"This is the one. Quick, take my picture in front of it."
My sister was clocking the gallery.
"Where the hell did Cooper and Francesca get to?"
I gestured to her with my phone.
She said, "I don't think photos are allowed in here."
"Fine," I said.
I activated the phone camera. It was hard to get myself and Ray's portrait into frame. Two globular faces.
When the phone was repocketed, I found Anthea had gone the way of her kids.
I spent another hour in the galleries. In the basement, after kitchens and furnaces, was a room of stacked with dusty sculptures by Epstein and his epigones. The gift shop was just a room of pallets heaped with musty reams of drawing paper.
They were locking the doors when I left.
The sun was down, the western sky cadmium yellow deep.
I stood by the empty car in the empty parking lot.
A good lesson for me: drive yourself, don't depend upon others for a ride.
My sister and her kids: nowhere in sight.
Fiery red brick in the gloaming, the museum filled the sky.
28 October 2018