Fran sipped her cup of decaf tea, and Max took a swallow of his cafe au lait. He sat close to her with a hand over hers on the table. They sat at a back table in a beautiful little cafe. Even though the place was bustling near the entrance, with people coming and going- getting their pastries and coffee and heading out again, it was much quieter in the back where they sat. A jazzy kind of retro samba played over the speakers, and they enjoyed watching all the people come and go. Soon the waitress came back with their food and placed it on the table.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" She asked with a bubbly smile.
Max looked at Fran, making sure she had what she wanted. "I'm good here. Sweetie?" She asked Max.
"It all looks wonderful, I think we're good, thank you very much!" The waitress left them alone and they began to eat. Max realized once again how hungry he actually was. It was funny, when he was so focused on Fran he never thought about food at all. He was so consumed by her.
Fran took a small bite of the croissant Max let her get. "Before you say anything, baby, I'll take it slow, a little at a time." She elbowed him.
"Thank you. And am I getting too overbearing with all that? Worrying about how you eat?" He was genuinely concerned.
"No, no, sweetie. You're fine. I know why you do it, you're worried. It's perfectly understandable. I just don't want you to feel like you have to keep reminding me, I can let you know that I get it, too. I don't want to cause problems for myself and make either of us worry more." Max kissed the back of her hand.
"I definitely don't want to come off as controlling. Please say something to me if it feels like I'm doing that to you."
"I will, baby, but I don't think you will. Especially now that we said it out loud." He chuckled. She was right. Fran dug into her scrambled eggs- between the required gulps of water- and Max dug into his omelette and his cinnamon roll. They were delicious. He took another sip of his coffee.
"You want to try a bite of my omelette, darling? I don't think there's anything in it that might not be okay for you."
"May I? It smells really good. I'd love to scarf down your cinnamon roll, too, but I know that would probably bother me later." He put a bit of the omelette on his fork and fed it to Fran. "Mmmm! Good choice!"
"You know, I could have a bite of the cinnamon roll and let you taste it with a kiss…"
Fran gave him a sideways glance and giggled. "Max, you dog! We might get kicked out of here with that kind of PDA…" She grinned and poked him. He looked around, everyone else seemed to be consumed by what they were doing, not even looking in their direction. Max took a sloppy bite of the roll, chewed it up, swallowed, and looked around again, then leaned over to Fran and let her kiss him. She nonchalantly licked off the icing from his lip as they parted. He liked that a lot. He picked up his napkin, wiping his mouth as he blushed.
"How was that?"
"At least as good as the coffee kiss, and much sweeter! If I wasn't self conscious, I might have thrown you down right here on the table!" Now Max really laughed. He squeezed her knee under the tablecloth and she gently elbowed him again.
They finished their food in quiet, amidst flirty glances at each other. Max finished his first, and put his arm across the back of her chair, and gently stroked her neck under her straight hair. He thought about what she said about her curls. Sure, he thought she was gorgeous in curls, but looking at her now with her retro, stylish clothes and white headband holding back her straightened hair, she was still breathtaking. She fit in perfectly to this place, with the music, with the decor. It was like they stepped into a time machine. He wanted to savor it. He looked over every bit of her, paid close attention to the music, to the smells of coffee and pastries, to the feel of her as he caressed her. He wanted to remember this date forever.
She felt his eyes on her and turned to look at him as she popped the last piece of croissant in her mouth. She chewed it almost seductively, and leaned back in her chair against his arm. She rested a hand on his leg and squeezed it.
"You good?" She whispered to him.
"I'm fantastic."
The waitress came by and collected their plates and left the bill in front of Max. He took out his wallet and put cash inside the folded holder, including a generous tip. Fran took a couple more sips of water and pushed her glass away, then reached for her coat and purse on the empty chair in front of her. Max stood up and reached for his coat on the empty chair in front of him. He helped Fran on with hers before putting on his own coat. God, she was beautiful. He loved looking at her in her outfits. Even if it was something she had worn before, all she had to do was change her hair or an accessory and it was like he was seeing her in a completely new way. As they walked toward the front of the restaurant and were about to leave, Max noticed something on a display.
"Hang on a sec, Fran." He pulled her towards it with him. They were CDs. Several different volumes. He picked one up and looked it over, read through the list of tracks on the back. He smiled. He checked two others. "Fran, darling?"
"What is it?" She was holding his hand and his arm, and she leaned around to see what he was looking at.
"Do you like the music that's been playing here?"
"Yeah, I do. It really sets a mood. Is that what that is? The same music they're playing on the speakers?"
"It sure looks like it. There's three different CDs here. Should I get them? Might help us remember our first date…" He smiled at her. She beamed.
