She smiles politely but turns away before I can read the name tag stuck to the lapel of her brightly colored maxi dress. I have to hustle to keep up with her. “Do you want some coffee?” She asks and stops outside a double wood paneled door.
“No, thank you.” If I drink coffee now, I’ll never fall asleep.
She leads me into a large office with a window that faces the National Monument. “Mr. Mends is wrapping up his meeting. And you’re a little early.”
“Am I?” I instinctively put my hand in my tote to fish out my phone.
“Yes, but it’s perfectly okay.” She smiles stiffly, and I get the distinct feeling that it’s actuallynotokay. “If you change your mind about coffee, you can help yourself from the machine over there.” She points to a wet bar in the corner of the room. “There’s also water in the fridge.”
I wait for her to leave before I look at the time. I scoff. “Just as I thought.” I’m not early. It’s three minutes until three. In my book, anything less than five minutes early is on time.
Resigned to wait, I unlock my phone and check my notifications.
There’s another notification telling me that the recording is finished and ready to watch. It’s more than twelve minutes long.
That’s odd.
I’ve got a minute to kill and curious because I don’t remember ordering anything this week, I open the app and hit play.
Stephen walks into the frame, talking. I assume he’s on the phone until he’s joined in the frame by a woman who’s back is to the camera.
“What the fuck?” I hiss. They stand in front of my desk, face to face, not talking. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and he laughs at something she said.
The video freezes on that frame. His mouth open, her hand on his shoulder.
I refresh but nothing happens. I check my service and growl. I’ve only got one bar.
I move to the window and hold my phone up in vain.
“Don’t bother. The service in here is terrible.”
I jump, so engrossed that I didn’t hear the door open. I spin around surprised.
“You scared me,” I chide and walk over to meet him in the middle of the room. I drop my phone in my purse and force my attention to the present and smile at the man I’m here to see.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” he says as we approach each other.
“It’s okay. I know how busy you are Mr. Senior Curator.” I add some flare to my voice.
“Sounds so good, right?” He beams a smile and instead of the handshake I expected, he pulls me into a hug. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person.”
After a split second of surprise, I return it. “You too.” Even though after more than a year of emails, Zoom calls and texts, it doesn’t feel like the first time at all. “I’m so glad we could make this happen,” I add when we break our embrace.
He wrinkles his nose. “About that. I know I promised you could see the items today, but something has come up in my last meeting that means I can’t spare the time after all. I’m so sorry.”
Disappointed, I deflate a little but shake it off. I’m a big believer that everything happens for a reason. “It’s okay, Leon. I understand. I was surprised when you said you were free. I’ve been reading all the press about their arrival.” The bronzes, carvings, jewelry and other cultural artifacts that we helped reclaim from museums and private collections all over North America have been big news in the art world.
“Yeah, it’s been crazy.”
“That’s what happens when you make history.”
He smiles but brushes the praise away. “Hardly. And if history was made,wemade it together. Have you figured out how that story got scooped byThe Guardian?”
“Nope.”
“But when I read the article, I knew she had used your research because some of those things were direct quotes from me, and I didn’t talk to her.”
“Well, unfortunately I have no way of proving anything, and my editors didn’t have my back.”
