MARGARET FEDDEMA. Sorry I’m late.
JAMES GLENNDENNING. You’re not late and you know it.
MF. I know it.
JG. You gonna sit, you gonna stand there with your sass taking up the whole room.
MF. This won’t take long.
JG. I assume this isn’t a social call since your rack isn’t on display.
MF. My rack is never on display.
JG. I have fond memories of your bosoms all out in the harsh light of day.
MF. Did I get what I wanted from you?
MF. Am I going to get what I want from you today?
JG. Not without y—
MF. I want to know what you know about Hugo.
JG. Hugo’s your dead boy?
MF. Twice dead. You know him.
JG. Incident at sea, if my people are correct.
MF. Your people are always correct. Which is infuriating.
JG. Why don’t you sit.
MF. Why don’t you tell me if you had anything to do with it.
JG. Because then you’d know.
MF. So you—
JG. No. Not me. I wish. But no.
MF. It didn’t seem like your M.O. But I had to ask.
JG. Maggie, you know I take no pleasure when the goals of our organizations collide. I wish we could just quit all this and go to one of those resorts where you don’t think about work. Where you just sit on the beach and look at young racks on display.
MF. No, you don’t.
MF. You don’t want to leave this city. You don’t even want to leave this office. And the last thing you want is to not think about work.
JG. Well that’s what regular people say, right? They talk about vacations. In conversation.
MF. I thought we were past all that.
JG. Takes me a minute to get warmed up.