Stealing Away

by Harley Fox

  A small chuckle escapes me. “Right.” I turn toward it.

  “And I came up,” I hear him say. I pretend to be admiring the Forbidden Necklace as he steps up beside me, looking at the necklace too. His notebook is open, but it’s on a blank page now. He acts like he’s studying the artifact, not paying any attention to me.

  “Um,” I say, still smiling. Wow, why can’t I stop smiling right now? “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He looks to me, giving me a quizzical look—just like he did a few minutes ago—before looking back at the necklace.

  “Yeah. It’s really quite exquisite.”

  “It’s my favorite artifact in the whole museum. It’s called the Forbidden Necklace. It might imply that there was an affair between Li Zicheng and Xiaojie Lie, the empress of the Ming dynasty.”

  He nods, seeming to think. “Hmm. I don’t think you used their names before. But Forbidden Necklace, like the Forbidden City. I like it.”

  Oh shit, he’s right! I nod to the notebook in his hand. “You’re taking notes on it?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “On stuff so I can look it up later.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. Because I’m a bit of an encyclopedia myself,” I tell him. “I actually work here. I’m an archaeologist, doing research.”

  “An archaeologist, huh?” he asks, and I’m ready for him to make some sort of dirty sex pun. But instead he says, “Well, if you work here, then maybe you know of the best exhibit to see next. I have to admit, though, it’ll be hard to top this one.”

  I smile up at him—or have I been smiling this entire time?

  “Sure,” I say. “Have you been to the Native American section? It’s got a lot of really informative displays.”

  “Hmm, I haven’t,” he says.

  “Oh. It’s right around the corner.” And then, “Here, I’ll show you.”

  And so I take him, like I’m some girl in grade school showing the boy I like my favorite tree to climb. We walk together, and when we arrive I start looking at the exhibits with him. He doesn’t ask for it, and I don’t offer. I just stay. It’s better than doing that archival work, I think. Besides, if Dr. Coolidge sees me, I’ll just say I’m helping show a patron around. After all, apparently that’s what I’m getting paid to do.

  We move from exhibit to exhibit, chatting about the things on display, hardly talking about ourselves. When we finish the Native American section I stop at where it transitions into India.

  “You know, I … oh my God. I just realized I don’t even know your name.”

  He smiles again—that sweet, infectious thing.

  “I guess we never got properly introduced. I’m Marc. Marc Anthony, technically, but I just go by Marc.”

  “Marc Anthony?” My interest is piqued. “Like Marc Antony, of Antony and Cleopatra?”

  He laughs, a rich sound. “Yes, I’ve heard that reference before. And not just because of my name.” He gives me a wink, which makes something jostle in my stomach. “But no, it’s Anthony. Not Antony.”

  Still, I’m aware of the story. Roman general Marc Antony supported Julius Caesar, who was the adopted father of Octavian. Eventually Marc Antony and Octavian went to battle against one another, and in the meantime Marc Antony developed a love affair with Cleopatra, then-ruler of the Roman provinces to which Marc Antony was assigned. It was a torrid affair, and one that ended in their mutual suicide. Not the happiest of endings, but definitely one of the most charged stories of forbidden romance that I know of.

  “And how about you?” Marc asks, breaking my train of thought. “Have you got a name?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Yes. It’s Persephone.” I reach out my hand and we shake.

  “Persephone?” he asks me. “As in the queen of the underworld?”

  “In the flesh,” I give him a mock curtsy. “Although personally I think I’ve evolved past that whole underworld business. Now I’m strictly about this world. Plus, Hades and I got a divorce, so.”

  He nods. “Is Persephone what you go by? Or do you shorten it to Perse?”

  My stomach lurches and I say, “No!” much too loud, much too quickly. Marc’s eyebrows raise, although his expression remains the same. I try to recover.

  “Um, no. No, Persephone is fine. Perse doesn’t really suit me.” I put a smile back on to keep things light.

  He nods again, then gives me a look. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of history behind you.”

