typewriter eraser, only
really big. The brown is the eraser part, and the brush is to brush away the
erasings.”
“And that’s art?”
“Made you stop and think, didn’t it? Filled you with
wonder.”
“I’d swap that one out for one of your pieces any day.”
“Bad idea.” She smiled. “Mine aren’t so weatherproof.”
They admired the spider and bird, posed alongside the
hare aping the famous Thinker statue, and almost got in trouble for sitting in
Burton
’s Six-Part
Seating.
“Ready for a snack? There’s a little café there by the
Metro sign.”
They ordered, and he waited for the food while she went
to claim a table. She watched him move from the counter to the condiment shelf
and back. He held his shoulders like a gymnast would. In blue slacks and a
black golf shirt with a penguin logo instead of a polo player, he looked the
part of the tourist, but that stance gave him away. And nothing could disguise
the commanding look in his eyes. He was a power player.
“Checking out the merchandise?” He set their tray down.
“I didn’t know they made those pants in anything but tan
or khaki.”
“Blue’s not much of a stretch, but I did want to be a
bit different.”
“And still a white
Oxford
shirt, but at least it has those tiny red stripes. It almost looks pink at a
distance.”
“It does not look pink.”
“You’re pinking!”
“I do not pink. Drink your coffee, or I will.” She did,
and felt again the welcome space in her mind, that heavy sadness from the past
few months had loosened this morning. Part of it had simply slipped away. She
willed the rest of it to follow.
“Miss May?”
“Mr. Kurck?”
“You are grinning. Art agrees with you?”
“Life agrees with me. Again.” At last.
His knee brushed hers, and then returned to stay. She
slid down in the metal chair, pressing more of her leg against him. He adjusted
himself in the seat, and her grin grew even wider.
“How about we hop across to the Hirschorn, and then grab
dinner at the Native American?”
“Eat at a museum?”
“It has the best food. It closes early, but that’s OK
because you have to be in bed so soon, right? Oh, and we have to go into the
office tomorrow noon.”
She felt him stiffen and move back in his seat, leaving
her. “Why?”
“Don’t you want to meet Markus Edmonson before the big
announcement? I would.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “Would you?”
Now it was her turn to blush. “He’s kind of a bear, but
that’s because he’s passionate about his work. You’ve got to respect that.”
“I suppose. What is the plan? The schedule for the
expedition,” he said to her blank look.
“Don’t you know?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know the dates. It depends on the weather,
right? The plan is a big expedition, maybe a video, and some maps. I get to do
the maps.” She tried to sound enthusiastic.
“You wanted to do more?”
“More videos, a series. And why not animated films? Or
some animation, at least? Cartoons can appeal to adults, too. And, really, we
should be targeting kids, anyway, if we want the penguins’ lands protected for
many generations.” She heard the strident tones in her voice and stopped
talking.
“Sounds like someone else has some passion.” He reached
around and draped his arm on her shoulder, not looking at her. Together, they
looked out at the Metro sign, the multicolored tourists, the greens and browns
of early summer. May could have sat like this all day.
After a while, he stirred and started rubbing her
shoulders where they met her neck. “Ever considered curating?”
“Sure. Not much of a market for curators.”
“I’ve been thinking. Joki needs to be more involved with
the arts. Maybe create a gallery, not here of course. But the collector, she
could live anywhere, really.” He tugged the bottom of her ear, and she
shivered. “Know anyone?”
She laughed. “Very funny. Joki is shooting its wad at
the Antarctic already. I’d say
really big. The brown is the eraser part, and the brush is to brush away the
erasings.”
“And that’s art?”
“Made you stop and think, didn’t it? Filled you with
wonder.”
“I’d swap that one out for one of your pieces any day.”
“Bad idea.” She smiled. “Mine aren’t so weatherproof.”
They admired the spider and bird, posed alongside the
hare aping the famous Thinker statue, and almost got in trouble for sitting in
Burton
’s Six-Part
Seating.
“Ready for a snack? There’s a little café there by the
Metro sign.”
They ordered, and he waited for the food while she went
to claim a table. She watched him move from the counter to the condiment shelf
and back. He held his shoulders like a gymnast would. In blue slacks and a
black golf shirt with a penguin logo instead of a polo player, he looked the
part of the tourist, but that stance gave him away. And nothing could disguise
the commanding look in his eyes. He was a power player.
“Checking out the merchandise?” He set their tray down.
“I didn’t know they made those pants in anything but tan
or khaki.”
“Blue’s not much of a stretch, but I did want to be a
bit different.”
“And still a white
Oxford
shirt, but at least it has those tiny red stripes. It almost looks pink at a
distance.”
“It does not look pink.”
“You’re pinking!”
“I do not pink. Drink your coffee, or I will.” She did,
and felt again the welcome space in her mind, that heavy sadness from the past
few months had loosened this morning. Part of it had simply slipped away. She
willed the rest of it to follow.
“Miss May?”
“Mr. Kurck?”
“You are grinning. Art agrees with you?”
“Life agrees with me. Again.” At last.
His knee brushed hers, and then returned to stay. She
slid down in the metal chair, pressing more of her leg against him. He adjusted
himself in the seat, and her grin grew even wider.
“How about we hop across to the Hirschorn, and then grab
dinner at the Native American?”
“Eat at a museum?”
“It has the best food. It closes early, but that’s OK
because you have to be in bed so soon, right? Oh, and we have to go into the
office tomorrow noon.”
She felt him stiffen and move back in his seat, leaving
her. “Why?”
“Don’t you want to meet Markus Edmonson before the big
announcement? I would.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “Would you?”
Now it was her turn to blush. “He’s kind of a bear, but
that’s because he’s passionate about his work. You’ve got to respect that.”
“I suppose. What is the plan? The schedule for the
expedition,” he said to her blank look.
“Don’t you know?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know the dates. It depends on the weather,
right? The plan is a big expedition, maybe a video, and some maps. I get to do
the maps.” She tried to sound enthusiastic.
“You wanted to do more?”
“More videos, a series. And why not animated films? Or
some animation, at least? Cartoons can appeal to adults, too. And, really, we
should be targeting kids, anyway, if we want the penguins’ lands protected for
many generations.” She heard the strident tones in her voice and stopped
talking.
“Sounds like someone else has some passion.” He reached
around and draped his arm on her shoulder, not looking at her. Together, they
looked out at the Metro sign, the multicolored tourists, the greens and browns
of early summer. May could have sat like this all day.
After a while, he stirred and started rubbing her
shoulders where they met her neck. “Ever considered curating?”
“Sure. Not much of a market for curators.”
“I’ve been thinking. Joki needs to be more involved with
the arts. Maybe create a gallery, not here of course. But the collector, she
could live anywhere, really.” He tugged the bottom of her ear, and she
shivered. “Know anyone?”
She laughed. “Very funny. Joki is shooting its wad at
the Antarctic already. I’d say
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