A Nearly Perfect Copy - By Allison Amend Page 0,35

thought about it, she had the same nervous laugh, waiting until you joined in to really titter, to make sure you agreed that something was funny.

“Mephistopheles himself. She is your friends’ adviser?”

“I wouldn’t say they’re my friends,” Elm said. “They’re acquaintances of Colin’s from the gym. Oh, and here’s the really funny part. In the master bath, right over the Jacuzzi tub—pink marble, by the way—hangs this portrait of their dog, Dishy or something. Full oil, photo-realist. It’s hilarious.”

“Avec or sans bone?” Ian asked.

“And they’re planning on cloning him,” Elm said. “Some European company that clones people’s pets. Is that not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Right up there with assless chaps, and squeeze-bottle cheese. Can they really clone him?”

Elm shrugged.

“I went to college with Relay. We were good friends then. Do you still have her card?”

“Not sure,” Elm said. It had been her New Year’s resolution several years ago to ask if anyone knew the person before Elm got catty about someone. She never quite mastered it.

The cab stopped suddenly as a pedestrian buried in a guidebook failed to notice the red light. “Fucking tourists,” said the cabbie.

“Sometimes I hate New York,” Ian said, with uncharacteristic vitriol.

When she got back to her desk there was a voice mail from Colin. He was whispering into the phone, speaking in mock code. “Shit is about to hit fan. Repeat, shit is about to hit fan. Ring my cell.”

Elm dialed him. He picked up and said, “George! Grand, and you?”

“You’d make a terrible spy,” Elm said.

“Yes, of course, George,” he said. Elm wanted to let him know he was overplaying it, but let him continue. When he was out of his colleagues’ earshot, he said, “Christ, Elmtree, you can cut it with a knife in there.”

“What’s going on?”

“Fuck if I know,” he said. “Looks like the merger will keep most higher-ups, but provisionally, just until the FDA ruling. Look, Elm,” he said, concerned by her silence. “We’ll be fine, I promise. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” Elm said.

“Everything else okay?” he asked.

I don’t know how to answer that, she thought. Nothing’s okay. Nothing will ever be okay again. “Fine,” she said.

“I’ll give you details tonight. I’d best go back in. Love you.”

Elm put her face in her hands. Maybe her cousin Greer was right. She could use some time off. She hadn’t taken more than seven consecutive days since the month Ronan died, when she had started back at work, too soon by most people’s standards. They didn’t understand that home was unbearable, suffocating, each room a cubby of memories. If she was at work, there were eight hours a day she couldn’t be lying in bed, remembering, mourning. Maybe during five minutes of the day she’d forget to think about him, and then a flood of guilt would overtake her even as she savored the relief of it, the lifting of the iron weight.

She searched her desk and briefcase for Relay’s card to pass on to Ian. She was wearing the same trench coat she wore that night, but the pockets contained only gum wrappers and used tissues. Maybe she had put it in the pocket of the pants she was wearing? She’d sent them to the dry cleaner’s with a stain on the right knee from falling guacamole. She could call the hostess. She supposed she should probably call her anyway, to thank her for the evening.

To her surprise, Ellen picked up the phone after the second ring. “Hello?” she said, breathless. Elm wondered if she was expecting a call. Maybe from her lover. Elm always imagined that people were having clandestine affairs, but usually there was some mundane reason for the erratic behavior, like a stomach virus, or a broken refrigerator. Elm thanked her for the party.

“Oh, of course. We’re glad you could make it. Sorry, I’m waiting for a call from France. From the company that’s cloning Dishoo?”

“That’s really happening, huh?” Elm asked.

“That’s what they say. We’re paying for it anyway.”

“How did it even occur … How did you find them?” Elm asked.

“My holistic health healer heard about it somewhere. They have a website.”

Elm wrote down the URL, thinking that Colin would get a kick out of it. She remembered to ask for Relay’s information before she hung up.

She took the phone number over to Ian’s office before she lost it again. “You know, it occurs to me now, I thought she looked familiar,” Elm said, pausing at the entrance to Ian’s office. “Is it possible she’s been to