  My smile falters a bit. “It kind of sounds the same for you, too.”

  His smile remains, but I see the glimmer go out of his eyes. He’s practiced this.

  “Yes, well … the best thing we can do is not to let our past define us. Isn’t that right?”

  Who is this man? “Yeah. I couldn’t agree more.”

  A moment passes. We’re still looking at each other. Then, suddenly, he takes a deep breath.

  “Let’s check out India,” he says.

  I nod. “Yes. Let’s.”

  We go in and look around at the exhibits, as before. But now it feels like something’s changed between us. We’re no longer flirty, the way two college kids are flirty when they’re staying late to work on a group project together. Instead it’s like we’ve … matured, as strange as that is to say. Our conversations feel deeper, more real. I’ve stopped smiling as much, but it’s not because I’m bored or annoyed. It’s because I feel content.

  We move more slowly, making our way from section to section. It’s a large museum, and there’s a lot to cover, even though we still haven’t left the fourth floor. People trickle in and out, and slowly the population surrounding us becomes more and more sparse.

  Finally we’re at one of the back corners of the floor, looking at some of the smaller dinosaur models.

  “Did you ever dig up stuff like this?” he asks.

  “I went to three excavations during my time in school,” I tell him. “One in Tennessee, one in Alaska, and one in British Columbia, in Canada. But to be honest, I’m actually more at home studying artifacts after they’ve been dug up. And reading about them. I don’t know. I’m a big nerd at heart.”

  “Hey, don’t say it like that,” he says. “If you’re a nerd, then you’re a nerd. But you should be proud of it, not ashamed.”

  I give him a smile now. “Thanks. And hey, for what it’s worth, when I first saw you I thought you were, like, some wrestler or killer or something. But you’re actually really sweet.”

  He laughs, a little too forced, and then quiets down. There’s nobody else around us.

  “Hey, do you know what time it is?” I ask him.

  “Um,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket. His notebook and pen had been stowed away in his jeans long ago. “Oh wow, it’s almost five.”

  “Oh Jesus,” I say. “We’ve been together for three hours. God, it feels like … well, like not that long. I should probably get back to work.”

  “Yeah, definitely. Thanks for showing me around.”

  “No problem.” I smile up at him again. He smiles down at me. I should make to leave, but my body’s not moving.

  “Hey, Persephone?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, I wanted to say I’m sorry. About trying to kiss you. I was reading into things too much, and—”

  “No, hey. It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. I’m just … I’m just figuring my own stuff out right now. And you kind of took me by surprise.”

  “Right.”

  Our eyes are still locked. I feel my weight rock on my toes.

  “But, you know … I think maybe, if you wanted to … you could try it again.”

  He smiles again, and this time it makes his face glow.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Um … yeah.”

  I wait for him to make his move, and it feels like time has come to a stop. He pulls his lower lip in, bites down on it softly. His hand reaches over, finds my arm. He touches me, and a shiver of electricity runs down me. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I close my eyes
to stabilize myself, and when I open them again he’s still there, his eyes still on mine.

  He licks his lips, and I feel my tongue run over my own. Then, slowly, as smooth as butter, he brings himself closer to me. I see his large body, his protective self, approach and I want to be swallowed up in it. His face approaches mine. I can make out small scars, the salacious tinge of hazelnut in his otherwise green eyes. He gets closer and closer. I feel my eyes start to flutter closed all by themselves. It’s like I’m not even touching the ground. His breath is on my lips, and I push them out to meet his …

  “Marc!”

  A man’s voice. It echoes off the walls and rips my fantasy world apart.

  I open my eyes to see Marc pulling back. The man standing a few yards from us—not coming over, not approaching us—is young, thin, with jet-black hair. He looks almost apologetic for interrupting us.

  “Julian,” Marc says.

  “We were waiting for you down in the lobby, man,” Julian says. He glances at me, his eyes all apologies. “Edward sent me up to find you.”

