Sarah and Abbie tried to convince Jessica to join them for the session, but she had decided to take a break from their incessant discussions. After all, she was an economical analyst and business major, having no real interest in the remnants of the old world.
“It is tonight at 8 pm, Jess. Come on, just for fun,” Abbie pressed as she entered Jessica’s bedroom.
“No, not interested,” Jessica replied. “Look, I don’t want to sound like a drip…”
“Well, you do,” Abbie interrupted.
“…but I am really not into this spooky, old museum relic shit like you and Sarah, alright? I mean, how would you like it if I dragged you to a study on Macroeconomics and fiscal policies that affect national employment…” Jessica rambled.
That was enough boring words for Abbie.
“Alright! Okay, you have made your point,” she rolled her eyes. “Really, you have. I get it. I just can’t believe you don’t find this stuff as fascinating as we do. It’s like spending Samhain as yourself. It’s so dull.”
Jessica scowled, throwing down her books on her desk, “There you go! I am dull.”
Abbie groaned. She had just opened the sluices to the Jessica Penny Pity Party.
“Oh, Jesus,” Abbie sighed. Refusing to play into Jessica’s game, she went for a different exit technique. Time was running out to the lecture anyway, and she still had to meet up with Sarah. “Look, you’re right. You are not dull, especially on Hogmanay, hey?” she winked and giggled to distract Jessica from the subject at hand.
“Aye, as long as you remember that!” Jessica smiled reluctantly. She was satisfied that her friend was at least trying to cheer her up, but secretly she hated Abbie and Sarah for the wonderment they still possessed for the more arcane things of the world. She wished she could be like them; she really did, but she simply was not. Her interests fell among the more mundane, orderly things that made up the systematic protocols of the world’s functioning monetary and social systems. Jessica needed rules, specific doctrines and formulas to survive and she could not help it. Unlike her friends, she did not thrive on chaos and chance, no matter how she wanted to embrace their free thinking, reckless mantles.
“So go and enjoy your ridiculous lecture on… what was it again?” she asked.
Abbie was positively glowing with excitement. “Ooh, it’s called ‘The Lost Pantheon: The Omnipotence of Corrupted Power’ and it’s all about how the darker side of mythologies have been played weaker than they are. It is presented by some professor from Athens.”
“Were,” Jessica corrected her.
“What do you mean?” Abbie asked, surprised that Jess showed enough interest in the conversation to find her error.
“You said the darker deities are shown as weaker than they are. These things were never real, honey. Not then, and certainly not now,” Jessica informed her plainly.
“Semantics,” Abbie retorted as a sign off on an argument she was not going to entertain unless she wanted to miss her lecture. “Anyway, I will see you later, alright? Are we still doing the pub thing tonight?”
“I don’t think so, Abs. I am exhausted from back to back tests and another one coming up the day after tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you later in the week, hey?” Jessica smiled.
“Done!” Abbie grinned and got up to leave. “Don’t study too hard now! I will need a drinking buddy this Friday!”
Her voice disappeared behind the closing door, leaving Jessica feeling utterly alone, contrary to her expertly delivered charade.
Chapter 4
Dr. Helen Barry smiled contentedly as she walked through the mass of visitors at the British Museum. Since the new exhibition of Antique Greek Art had been on display in the museum, there had been an influx of not only local but global attendants. Most of the attention garnered from the academic community, though, came from the three life- sized sculptures featured at the beginning of the exhibit. Like Soula Fidikos, one of the two sponsors lending their own private collections to the British Museum for the next three weeks, Prof. Barry found the unknown pieces alien and eerie.
Then again, with the interest shown in the works, she was not about to complain. Ticket sales rocketed for the private lecture Dr. Heidmann offered to collectors once a day. Public donations peaked and new benefactors came to the fore from various countries never before involved with the arts in Britain. Most of the latter was apparently due to the direct influence of Dr. Heidmann through his own ex-colleagues or via sponsors previously assisting him in procuring some of his unique items.
“Don’t look so serious, Helen,” a female voice reprimanded, starting the poor curator. Helen slammed her hand on her chest and caught her breath, “Jesus, Soula! Don’t do that!”
Soula Fidikos laughed heartily and comforted the curator with a quick hug. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, still cackling by herself. “Why are you so jumpy? Look,” she motioned to the turn-out, “the exhibit is a rousing success, my darling. You have nothing to be anxious about. I venture to guess you have not had this kind of attention in this old museum in years.”
“No, about that you are dead right, Soula,” Helen admitted, still steadying her heart rate. “I just cannot help but feel creeped out but Heidmann’s three statues. And what he calls them just freaks me the hell out.”
“I saw that,” Soula scoffed indifferently. “Where do you acquire a piece called ‘Son of Zyklon-B’? What are the other two? Something that shows how ambivalent Heidmann was in naming them…”
Helen turned to face Soula in front of a large painting, pretending to discuss the artwork, but she was of the same mind as the Greek millionaires. “The others are called ‘Klónos²’ — one name for two statues — which is Greek, is it not?”
Soula nodded. “It means ‘clone’ in my mother tongue, but here is another oddity. The two statues are probably the reason for the small number two, you know, making it ‘Clone Squared’.”
Helen was flabbergasted. Now it made more sense to her.
“Ah, I thought ‘Klónos’ was Heidmann’s erroneous interpretation of Kronos, the Greek Titan,” she told Soula, who shook her head slowly.
“I thought so too at first, but the fact that there are two of the same size and features explained it to me. Dr. Heidmann is quite a jumpy fellow, have you noticed? I could be wrong, but he appears to be anxious when he is around us,” Soula remarked, looking around her crowded surroundings to see if he was there.
Helen smiled, “He confided in me about that, actually. And it’s your fault.”
“He did?” Soula asked.
“Yes, he told me that being in the presence of someone as knowledgeable and upstanding as you made him very nervous. Look, I’ve known the man a few years, and he has never been timid, but I understand that he finds your stature intimidating and captivating altogether,” Helen explained on behalf of her old acquaintance.
“Bullshit. It’s the money,” Soula rasped in her strong voice, looking highly amused nonetheless.
The two women chuckled in front of the prominent painting they pretended to discuss, which is where Helen’s assistant found them.
“Professor Barry! Professor, thank God I found you. I have been looking everywhere for you,” the small female undergraduate sighed in relief. “Begging your pardon for the interruption.”
“No problem, Gail,” Helen replied. “What’s the matter, love?”
“It could be nothing, but you know me. I just want to make sure you are kept up to date with things,” Gail said.
“Is this a private matter?” Soula asked. “Should I excuse myself?”
“No, no, Mrs. Fidikos, by no means,” Gail protested cordially. “I merely wanted to let Prof. Barry know that the weather channel predicted an earthquake that could strike London within the next 24 hours.”