The Typhoon Lover

by Sujata Massey

  “I’m on the Mall.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  I wondered if he was testing me again. “I’m on a bench near the National Gallery. Tell whoever has the binoculars to focus on the bench near the one with the wino stretched out.”

  “Rei, my office is not on the Mall, it’s in Foggy Bottom. I’m going to go out and grab a taxi. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

  “That’s ridiculous, I’m not staying here in the cold—” The temperature was fifty degrees, but weather was the first excuse that popped into my head.

  “Then why don’t you go inside the Freer? Let’s meet by the coat-check area so that we don’t miss each other.”

  It wasn’t likely that we could miss each other, I thought, as I leaned against the entrance to the coat-check room, which was no longer operational—perhaps because of renovations, or maybe because of fears that a checked coat might hold a bomb. I didn’t know.

  Now I waited, sweating in my new fall coat, a pumpkin-colored wool melton, thinking about the good old days when a woman could hang a coat in a museum and not worry about the motives of the person she was meeting.

  Michael Hendricks came through the door a few minutes later, dressed in a navy-and-black pinstripe suit, without a tie or an overcoat. He had taken a taxi, I guessed.

  “You look irritated,” Hendricks said. “Am I that late?”

  “No. It’s just that it’s so hot in here, and the checkroom’s closed.”

  “I’ll take your coat. There’s a place we’ll leave it, deeper into the museum.” He held out his hands for the coat, but just as I was about to hand it to him, I changed my mind and kept it draped over my arm. No chance that I’d allow him any opportunities to slide a bug into its lining.

  The Sackler’s galleries were subterranean, so we walked down a flight of stairs and were buzzed through the same locked doors to administration. Directly off the hall was a room with a buzzer, which Michael pressed.

  “This is storage,” Michael said while we waited. “They’re paranoid about damage, so I’m sure they’re going to ask me to leave my pen. Will you keep it at the bottom of your purse for me, and give it back when we leave?”

  The pen looked like Mark Cross, but who knew what kind of pen it really was, I thought as I dropped it into the recesses of my bag and the door was opened to us by Elizabeth Cameron. Behind her stretched a series of tall steel cabinets, which I quickly figured out held all the goodies that weren’t on display. I felt my interest rise, in spite of everything.

  “Hello, you two. I can be with you in just a few minutes—I’m in the process of finishing assembling things for the lesson.” Elizabeth inclined her head to the right, and I saw that there was a tall man with glasses doing something with one of the cabinets. Obviously, she didn’t want to work with us in front of him.

  “Sure. We wanted to look at the Islamic exhibit, anyway. May I leave Rei’s coat somewhere around here?” Michael asked.

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll carry it.” Already, it seemed my impromptu meeting with Michael and Elizabeth had been planned. I was determined not to take any more risks with my privacy.

  Michael wanted to go straight to the show’s masterwork, a 600-year-old ceramic platter painted with images of men carrying spears, but I cut him short. I’d been to the show a few months earlier, and it was a piece that I thought attracted more attention than was seemly.

  “I’ve seen it,” I said. “And what I find bizarre is that the museum label says that it was owned by a warlord. Warriors traveled a lot, so why would they carry such a huge ceramic item? Brass or gold or silver would be travel-worthy, but this just is unbelievable.”

  “Are you saying you think it’s fake?” he said, drawing closer to the glass.

  “Because of the cracks and the type of pigments used, I’m sure it’s very old, though not being an expert in Islamic pottery, I can’t tell you how old. In any case, the plate probably was crafted to look as if it had a noble, war-going heritage—as if those two words can be used in the same breath,” I added.

  “Given my years at Annapolis, I’d like to think so,” Michael said easily.

  “Oh, so you went to the Naval Academy.” I was determined to give him a taste of having his own life on trial, just as he’d done to me the day before.

