Elevator Pitch. Linwood Barclay
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of New York?”
Arla nodded and smiled. “I haven’t actually met him yet. I mean, maybe I never will. You can work for someone like that and never come face-to-face. You’re just one of the minions, right? But you never know.” She leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, “I hear rumors he’s thinking of going for a Senate seat, or maybe even something bigger than that. Imagine being on the ground floor if that happens.”
Clearly, Arla had not read Barbara’s latest column that put out that rumor. Barbara pushed her plate to one side and leaned in, their foreheads almost touching.
“I get it,” she said.
“Get what?” Arla said.
“It’s creative, I’ll grant you that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arla said, leaning back into her seat.
“Don’t be cute, Arla.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you mean, Mother.”
“Did you actually plan it? Did you think, wouldn’t it be great if I could work for the man my mother’s been trying to get the goods on since he took office? The man is totally corrupt, you know. Always doing favors for his friends. Or did the mayor’s office seek you out?” Barbara suddenly smiled. “I could see it happening that way.”
“Not everything is about you.”
“Headley figures out who you are and offers you a job just to stick it to me. Were you headhunted? Maybe he figures if I know you’re working for him, I’ll back off. Or I’ll take him up on his offer.”
“What offer?”
“Never mind.”
“I saw the position advertised online,” Arla said. “And I applied. I went for an interview, and I got it. If you’re suggesting I was hired just to even some score with you, then thanks for the insult. I’m good at what I do. I got hired because I bring something to the table.”
“You went after it to spite me.”
“You’re not even hearing me anymore.”
“You wanted to rub my nose in it,” Barbara said.
Arla eyed her mother pitiably. “I’d have thought, being a writer and all, you could do better than a cliché like that.”
“Once they find out you’re my daughter, they’ll probably fire you.”
“Well, unless you’re planning to tell them, I should be fine.”
Arla’s last name was Silbert, as was Barbara’s. Matheson was actually Barbara’s middle name, which honored her mother’s side of the family. She’d chosen to write under it years earlier, so Arla wasn’t likely to be found out on name recognition alone.
“You know, it’d be nice, if just once, you could acknowledge that I can accomplish something on my own. Maybe even congratulate me.”
Barbara said nothing.
Arla sighed resignedly and looked at her watch. “Shit, I have to run. Don’t want to be late on my first day.” She flashed a smile as she slid out of the booth. “Thanks for the coffee. Always nice to catch up.”
She turned and walked out. Barbara watched as she reached the sidewalk, turned right, and walked past the window, heading south.
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