was any reason why I should go to Cambodia? P.P., you know that Tyler is researching the piece. Hopefully he’ll be able to figure out if it’s real or fake.”
“Arthur’s trip.” He watched me. “The trip with you.”
“What?” I heard my voice rise almost to a screech.
“We’ll go first. To Bangkok. Meet the group in Siem Reap, at Angkor.” P.P. nodded to himself to affirm his plan.
I was out of my chair, headed toward the door. “Group?” I’d been buried in plans for the Chinese exhibition: first the galleys, then the outreach planning—concerts, visiting potters, movies. What had Philen concocted while I had my head down? “I’m going to talk with Arthur. Is he the one planning this?”
“Caleb. Speak with him.”
I hadn’t even realized that the director was back in town. “Caleb? He’s gotten involved? Why would he condone one of Arthur’s wacky ideas?”
P.P. stood up, but rather than recapture my chair, I hurried out of my office ahead of him, down the hall toward Caleb’s office.
CALEB New had clearly gone to directors’ school. Either that or they found him at Central Casting. He was suave, wore the right—expensive—suits, and fit perfectly into an old boys’ network that allowed him access to people able to support an institution like the Searles that depended on private donations. He was always flying here or there, fundraising, his laissez-faire administrative style sometimes creating havoc in the museum. Arthur Philen, who was left in charge when Caleb was gone, furthered the problem with his constant attempts to overthrow him.
“I can’t go to Cambodia,” I said, charging into Caleb’s office. “I have an exhibition opening in a month and a catalogue I need to write for an exhibition that opens in just a year. I should have had it written already.”
“How are you, Jenna?” Caleb asked, unruffled as ever.
“Fine, thank you, but really, there isn’t any reason to go off to Cambodia just because P.P. has brought in a head that, by the way, may be a fake, and if not a fake, happens to belong to a well-known sculpture.” I took a breath.
“Arthur seems to have gotten the ball rolling in my absence.”
“Well, can’t you stop the ball?”
He handed me the newsletter that just moments before I’d thrust in P.P.’s face. I took it, confused. “What?”
“The back page, I believe.”
On the center of the back page was a small announcement about a trip for upper patrons to Cambodia. Led by me, with Arthur Philen also in attendance. “You’ve got to be kidding. He didn’t even ask me about my schedule. This trip is during October, and October is when my Chinese porcelain exhibition will be up.”
Caleb nodded. “It did surprise me that you were willing to go then.”
“Willing to go? He didn’t even consult me. And how did he get it in the newsletter? He had to have gotten it in way past the deadline for text.”
A voice behind me said, “It’s short.”
P.P. was right. The announcement was only two lines. If I was lucky, no one would notice it. That would be the perfect solution to this ridiculous plan.
“He wants to create fanfare about the head.” Caleb straightened his cuffs.
“We don’t even know if the head is authentic. Tyler is looking at it now to try to figure that out, and at the moment he’s thinking it’s modern.” I was having some difficulty keeping my voice calm.
Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Arthur didn’t tell me that.”
“That man—” but I saw Caleb’s other eyebrow go up. I wasn’t sure why he kept Arthur on the staff, but suspected it was because Arthur made him look good.
“Fait accompli,” he said, raising his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.
I could feel P.P.’s hands on the back of my chair. I leaned forward. “Caleb, please, you need to put a stop to this. You know it’s just part of Arthur’s plan to undermine you. I can imagine the fanfare that he anticipates and his spot in the limelight. He can see the headlines now: ‘California Museum Returns Stolen Sculpture.’”
“Yes. Well, it would put us in a good light.”
“Not if the headline the next day read, ‘Stolen Sculpture a Fake.’”
Caleb missed a beat before saying, “How’s the exhibition coming along? The outreach schedule is impressive. You must be very happy.” He fussed with some papers on his desk.
The conversation had ended, and I felt as if I hadn’t taken part in it. “It’s great,” I said as I stood to leave.
“Bangkok first,” P.P. said.
“Yes, certainly, P.P.,” Caleb said. “You and Jenna can go to Bangkok first.”
I barely needed to listen to his response. I’d never heard Caleb deny P.P. anything, but I was stunned that he’d agreed with Philen’s harebrained scheme of taking a group of people to Cambodia while simultaneously defusing a potentially volatile situation with a possibly stolen head. I needed to come back and discuss this with Caleb when P.P. wasn’t around. Or better, I could hope the plan would fade away, though the newsletter I held in my hand suggested otherwise.
Traveling with Philen and P.P., who was demanding in his own way, promised to be a nightmare. I groaned, but P.P. barely glanced at me as he turned to go to the conservation lab. I debated whether I should join him, but I had other work to do. The ceramic exhibition was looming, and the tasks related to it were increasing. I hurried to my office to begin to write down all that I needed to do.
My phone was ringing as I entered. “Jenna Murphy, curatorial.”
“Hi, honey,” my mother said.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up? It’s a little crazy here today.”
“You sound upset.”
“I’m fine. Well, not entirely, but I’ll tell you about it when I see you Sunday.”
“Have you seen Eric lately?”
I closed my eyes. My brother’s problems had woven a web around my family. His drugs, his depression, his dramas. I didn’t want to be thinking about him now. I didn’t want the worry of him now. I tried to keep from sounding concerned. “No. What’s up?”
“He’s not answering my calls. Could you give him a ring?”
“Sure, but you know he does this. Winds us up. Worries us to get our attention.”
“I don’t think it’s intentional, honey. It’s just the way he is.”
I could hear the concern in her voice. “I’ll call. You and Dad are coming to the opening of the exhibition, aren’t you? You got the invitation?”
“We