  “Yes, I was there. Harp wrote the recommendation for my application. I believe it was the only time our infamous antiwar senator helped someone join the military.” He smiled easily. “I graduated a few years before you started at Hopkins. It’s a shame, because you certainly would have, ah, enlivened our mixers.”

  “Hopkins girls don’t usually socialize with Annapolis boys,” I said briskly. “But getting back to you, before the academy, you must have been at boarding school: Andover, Exeter, somewhere like that—”

  “Exeter.” He looked at me a bit more warily. “And I know about myself already, thank you very much. What else can you tell me about the ceramic?”

  “I think it was used in a home. A wealthy private home, where the people who owned it liked to encourage an illusion of a link to the ruling class.”

  “Well, that’s a good inference.”

  I turned to see that the speaker was Elizabeth Cameron herself.

  “Rei, I’m glad you came back. It sounds as if you have a pretty good base of knowledge already.”

  I shrugged off her compliment. “It just doesn’t seem plausible that traveling warriors would have carried breakable ceramics. If you think so, too, why does the label say what it does?”

  “Its history is all information this museum’s staff received from the Victoria and Albert.” She paused. “Well, now that you’re here, Rei, I was hoping you might like to look at some things that are usually in storage, that the staff’s brought out for our study. My colleague has gone to lunch, so we’ll be able to make ourselves comfortable there.”

  “All right,” I said. “I always welcome the chance for a behind-the-scenes tour at a museum.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Elizabeth said. “I reviewed your master’s thesis on Japanese ceramics. I think you’ll find this new arena of scholarship a natural fit.”

  “Rei, you’re turning out to be a jack-of-all-trades,” Michael said. “Kimono, pottery, furniture…”

  “Conversant in many things, but fluent in none,” I replied lightly.

  “Now, that is unbelievable.” Michael gave me one last speculative look with his icy blue eyes before saying good-bye.

  7

  I was glad to have eaten the curry puffs with Senator Snowden, because it turned out that I never ate lunch. I spent the whole afternoon with Elizabeth Cameron, examining a table laden with dozens of fabulous ancient ceramics. As I pondered a 2,000-year-old urn, marveling at the history between my hands, I asked her whether it had been exhibited before.

  “Ten years ago,” she said. “We have so many holdings that it is a challenge to give everything a chance at the spotlight. And the truth is that the public prefers colorful items to earthenware.”

  “I haven’t seen anything like—what we saw on-screen yesterday,” I finished carefully.

  “The ibex ewer? Yes, that was a unique piece. This museum at least doesn’t have anything in the same form. I think the important thing happening today is that you’re getting used to the texture of these ceramics, the color of the clay—look at that distinct ashy whitish interior on the chip. It is very different from the red clay that’s more common.”

  “So this particular, lighter clay…it’s from a certain region?” I asked.

  “It’s from Babylon. Later on, pottery making took place in other areas, where the clay had a different mineral content.”

  “And where the aesthetic was more lavish,” I added longingly. These pieces really weren’t my taste at all.

  “Later pieces are usually more highly valued by collectors, though I myself tend to appreciate the simple beginnings.”

  So that was one of the differences between s
omeone like myself who sold antiques to people who wanted stunning home decorations—and someone like her who wanted to keep them safely behind glass for all to see, free of charge. As I left the museum late that afternoon, I felt I had mastered some basics, but I needed to keep learning. If I was going to look at Takeo’s vessel with any confidence, I would have to examine many more examples from the period.

  I rode the Metro back to Dupont Circle, and as I walked toward Adams-Morgan, I dialed Michael Hendricks at his office.

  “You forgot your pen,” I said after he picked up.

  “Really? Hang on to it until I see you again, will you?”

  “I left it at the security desk in a bag with your name on it.” There was no way I would trust that pen anywhere in my household. It could be a camera or another bug or even a weapon.

  “Well, then, thank you very much.” Michael sounded almost amused. “By the way, Elizabeth told me you had a very productive time.”

