The lazy sounds of elevator music piped through the line…she’d put him on hold. He resisted the urge to slap his forehead, and settled instead for rubbing his eyes extra hard with his knuckles.

Could he sound more pathetic?

He desperately hoped that she hadn’t realized he was the one who’d called before. How unbelievably humiliating. He needed whatever time he had left to think of something to say. Should he ask her about the notes and sketches?

The music stopped. “Jim?”

“Yeah?” Ooh, good verbal skills.

“He’s just finishing up some stuff." A pause. "So…how've you been?”

Good question.