we wouldn’t have the funds to publicize it. At least, not the way it would deserve to be publicized.” Lida begged the Muses to forgive her.

“Yes,” Lance was saying, “what would the entire package cost, approximately?”

There was a motion to postpone the adoption of the security system. This motion carried.

“We’re not forgetting about it.” Lance patted Jerry’s arm, then shook hands with the salesman. “It’s just, well, premature to consider it this year. As Lida pointed out”—he turned to smile at her—“there are so many other worthy projects that the committee ought to be spending its money on.”

Jerry caught her arm as she left the room. “You sure know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?” he said.