  “It was productive, but not quite enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I explained that I wanted to examine more ceramics from that time period, at other museums. In each place, I’d need hands-on access, and a curator to help me.

  He paused after I’d told him what I wanted. Then he said, “Do you have a few museums in mind?”

  I told him the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, the Metropolitan in New York, and the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I’d done research at these museums before, and they were all within a few hours of Washington.

  “All right,” Michael said when I was done, “I’ll fund your travel to those places. But first, let me contact each museum with a plausible story, and we’ll have some business cards made up for you. But it’s got to be done quickly, since our goal is to have you out to Tokyo by the end of next week.”

  “I still don’t know if I can take the job,” I said. “Aside from learning more about ceramics, I have to be sure that Hugh is comfortable with my going.”

  “What, you have to ask his permission?” Michael sounded impatient.

  “I didn’t say I needed permission. But he’s never taken a job that I didn’t want him to do—”

  “What about Edinburgh?” Michael Hendricks said. “He went back there, supposedly to help draft the new Scottish constitution, and he wound up with Lady Fiona.”

  “It was a brief engagement, which he terminated,” I finished. “So, it seems like you examined news clippings from the Tatler party page. Why didn’t you include them in the slide show for everyone’s amusement?”

  “It wasn’t pertinent, just as I think the exact nature of your work for your government isn’t pertinent knowledge for Hugh. It’s enough for him to know that the Smithsonian is sending you to look into buying some Japanese ceramics.”

  I hung up, thinking that Michael didn’t know about Hugh’s instinct for sensing trouble. Even though Hugh was sick, he was still sharp.

  “What’s the crisis?” Hugh asked when I called him at work—something I very rarely did.

  “I wanted to see if you’re feeling better,” I said.

  “I’m hanging in,” Hugh said. “But I’m swamped with work. I don’t think I’ll make it home till late tonight. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” I said. “It’s more of a shame for you, trying to recover, and your brother in town for just a few more days—”

  “Angus and I already said our good-byes. He’s heading off for Philadelphia today, remember?”

  “Oh. I’d forgotten. Well, anyway, when you get home, maybe we can go out for a quick bite. There’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Over food? Have you forgotten the state I’m in?” Hugh laughed weakly.

  “No, it’s just that…I would rather get out of the apartment to talk to you, that’s all. It doesn’t have to be a restaurant, it could be a coffee bar—”

  “That place around the corner closes by six, and I doubt I’ll be through till ten. I’d rather just see you at home.”

  “What are you doing for dinner, if you’re staying so late at work?”

  “I thought I’d pick up a takeaway soup, if I can find a delicatessen that’s open after six. Downtown is pretty dead at that hour, so it might not be worth the walk.”

  “Let me bring you food,” I said. “It’ll save you time.”

  I must have worn Hugh down, because he reluctantly agreed. We made plans for my arrival bearing tom yum goong in three hours’ time. In the meantime, I went home and told Chika that we were going out to eat at my favorite Thai restaurant and that afterward, while she packed her suitcase for her next stop at my parents’ home in San Francisco, I would head to Hugh’s office to take him something to eat.

  “So, he has to go to work when he’s still sick. It’s a shame,” Chika said gravely.

  “That’s right. And I don’t know if he’s going to be sick again, so I think it’s probably better if I’m just there.”

  “Of course. I’d like to be home this evening, in case the boys call between sets. Sridhar promised.”

  I looked sideways at my cousin. “How was last night on the futon?”

  She beamed radiantly. “Very fun. Liberating, really. I never spent so much time with foreign men before.”

  “All the men I know are foreigners,” I mused. Hugh was so profoundly Celtic, and Takeo came from centuries of Japanese inbreeding. Come to think of it, the boyfriends I’d chosen in college had all been bilingual and of international ancestry. My roommate used to call the motley parade of beaux that crossed our doorway Rei’s United Nations. I’d never dated anyone all-American like Michael Hendricks.

