“Tara.” His tone is soft as he cuts me off. “We’ve received communication from the Louvre’s directorate. They’re concerned about your conduct during your residency there. They claim there was a breach of professionalism and discretion.”
This can’t be happening!
“Dr. R, I didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice cracks.
“I believe you,” he says quietly. “But these things get political. I fought to keep you, but the board decided it was safer to end the contract now.”
“Safer,” I repeat, numb. What was so dangerous about having me work at the museum? I slept with a moron, I’m not contagious or anything.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Truly. You’re talented, Tara. Don’t let this change your path.”
I try LACMA next, calling the department head of restoration, Carlos Mendez, a man I’d interned under years ago. He picks up on the third ring.
“Tara?Dios mio, I’ve been meaning to call you,” he says urgently after I say hello. “What happened in Paris?”
“I…I had a relationship that went south,” I state as simply as I can.
“And you got fired from Philly.”
“Yes.” I inhale slowly. “Look, I was wondering if you had some work for me. Anything.”
I was at the Louvre and now I was begging for a job.How the mighty have fallen!
He groans. “Ay, Tara. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything?” I ask despondent.
He sighs. “That’s not it. The Louvre flagged you. A formal note went out through ICOM.”
“The International Council of Museums?”
Carlos winces. “It’s not official blacklisting, not on paper, but….”
“But what?”
“It’s enough,” he says bluntly. “If the Louvre labels someone as problematic, even quietly, every major institution sees it. No director wants to risk the politics.”
I grip the phone tighter. “So I’m—done?”
“For now,” he admits. “You might find work with a private gallery or a smaller collection, but the major museums? They’ll close ranks.”
My voice wavers. “Carlos, this is my career.”
“I know, and I hate that this is happening to you.”
He hates it? Buddy, I’m living through this nightmare.
“Look…give it time. As soon as the noise dies down, I’ll do whatever I can to bring you back.”
After I end the call, I stare at my hands, trying to wrap my head around how everything I built—all thoseyears of study, of sacrifice—could vanish with one whispered accusation.
There’s a knock on the door, and as soon as I say, “Come in”, Mama does.
I shake my head at her.No, there is no good news.
She sits beside me and strokes my hair.
“No one will hire me,” I tell her absently.
