8. A Lesson in Art
Saturday morning dawned fair and bright, and Buffy and Spike were each in a good mood as they enjoyed their breakfast on the balcony overlooking Central Park.
“I wanted you to know, Spike, that I’ve been having fun. I really enjoyed last night. That moon restaurant was way cool…” Leave it to Buffy to always comment first about the food.
“Mars, Buffy. It was supposed to be Mars. But I’m glad you enjoyed it. Today should be even better, because we get to spend all of it together. First the Museum and then dinner anywhere you like. Just tell me what you’re in the mood for. And tomorrow I have a special treat planned. If you approve, I hate to admit that you’ll have Jonathan to thank, not me. He was the genius who arranged for the tickets.”
“Yeah, that Jonathan really is something.” Buffy giggled as she spooned more whipped cream onto her waffles. “Who would have guessed back in high school? The look on your face when they brought out that steaming volcano last night and started singing Happy Birthday, that was just priceless! I never laughed so hard in all my life.”
“Yeah, bloody hilarious. Scare a poor bloke like that with no warning. I’ll be having a talk with Jonathan later, is what. Last time I let him book our reservations. Unless he’s managed to redeem himself with these tickets.”
“Please tell me where we’re going Spike.” She squinched up her nose, “If it’s the opera or a ballet or something, I’ll tell you right now maybe we should just stay home. My love of culture begins and ends with art. All that fancy singing and dancing just makes my head hurt.”
“You head’s too pretty to hurt, so don’t worry. I’m a quick study, and I think I’ve figured you out. See, all I have to do is think of something that I know would entertain your average twelve-year old, and you’re sure to love it. Mind, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to broaden your horizons just a little bit though. Take off those blinders and make you appreciate that Art was not a product of the Industrial Revolution. Now get yourself into some better walking shoes. You’ll wear yourself out trying to walk around New York in those ridiculous high heeled contraptions you call sandals.”
“Spike, I’ve been walking around New York for the past two days in these shoes! I’ll be fine.”
“You haven’t seen walking until you’ve done the entire Metropolitan in one go. I’m not gonna waste my time sitting on the steps just because your feet get tired! Surely you brought something more practical with you?”
“Well, yeah,” Buffy pouted. “But they’re not as pretty.”
“Oh, so now you admit that you want to look pretty for me?” Spike said, grinning and tilting his chair back. “That’s almost a profession of undying love coming from ice queen Buffy Summers. Sure you don’t want to take it back?”
Stomping back to her room to change her shoes, he could just make out Buffy’s muttering, “Stupid man. Making it sound like everything’s about him. What if I happen to like having pretty feet? We’re in the City, for crissakes. People dress up here. Even more than in LA, which is saying something. That is, if they’re not forced into wearing comfortable shoes!”
He could just make out the sounds of drawers opening and the impractical shoes thudding to the floor before she called out, “You do realize that I’m going to have to change my outfit to go with these monstrosities, don’t you? There’s no way I’m wearing a dress with these ugly clod hoppers you are forcing me to wear!”
Spike just smiled and shook his head as he settled in to finish his coffee while waiting. How long could it take to change into some slacks and sensible shoes?
He wasn’t smiling when she finally came back out. Apparently it could take a lot longer than he would have thought was humanly possible. But if it would keep Buffy in a good mood while he educated her in other forms of art, then it would be worth it. There was a lot to Buffy that was worth waiting for.
Because of the delay, the museum was already more crowded than he would have liked by the time the cab dropped them off at the front entrance. He couldn’t get over how magnificent the front of the museum looked. The last time he’d been here they’d been deep in renovations and the façade had been covered in scaffolding. Now the front of the building positively glowed. The museum building itself looked almost as magnificent as the treasures that he knew were housed inside.
Just as he had feared, Buffy was also enchanted with the newly scrubbed and gleaming edifice: the huge sprawling staircase and the flocks of people who congregated on them. Since it was already midmorning, she told him she could not possibly enter the museum without first having a pretzel. Bowing to the inevitable, Spike purchased two of the coveted ‘New York Style’ pretzels from what undoubtedly had to be the richest pretzel purveyor in the city.
Watching Buffy munch contentedly he wondered again how a girl so small could possibly need to eat so often and in such large quantities. She was the one who had made quick work of the ‘Happy Birthday’ volcano Jonathan had surprised him with, and that after having downed an entrée of Red Planet Penne Pasta, a dinner salad, and half his order of onion rings. But it was just part of the mystery that made Buffy, well, Buffy. He was content to simply learn as much as he could about her. He was hoping that he’d have years to slowly unravel everything there was to know.
After making a generous donation and receiving their buttons, Spike immediately forced Buffy to turn to the right. Her first impulse had of course been to head for the stairs, but he knew that once Buffy got to the painting galleries above that there’d be no prying her out. At least until it was time to eat again.
And so for just this once he insisted, and without warning he led his girl straight into the land of Egypt. As he had hoped, Buffy was immediately mesmerized.
