Maybe that comes from growing up in Italy. Maybe in, Angelica’s house no one ever wears clothes.
The thought of this particular kid not wearing clothes made me dizzy. I swallowed, forced a smile, and said, “Yeah, your mom is a piece of work.”
He laughed. He was not as tall as Oliver, but more muscular—he wore neatly pressed tan chinos and a white oxford cloth shirt, its sleeves neatly rolled to show smoothly muscled arms. A tie was loosely knotted at his throat and I could see the muscles bunched at his neck, flaring smoothly out onto his shoulders. He wore clunky black shoes like combat boots, with worn knotted laces. He was broad-shouldered, long-legged, slim-hipped—probably a bodybuilder, and god knows I had never seen Oliver lift anything heavier than a hash pipe. But he had Oliver’s nose, Oliver’s high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, though Dylan’s were flecked with green. One of his ears had multiple gold studs in a little line, gold and malachite and a single tiny silver crescent. And his long hair, though jet black, cascaded in loose curls like his mother’s. He wore it pulled into a ponytail, but it kept escaping to fall into his eyes. His mouth too was Angelica’s, full-lipped and sensual. When he smiled, it twisted into Oliver’s canine grin.
He was smiling now. “My mom told me a lot about you. About how close you two were at school, and how much she always envied you and your boyfriend—”
“My boyfriend?”
“Yeah. That Oliver guy. My mom said that everybody was just, like, insanely jealous of you.”
“Angelica told you that?”
He nodded. “She said you were so pretty, everyone was in love with you—” He tilted his head and added shyly, “She was right.”
“Uh—whoa.”
I stared at the ceiling, bewildered and embarrassed. Angelica had told him some crazy story about Oliver and me? But it made a bizarre kind of sense, it was just the kind of thing I could imagine her doing; and maybe it made her feel less guilty about what had happened to all of us.
And it certainly seemed to have piqued Dylan’s interest. He was gazing at me so boldly that I blushed, although there was something innocent about his expression, almost childlike. As though he’d never been told it was rude to stare.
But then why should I be surprised? Shouldn’t I expect Angelica’s kid to act like this? Not even in the room for five minutes and already he was turning up the heat; not that we needed any more heat. I groaned and wished I was back home asleep in bed.
Maybe this is what they’re like in Italy, they’re much more open there, such earthy colorful people…
I felt myself flush. This was ridiculous, and dangerous, too: the museum had truly draconian rules against sexual harassment. Although at the moment I had no idea where I stood in this jungle, whether I was predator or prey; whether this was even Real Life at all, or some twisted hallucination brought on by the heat and a mild hangover.
Because all of a sudden I was eighteen years old again, sitting in a stifling classroom and gazing at the most beautiful boy I had ever seen, the only person I had ever loved, waiting with my mouth parted for him to ask me a question only I knew the answer to…
I took a deep breath and stumbled to my feet. I pushed the hair from my eyes and smoothed my skirt—a short linen skirt; I had long legs and wasn’t above flashing them around in the summer, not that anyone ever seemed to notice.
Dylan noticed.
I glanced up and there he was, staring at me like I was something in the downtown window of Victoria’s Secret. When he saw me looking at him he smiled.
Slowly this time, a smile utterly without guile, sweet as a child’s and so completely, unabashedly carnal that my legs buckled and I sank back into my chair.
“Hey,” he said, and tugged at his shirt collar. “It sure is hot in here, isn’t it?”
I decided we should go for a walk. Outside my office a steady stream of people hurried through the corridor, all of them heading for the steps or service elevator.
“Mayday, mayday.” Laurie stuck her head through the door. “Hey, Katherine. They’ve put the Liberal Leave policy into effect, because of the heat. Everybody’s taking off—”
“What an excellent idea,” I exclaimed. “Thanks, Laurie—”
I started from my chair, and a wave of dizziness crashed over me. Before I could catch myself Dylan grabbed my arm and was helping me to my feet.
“Oh, that’s all right, Dylan, I’m fine, really—”
I shrugged him away and put my hand up, trying not to sound rude. “Thanks, thanks, I’m okay—I just stood up too fast, that’s all.”
I tried to catch my breath, wondering if I looked and sounded ridiculous: an aging proto-punk Baby Boomer having a heart attack while getting out of an ergonomic chair. “Look, let me go tell Dr. Dvorkin that we’re leaving—”
Dylan followed me into the hall. Dr. Dvorkin stood outside his office, his face bright red. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and no tie, practically unheard of for him.
“Oh, Katherine! I see you found my houseguest”
I stopped. “Your houseguest?”
“Yes—Dylan’s grandfather was a very dear friend of mine—but of course you knew that, didn’t you?” He mopped his face with a handkerchief, looked up at me and shook his head. “You know, I’d completely forgotten you knew the di Rienzis. You were friends with Angelica, weren’t you?”
His questioning eyes were mild but I could see something else in them—a spark, a quiet intensity that I had never glimpsed before. A look like desperation, desperation or fear.
I waited a beat before replying. “Yes. But we haven’t talked in almost twenty years.”
“Then you and young Dylan here have a lot of catching up to do.” He smiled, that familiar ironic melancholy smile, and suddenly was the man I had always known. “I think they’re sending all the staff home. Apparently the heat and ozone levels up here are dangerous. Central Engineering’s diverting all our power so they can keep the public areas open downstairs.” He turned to Dylan. “We curators are always the scapegoats when something like this happens. Little lambs to the slaughter.”
Through all this Dylan stood beside me, his boyish face composed into a serious mask, the good scout on his best behavior. And that’s all he was, really, just a kid, for all the sculpted torso and earrings and scary shoes.
“Dylan, would you mind waiting for me by the steps? We can talk outside, but I’ve just got to grab some paperwork first—”
“Sure.” He ducked his head in farewell, but before he could go Dr. Dvorkin put a hand on his shoulder.
“You have your key, don’t you, Dylan? I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to greet you last night, but we’ll have dinner together this evening, how would that be?”
Dylan nodded earnestly, then walked slowly down the hall, glancing back once or twice. Dr. Dvorkin turned to me. “Did you need something, Katherine?”
“Uhh—well, Dylan’s internship application, I never saw any of the paperwork that came through on him. I thought I was getting that girl, Lydorah Kelly…”
Dr. Dvorkin dabbed at his cheeks with his handkerchief. “Yes, well, Lydorah put in a request to go out to Silver Hill, to work in the forensics lab. It seems that’s more what she’s suited for than photo archiving. And then Angelica called me about her son, and, well I’m sure you understand how that works; and then of course you were without an intern, and he’s studying film ethnography, and so it seemed like a good idea to place him on the videodisc project. But he’s a very bright young man, Katherine. I think he’ll contribute a good deal to your work.”