Chapter 13
February
For the next few weeks, they send me to two places: the Neue Galerie and the Jewish Museum, both on Museum Mile. Three, sometimes four times a week, back to the same rooms next to the same stuff.
The Jewish Museum, the Neue.
The Neue, the Jewish Museum.
The Neue (pronounced noy-ya) is a collection of Austrian and German art housed in an enormous old mansion with winding staircases. It has a maze of rooms on three separate floors, some filled with famous paintings, some with traveling exhibits, and some with wall-to-wall crystal dishes and vases. The police keep positioning me in the crystal rooms, forcing me to draw goblet upon goblet, which makes my head want to explode. I’m a faces guy, not a dishware artist. Who stands in a kitchen and sketches cups for hours a week? Apparently I do.
The Jewish Museum isn’t much better. As the name suggests, it houses All Things Jewish, and although there are interesting paintings and neat exhibits (Curious George, Houdini . . . a lot of cool Jews out there) I am stuck in the collectibles room, where people send in their antiques and everybody oohs and aahs. Menorahs are more interesting to draw, with their swooping lines and intricate ornamentation, but after the fiftieth one, I’m losing my mind.
Jonah thinks it’s a riot and claims I’ll be more Jewish than he is by the end of the month.
I am baffled as to what the police are doing. All this time and money to spy on furniture? Who’s going to steal this stuff? I know I sound like my dad, but I’m beginning to believe that the taxpayers’ money is being wasted. And honestly, between you and me, who cares? You want the cup? Take it. There are a lot more out there.
I hate to say it, but this is turning into the most boring job ever. Not that I have much to compare it to since it’s my only job ever. The clock is ticking, I haven’t seen any action, and I’m sick of drawing faces, cups, and menorahs, which stinks because I used to love drawing. I added up the hours I’ve worked so far, multiplied it by minimum wage, and came up with $326.25. I think Senate costs a little bit more.
To top it off, school is tedious because the snow is brown and hard outside and it’s way too cold to go out and attempt to kick a ball or shoot hoops. We’d break our ankles on the ice or get frostbite from the wind for sure. So instead we’re trapped inside doing puzzles or reading comics while Jonah slowly drives us insane by motoring his mouth at mach ten. That kid needs to be run outside like a colt.
February 26
Speaking of Jonah, he calls on Saturday night. I press pause on the DVD player and pick up the phone. “Hey,” I say.
“I’m bored,” he says. “What are you doing?”
I sigh and stretch my neck. I’ve been sitting in the same position for hours. “The usual.”
Bovano came up with the brilliant idea of having me watch surveillance recordings of the museums, specifically times when there are extra big crowds and thieves might be hiding in the masses. So now I get to watch black-and-white footage of the cups and menorahs from the comfort of my own living room. It’s as fun as it sounds.
“Can I come over?” he asks. “Maybe I could help.”
“Uh . . .” He’ll be way too distracting. As it is, I can hear a weird hollow noise in the background, like he’s tapping on a bass drum with a pencil. His parents bought him a drum set two years ago to “channel his energy.” They’ve both developed nervous twitches ever since, and startle at loud noises like bomb survivors.
“My parents aren’t home” is my lame excuse. I look at the stack of disks Bovano gave me. “I’d come to your place but I have to watch at least four more hours of surveillance.”
“All right.” There’s a long pause. “Hey, Milton’s having lunch here tomorrow,” he says. “Can you come?”
Milton? We’ve had classes with Milton forever, but we’ve never hung out with him outside of school. Jealousy surges in my chest. Stupid, I know. “I can’t. My grandma will be here all day.” And then there’s more exciting film to watch.
“Oh.” He’s disappointed, I can tell. So am I. “Okay, well, see ya Monday,” he says.
“See ya.” I hang up the phone and stare at the frozen black-and-white television screen. Is this what next year will be like if I don’t return to Senate? No Jonah, no social life?
Solve the case, soldier, and everything will be fine. As if it’s that easy. I toss my drawing pad onto the coffee table and go make popcorn in the microwave, trying to fool my brain into believing that I’m at the movie theater with Jonah and we’re watching an action-packed spy thriller. I plop back down on the couch, press Play on the remote, and take a bite of salty, buttery kernels.
But all I taste is stale museum air.