“It’s a model of one of their huts,” Tom said, reading from the printed information plaque, “from the Ukraine.”
“It’s wrong,” she stated in a whisper, staring at the diorama.
“What, sweetheart?” Tom asked, moving around the model to peer inside.
“It’s wrong. It’s all wrong! That’s Nan’s hut. I know it is!” Her voice rose, startling everyone.
“Honey, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.”
Tom started to laugh, then stopped, startled by the look in her eyes. “Jennifer?”
She was trembling. He put his hand on her arm, but she slapped his fingers away.
“Damnit, Jennifer. That hurt!” He shook his hand.
Jennifer caught sight of a guard. She was moving around the diorama and coming toward her.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said. Only when she was in the brightly lit reptile gallery again did she take a deep breath and slow herself down.
“Jennifer, what in hell is wrong with you?”
She shook her head and kept walking. Her heels snapped on the marble floor.
“What was that bullshit about the hut?” He lengthened his stride. They reached the hallway and started down the stairs.
“I don’t know.”
“You hurt my hand.”
“Please, Tom, enough! I’m upset, that’s all. I’m upset about us.” They reached the first floor and kept walking, past the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial and into the Invertebrates Gallery.
“Well, do something about it, damnit!”
“I intend to.”
“What?” His voice hardened. “You’re going to do what?”
“I’m going to have a drink.” She walked into the Ocean Life Room, where a massive blue whale hung from the ceiling and dominated the two floors of the gallery. “Here’s the bar.”
Jennifer walked into the lower floor, where a few white-clothed tables were set up to create a small cocktail lounge. The room was dimly lit to suggest the ocean floor, and the huge, plastic blue whale hovered above them, swamping the room with its size. It was not a place where people went for a drink on Friday night after work. Anyone here would be from out of town, a tourist.
She let Tom order at the bar while she picked a table away from the others. When he came back, he sat down close to her, but she shifted her body to keep some distance.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” She took a quick sip of the scotch and water, then sat back and nodded.
“What was that all about?” He took off his topcoat and settled into the chair.
Jennifer shook her head. She was still trembling. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just had this weird feeling that I had once been there inside that diorama. All of it was vividly real to me.” She took a quick gulp of her drink.
“You were saying something, mumbling.” Tom shook his head. “Maybe you saw the model in a book or something.” He glanced around then, checking out the room.
“Yes, maybe,” Jennifer whispered.
“It was like you were having a temper tantrum or something.” He stirred his scotch.
“I was having something.” She shrugged, feeling chilled. How she had behaved in the exhibition frightened her. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she announced.
“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
“Don’t be so prosecutorial.”
He started at her. “Is it going to be one of those nights?”
She took another sip to bolster herself. Tom hadn’t asked her what drink she wanted, but had gone ahead and ordered a scotch and soda. It was like being married, she thought.
“Tom, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep seeing you. I mean, we’re not getting anywhere, are we?”
He looked away. “I’m still married, Jennifer.”
“Then do something about it. You’ve been separated for three years. You told me when we met that you were getting a divorce.” Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. “You shouldn’t have started up with me if you still were in love with your wife.”
“I’m not in love with Carol.” He was angry now.
“Then get a divorce! You don’t have children. What’s stopping you? Tom, I deserve some answers and I deserve some respect.”
He glanced away again, and she began to cry, as quietly as possible, afraid of attracting attention. She bent forward and sobbed into her hands, using the fur of her winter coat to muffle the tears.
When she had calmed down, Tom leaned across the small table and whispered, “Jennifer, I love you. I want to take care of you. I want to marry you. I want to be in your life forever. Okay? Just give me some time. This case has dragged on longer than I thought. I don’t want to risk anything—any danger to you—by going public and having these greaseballs know you exist. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Do you love me, Tom?” she asked. The tears were gone.
“Yes, I love you. Of course I do.” He looked at her, and this time his gray eyes did show his feelings.
Jennifer shrugged. “I’m not afraid, I want to be part of your life, Tom. I want to take the risks you’re taking.”
He was shaking his head before she finished.
“I won’t let you.”
“I have something to say about that, too, you know.”
“Honey, you don’t know. These are crazy Colombians. They kill each other. They kill cops. They kill each other’s families. You read about it in the papers. A mother and child found shot in the face while their car is parked at a stoplight.” He shook his head as he spoke. “I won’t do it. I won’t expose you to that violence. Honey, we’re almost done. We’ll have the rest of that scum in jail by the end of the winter.”
“Bullshit! By the end of the winter there’ll be another case. If they want to kill me, they will. Don’t give me that crap, Tom. It’s nonsense.”
For a moment they both were silent. Jennifer blew her nose and wiped away her tears. Several of the tourists were staring at them, and Jennifer moved her chair to block their view.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I guess I’ve caused a scene.”
“Fuck ‘em,” Tom answered. He was leaning back, balancing himself on the two rear legs of the metal chair.
When he got mad, he acted tough. She had always found that exciting. She liked the way he brought her close to the edge of his anger, but she was afraid that someday things might get out of hand. Still, she couldn’t deny her attraction to his toughness, especially in bed.
“Okay, what do you want to do?” he asked, as if summing up a business meeting.
“I’m going to go to Margit and David’s for dinner,” she said, not looking up from her drink.
“Fine! You go ahead and do that!” He shoved the chair back and stood. He didn’t even try to lower his voice.
They were like characters in a cheap drama, she thought, listening to his retreating footsteps on the marble floor. She was afraid to look up, afraid that the tourists were again staring at her. She felt exposed and defenseless. Then, slowly, the voices of the other patrons grew louder. She waited a few minutes more, until she was sure Tom had left, and then she fled the museum.
Outside on Seventy-seventh Street, the snow had deepened, and Jennifer, walking west, knew she’d have trouble getting a taxi. Putting her head down against the sharp wind, she headed for West End Avenue, her feet plowing through the wet snow. She began to cry, but this time she let the tears flow, let herself sob out her heartache.