“You must be Sailor Copeland,” a voice said rather loudly from behind me. I spun around to see a woman, no taller than five feet, walking my way. “I’m Ambre Dupont Smith and although most of my name is perfectly French, I am not. My mother was born in Nice, France, but she came to the states as an exchange student, married my father who is a rancher in Wyoming and here I am. Now, you will need to assist Albert. That will be your title Assistant Archivist. Sign this paper and I will do a background check to make sure you aren’t a criminal and then you can start. Albert will decide after one week if you are right for the job. He is not easy to work with but he is the best. Keep that in mind when you want to jump out of the top window to get a break from him.”
I didn’t notice the tiny woman take a breath while she said all of that. It was as if she’d said this speech a lot. It seemed memorized and her tone was as if it was tedious to repeat it all. I wondered how many times she had said it. Was Albert so hard to work under that this job was one that remained available? I was positive I could put up with anyone if I was Assistant Archivist. I hadn’t expected a position that amazing. I could deal with a moody or difficult Albert, if it meant I was able to work with the art so closely. I’d tolerated my mother most of my life. She’d prepared me to cohabitate with insanity.
I signed the paper and she snatched it back up. “Very good. Come with me,” she said and spun on her bright yellow pumps. Even though the heels on her shoes were short, they still provided height. It was possible Ambre Dupont was only 4 feet 10 inches. “Albert won’t talk to you much. He rarely speaks. Pay attention to when he does say something because he won’t repeat it. If you ask him to,” she paused and glanced back over her shoulder at me and gave me a pointed stare over her oval turquoise framed glasses, “you’ll regret it.” She finished then stopped and opened another antique wooden door and walked inside.
“Albert, I have your new assistant. Please try and not run this one off. She’s attractive and will do well for our events. We need an appealing face other than your own for the guests. Play nice,” she said to the back of a dark bald head.
Albert remained with his back to us as he worked on a piece in front of him. His shoulders were wide and he was extremely tall. Albert looked more like a lineman in the NFL than an Archivist. He cleared his throat then turned around slowly. His gaze went from my face to my feet and back up again quickly before he frowned. I understood why Ambre had mentioned his attractive appearance. He was tall, dark and handsome. Clichéd but true. His eyes were the color of caramel and his lashes were so thick it was as if they were false.
“She’s young,” he said, shifting his intimidating stare to Ambre.
“Yes and maybe that’s what we need. The older experienced ones leave because you’re an ass,” Ambre told him, giving him her own glare. He towered over the small woman in size, but she didn’t seem to care. How scary could he be if this tiny woman wasn’t afraid to talk back to him.
He looked annoyed. “They weren’t meant to work with art. Had nothing to do with me.”
Ambre placed a hand on her hip. “Yes, it has everything to do with you. Please try and work with Sailor. Don’t send her running away until we see what she can do.”
He looked unimpressed with her words and with me when he turned back around to continue cleaning the sculpture behind him. I only caught a glimpse of it, but I recognized it immediately. I’d seen it in photos but never in person. Once, it was supposed to come with an exhibit to Nashville, but it hadn’t happened. I was so disappointed.
“La Sconfitta,” I breathed in reverence at the beauty. “May I come closer?” I asked, my eyes locked on the sculpture.
Albert shifted his body so that the sculpture was in my view. “You know the La Sconfitta,” he said not really asking.
“Crafted from marble by Andino after the defeat of his land,” I said softly, as if my voice could harm the beauty in front of me.
“She knows her art. That’s a positive. Don’t send her away or I’m calling Katrina. She’s tired of your late nights working due to not having help. If I must call your wife to come straighten you out I will,” Ambre said firmly then spun on her heel and headed out the door.