"Mr. Curry?"
He turns, polite but confused. "Yes?"
"I'm Seraphina Romano. I work in rare book restoration at Antiquarian Rare Books in SoHo." I extend my hand. "I'm actually interviewing for a position at the library, and I was hoping?—"
"I'm sorry, are you with one of the auction houses?"
My smile is tight as I try not to let my annoyance show. What the heck is wrong with these people?
"No, I?—"
"Because I'm not interested in any new acquisitions at the moment."
"I'm not trying to sell you anything," I say quickly. "I just thought, since you work in manuscripts and I'm interviewing for Special Collections, maybe you'd have some insight about?—"
"The library?" He looks genuinely puzzled, like he can't quite figure out why someone from the library would be talking to him at a charity gala. "I'm afraid I can't help you there. Different institutions, you understand. Different funding structures entirely. I appreciate your gumption, but I'm not knowledgeable about that space."
I sigh. "Of course, I just thought?—"
"Lovely to meet you, though." He's already walking away, placing his phone to his ear and effectively blowing me off.
I watch him disappear into the crowd.
Two for two.
My champagne glass is empty. My feet hurt. And I'm starting to feel very, very stupid.
One more try. Just one more before I pack it up.
I see her near the buffet table, and my heart leaps. Margaret Whitmore. I recognize her from the library's website—she's on the board of trustees, and more importantly, she's on the selection committee for my position.
She's also the reason these people are even here tonight. She's a wealthy donor who enjoys acquiring rare books. If I can get in with her, then I know I can really make things happen.
This is it. My last real chance tonight.
I set down my empty glass, smooth my hair, and approach.
"Ms. Whitmore?"
She turns, a polite smile already in place. It tightens slightly as she takes in my appearance—the same quick assessment I've seen twice already tonight.
"Yes?"
"I'm Seraphina Romano, one of the finalists for the Associate Curator position." The words are coming out too fast, but I can't seem to slow down. "I just wanted to introduce myself and tell you how much I admire the library's Special Collections. The Gutenberg Bible alone?—"
"How lovely." She's not listening. Her eyes are already drifting over my shoulder, searching for someone more interesting. "We're so pleased with all our finalists this year."
"I've been working in restoration for three years, and I have extensive experience with?—"
"I'm sorry, dear, but I don't discuss things with candidates.Conflict of interest, you know." She touches my arm briefly, the gesture somehow both kind and dismissive. "Do enjoy the evening."
She's gone before I can say another word, swept away by a man in a gray suit who gets her full attention immediately.
Dear.
She called me dear. Like I'm a child. Like I'm nobody.
I stand there in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by people who belong, and feel the full weight of how much I don't.
