My Soul - Mi Alma (Ongoing)

1 Alma

I hate disorganized mornings, and this one was truely disorganized. I overslept, didn't have time for breakfast, and  I had to run from my house on 63rd street up to the Met on 82nd street, to make it in time for the morning meeting. 

"Well, you look sporty this morning, fresh out of the stables?" Kelly, the always perfect PA, approached me as I was refueling my body with coffee. I detested her sarcasm. Kelly always looked fabulous in her business suits,  perfect makeup, perfectly groomed hair – and her signature five-inch heels.  She was one of those women you always could hear before you saw her petite stature, click, click here comes 5 inches of Jimmy Choo. 

I looked at myself. Fresh out of the stables - seriously? My clothing style might be a bit bland - I was wearing a nude suede pair of fitted pants, my signature high brown boots with flat heels a champagne-colored silk shirt with a brown wide braided belt hanging loosely at my hips and a tweed blazer.  

"Ohh Alma, my dear, so glad you're in,"  Francis  greeted me with a big smile. "I need five minutes with you before the morning meeting".

I grabbed my coffee and walked down the corridor to the office of my boss. Francis North is as sweet as they come and a man with international acclaim as a museum director. 

"Alma" he looked straight at me with his kind blue eyes. "How do you feel about working closely with Carlos Alvarez again?" I just looked at Francis. Working with Carlos again – after six years? I could die there and then.

"As you know we're putting up a team to work with an exchange of art between the Prado museum in Madrid and us," Francis continued. "and, we have talked about a Goya exhibition for a long time. You were impressive in suggesting ideas for the exhibit. Carlos Alvarez, who is now the director of the Prado, wants you in charge of curating it from our side.He called me yesterday and told me he would be in New York today, so we decided on a meeting.  I thought it was a splendid idea to put you in charge. Your Spanish is perfect, and since you wrote your Master on Goya, you have expert competence on the subject."

I hate surprises. If Carlos was coming here, why didn't Francis tell me earlier - I needed time to prepare. Why hadn't I been more involved with the initial planning?

"Sure," I said flatly, "Carlos and I got along well in the past, so I'm sure that would be fun." 

"Great," Francis said, "let's join the others in the morning meeting – and we will meet with Carlos at noon – I'll get Kelly to order some lunch."  

Tu eres mi Alma, Carlos whispered in my ear. You are my soul and my guiding star, eight years ago, when he was my professor at NYU he stole my heart.

I closed my eyes and thought back. Back at the time he and I had our secret professor/student relationship. We knew we could have jeopardized our careers, but we were careful – and frankly, I don't think either one of us really cared.

I had just started my Masters program in art history and preservation at NYU. I was 21 at the time, and full of myself, I had been admitted to the only program of its kind in the US. 

The moment Carlos walked into the classroom as our new professor in Art history, I met his eyes and heard bells chiming and angels singing. I fell instantly in love. Carlos was eye candy, he was super hot. He was the cliché of a Latin lover with pit black curly hair in a ponytail. He looked like a devilish pirate – for god's sake, he looked like a tall version of Antonio Banderas.– I was lost.  He was tall, at least 6'3 with the body of a Greek God. I guessed he was in his early 30-ies.

Seriously, Alma, a nice girl like you, and ambitious student don't fall for their professor the moment he walks in, I said to myself. 

I would be professional in my future relationship with Carlos. I can hide the feelings I had, and still have for him. I got up from my chair and walked over to the lady's room to apply makeup and fix my hair. It was only one hour till the man I still daydreamed about, after six years, would reenter my life.

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