"Please!" Max picked up one of each volume and paid the cashier, who put them in a paper bag. Max folded over the bag and then stuck them into his coat pocket. He was happy, too.
"Yea!" He said. Steering her to the door.
The air was brisk outside, as it had been the day before, but there was a little more wind to deal with, especially as they came around a building. Max held her close and tried to keep her warm. They were almost to the museum.
"We'll take a cab back home after, sweetheart. The wind is cold!"
"It sure is! Wakes you up, though.
"That it does." They waited for the crosswalk light, then hurried across with all the other pedestrians, and then Max helped Fran slowly up all the steps to the entrance of the museum building. They were relieved to feel the warmth inside once they got in the doors.
Max picked up a museum brochure and map as they walked into the atrium, and then led Fran over to a place they could sit down. They unbuttoned their coats and caught their breath. Max glanced over at her, looking to see if she was alright.
"I'm good," she said, reassuringly.
Max opened the brochure and they looked at it together. Max saw a few rooms he wanted to take Fran to, and she saw a few she wanted to go to with Max. They were all in the same wing. Fran opened the map to see which way they needed to go, and then turned around to see where that wing entrance was. She turned the brochure over in Max's hand to see what was on the back. There were photos of the big gift shop.
"I'd like to go to the gift shop too, before we leave, if that's okay with you?"
Max smiled. "I'd like to go there, too. Maybe look for another souvenir for our date." He grinned. "So which wing do you want to head to?"
"West- over that way. Unless-"
"Unless nothing. You read my mind. I'd like to go over there, too. There are some rooms I'd like to go in, to show you a few things." Fran took his hands in hers and they got up. They wrapped an arm around each other as they headed for the West wing.
They held hands as they walked. They entered the first large room and decided on a path to take so they wouldn't miss anything. Most of the work was modern surrealism- touches of Dali-inspired landscapes, strange melted objects, odd faces, assorted Cubism and the like. Max talked to her about Picasso, about his life and the different periods he went through. He said one of his favorites was Picasso's "Blue Period." He wasn't sure why, a lot of people thought it was very depressing. But he saw something in the people Picasso did portraits of- an inner sadness that always made him wonder how it got there, if it ever left. The paintings captured a moment in time- a moment that may not have actually defined that person's life. Fran watched Max tell her all of this- watched the look in his eyes change. It was like he was going into another place, similar to what happened when he watched that old movie and it reminded him of why he got into the theater. The worlds that could be created there- the adventures he could take people on. Fran loved seeing this side of him- this wide-eyed boy who soaked in the beauty of the world, and the stoic man who yearned to appreciate everything he could, despite the painful things he experienced in life. Fran wanted to give him happiness, love, for the rest of his life. She wanted her situation to go away, but she knew that it wouldn't. At least not for a while. But he would be there to get her through it, she knew that without a doubt. She held onto his arm as they moved through, stopping at each painting to read the information about each artist.
Then they came around a corner into a new room and Fran stopped in her tracks. Here was realism. Beautiful realism. The paintings almost looked like photographs, but like they had been lit by a cinematographer- the light they contained couldn't possibly be something based in reality. She stopped in front of one large painting and just stared at it. It was a painting of a man, far in the distance. The ruins of a building- a building without glass in the windows- occupied the foreground. The man was shirtless and was turned away from the viewer. Fran looked all over the painting. So many tiny details, all painted perfectly as if they really existed. Photorealism, but of a nonexistent world. Fran was pulled in. Max stood beside her, watching her reaction.
"Look at the tiny strokes of paint…" he whispered. She did. Max found himself being pulled in as well. He saw a theater set, some kind of avant garde performance. But symbolizing what? Empty ruins. A lonely man, turned away. Bareskinned- exposed. Max paid attention to the foreground, mid ground, then he took a step back from the large painting. He reached for Fran's hand and directed her to step further away. "Where do your eyes go when you look at this? What path do they take?"
Fran closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. "They go through that window first. The one on the left. Like I need to go in that window to go through the building. But that man isn't in the building. It's like I would think I should head towards that man- to find out why he is there. But the building moves me to a different place."
"Yes! I see that, too. It's almost frustrating. Now- pretend that man isn't there. Keep going through. What are you heading towards?"
Fran concentrated again. She looked away from the man, let her eyes wander. There was something in the distance- almost on the horizon. Why wasn't the man looking that way? "There," She pointed to an area of the painting. She had to step closer to see what it was. She could just see a pale light fall across something out there. She looked at the even smaller brush strokes, the differences in color. She felt like she could reach out and feel what must be long grass, far out there in the dark. "Oh my god, that's a woman out there, isn't it? I can just see her. Her face. It's like she has a thick, long dress on and she's sitting on the ground, or kneeling maybe. Why is her face showing, but not his?"
