life.” It took Mia a moment to realize that Jackie didn’t actually know her. Her first thought was, “Wow, she’s really thin.” They’d seen each other so many times over the years that Mia thought that Jackie had actually seen her grow up. There was a cardinal unspoken rule amongst New Yorkers and that was never to approach the former first lady and Mia respected that rule.
The first (and only) time they would ever interact was a week after Mia had returned from California. A devastated Mia stood before the bust of Augustus Caesar in the Roman Antiquities room. She had been drawn to this marble statue from the time she was a small child. Visiting Augustus had become a family joke. Mia never understood why she was always pulled to the bust, but she liked to think that maybe she had known Julius Caesar’s nephew, Octavian, in another life.
Standing before the statue, she didn’t even realize that she was quietly crying, although she was wiping tears away with the heels of her palms. She heard a click and saw a beautiful Mykonos Blue Hermès Kelly Bag being opened; the owner removed and handed her a white linen handkerchief trimmed with purple embroidery. Jackie was looking straight ahead at Augustus as she handed the delicate fabric to Mia.
Eyes trained on the handsome Roman, she observed, “I’ll bet he was a heartbreaker.” It was a voice she’d known her entire life.
Mia sighed, “I’ll bet he was a tennis player.”
Jackie nodded her head and smiled, “You’re probably right.” And she gracefully floated away, leaving a tear-stained Mia, linen handkerchief in hand, to her Augustus.
As Mia and Lois made their way through the museum toward the Hudson River School painters exhibit, Mia veered off to the left toward Augustus. Lois was used to indulging her daughter’s obsession which had been on-going since the age of four.
“So, have you heard from Tom now that he’s back in LA?” Lois was pretending to look through the new exhibit catalogue, but Mia knew better. The Inquisition was about to begin.
“Yeah, we talk a couple of times a day.” They began to walk toward The Great Hall again to head upstairs to the opening.
“Is this serious?” Mia could tell from her tone that Lois was seriously worried.
“Define serious?”
“Do you see a future with him?” They entered the elevator with several other people, so Mia did not immediately answer.
As they exited onto the second floor, she answered her mother’s question, “Short term, yes. Long term, no. I don’t think he’ll ever be your son-in-law, Mom, or that your grandchildren will bear the surname Sheehan.”
Mia almost laughed aloud at the relief on her mother’s face.
“So, what is it, just physical?”
“No, it’s not just physical, but he is one damn fine specimen.”
White-gloved waiters in short cut jackets were circulating about with trays filled with crystal champagne flutes. Mia grabbed two. She did not hand one to Lois. The first one was gone in two sips and she immediately began on the second. She could feel the alcohol hitting her bloodstream. The last time she’d eaten was seven hours before and it had been a yogurt.
“I’m very concerned about the age difference.”
Ta-da, there it was. The age difference. Mia knew this was coming.
Standing before Jasper Francis Cropsey’s Autumn on the Hudson River 1860 , Mia was astounded by the perfection of Cropsey’s composition. Looking at it with her photographic-trained eye, she noted that the horizon was beautifully placed about one-third of the way up the canvas, a small pond on the lower left and a stream leading in from the right toward the center of the painting led one’s eye around the canvas. Brilliant, Mia thought. Why had she never noticed before that the Hudson River School painters compositions were like perfect photographs? She was having an epiphany moment, fueled by the champagne on an empty stomach.
“Look at this composition, it is
The first (and only) time they would ever interact was a week after Mia had returned from California. A devastated Mia stood before the bust of Augustus Caesar in the Roman Antiquities room. She had been drawn to this marble statue from the time she was a small child. Visiting Augustus had become a family joke. Mia never understood why she was always pulled to the bust, but she liked to think that maybe she had known Julius Caesar’s nephew, Octavian, in another life.
Standing before the statue, she didn’t even realize that she was quietly crying, although she was wiping tears away with the heels of her palms. She heard a click and saw a beautiful Mykonos Blue Hermès Kelly Bag being opened; the owner removed and handed her a white linen handkerchief trimmed with purple embroidery. Jackie was looking straight ahead at Augustus as she handed the delicate fabric to Mia.
Eyes trained on the handsome Roman, she observed, “I’ll bet he was a heartbreaker.” It was a voice she’d known her entire life.
Mia sighed, “I’ll bet he was a tennis player.”
Jackie nodded her head and smiled, “You’re probably right.” And she gracefully floated away, leaving a tear-stained Mia, linen handkerchief in hand, to her Augustus.
As Mia and Lois made their way through the museum toward the Hudson River School painters exhibit, Mia veered off to the left toward Augustus. Lois was used to indulging her daughter’s obsession which had been on-going since the age of four.
“So, have you heard from Tom now that he’s back in LA?” Lois was pretending to look through the new exhibit catalogue, but Mia knew better. The Inquisition was about to begin.
“Yeah, we talk a couple of times a day.” They began to walk toward The Great Hall again to head upstairs to the opening.
“Is this serious?” Mia could tell from her tone that Lois was seriously worried.
“Define serious?”
“Do you see a future with him?” They entered the elevator with several other people, so Mia did not immediately answer.
As they exited onto the second floor, she answered her mother’s question, “Short term, yes. Long term, no. I don’t think he’ll ever be your son-in-law, Mom, or that your grandchildren will bear the surname Sheehan.”
Mia almost laughed aloud at the relief on her mother’s face.
“So, what is it, just physical?”
“No, it’s not just physical, but he is one damn fine specimen.”
White-gloved waiters in short cut jackets were circulating about with trays filled with crystal champagne flutes. Mia grabbed two. She did not hand one to Lois. The first one was gone in two sips and she immediately began on the second. She could feel the alcohol hitting her bloodstream. The last time she’d eaten was seven hours before and it had been a yogurt.
“I’m very concerned about the age difference.”
Ta-da, there it was. The age difference. Mia knew this was coming.
Standing before Jasper Francis Cropsey’s Autumn on the Hudson River 1860 , Mia was astounded by the perfection of Cropsey’s composition. Looking at it with her photographic-trained eye, she noted that the horizon was beautifully placed about one-third of the way up the canvas, a small pond on the lower left and a stream leading in from the right toward the center of the painting led one’s eye around the canvas. Brilliant, Mia thought. Why had she never noticed before that the Hudson River School painters compositions were like perfect photographs? She was having an epiphany moment, fueled by the champagne on an empty stomach.
“Look at this composition, it is
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