Page 5 of Viktor

“There’s no way he is in California,” she said out loud. Waverly shoved to her feet and brushed the sand off her hands.

Logic told her he was in Miami. There was no way he could find her. She hadn’t told him her name, and on the off chance he’d asked the maître d’, she hadn’t left her last name. You’re just being paranoid. Calm the fuck down, Waverly.

Convinced her mind was playing tricks on her, she picked up her surfboard and headed toward the stairs on the cliff. “He doesn’t know who I am. I’m just seeing things.”

Waverly smiled as she looked down into the museum’s atrium from the top of the wide marble staircase. A sea of benefactors milled about the lower level, mingling among San Diego’s most prominent citizens. Later in the evening, supporters of the museum would outbid each other in an attempt to win donated prizes. More donors meant more bids. More bids meant more money for the prestigious art museum which would produce unique, celebrated exhibits and provide more funding for community outreach, bringing art directly to the world.

“Dr. LaFleur. Dr. LaFleur,” a voice called out to her. The sound of heels tapping on the floor grew louder.

“Please, Sheila, call me Lee,” Waverly insisted as Sheila Hertz, the museum’s new event planner, hurried toward her.

“But you are the head curator and—”

“Can you believe this crowd? Has everyone checked in?” Waverly interrupted, hoping to curb her need for formality.

“Just a few more are expected.” Sheila swiped her finger over her tablet and fiddled with her headset. “David? David? Yes…David. Please tell Dr. Williams that Dr. LaFleur is on the second-floor balcony by the staircase.” She smiled at Waverly, looking her up and down. “Killer black dress,” she whispered. “Yes. Yes. Security? Everyone here in the lobby? Can we do a roll call?” Sheila covered her mic. “Sorry. I’m triple checking. I don’t want guests wandering into places they aren’t supposed to be yet.”

“No worries.” Waverly focused her attention back on the guests as Sheila gave her a wave, leaving to attend to her duties. An orchestra played Bach while waiters passed hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne. A ding sounded and she turned to see her boss heading toward her, elevator doors closing behind him.

“Ah, my dear Waverly,” he called to her in his familiar British accent.

“Hello, sir.” She returned his smile, noting his formal attire. The sixty-four-year-old museum director appeared young for his age. Handsome and fit, he didn’t look a day over forty. He ran a tight ship and was well respected by the staff. Under his direction over the past ten years, she’d watched the museum grow, acquiring diverse and rare art as a result of targeted fundraising.

“Quite a crowd tonight. Sheila’s outdone herself,” she commented.

“Ah yes, well, nothing but the best for the one percent. They expect a luxurious experience and that is what we aim to give. When you auction off a loan of one of the rarest Monets, that’s going to draw quite a crowd.”

“So, are you going to let me see it or do I have to wait?” Waverly asked with an excited smile. He’d been teasing her all day, promising the appearance of a last-minute donation, but unwilling to reveal its owner.

He laughed and clapped his hands together. “As promised, you will have access to it before the others see it. It is your exhibit, after all. Can’t wait to get your thoughts. I know you’re going to love it. Let’s go check it out.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to go sneak a peek, but I didn’t want to ruin your surprise,” Waverly confessed.

“Indeed, I’m sure you were. But wait until you see how it fits with your exhibit. I took your suggestion as to its placement. I know how hard you’ve worked.”

“If it’s a Monet, I’m sure it will be perfect.” For over a year, Waverly had worked on the project, bringing together the most eclectic exhibit of rare Impressionist paintings the West Coast had ever seen. The design of the space had been renovated to reflect the mood of an era. Rebellion. Creation. Innovation of art.

“It’s not every day we get such a generous offer,” he told her.

“Yes, about that,” Waverly commented, pausing to lift her gown as they ascended a staircase. “In all my years, I’ve never experienced such great luck. It’s unusual that a donor would offer an item from their private collection last minute like this. Just transporting it must have been a feat. Security and whatnot.”

“Agreed. It is quite unusual. He contacted me last night, and well, given the resources in attendance tonight, how could I possibly say no?”

“He?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Yes, well, I didn’t actually meet him yet. You see, he sent his associate. All very cloak and dagger. From his behavior so far…strikes me as an eccentric fellow. Of course, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“The mystery is quite intriguing.”

“Your average billionaire, I suppose.” He laughed as they rounded a corner to the exhibit. “Bienvenue en France! C'est magnifique.”

“Merci beaucoup.” Waverly beamed with pride, admiring its entrance, a replica of the Arc de Triomphe. She smiled as she stepped inside the archway. “I love this. It really does look cool.”

Waverly had worked tirelessly to create an immersive experience. Visitors would not just see the exhibit but would indulge all their senses as they experienced Impressionism. Monet. Cezanne. Renoir. Pissarro. Sisley. Degas. As patrons first entered the exhibit, it was as if they had stepped into the birthplace of Impressionism itself. Its entrance had been painted with wall murals depicting Normandy, France. From its white cliffs to its beaches and gardens, the inspirational scenes mimicked the environment that had surrounded the original Impressionists as they’d created their masterpieces.

As the exhibit progressed, the experience morphed to the streets of Paris. Murals depicted the cultured city’s scenery including the Eiffel Tower and the river of the Goddess, the Seine. One could rest on the varied vintage park benches that she’d had flown in directly from Paris, while listening to the babbling water of an authentic Parisian park fountain.

Periodically the scent of fresh-baked croissants and pastries was piped into the area. When visitors looked upward, they were greeted with a cloud-painted dome, the daytime sky above them.