"Follow her gaze. That's part of the path your eyes can take," Max said. He interlaced his fingers with hers and they followed the woman's gaze together. Fran stepped back again, letting her eyes draw a line across the painting. Then she stepped forward again, almost squinting at another portion of the painting.
"Is that- a coat? Like a military coat?"
"It could be. A symbolic element, maybe. Remember, he isn't wearing any kind of shirt or coat. He isn't looking at the woman or the coat, but they are there. The woman sees the coat, but why doesn't she look at the man? Is the coat more important?"
"It's like he shed the coat, shed whatever the coat symbolized to him. If it's a military coat, maybe he shed the rigid structure, maybe even violence. Whatever he experienced while wearing it, or serving in that capacity."
Max was smiling, ear to ear. He loved teaching her some art theory. How to look at a painting, how to try to interpret the symbolism it might have, whether intentional by the artist or not.
"Hmmm, I wonder if she wants him to put it back on, but he won't. That's why he won't look at her, why she won't look at him. She wants what he was, but he can't be that anymore. That's why she's so far away. God, that's depressing!" She covered her eyes and turned away from the painting, then looked at Max. He was grinning at her. "What?"
"See how easy it is to get lost in another world? To wonder, but never know for sure."
"It's like having a dream where you have to get from one place to another, but you aren't sure why, and it's like walking under water- it's so slow, you keep struggling. But that urge to get there doesn't stop, but then sometimes something wakes you up and part of you is relieved to not have to be struggling anymore, but another part is frustrated that you had to go through the struggle, and seemingly all for nothing."
"It's intense, isn't it? Now come over here a second and read about the artist." He held her hand and led her to the artist info on a small board beside the painting. She read through everything, and read it again. She turned to Max and smiled.
"He was gay. Oh my god, he was gay. He shed the coat- that rigid structure. He can't go back, because he came out. The woman wants what was, but that wasn't him. So maybe it's not so depressing. This is like a new beginning for him. He's looking for his new path. Wow!" She hugged Max. "Did you know this all along?"
"No, I figured it out just like you did. I love looking for symbolism in things. Sometimes it's obvious, sometimes it subtle. But holy cow, the photorealism of this thing! Can you imagine trying to paint like that? To make something real that doesn't exist? But of course, you know, we're just speculating. If the artist was here he might say we are way off, that it doesn't mean that at all. But I'd bet money on a psychologist saying we got it right!" Fran laughed.
"Phew, that was a mental workout. Now let's go look at stuff that doesn't hurt our brains so much!"
"You got it! The next room is supposed to be street photographers. That should be fantastic."
"Let's go!" she said, bursting with enthusiasm.
"Oh my god! I know that place!" Fran was looking closely at a framed black and white photo. She read the description next to it. "See, Max! Look- that's in Queens, 1966. Ma used to take me there sometimes after school, especially when Nadine started middle school and then I was at the elementary school all by myself. We'd get these little fried pies they made. Oh, gosh, I can just taste it now!"
Max joined her in looking at the photo, putting his hand around her waist. He wondered what she must have been like when she was that young, and expected she must have been just as much of a handful. He looked at the other photos nearby by the same photographer and found another one that said it was in Queens. "What about this one, darling?"
Fran stepped over closer. "Does it say what street that is?"
"Ah, no. Just that it's in Queens."
"I bet you anything I could figure it out, unless Ma knows. Gosh, these pictures take me back. Seems like I spent almost every day walking up and down those streets. At first, Ma wouldn't let me go on the other blocks by myself, but if I had a friend the next street over, she let me start expanding my bounds a little more and a little more. By high school I didn't pay any attention to what she said. Val and I would be in Brooklyn… We even made it to Times Square once but only spent like ten minutes there because we had to grab the subway back so we could get home on time. And by the time I was 16 and we knew kids who drove, well- you can imagine."
Max cringed. "I don't want to imagine, Fran. Remember, I have two daughters…"
"Aw, baby, they're good girls. Even Maggie wouldn't take the dumb chances Val and I did. It was a different world back then."
"Yes, I suppose it was. Thank goodness children can't time travel. They'd never survive if they went back to when we were kids." Fran laughed out loud. He loved making her laugh.
"Oh, I don't know, I think Maggie would be just as good at cutting guys off at the knees."
"Well, I hope so. You know she gets it from you. I'm glad you taught her how to do that." Max pulled Fran close.
"Aw," Fran kissed him on the lips. Max took out the small notepad from his coat pocket and wrote down the photographer's name. "What are you writing?"
"The photographer's name, in case we come across more of his work. He might have more photos of Queens." Fran smiled at his thoughtfulness.
"You know something I was thinking? You know how much Brighton uses that camcorder, right?" She asked.
"Yes?"
