Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Whoever it was sent them here to be cleaned, so that had to be permission, right?
I thought about it for a second, and because I was a chicken, I put my supplies down, taking off my gloves to reach for the office phone. I dialed Simone. Part of her new job meant she had to be on top of all incoming art. She had to have found the information by now.
Better safe than sorry.
“Dru, I was just about to call you. Are you with the paintings?” Her frantic voice came on the line.
“Yes,” I said, not sure where else she thought I’d be during work hours. “Did you leave?”
“No, I’ve been searching for the submission data for those paintings.” She sighed, and I could hear her ruffling through what sounded like stacks upon stacks of pages. “I don’t understand. For us to get them, they must have filed with the museum sometime last year. I remember getting all the data for every other art piece cataloged, but those are just gone.”
“Simone breathe.”
“I am breathing; it’s not helping.” She sniffed. “This is a big deal. God knows how badly the gallery will be sued if we can’t verify who the sender is or send the artwork back after they entrusted it with us.”
“First of all, are you sure it’s all from one person?”
“Yes, they all arrived together, packaged through the gallery. From our records, I can see that it was delivered to us today. But other than that, I’ve got nothing. Oh dear God, do you think I deleted it?” She wasn’t talking to me; she seemed lost in her own world.
“So, what about the restorations?” I really didn’t want to start with so much information missing. “Are there any directions at all as to how they wanted to have them cleaned—”
“Druella, you’re the expert. Why in the world would they leave directions? Just take your time and fix it up. I’ll come to see them soon,” she snapped at me before hanging up.
“Well, bye to you to then,” I muttered, placing the phone back onto the counter, spinning in my chair a bit, so I could stare at the painting. “If your owner complains about anything, I’m going to throw everyone else under the bus.”
I put my gloves back on, wheeled in closer, and began to work, which was a bit annoying because every few minutes I’d have to remember to shift or stretch simply because of the cameras in the lab. I even made it a habit to go the restroom every one to two hours. One of the things I loved about restoring art was watching the canvas come alive again. It was beautiful, all the colors, the richness of it. I found myself holding my breath as I ran my Q-tip in the solution and then back on the canvas. I wondered what the artist would think of my efforts each time I worked on a piece. Would they be happy? Would they have preferred the painting to fade into history? What did they think when they drew or painted it? What did they think about it having lasted so long? I had so many questions. I couldn’t help it. Questioning everything was in my nature.
Bathroom break. I heard the clock mounted on the wall sound at the passing of the hour. Rising from my chair, I looked at my gloves and straightened my clothes before walking toward the end of the room.
Inside, all I did was stare at my own reflection in the mirror. My curly lion’s mane of hair was kept pulled back into a tight ponytail at work. My brown eyes seemed to have gotten a bit shinier, but then again, I’d been saying that every day since my change. My brown skin was even-toned—no more dark or lighter blotches. Never in my life had I been so sad to walk into Sephora and walk out without having to buy anything but my favorite shampoo. I used to love makeup. But now, I could feel it on my face like some sort of powered mask. Now, I looked better without it, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss my glitter-gold-eyelids look.
Note to self…bring that look back for something.
Glancing at my watch, I made sure a respectable human amount of time had gone by before stepping back into the lab.
I can probably get about another four hours in before security starts begging me too…
“Theseus?” I doubted my own eyes, but when I blinked, there he was, standing in the center of my lab dressed in black pants and a button-down black shirt. Where he’d gotten them, I wasn’t sure. They looked too modern to be my dad’s clothing, but then again, I hadn’t looked through everything.
“Theseus?” I stepped forward when he didn’t respond.
His grey eyes were fixed on all of the paintings in front of him, lined against the back of the lab. “Where did you get these?” he asked gently, his eyes shifting from one painting to another.