My Soul - Mi Alma (Ongoing)

27 Back at the Met

«So the Spanish queen finally decided to grace us with her presence again" Kelly sent me a mocking glance. "Did you get to fuck the Spanish stallion?"

I filled my coffee cup and looked Kelly straight in the eyes "You surely did what you could to get him between your sheets while he was here. I was in Spain to do a job" I left the coffee machine and walked into my office for the first time in more than three weeks.

I took a deep breath and looked out at Kelly. She was wearing white linen pants – of course, without a wrinkle. She was on the only person I know who could wear white linen pants for a full day without getting neither stains nor wrinkles – what was that woman made of?

I had a morning meeting with Francis, just him and me. I was quite happy Kelly was not a part of it. She is the ultimate bitch.

Francis was quite happy with the progress of the work I had done in Spain and was excited about the reception with the embassy and his weekend in Madrid. I told him about the interview in El Pais. I got the link to the web version from Carlos Sunday evening. Since Francis doesn't speak Spanish, I had to translate it to him. He loved it. We had an interview with the New York Times the following week, and he liked the idea of us using my history as the link between the Met and El Prado. I was a bit more reluctant, considering this was New York, and I was a New Yorker of Spanish origin, my history was hardly that interesting here. He decided to call the journalist and put forward a couple of possible angles. I knew that journalists hate it when interview objects suggest angles for interviews – but I didn't say anything.

At the end of the meeting, I told Francis about Carlos and me – and that I was getting a divorce from Mick. I also asked him to keep this information confidential to the rest of the staff – and that I was willing to go off the exhibition project if he felt the ties between Carlos and me made me look unprofessional. I wouldn't go public with our relationship yet.

I also told Francis about my encounter with Kelly that I found utterly degrading. He got furious. It seems like she had been bugging him about me leaving with the "Spanish hottie" for several weeks.

"Alma," he said," Carlos has been asking about you since you started working here. I knew that the two of you had a connection beyond the professional level. I know it goes back to when he was resigning as your supervisor at NYU, not to raise any questions about biased decisions. You did everything right academically back then. You are both extremely talented at what you do – I think the creativity the two of you as a team can bring both to the Met and the Prado can benefit both institutions. Tell me about you and Carlos."

"Carlos is the son of my grandfather's best friend in Spain. I didn't know at the time he became my professor at NYU. We fell in love and had a very intense relationship for almost two years, which left us heartbroken. I didn't know then why he left me – I know now that his wife in Spain was terminally ill. I was a 23 years old master student, and he chose his family over me. We hadn't spoken since then when he came here before easter. We have spoken daily since then"

Francis was humming "for your own good I hope you have been doing more than speaking on the phone" He sent me a humorous glance. "How does Mick take all of this?"I told him the truth about my marriage to Mick, and that I knew from we were kids that Mick was gay and that Stuart had been living with us all the time.

"I was always a little confused about your marriage Alma, now it all makes sense." Francis gave me an affectionate hug, and continued, "You are safe here, as is your relationship to Carlos. I have no problem with it. Thanks for sharing. That shows how professional you are. I will deal with Kelly; if it weren't for the fact that she does a damned good job, I would have fired her ages ago, she has major behavioral problems."

I went back to my office and sank into my chair. There were loads of files on my desk that I had to go through, and a shitload of emails that needed my attention.

When Kelly came by my office a couple of hours later, her face was pale under her perfect makeup, and her eyes were furious. "So the little hotshot girl had to run to mister nice boss and complain, What is it that you do that makes him protect you, Alma? You are not better than anyone else, but you get away with stunts no one else would pull. Maybe he is impressed by your rich bitch attitude and background. I keep my eyes on you Alma, and I don't like what I see" Kelly clicked her way out of my office, I still admire her ability to walk around in five-inch heels – but I don't see much love lost for me in her attitude. I guess I just have to live with it. I. have been her scapegoat from the first day I started working here. I wonder why, as far as I know, I had never done anything to offend her.

I went down to the accountant's office to talk with them about the insurance issues connected to moving the exhibition from Prado to the Met. Liz, the leader of the department, is a sweet lady in her late forties. "How was Spain?" she asked with a friendly smile and offered me a cup of coffee. I told her about the work we had done, and that the insurance issues might be a bit complicated because it included three different collections. Liz had already spoken with the accountants at the Prado – so her work was well underway. "Did Kelly give you a rough up this morning?" Liz sent me a worried glance. I told her about the meeting by the coffee machine and her visit to my office. Rumors travel fast in out pretty small administration. "What does she have against me? As far as I'm aware of, I have never done anything to offend her, yet it seems like she hits at me at every possible opportunity".

Liz is the kind of person everyone likes, and everyone confides in. She was thinking for a while before she started to speak.

"You know Alma; I have spoken a lot with Kelly, we are both from the same blue-collar neighborhood in Pittsburg. We both had to work our way through college. I was lucky enough to get some great scholarships to finish my master's in accounting at Columbia. She never even applied for a master. To her, you represent the life she always dreamed about living. Self-secure, coming from a well-known family, having grown up on Upper Eastside, don't get me wrong – you never flashed your wealth. But your entire being cries old money. Kelly has worked very hard to get up and forward, an she is still looking for a man rich enough for her ambitions. She sees you as a threat. You are the liberal NY girl, who doesn't care about office dress codes. You are the girl who always speaks her mind and gets listened to. I remember when Kelly first started here, she was so thrilled because this would mean she could go to the Met Gallas. Little did she know then that those Gallas were not organized by the museum – but by a group of wealthy New Yorkers renting he museum. 

The bittersweet truth is that she would kill to have your life; she sees your life as picture-perfect. The life she had dreamt of reading gossip magazines as a kid in a semidetached house in a pretty gray neighborhood in Pittsburg. She is the first in her family to hold a college degree. Her brothers and her dad worked in the mines, her sister married at 17 and has three kids.

You don't flash your lifestyle in any way, I have always seen you as kind and grounded. She started hating you that first year you were here, and you offered her your tickets to the Met Galla because you didn't want to go – how can anyone have so much and be so careless about it – is her way of thinking. Superficial oh sure, but if you want to know what eats her – it's her social insecurity and your social carelessness  - that she defines as your superiority."

I looked at Liz for a long time. "Thanks, Liz, I never realized that I came across as an idol of security and fortune. I guess I have taken many things in my life for granted, but honestly, I have never judged anyone because of social background. I don't care if my friends or colleagues come from a privileged or working-class background. I like people for who they are as humans and not their social status. So I can't understand how I come across as a snob. Is there any way I can get her trust? This present situation is eating me alive; her attitude makes my job – that I love – quite difficult. For some reason, I don't feel Francis, as a man from a very similar background to mine, is the right person to solve this. I offered those Galla tickets to her to be kind, not to show off my social status – I'm sorry, I didn't even dream of that coming across the wrong way".

"I'll take her out for dinner and talk with her." Liz said; "This situation is counterproductive for all of us. We're a small administration, and we need to work together and trust each other. I don't want her to lose the job she has worked so hard for, nor do I want your working conditions to be difficult. Neither one of you deserves that ."