Dark Museum

Friday, November 24, 1989

1

Blair didn't go to the theater to watch opera but to kidnap Sophia Stewart. The balcony sloped to give each ticket holder the best seat in the house, although the view from the nosebleeds wasn't worth the twenty dollars she paid. It didn't matter.

The house lights dimmed and rose again, signaling the audience to settle.

Sophia, the target, smoothed her sequined sheath dress as she sat. A peacock feather pinned her loose brown waves over one ear.

Beside her: an empty seat.

Waiting for a date? Blair thought. Two for one if he's hot.

Despite the theater-goers taking the concert as an opportunity to wear their Sunday Best, Blair hadn't dressed for a fancy night. She hadn't been to an opera or symphony or whatever "Classical All-Stars" was in her life. When attending exhibit openings in the museum where she worked, the same black shirt and pants combo she wore tonight sufficed.

But among the florals and pant-suits, Sophia's purple sequined dress was sure to create countless memories.

"Need help finding your way?" An elderly usher smiled at Blair. "Show me your ticket."

Blair handed him the stub she'd mangled in her sweaty palm. The usher eyeballed it through reading glasses and checked the numbers on the armrests beside him. "Oh! This is your row here," he said. "If it was a snake, it woulda bit ya."

Blair smiled dutifully.

The empty seat next to Sophia belonged to Blair. She hadn't expected to get near her object short of trailing; now she'd spend the next two hours trying not to engage in small talk.

Blair squeezed and sorry'd and sat beside Sophia. The fuzzy upholstery made her shirt crawl up. Her knees bumped the seat in front.

"She's the worst employee of my entire career," her brother David had said on the phone earlier that evening without bothering to open with a greeting.

"Well hello," Blair said, turning the TV down a notch, still paying it more attention than she did the call. She'd been eating chips out of the bag on her bed since her roommate wasn't home to stop her. Cockroaches.

"Everyone knows it's Cap Season," he said. "Everyone stays late at the office. It's not a whim I pulled out of my ass tonight."

"Who crawled up your butt, David?" Mouth open while she chewed.

"Your girl crush, Sophia."

"Who?" But wait: super cute woman at David's annual summer office barbecue five months prior. Asian somewhere in her bloodline. Blair might have asked too many questions about her that day. "She's not a crush. Good God."

"Bull shit."

"So what? She left at quitting time and ...?" A glance at the alarm clock showed 6:30 pm. "How late do your minions hang around, anyway?"

"The better ones? Midnight."

"Midnight?" Blair abandoned the chips.

"Come on, I've seen you work till the wee hours on a project."

"That's art, David. It's love. Not some arbitrary goal shoved down my throat by a corporate bigwig."

"I'm a corporate bigwig?"

She watched her show.

"Do you even know what Cap Season is?"

"I could give a fuck, David."

"It's where we prep H1B visa applications for skilled people looking for work in the US. The government only takes so many every year. We have to submit everything on opening day for these people to have a chance. And it's 'I couldn't give a fuck.'"