Aside from the Temple of Dendur, which Spike informed her had been moved piece by piece from Egypt to save it from being flooded when the Aswan Dam was built, Spike had certain other works in mind that he wanted to be sure they saw. The museum had recently agreed to return several famous works of questionable provenance to Italy, and Spike wanted to be certain that they got to see them before they were flown another several thousand miles further away.
As they drew nearer to the Greek vase in question, Spike once again put on his tour guide voice. “This pet, is The Euphronios Krater, one of the most famous examples of the ‘Red Figure’ style of Greek vase painting from the 6th century B.C. It was purchased by the museum in 1972, from what is now believed were suspicious sources. People may be going to serve jail time over this beauty. You have to admit it is magnificent, but I hardly think it’s worth going to prison.”
Buffy had heard of the scandal, and was glad those guilty were going to be made to pay.
“Did you know that I read somewhere that the third most trafficked item on the black market is art? That means it’s right up there behind illegal drugs and weapons. That’s quite a statement, don’t you think?”
Why would Spike know what the black market trafficked in? Well, she did of course, but would a normal person? Someone who wasn’t personally involved? God, she couldn’t hope for a better opening to sound him out, could she? It was almost as if someone had written the lines for him.
“I just think it’s so wrong.” Buffy began. “I mean Art is supposed to be a thing of beauty, something pure. It’s wrong for people to buy or sell stolen art. Even if it’s not something you stole personally, if you buy it, then in essence you’re saying it was okay to steal it. I hope that who ever is responsible has to spend time in jail regretting it.”
“Isn’t that a bit harsh, pet?” Spike was still admiring the Greek vase, wondering how something seemingly so fragile could have endured and remained beautiful for so long. “I mean the people who bought it might have been dealing in good faith. There’s really no way to prove that they knew it was stolen. See the problem with ancient art particularly is that there is so much of it that is incompletely documented. It’s only recently the legal rights of the previous owners have been questioned.”
He was back in tour guide mode now, spouting the standard British line. “Take the Elgin Marbles – they’ve been in Britain for 200 years now. But the government of Greece says they were taken without consent and they want them back. Well, who’s to know what was said to whom way back then? And why should we send them back? The temples in Greece are being eaten away by all the smog in Athens. They’re decaying at an alarming rate. Should we really give away priceless treasures to people who may not be able to take care of them properly? Don’t we have a duty to future generations to preserve these treasures?”
She couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing to have this conversation about ancient museum artifacts. Would it really illuminate what his attitude would be on a more personal level?
“Spike, you don’t seem to understand. Wrong is wrong. Stealing, or receiving stolen merchandise, is wrong, whether you’re a willing participant in the theft or not. Whether it happened last week or two hundred years ago.”
“I’m just trying to say it’s not all so cut and dry as that, is all.” There had to be some way to make her see his point. “Take those ridiculous shoes of yours that you wanted to wear. What if I told you that they were made from the skin of an endangered animal, and that the animal was poached illegally to get the hide? Would you stop wearing the shoes?”
“That’s not the same thing at all, Spike. My wearing or not wearing the shoes wouldn’t make the animal any less dead. This is nothing at all like that.”
“Sure it’s not. But somehow I don’t think those animal protection activists would see it that way at all.”
“Oh, now you’re just arguing because you love to hear yourself talk.” Sometimes Spike could just be so obstinate. And it wasn’t really getting them anywhere. “Let’s go upstairs where I know everything that is on display properly belongs to the museum.”
Spike held her back. “Do you really know that, pet? How can you know for sure? What if someone brought proof that one of those ‘proper museum purchases’ was really a painting that had belonged to their great uncle and claimed that it had been looted during World War II? Or World War I, for that matter. How could anyone really know the whether the painting had been stolen and not sold for cash by a family trying to escape Nazi rule? They didn’t document things back then like we do today. And certainly wouldn’t have bothered in the middle of a war.”
“Do you enjoy making me angry, Spike? Sometimes I think you like it when I argue with you. I really wish you would see things my way…” But it was clear that she wasn’t going to convince Spike of anything. She could only hope that his opinions were just theoretical. She didn’t want to think about what she would have to do if she found out that Spike had in fact either purchased or sold illegal art.
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree then, pet. Let’s not let it spoil our day, okay?”
Some how he was holding her hand as they wandered past the gallery that had sparked their argument. However much she disagreed with his viewpoint it was one that many people shared. And it certainly wasn’t a crime. And it was nearly impossible to stay mad at Spike when he could turn around and be so endearing.
“Of course,” she agreed pleasantly. “It’s stupid to argue about. The courts will settle it all. That’s what they’re there for, after all.”
Buffy spoke without conviction, all the while reciting in her head, ‘Please don’t let me find anything in his home that’s on the stolen items list. Please, let him be innocent. Please.’
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I have tried to make this chapter as realistic as possible. The museum they visit is the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City . The works of art discussed and the controversy surrounding them are real. The restaurant Spike and Buffy mention is called Mars 2112 and is in Times Square. Oh, and if you really can't stand the all this backstory, the plot really starts to get going with the next chapter...