"Do you think he might be interested in doing photography? I mean, this kind? Maybe if he can get a class at school or someplace, he might enjoy it. That could help him with something else to put on a college application." Max looked at her with so much love. She was still thinking about the children no matter what she was doing.
"Darling, you're amazing. I love how you think about these things. I wouldn't be surprised at all if he took an interest in photography. Maybe even in street photography like all this." He put his arm over Fran's shoulders and they moved to the next group of photos. "You know something, Fran? I have some old cameras in the attic. I think there's even a twin lens reflex camera, like some of these photographers use. Maybe I should get them out and see if they still work. Or maybe Brighton can."
"I think that's a very good idea!" They spent the next half hour wandering through the photography exhibit before they decided it was time to hit the gift shop. They wanted to make sure they got back home soon before everyone started showing up. Max knew Fran might start getting nervous about talking to everyone, and he was pretty sure he would as well. They needed time to prepare themselves.
They walked through the glass doors of the gift shop near the main entrance to the museum and started wandering around the displays.
"Darling, if you see anything you like, even something you might want to give as a gift in the future, let's go ahead and get it now. They have some nice things for sale. And I mean it about the souvenir, too," he grinned at her.
"Yes, sir," Fran smiled back. "I'll keep my eyes peeled." They found a small book of quotes from Greek philosophers for Grace and a cast of a sculpture of a young man for Maggie. She got a gag gift for Niles- a pair of boxers with subway graffiti on them. They went slowly through the art books to see if anything caught their eye.
"Hey, Fran? Come here a moment-" Max said, stopping in his tracks. Curious, Fran hurried over to see what he had found. "Look-" he pointed to a long shelf of large books. There were multiple volumes of collections of photographs from different street photographers, including the one who photographed Queens all those years ago. Fran swatted Max in the chest with the back of her hand.
"No way!" She squealed. One of the books was filled with photos of Brooklyn and Queens. "Oh, Max, we have to get this one!" She turned to look at him.
"Absolutely, darling! Let's look for something Brighton might like, too. If we don't keep it for ourselves, that is!" They laughed together and began picking up each different book and flipped through the pages.
"Gosh, I could sit here for hours looking at all these!"
"You've got that right. We might have to send Brighton back over here to look at them, too."
Fran tucked one large book under her arm. "Oh Max! That one says London!" She waved her finger in the direction of a book sticking out from the top shelf. Max reached up and slid it off the shelf and opened it. Fran leaned against him to have a look at the photos, too. The book was of multiple photographers and covered the post-war period of the late 40s all the way through the early 70s. Max's eyes got wide at photos of multiple things he recognized. He closed the book, grinned at Fran, and tucked it under his arm. "How about something that might have Manhattan? Times Square? Maybe even Broadway. That would be fantastic!" Max agreed. He started looking from the top shelf while Fran combed the lower shelves, meeting back together in the middle. They both had pulled out two other books, then opened them to peek at the photos.
"Okay, this one is coming home, too!" Max said, gleefully.
"And this one! I think you will really like this one!"
"Okay, don't show me, we'll look at them all together, later." Max looked at his watch. "Oh, dear- we need to get going. I hadn't realized how much time has passed!" Fran checked her watch, too.
"Oh geez! Let's get this stuff to the register!" They hurried towards the registers with their arms full of books and odds and ends, and stacked them up on the counter of the first available cashier. They had such an adrenaline rush from finding the books that it didn't even occur to them to start getting nervous about the upcoming family meeting. They just hoped they could find a cab quickly and that they didn't hit any traffic issues on the way back, even though it wasn't far. The books alone created two heavy bags, which Max took, and Fran grabbed the third bag full of everything else. They also grabbed two bottles of water because they were desperately thirsty by this time. They stepped out of the gift shop and set the bags down long enough to get their scarves on and coats buttoned up, then picked up the bags again and headed out into the cold. Fran took hold of Max's arm as they headed to the corner to cross the street and get a cab headed in the right direction.
They jumped into the cab and Max shut the door quickly behind him, then gave the driver the address. He and Fran both chugged their water and stopped at the same time, then tried to catch their breath. Fran grabbed his knee and patted it, then reached over and pulled his face to hers and kissed him.
"Best date ever, Max! Thank you!"
"You're very welcome, Fran! Thank you for going out with me," he kissed her again.
"I'd say yes a thousand times, sweetie!" She curled up against him to get warm, so he tightened an arm over her shoulders.
"Hmmm… a thousand dates… I better start looking up some places to take you!"
"Aw!" Fran gushed, patting his cheek, and they laughed. She reached her arm across his lap to hold his free hand for the rest of the ride home. As they drove, the impending gathering started to set into their minds, making them get quieter the closer they got to the mansion.