  “Ah, shit,” Marc says. He turns to me. “Sorry, Persephone. I gotta go. Uh, this is Julian. My friend.”

  Julian raises a sheepish hand. I do the same, hoping my frustration and the heart hammering inside my chest aren’t showing on my face.

  “I gotta go,” Marc says again. “I’m sorry.” And he sounds it, too.

  “It’s okay,” I say. And then, in a move I’ve never had reason to do myself, “Do you want my number?”

  “Oh,” he says. “Um…”

  “It’s okay if you don’t,” I say, immediately feeling stupid.

  “No,” he cuts me off. “Yeah, sure. I want it.”

  He digs his notebook and pen back out and flips to the back page. I take them from him and jot down my name and number, feeling the watchful gazes of both Marc and Julian. Then I flip it closed and hand both back to him.

  “Call me,” I say. “We can grab a beer sometime.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he says. He gives me a smile, but it’s not the same kind of smile as he had for me before. “I’ll call you.”

  A beat of hesitation, on both of our parts. Why couldn’t Julian have shown up a minute later? Why didn’t I try to kiss him before?

  “Well …”

  “Yeah. See you.”

  And with that he turns away and he and Julian leave the section, disappearing around the corner. I watch him go, then listen to his footsteps recede until I can’t hear them anymore. I look around at the exhibits. My old friends. But now they feel older than before. Ugh, no pun intended.

  I breathe a sigh, then start making my way back to do my work.

  Marc

  Julian and I walk through the emptying sections of the museum, making our way in silence to the stairs that will eventually lead us down to the foyer.

  How could I have lost track of time like that?

  I don’t know what happened. Persephone and I were just talking. And what’s weirder is that I wasn’t even trying to sleep with her. Sure, I was at first, when I went in to kiss her. I still feel bad about that. I should have been able to read the signs more. I thought she wanted it! I thought she had the same idea I did. But I guess not.

  And then, after that … we just talked. Just walked around and looked at the exhibits and talked. And it was … well, it was different. It wasn’t like anything I’ve experienced with any woman before. Sometimes, when I’m trying to get some chick in the sack, I’ll nod and smile and pretend I’m listening to her if she starts going on about something. Most of the time it’s not very interesting, but you can’t tell her that.

  But Persephone … she was interesting. She actually had something to say, about history, about work, about life. Our conversation, or conversations, touched into depth but we didn’t reveal too much about ourselves. Like … well, almost like a first date. Which I guess is why she was ready to kiss by the end of it.

  Why couldn’t Julian have shown up a minute later? Why didn’t I try to kiss her before?

  “So,” Julian says when we reach the stairs. “That chick was pretty hot.”

  “Hmm. Yeah,” I say. I’m still caught up in thinking about her.

  “You didn’t fuck her already, did you?” he asks, and my attention is broken. I look at him as we descend the steps.

  “What? No. I didn’t.”

  He chuckles. “That makes sense. I guess you don’t really hang around too much once you’ve shot your load.”

  I furrow my brow. He’s not wrong. But the thought of doing that with Persephone … it doesn’t feel right.

  We reach the ground floor and walk out to the foyer. Edward and Rebekka are standing there, waiting for us.

  “Where were you?” Edward snarls when Julian and I join them.

  “I got caught up.”

  “He was trying to get his dick wet,” Julian says with a big grin. “But he didn’t quite make it, did you Marc?”

  I open my mouth, about to tell him that that’s not who Persephone is … but I decide to leave it.

  “Yeah,” I say. “We didn’t sleep together.”

  “Good for you,” Edward sneers. “Did you at least get the work done?”

  “I got it done,” I tell him.

  “Good,” Rebekka says. “Can we get some dinner now? I’m starving.”

  So the four of us leave the museum and step out into the street again.

  “Did you look anywhere up?” Julian asks.

  “No,” Rebekka says. “Let’s see what’s up this way.”

