With mock astonishment, Mikah answered, “And rack up your cell phone bill?”
“No, I said you call me; that way we can rack up yours,” came the playful reply.
“K, I’ll call you later,” she said. “I’ll want to hear all about what must have been one hot date, too.”
Saying her good-byes, Mikah tucked her phone away, feeling a little more cheerful. There was nothing like a good friend to do that. Now, with a smile, she strode to the front desk, catching the eye of the young man at the counter.
“Good morning,” she said. “Mikah Bauer here to see Myles Gordon.”
Her smile faded and turned to a frown when the young man gave her the appreciative full body perusal that Mikah had come to view with annoyance in her professional years. It was difficult enough for a woman to prove herself in the workplace these days without being subjected to what crossed the border into harassment; she often wondered how the men she worked with would react if she were to give them that same inappropriate assessment.
Clearing her throat, she caught the young man’s attention once again, drawing his eyes upward. She arched a brow incredulously, and the man flushed. “I’ll take you to Mr. Gordon. He’s been expecting you.”
“Good idea.” She followed him down a hall, wishing she could recapture the buoyancy of moments before.
Myles Gordon, the museum’s curator, took care of that, though. Through their long day together, he was nothing but professional and pleasant. And almost as interesting as GoMA itself.
They talked art and debated the merits of certain styles as they toured the museum. They got so carried away that it was almost noon before they even turned the discussion to her mission. GoMA had a wealth of pieces that demonstrated the early Pop Art movement of the 1950s. Hours of touring the collection with the knowledgeable curator had put temptation before her at every turn. Mikah wanted to take them all and strip this strangely traditional building of all its modern goodies.
The young man from the front desk, Kevin—who she learned was a student from the University of Glasgow interning at the museum—brought them lunch while they went through the museum’s assets and worked out the loan of the exhibits ranking highest on her list. GoMA, the most visited modern art museum in Scotland, was a gold mine for her in that respect, and Mikah felt well satisfied with the nearly two-dozen works she had chosen. It was with a sense of accomplishment that she managed to obtain the loan of Paolozzi’s sculptureFour Towers(a 1962 work that she personally thought resembled something a five-year-old might make out of Lego bricks), one of the same artist’s collages calledMr. Peanut, a mobile by Kenneth Martin, as well as works by Turnbull, Passmore, and Tilson.
Their frequent conversational tangents turned what was meant to be a meeting into a full-day event. Still, it wasn’t until the museum was closing for the evening that Myles asked Mikah if she would care to continue their energetic conversation over a celebratory dinner.
He'd take her out to a “real” Scottish tavern, he said, for some local delicacies. A part of Mikah felt certain she shouldn’t overly examine the ingredients of any given dish, knowing as she did the true ingredients of haggis. The larger part, however, knew that the food would be wonderful, and her stomach growled in anticipation.
Good food and excellent company. What more might a girl ask for?
Ignoring the answering loneliness in her heart, she exited the museum and stood at the curb while Myles found his car and came around to pick her up. It was still light out, though it was nearly nine o’clock. Much like Milwaukee in the summer. Thankfully, the ravaging heat of the afternoon had dropped a few notches, leaving the city cooler though still warm. While she waited, she took in the sights around her. The museum stood alone in the center of the square, walled in by long four- or five-story buildings on each side. It was all very Georgian, historic. Again the affiliation she felt for Glasgow washed over her. Somehow she knew the layout of the surrounding area like the back of her hand, and suspected she might have a thing or two to say herself about where the oldest Scottish taverns might be found.
Feeling a bit uneasy again. Mikah pulled out her phone and dialed. She needed to regain her earlier zen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Kris!”
“Mikes, how did it go?”
The line was a bit static, so Mikah plugged one ear to better hear. “It was good, but I just wanted to let you know I’ll have to call you later instead. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Is everything all right?” Concern muted Kris’s animated tone.
“Fine,” she answered. “It’s just that the curator sort of asked me out to dinner.”
“Really? I thought you hated it when guys from work asked you out.”
“You know, I normally do, but this one kept his eyes above my shoulders all day, so…” She lifted a shoulder in a verbal shrug.
“Is he gay?” Kris asked. “You know those artsy types…”
“No, I’m pretty sure he’s straight.” Mikah laughed, knowing Kris had a good point. It wasn’t often she came across a man who could hold a meaningful conversation on art. American men tended to consider an interest in the subject effeminate.
“Is he hot?”
“He’s not bad,” she hedged and Kris’s laughter burst out.
“Not bad? Wow, high praise coming from my favorite pseudo-nun.Hmm, I can almost picture it: tall, dark, thirty-ish, in a kilt…” Kris sighed and it was Mikah’s turn to chuckle.
“Tall, blond, and forty-ish. No kilt.”
