conferences.
“—and so I’ve been really paying attention to people, and I think it’s working out. It’s just a little difficult, because it looks strange, when I record it on paper. It doesn’t look correct, if you know what I mean.”
Then he noticed that I’d finished my coffee and had left the signed check sticking out of the folder, so Eleni could come and collect it. “Oh, rats, you shouldn’t have to pay for your lunch, not when you’ve been good enough to share your table and answer all my questions, and everything! I was going to get it.”
I scratched my chin with my left hand, trying to show off my wedding band and engagement ring, just to get the point across. “Thanks anyway. Please don’t worry about it. I’ve just got to get going.”
“Well, maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink tonight, at the reception before the business meeting. Please, it’s not like it’s coming out of my wallet, and the guys at home will think I haven’t been working if I don’t spend some entertainment money.”
I switched to rubbing my eyebrow, wiggling my rings just a little bit. I just wanted the guy to get the idea. “Hey, like I said, it was no problem, I’m happy to help.”
And when I saw he was about to protest again, I said hurriedly, “But if we run into each other tonight, you can buy me a beer. That’s the common currency among archaeologists.”
“Great, talk to you later!” he said brightly. This time it was garlic and onions, but that was far better than aging bait fish. I was glad to have made him happy, but jeez, the guy was like a leech, and I was eager to get away.
I brushed past the line of hungry, cranky conferees and all but ran for the elevators. Although I had plenty of time, something in me just wanted to be away from the throng for a moment. I checked the messages on my room’s phone and was disappointed not to have one from Scott. The rest were confirmations of dinner arrangements, and one that seemed like a wrong number, asking whether I was “up for a little crawling tonight?” Graduate students crawling the halls, looking for important parties to crash, no doubt.
I deleted the messages and went through my slides. Good: they were still in the order I’d left them last night. You never could be sure that they mightn’t have gotten rearranged at some point. I read through the paper again, only halfheartedly, more eager for it to be done with and get the fresh rush from questions rather than getting off on hearing my own voice or reading my own conclusions on the excavation of Fort Providence so far. When I’d first started reading papers, long, long ago, I lived in fear that anyone would have anything to say about my work. Now, good commentary was the best part of any session.
I called Scott’s room and left him a message, telling him where I’d be for the next couple of hours, and that he could also leave a message on my cell phone, although it would be turned off. Then I found the room for the session on first-period sites and took a seat in the front row. The volunteer who was handling the slides came in to set up, and I left my carousel with him, letting him know I would be the last speaker and giving him a few other instructions.
The room filled up quickly, and we got underway. We were almost through with the presentation before mine when a young woman came up to me and introduced herself in a whisper. “I just wanted to get the chance to say hello. I’d like to talk to you about some of the—”
“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but this isn’t the best time,” I said. “I’m about three seconds from having to go up there and give my paper. Do you have a card?”
She nodded; it was already in her hands.
“Write what you want to discuss on the back of your card. If I get a chance to see you later, great, otherwise I’ll email you when I get back to campus, okay? And here’s one of my cards; if I don’t get back to you in two weeks, drop me a line.”
She nodded, scribbling on the back of the card. She handed it to me, apologized profusely in a hushed tone, and scuttled away.
I collected myself, got