American History
The Historical Preservation Museum in San Diego, California was created specifically to be the largest, most accurate, and most detailed museum of American history in the world, complete with a full wing consisting of only full sized wax figures of all the presidents and other prominent people. Another wing was dedicated to the Native Americans, a whole floor to the Wild West. It was an impressive building, five stories tall and made of all tan stone.
Cameron Hunt was to be one of the upkeepers; an easy job that consisted of cleaning and maintaining the museum. It was a much nicer title, in his opinion, than janitor. Not that he figured there was anything wrong with the job (he was doing the same stuff anyways) but it would be hard to keep the negative connotations away, when he actually enjoyed doing the work.
It was a Monday in the middle of June, and, more importantly, the grand opening of the museum, and Cameron and a dozen other upkeepers were told to make the place spotless, or else. Though no actual threats were made, Harold Bauton and Melissa Strassburry, the museum directors, were legendarily strict with their venues.
Cameron knew why they were worried. Apparently, even the president of the country was going to be at the ceremony. He and several other important people would then be getting the first VIP tour around the building, led by and . Since Cameron and the other upkeepers were technically members of the museum's staff, they had been formally invited to the ceremony, with a firm reminder that there would be no funny business.
Spraying some cleaner of the glass window (which held Benjamin Franklin's likeness behind it) Cameron wiped the glass, squinting to make sure the whole pane was shining. A few cases down, Amelia, a college student at the local community college, grumbled about a spot that wouldn't come off of Rosa Parks' case. He'd known Amelia for a few years; they had briefly gone to high school together and she had been a part of the large group of friends they hung around with. She treated him like a little brother and he found her complaining personality amusing.
"You need help?" Cameron called over to her. She sighed and nodded. He picked up his cleaning materials and headed over, looking at the spot that was bothering her. He had somehow gotten a different cleaning spray, and he noticed that it got off some of the tougher spots on the glass easier.
After he managed to get it off, he offered his spray to Amelia. "I can deal with the crappy spray, if you want."
"Nah, it's fine. I'll just call you over if I get another one." She poked a sponge in her bucket on the ground. "They really need new supplies. I'll go bother the office on Monday."
They worked awhile longer, until voices traveled to the room from the hallway. The wax building was connected to the main building by a wide, long hallway that had dozens of historical paintings, both real and reproduced. He and Amelia had cleaned those over a few days the previous week. Now they were finishing the wax building, and were nearly done. The room with the wax figures was more of a hallway shape itself; the presidents down one long side, and historical figures on the other, each with a shiny plaque and its own glass box. The building was connected to the painting hall by a large set of wooden doors that would be propped open when the wing was officially opened for guests. Due to the door's thickness, Cameron couldn't hear what the voices were saying, but they were steadily getting closer.
"Cameron!" Amelia hissed. "What time is it?" She looked nervous. "The people were supposed to come until three, and the tour's at seven!"
He glanced at his watch. "It's only two fifteen."
She thought it over quickly. "It's probably just the directors, then."
Right then, the left door creaked open, and two people came in.
One was , the other one a young man, who looked to be about Amelia's age. He wore a suit with a bowtie hastily done, and he looked around the room with bright blue eyes behind glasses. He grinned sunnily as he took off his glasses to clean them briefly.
"It looks great, Harold!" He then saw Cameron and Amelia, who were frozen by Rosa Parks' case. "Hello! Who are you?"
"I'm Cameron," He said quickly and stuck his hand out. The man gripped it tightly and shook.
"I'm Alfred Jones! And you, miss?" Amelia, flustered, introduced herself quickly.
"They do upkeep," said dismissively.
Alfred Jones nodded enthusiastically. "Would you like to show me around, then? Last time I saw this place it was an empty shell!"
They started walking through the hall, glaring slightly at Cameron and Amelia, which Cameron tried to ignore as much as possible. It wasn't like it was their fault Alfred Jones wanted to be taken around by them, for whatever reason.
He must be older than he looks, Cameron thought. The construction on the museum started around six or seven years previously. Unless he was the son of one of the construction workers or financiers, he would have been too young to be at the site, much less work on it. It was more likely he was family of a person who worked on it.
Every once in a while, Alfred would halt their progress and comment on the person in the case, talking animatedly about them. A few times, like when he walked past President Lincoln, he would pause for just a bit, silent, then jump in and tell a fun fact or story about the person. Apparently he was a history nut, too. Whoever he was, seemed nervous around him, constantly making sure the exhibits were up to his standards, among other things.
When they had reached the door again, Alfred shook Cameron and Amelia's hands again. "Thanks for the tour, guys! You did a great job cleaning!" lead him out the doors and they shut behind them, leaving Amelia and Cameron to finish cleaning.
"You would think he was the freaking president by the way was acting," Amelia commented. "But I've never heard of Alfred Jones."
"Maybe we'll find out at the ceremony." Cameron said. "Let's finish cleaning."