  We walk together, not talking. Edward and I lead the way, with Julian and Rebekka bringing up the rear. Every place we pass somebody has an issue with until we find a cheap taco place and go in. Edward grabs us a table and barks his order, handing me ten bucks. Rebekka, Julian, and I go up and order our food, bringing it back to the table when it’s ready. We all tuck in, eating in silence. The pulled pork burrito I got is good, but I don’t feel hungry. I can’t stop thinking about Persephone. Those dark eyes, her chestnut hair, wavy but held in place. She’s got meat on her bones, just the way I like it. And she holds herself with confidence, speaks with conviction. Isn’t afraid of her body or her mind. Isn’t afraid to say what she thinks, how she’s feeling. What a woman.

  “Do you want my hot sauce?” Julian asks Rebekka, offering her the container.

  She eyes it for a second before focusing back on her taco salad.

  “No. I’ve already put hot sauce in. That would make it too hot.”

  Julian nods, not sure what to say to that. He puts the container down and takes another bite of his taco.

  “I talked to the guard,” Edward says. “He’ll let us in at eleven. Everybody give me your notepads.”

  Rebekka, Julian, and I all reach into our pockets and pull the notebooks out. But then I remember Persephone’s number on the back sheet. Keeping it below the table, I flip the back cover up and put my thumb on the sheet, ripping it out, then hand the notebook over to Edward.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “What was what?”

  “That page you just ripped out. What was it?”

  “Um,” but Julian cuts me off.

  “Was that that chick’s number?” he asks. Rebekka’s watching me, and Edward raises his eyebrows.

  “The one you were trying to fuck?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “She gave me her number.”

  “Let me see it.” He reaches a hand over, palm up.

  “No.”

  His fingers snap twice. “Don’t make me take it from you.”

  I square my jaw and hand the sheet of paper over. He reads brings it closer and reads it, his expression flat.

  “Persephone?” His brow furrows, just the tiniest bit. “That her name?”

  “Yeah.” He offers the paper back and I snatch it from him.

  “Odd name.”

  “Every name is odd until you’re used to it.”

  His eyes are on mine. “You’re not thin
king of calling her, are you?”

  “No,” I say. “I just didn’t want it to get lost.”

  Edward surveys me. Julian and Rebekka watch the exchange, silently chewing their food. The table is quiet for a long second. My burrito sits half-eaten, forgotten.

  “Don’t call her,” he says. “We won’t have time.”

  I don’t respond, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Edward takes his own notebook and pen out, opening ours up, copying pertinent information over, formulating a plan.

  Julian and Rebekka keep eating. I pick up my burrito, take a bite, put it back down.

  “So what’s the plan for tonight?” Julian asks me and Rebekka. “You guys wanna play some pool or something? Or we can catch a movie?”

  “I’m feeling tired,” Rebekka says.

  “Oh,” says Julian. “Right, yeah. Well, we don’t have to do that. We could go for a walk or something instead.” He puts a hand on Rebekka’s arm. “Maybe there’s a park around here or something. We could get a couple beers and sneak them in, then sit and just hang out …”

  “Julian, I just said I’m tired,” Rebekka snaps. She pulls her arm away and Julian’s hand hovers for a second, shocked, before he lowers it. Edward keeps working. “I’m probably just going to nap in the van until eleven. But if you want to go for a walk in the park, then go.”

  “Oh,” Julian says. “Well. I mean, I was thinking it would be romantic or something. But if you’re just going to nap then maybe I’ll join you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” she snaps again. Now Edward’s eyes lift up, watching the exchange.

  “I know that,” Julian says. “I’m not babysitting you. I just … thought it would be sweet …”

  Rebekka lets out a loud sigh as she stands up. “I’m going for a smoke,” she says to the table before turning, away from Julian, and heading for the door. I watch her go. Julian looks down at the table, embarrassed, sad. And then he lifts his eyes and puts on a bright face.

  “Women, am I right?” He laughs, a hollow sound. “Um, I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

  He gets up, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before leaving it on his plate. Then he strides to the bathroom, disappearing around the corner.