Page 15 of Handle with Care
It’s a perfect moment. Everything’s quiet. The polished hardwood floors shine.
For five minutes, I have the place to myself before the crowds descend. Today, I’ve cut through a fashion history exhibition, stopping to browse the interpretative text as well as admire the display. I walk through Christian Dior’s New Look fashions that marked a turning point in womenswear, from more austere post-war silhouettes to the striking new, full silhouette that grew popular in the ’50s, with soft, round shoulders and voluminousskirts flowing with heaps of fabric. There’re dresses in jewel tones, ruby and emerald and sapphire.
Around the corner is the chic ’60s display, showing the upswing of London designers in fashion, a story we’re going to expand in our upcoming exhibit. It’s the swinging ’60s, and by the end of the decade, a sexual revolution, too, and the rise of feminism.
In glass cases, there are heels, purses, and handbags. To the opposite side are the more conservative ’50s men’s clothing, without a shred of glitter to be seen. Or bold color, not till the ’60s, and depending on who and where you were. It’s theMad Menera, boozy lunches, then influenced by American fashion trends and jeans. Rock music soon grew from shirts and suits to something much more casual.
By the time I reach the back gallery doors for the corridor that leads to the museum offices, I feel my shoulders relax, my hectic commute to work forgotten. The black corridor gives way with a swipe of my key card at the doors to the hum of the office, and I arrive in a new reality.
Everything’s bustling as people arrive for the day. I don’t see Will seated at my desk yet, and a small sigh of relief escapes me. I carry on to the small meeting room that we’ve now taken over with our exhibition files and plans. I can see through the open door before I go in that Lily’s been through or someone else from our team, having pinned a large map with a bird’s-eye view of the layout of the new exhibition on the wall opposite the windows.
And there he is.
Mr. McLaren—Will—is already sitting at his computer, a slight frown on his face, lit by the laptop’s soft glow, with the overhead lights off. He glances up at me as I walk in.
“Good morning, Dylan,” he says smoothly and, I have to say, quite formally.
So, I do what any reasonable person would do under the circumstances and answer in kind.
“Good morning, Will. Or do you prefer William?” I widen my eyes ever so slightly, giving my most innocent look.
He narrows his eyes. “Just Will.”
It’s too easy to wind him up. If I were a better person, I wouldn’t provoke him. But the reward is far too sweet.
“Okay, Just Will, I’ve brought something for you.” I set my messenger bag down on a chair opposite him and open the flap.
“For me?” He’s startled out of his cool reserve, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see surprise written all over him, and his expression softens ever so slightly.
“Don’t get too excited. It’s a temporary loan, like everything else we’re working on.” I pull out a dog-eared copy ofMuseums in the Twenty-First Century: A Complete Handbook, a hefty volume that could probably hurt you if you dropped it on your foot, and I pass it over. “Here’s the book that I promised to show you about museums. To help you get up to speed.”
He takes the book in both hands, studies the plain front cover, then the back, filled with small text introducing the author and testimonials from museum professionals. “Thanks. I didn’t expect you to?—”
“It’s for both our sakes, believe me,” I cut him off before he does something silly, like thank me. Like he needs to make this even more awkward between us. “The faster you learn, the better off we both are. And increases the odds of this not being a total disaster.”
Will frowns at me. And he actually has frown dimples, which are totally unreasonable and unnecessary. What a waste of dimples. What the actual hell.
Focus, Dylan.
“Are you calling me a liability?” Will asks in dismay, lowering the hefty tome.
I can’t help the grin that comes, and I give him my best innocent expression as I shrug.
Will makes another huffing sound like he did yesterday, and he opens the book to look at the table of contents.
“Sorry. That was a bit more harsh than I meant…”
“I think I know what you mean.” And his tone is cool again, distant.
There’s not even a frown dimple to be seen, and some part of me is terribly disappointed about that. Some other part of me actually feels bad for the guy, and I wonder why I’m sparing no opportunity to give him a hard time or show any mercy. Obviously, we’re different—very different—but I’m going to have to try to keep the peace. Fighting every day would be exhausting and probably not productive.
I start up my laptop and glance over at Will. He’s head down, studying the book in earnest. And he’s started with the preface. Who even does that? And we sit like this for a little while, the only sound the occasional turning page and me tapping out email responses to the messages that came in last night. I open the spreadsheet of the three hundred and twenty-seven exhibits and scroll to my section. Maybe Russell’s right—maybe I was wrong about the approach that I set out yesterday, but I’d rather eat my Chelsea boots than admit my strategic error to my new nemesis, even if we have an uneasy peace between us.
On the tube ride in, I figured out that one hundred and twenty-six exhibits each means we need to sort out an average of twenty-five exhibits a week for the next five weeks, before the gallery closes to install the new show. I’m breaking the work down like I did the number of queer men in London available in the dating pool. As for the exhibits, not only do we need twenty-five exhibits a week, but we also need to coordinate their arrival. They need to be scheduled to arrive as close to the showchangeover as possible, seeing as we don’t have a ton of swing space to store things.
The morning passes like this. Few words between us, a heavy silence, an uneasy truce. Till it’s time for lunch, and I didn’t even notice Will had left. I have no idea where Will’s gone for lunch. It’s like he vanished into the ether. Well, it’s not for me to worry about, and I take off for lunch too.
As for me, I go for a walk outside for an hour, exploring the side streets around the museum to get some fresh air to feel alert again. I’m back in time for a quick salad at the museum café with my staff discount, joining the new friends I’ve made in the museum.
