coat-check room, which was no longer operational—perhaps because of renovations, or maybe because of fears that a checked coat might hold a bomb. I didn’t know.
Now I waited, sweating in my new fall coat, a pumpkin-colored wool melton, thinking about the good old days when a woman could hang a coat in a museum and not worry about the motives of the person she was meeting.
Michael Hendricks came through the door a few minutes later, dressed in a navy-and-black pinstripe suit, without a tie or an overcoat. He had taken a taxi, I guessed.
“You look irritated,” Hendricks said. “Am I that late?”
“No. It’s just that it’s so hot in here, and the checkroom’s closed.”
“I’ll take your coat. There’s a place we’ll leave it, deeper into the museum.” He held out his hands for the coat, but just as I was about to hand it to him, I changed my mind and kept it draped over my arm. No chance that I’d allow him any opportunities to slide a bug into its lining.
The Sackler’s galleries were subterranean, so we walked down a flight of stairs and were buzzed through the same locked doors to administration. Directly off the hall was a room with a buzzer, which Michael pressed.
“This is storage,” Michael said while we waited. “They’re paranoid about damage, so I’m sure they’re going to ask me to leave my pen. Will you keep it at the bottom of your purse for me, and give it back when we leave?”
The pen looked like Mark Cross, but who knew what kind of pen it really was, I thought as I dropped it into the recesses of my bag and the door was opened to us by Elizabeth Cameron. Behind her stretched a series of tall steel cabinets, which I quickly figured out held all the goodies that weren’t on display. I felt my interest rise, in spite of everything.
“Hello, you two. I can be with you in just a few minutes—I’m in the process of finishing assembling things for the lesson.” Elizabeth inclined her head to the right, and I saw that there was a tall man with glasses doing something with one of the cabinets. Obviously, she didn’t want to work with us in front of him.
“Sure. We wanted to look at the Islamic exhibit, anyway. May I leave Rei’s coat somewhere around here?” Michael asked.
“No, that’s all right. I’ll carry it.” Already, it seemed my impromptu meeting with Michael and Elizabeth had been planned. I was determined not to take any more risks with my privacy.
Michael wanted to go straight to the show’s masterwork, a 600-year-old ceramic platter painted with images of men carrying spears, but I cut him short. I’d been to the show a few months earlier, and it was a piece that I thought attracted more attention than was seemly.
“I’ve seen it,” I said. “And what I find bizarre is that the museum label says that it was owned by a warlord. Warriors traveled a lot, so why would they carry such a huge ceramic item? Brass or gold or silver would be travel-worthy, but this just is unbelievable.”
“Are you saying you think it’s fake?” he said, drawing closer to the glass.
“Because of the cracks and the type of pigments used, I’m sure it’s very old, though not being an expert in Islamic pottery, I can’t tell you how old. In any case, the plate probably was crafted to look as if it had a noble, war-going heritage—as if those two words can be used in the same breath,” I added.
“Given my years at Annapolis, I’d like to think so,” Michael said easily.
“Oh, so you went to the Naval Academy.” I was determined to give him a taste of having his own life on trial, just as he’d done to me the day before.
“Yes, I was there. Harp wrote the recommendation for my application. I believe it was the only time our infamous antiwar senator helped someone join the military.” He smiled easily. “I graduated a few years before you started at Hopkins. It’s a shame, because you certainly would have, ah, enlivened our mixers.”
“Hopkins girls
Now I waited, sweating in my new fall coat, a pumpkin-colored wool melton, thinking about the good old days when a woman could hang a coat in a museum and not worry about the motives of the person she was meeting.
Michael Hendricks came through the door a few minutes later, dressed in a navy-and-black pinstripe suit, without a tie or an overcoat. He had taken a taxi, I guessed.
“You look irritated,” Hendricks said. “Am I that late?”
“No. It’s just that it’s so hot in here, and the checkroom’s closed.”
“I’ll take your coat. There’s a place we’ll leave it, deeper into the museum.” He held out his hands for the coat, but just as I was about to hand it to him, I changed my mind and kept it draped over my arm. No chance that I’d allow him any opportunities to slide a bug into its lining.
The Sackler’s galleries were subterranean, so we walked down a flight of stairs and were buzzed through the same locked doors to administration. Directly off the hall was a room with a buzzer, which Michael pressed.
“This is storage,” Michael said while we waited. “They’re paranoid about damage, so I’m sure they’re going to ask me to leave my pen. Will you keep it at the bottom of your purse for me, and give it back when we leave?”
The pen looked like Mark Cross, but who knew what kind of pen it really was, I thought as I dropped it into the recesses of my bag and the door was opened to us by Elizabeth Cameron. Behind her stretched a series of tall steel cabinets, which I quickly figured out held all the goodies that weren’t on display. I felt my interest rise, in spite of everything.
“Hello, you two. I can be with you in just a few minutes—I’m in the process of finishing assembling things for the lesson.” Elizabeth inclined her head to the right, and I saw that there was a tall man with glasses doing something with one of the cabinets. Obviously, she didn’t want to work with us in front of him.
“Sure. We wanted to look at the Islamic exhibit, anyway. May I leave Rei’s coat somewhere around here?” Michael asked.
“No, that’s all right. I’ll carry it.” Already, it seemed my impromptu meeting with Michael and Elizabeth had been planned. I was determined not to take any more risks with my privacy.
Michael wanted to go straight to the show’s masterwork, a 600-year-old ceramic platter painted with images of men carrying spears, but I cut him short. I’d been to the show a few months earlier, and it was a piece that I thought attracted more attention than was seemly.
“I’ve seen it,” I said. “And what I find bizarre is that the museum label says that it was owned by a warlord. Warriors traveled a lot, so why would they carry such a huge ceramic item? Brass or gold or silver would be travel-worthy, but this just is unbelievable.”
“Are you saying you think it’s fake?” he said, drawing closer to the glass.
“Because of the cracks and the type of pigments used, I’m sure it’s very old, though not being an expert in Islamic pottery, I can’t tell you how old. In any case, the plate probably was crafted to look as if it had a noble, war-going heritage—as if those two words can be used in the same breath,” I added.
“Given my years at Annapolis, I’d like to think so,” Michael said easily.
“Oh, so you went to the Naval Academy.” I was determined to give him a taste of having his own life on trial, just as he’d done to me the day before.
“Yes, I was there. Harp wrote the recommendation for my application. I believe it was the only time our infamous antiwar senator helped someone join the military.” He smiled easily. “I graduated a few years before you started at Hopkins. It’s a shame, because you certainly would have, ah, enlivened our mixers.”
“Hopkins girls
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