Shadow Play

5

3 The next morning, nervous energy had me up early ironing my best black slacks and cardigan set. With my boyish frame, pants often fit me better than dresses, unless they were tight, but that didn't suit well for work. While I wasn't blessed with an hour-glass figure, I did inherit a generous chest from my mother. That's where the similarities ended. My parents were both fair with blue and hazel eyes, in contrast, my hair was almost black and my eyes a dark brown that suited my olive skin. Growing up, I was sometimes teased about being the milkman’s daughter. I had been blond with hazel eyes as a young child, but my coloring gradually darkened until I hardly resembled the blond baby in my mom's photo albums. Despite the teasing, I liked my dark coloring. I was often asked if I was Polynesian, or Native American, or something equally exotic. The fact of the matter was, my mom was all Irish/English and dad was a mutt with a German predominance. I wouldn’t have minded having a smaller waist, but other than that, I loved my wavy dark hair and great skin, so things could have been worse. Two years in New York will get you used to walking everywhere, so the half-mile commute to the museum was easy, or at least as much as a walk can be in freezing temperatures. With comfortable shoes and my warm wool coat, the walk was brisk but not totally unbearable. The museum didn’t open until 10 a.m. but work started at 9 a.m. and went to 6 p.m. when the museum closed. I loved the hours because they were perfect for being able to hit a bar, or pub as they would say here, on occasion and not worry about work first thing the next morning. The Ulster Museum was built out of smooth white stone and made for an impressive sight. The front half of the building, facing the street, bore the original turn-of-the-century, multi-paned windows with giant stone columns, giving it the appearance of an old courthouse or state building. On the other hand, the back half of the large building, which had been added in recent years, was ultra-modern. The two halves were somehow sewn together seamlessly in a brilliant display of architectural design, surrounded by trees bursting with fall colors and a thick carpet of green grass. I pulled open the heavy, solid-wood door at the front entrance and took in the lobby. Much like the back half of the building, the interior had been completely updated. Smooth white surfaces adorned much of the entry with some occasional rich wood paneling to warm the room. The gift shop was sectioned off by thick plate glass walls and through a tall archway I glimpsed the central atrium of the four-story museum within. Pride and excitement filled my chest as I took in the beautiful facility in which I would be working. “Can I help you, miss?” The words shook me out of my daze and I peered around for the source. Behind the visitors’ desk was a young woman with shockingly red hair curling just past her shoulders. She was petite with green eyes and loads of freckles scattered across her friendly face. “I didn’t mean to get caught staring, it’s just that this place is amazing, even better than the photos,” I said, walking to the young woman to introduce myself. “Ah, you must be Rebecca Peterson! Welcome to Ireland and welcome to the Ulster! I’m Catronia, but please call me Cat. Would you like me to phone Mr. Campbell for you?” I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I suppose it’s not every day an American comes by and is struck dumb in your entry. Yes, I’m Rebecca, but please call me Becca and if you wouldn’t mind informing Mr. Campbell that I’m here, that would be wonderful.” She nodded and quickly paged for the curator, whom I could hear through the receiver in his enigmatic voice proclaim that he would be there in a jiffy. “Have you worked at the museum for long?” I asked, attempting some small talk with my new coworker. “For about a year. My mum is a friend of Fergus, Mr. Campbell I should say, so once I got my leaving certificate, that’s finishing secondary, I started working here. I was never interested in third level school and with my mum’s connection at the museum and this job ready for the taking, things just fell into place,” she said as she twirled a red curl between her fingers. “Have you lived here all your life then?” “All my life, and the same for my parents, and their parents, and so on. You could say we are a pillar in the Belfast community.” The snarky tone in her voice hinted at an appreciation for sarcasm, which brought her up a notch in my estimation. “That sounds intriguing, actually. We traveled a ton growing up so having roots in a community has appeal.” Just as I finished, my eyes caught sight of a middle-aged man in a deep purple suit coming our way. “Rebecca! It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance in person.” I was quickly wrapped in a tight hug and then kissed on each cheek. That was something that would take me a while to adjust to. I wasn’t even a hugger and I certainly didn’t walk around kissing people I hardly knew. “Thank you, Mr. Campbell, I’m thrilled to be here. The museum is absolutely awe-inspiring. I can’t wait to walk through the exhibits and learn about each one.” “Aye, but I’ve told you, call me Fergus, please. We will be spending plenty of time together so no room for formalities. I see you've met our Cat, she’s such an asset, we love having her with us. How about I show you the offices and you can meet the rest of the staff,” he suggested animatedly as he clapped his hands together and turned toward the elevators. He was exactly as I’d pictured him after our colorful conversation over the phone. At about five-foot eleven, he was not particularly tall but had a proud stature with strawberry blond hair, a neatly trimmed goatee, and blue eyes. His deep purple suit was high quality, and the light grey dress shirt, and purple striped bowtie polished off his look with a sophisticated panache. He even wore shining black patent leather dress shoes that clacked on the floor as he strode to the elevator bank. “We're up on the fourth floor. I think you will get along with everyone swimmingly, although there are fewer of us than you might expect. We have a good number of patrons through our doors but I’m afraid we are still small scale compared to your New York City museums,” he commented as we got on the elevator and headed to the top floor. His accent, though thick, was refined and I found it was easier to understand in person than it had been over the phone. I wondered if he had spent some time in England or if it was just schooling that had kept his words discernable through the otherwise thick accent.