awakens our wonder in science …”
Maura’s two-hour shoes had just about reached their limit. She leaned against a pillar, trying to take the pressure off her numb toes, as George Gilman finished his introductions. The museum director took the microphone and began to talk about their mission as educators and scientists, all things Maura deeply believed in. Her eyes stayed on the speaker, but she scarcely registered his words because she was distracted by the buzz of the crowd, the flushing of her own skin. And by the attentions of a certain stranger.
Suddenly he was back beside her. “Here you go,” he whispered, placing a full champagne glass in her hand. “What did I miss?”
“The introductions.”
“ T. rex didn’t make a pass?”
“He’s been a very good boy,” she said as she sipped.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“The canapés were a meal in themselves.”
“I arrived too late to sample any. So …”
“So?” She looked at him.
“When the speeches are over, let me take you someplace for dessert.”
He was staring at her as if he thought she were dessert. The champagne made her feel bold, even reckless, but something she glimpsed in his eyes made her hesitate. She took another sip, giving herself a moment to weigh his invitation.
“We’ve only just met, Eli.”
“True. But I have the special gold dot,” he said, tapping his name tag. “Does that count for something?”
Now she had to smile. If ever there was a place to meet a respectable man, it would be a Museum of Science reception. Whatever she’d earlier glimpsed in his eyes, whatever had pinged some internal alarm, was no longer visible.
“After the speeches,” she said.
“Of course. That is why we’re here.”
“And then I want to hear more about you. What else you do besides supporting causes.”
“Over dessert. And I know just the place. A French café, right in this neighborhood. Strawberry tarts as good as any in Paris. And it’s close enough to walk to.”
“Ouch.” She looked down at her shoes. “Don’t even say that word.”
He nodded sympathetically. “I can arrange alternative transportation. Pumpkin. Limousine. Stretcher.”
“Even the pumpkin sounds good.”
Now the evening’s featured speaker took the microphone. A distinguished climate scientist from MIT. Maura drained her champagne to steel herself for the doom-and-gloom lecture sure to come. Shrinking polar ice caps and disappearing phytoplankton. Even though she wore only a silk halter gown, the room felt warm and suddenly airless.
“… and how can we as a country sensibly respond to these global challenges, given our schools’ latest test scores in science?”
Maura looked at the other attendees. Was no one else feeling overheated? All around her were women in jewel-colored gowns, appearing cool and collected.
She felt a steadying hand on her arm, and looked up into Eli’s face.
He took her empty champagne glass and set it on a nearby tray. “I think you need some air,” he said.
“… and that is where we find ourselves today, in a nation rapidly being eclipsed by scientific powerhouses now rising in Asia, where …”
The sun burned through her eyelids. Maura turned her head, trying to escape the glare, but it shone down on her face like a heat lamp, hot enough to scorch her skin. Her mouth was dry, so dry, and her head hurt. And the damn phone kept ringing and ringing.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the sunlight blazing through the living room window. Why am I not in bed? She struggled to focus on her surroundings and saw her coffee table, the Persian rug, the bookcase. Everything where it usually was. Except for me. How did I end up falling asleep on the sofa?
The phone stopped ringing.
Groaning, she sat up and immediately had to drop her head as the room seemed to rock. Doubled over, her face resting in her hands, she realized she was still wearing her evening gown from the Museum of Science reception. The
Maura’s two-hour shoes had just about reached their limit. She leaned against a pillar, trying to take the pressure off her numb toes, as George Gilman finished his introductions. The museum director took the microphone and began to talk about their mission as educators and scientists, all things Maura deeply believed in. Her eyes stayed on the speaker, but she scarcely registered his words because she was distracted by the buzz of the crowd, the flushing of her own skin. And by the attentions of a certain stranger.
Suddenly he was back beside her. “Here you go,” he whispered, placing a full champagne glass in her hand. “What did I miss?”
“The introductions.”
“ T. rex didn’t make a pass?”
“He’s been a very good boy,” she said as she sipped.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“The canapés were a meal in themselves.”
“I arrived too late to sample any. So …”
“So?” She looked at him.
“When the speeches are over, let me take you someplace for dessert.”
He was staring at her as if he thought she were dessert. The champagne made her feel bold, even reckless, but something she glimpsed in his eyes made her hesitate. She took another sip, giving herself a moment to weigh his invitation.
“We’ve only just met, Eli.”
“True. But I have the special gold dot,” he said, tapping his name tag. “Does that count for something?”
Now she had to smile. If ever there was a place to meet a respectable man, it would be a Museum of Science reception. Whatever she’d earlier glimpsed in his eyes, whatever had pinged some internal alarm, was no longer visible.
“After the speeches,” she said.
“Of course. That is why we’re here.”
“And then I want to hear more about you. What else you do besides supporting causes.”
“Over dessert. And I know just the place. A French café, right in this neighborhood. Strawberry tarts as good as any in Paris. And it’s close enough to walk to.”
“Ouch.” She looked down at her shoes. “Don’t even say that word.”
He nodded sympathetically. “I can arrange alternative transportation. Pumpkin. Limousine. Stretcher.”
“Even the pumpkin sounds good.”
Now the evening’s featured speaker took the microphone. A distinguished climate scientist from MIT. Maura drained her champagne to steel herself for the doom-and-gloom lecture sure to come. Shrinking polar ice caps and disappearing phytoplankton. Even though she wore only a silk halter gown, the room felt warm and suddenly airless.
“… and how can we as a country sensibly respond to these global challenges, given our schools’ latest test scores in science?”
Maura looked at the other attendees. Was no one else feeling overheated? All around her were women in jewel-colored gowns, appearing cool and collected.
She felt a steadying hand on her arm, and looked up into Eli’s face.
He took her empty champagne glass and set it on a nearby tray. “I think you need some air,” he said.
“… and that is where we find ourselves today, in a nation rapidly being eclipsed by scientific powerhouses now rising in Asia, where …”
The sun burned through her eyelids. Maura turned her head, trying to escape the glare, but it shone down on her face like a heat lamp, hot enough to scorch her skin. Her mouth was dry, so dry, and her head hurt. And the damn phone kept ringing and ringing.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the sunlight blazing through the living room window. Why am I not in bed? She struggled to focus on her surroundings and saw her coffee table, the Persian rug, the bookcase. Everything where it usually was. Except for me. How did I end up falling asleep on the sofa?
The phone stopped ringing.
Groaning, she sat up and immediately had to drop her head as the room seemed to rock. Doubled over, her face resting in her hands, she realized she was still wearing her evening gown from the Museum of Science reception. The
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