  I shook myself. Why had that thought popped into my head? Probably, it was because I had turned thirty and felt a need to evaluate all the men I met, whether I liked them or not.

  “Foreigners,” Chika continued, interrupting my distressed thoughts. “They are more intense. The differences…it’s exciting at first. But it cannot last for eternity, as my mother says.”

  “Oh, does she.”

  “She’s not watching me that closely right now. She’s working on an o-miai for my brother, though.”

  “Tsutomu-kun is going to have an arranged marriage?” I felt faint at the thought of her older brother, my beloved cousin Tom, so attractive, lively, and caring. Why did his mother think he needed help finding a partner?

  Chika answered my unspoken question. “My brother is so old—thirty-three already. Japanese girls are becoming choosy. They won’t want him in two more years. Now is the time he can still have any hope of selection.”

  “All he needs is some time off from work! Time to socialize, meet people on his own,” I said. “How could a matchmaker find a better woman for him than we could?”

  “I have no interest in fixing up my brother. But if you do…” She waved an elegant hand studded with heavy rings. “Onegai-shimasu!”

  I request of you, she’d said in formal Japanese.

  In a week’s time, I would have the chance to see her brother and ask him how he felt about arranged marriages. But first, I had to get to Japan—and that meant working things out with Hugh.

  8

  “No!” Hugh said.

  We were sitting on the carpet in his office with the Thai food spread out like a picnic between us. I had spent the last ten minutes explaining my situation: a onetime contract job for the government to bid for antique Japanese pottery, a special passport back to Japan. An opportunity to jump out of my diplomatic black hole—an opportunity that might never come again.

  He’d listened carefully the whole time I’d spoken, not eating a bite. And now, the verdict was negative.

  “You mean you don’t think I should go?”

  “No, no, no!”

  “But why—”

  “I mean no, as in no kidding! I can hardly believe it. What brilliant luck.” Hugh’s serious expression had turned into a radiant grin.

  I could breathe again. “So you think I should take it? I haven’t told them
yet—”

  “Of course you should bloody take it! Rei, thank God you came to Washington. Because of all that publicity you gathered in the last few months, someone high up must have twigged that you’re the right person for the job. When you return here with whatever Momoyama vase you buy, I want to throw a party. Do you think, if you ask nicely, they’ll let you have it at the Smithsonian?”

  “I doubt it. Hugh, you must be on the way to recovery if you’re thinking of parties again.”

  “Yes, watch me eat rice and soup without losing it.” He did so, and when he spoke again, his voice was slightly hoarse from the chili-laden soup. “I’m not ready to open a bottle of champers yet, but if you’ll do the honors of pouring us each a glass of water, we can toast to your legal reentry in Japan, which I’ll be thrilled to witness.”

  I went to organize the lead crystal tumblers he kept in a cabinet, along with a bottle of mineral water, and various spirits. I asked, “Does this mean you’ll actually drive me to Dulles Airport in rush hour? You don’t have to, really. I can take the Metro.”

  “Better than that. I’ll fly with you, babe. We can hunker down under the blankets and get into the kind of trouble that we used to on all those night flights.”

  “Hold on.” I thought quickly. “You—you didn’t even have time to fly anywhere for a three-day weekend for my birthday. How can you get the time off to go with me to Japan? And I’m in a situation where I have to go in a real rush—next week, in fact.”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m supposed to visit Tokyo every three or four months for trial preparation?” Hugh raised the glass that I’d handed him in a toasting gesture. “I haven’t been in a while. It would be a cinch to convince the managing partner that it’s high time for me to return and get the Tokyo office in high gear.”

  “Hugh, I’m sorry,” I said. “This job for the federal government—you know that it’s my first, and I don’t think I would come off as a professional if I travel with my boyfriend in tow.”

  He studied my face for a moment. “Okay. We’ll fly separately and meet up at my company flat. No one shall be the wiser.”