3.6.06
Volume 2, Issue 6
I heard she was on shrooms.
At the Museum
Installation 13: Story Hour (you may want to read Installation 12)
By Rebecca Collins
There were as many accounts of what happened to Phoebe Persons over the weekend as there were employees at the museum. Most of the stories were traded over lunch in the staff lounge, although a few got passed along at the urinals and some at the guard desk as shifts were changing. And, as often happened with gossip, somewhere in the middle of it all lay the truth.
Princepessa Scott, Public Relations Coordinator: “Phoebe was passed out, naked, with a syringe in her hand. Apparently, she’s into heroin and it was time for her fix, so she went in the bathroom and shot up and then nodded off. She was naked because she needed to find a good vein and all the ones in her arms have collapsed. If I had to guess, I’d say she probably she shot herself up in the stomach.”
Gary Schefft, Head Guard: “That bastard James is totally into rough sex, man. He tore her clothes off and was whipping her with a belt so she ran into the bathroom and locked herself in. In the morning, he made his roommate drive her home.”
Tracey Jacobs, Administrative Assistant in Paintings: “Wasn’t she wearing winter white trousers? That’s what I heard. And then she got her period right in the middle of the party and wasn’t prepared…”
Corey Feldman, Director of Corporate Giving: “She’s on anti-depressants, isn’t she? And you’re not supposed to drink when you’re on those. It makes you cra-a-zy. So she freaked out, started crying about something that happened to her back in high school and then passed out.”
Tovi Darrell, Advertising Coordinator: “I heard she was so upset about how the date went that she ran into the bathroom and locked herself inside so she could cut her wrists. But James only had an electric razor. She was too embarrassed to come out so she slept on the bathmat.”
Carlotta Carvel, Director of Communications: “I heard she got really drunk, took some pills at the party, peed on herself in the car and passed out while cleaning up in the bathroom. They had to break down the door to get to her. She couldn’t go home because by that point the buses had stopped running, so she slept on the couch and James’ roommate drove her home in the morning.”
Jeremy Fontaine, Guard: “Whatever happened, I’m pretty sure it was James’ fault. I hope she doesn’t hate all men now. Isn’t that just like James? To ruin it for the rest of us? Shit.”
The initial source for the story was, of course, James Trehorn. He arrived at work on Monday morning so determined to keep to himself that he actually walked around with his lips pressed together. But then, around noon, he realized that Phoebe wasn’t at work. A quick check of her desk mid-morning on Tuesday revealed that she had still not returned. He didn’t quite know what to make of this except that he suddenly felt the need to unburden himself. He sought out Penn Bradley, a friend who worked as the assistant curator in the Drawings Department and stood in front of Penn’s desk for half an hour, talking, before they walked together to the vending machines so Penn could buy a Coke.
Clifford Watts, who worked in the mailroom, was also at the vending machines. He had just pressed the button for a Milky Way when he heard Penn say, “What a crazy bitch!” James hissed, “Shhhh!” Then he said, “Please don’t tell anyone what I told you,” and walked away.
“What was all that about?” Cliff asked.
“Nothing,” Penn said.
“Come on. Who’s a crazy bitch?”
“Well, if you really want to know…”
At home for the second day, Phoebe lay on the couch in her pajamas and tried to watch The People’s Court but it wasn’t the same without Judge Wapner. She considered whether or not she could call in sick all week. Maybe two weeks. Maybe she’d never go back to the museum. She closed her eyes and the image of James and Andrew breaking down the bathroom door, jolting her from her slumber on the bathmat, floated up in the darkness. James turning away in disgust. Andrew with a mop and bucket for the vomit. In the morning, Andrew didn’t say anything during the entire ride home except to answer her when she’d asked where James was.
“He has a migraine. He asked me to take you home.”
James Trehorn was not a man who liked to clean up messes.
NEXT
Princepessa Scott, Public Relations Coordinator: “Phoebe was passed out, naked, with a syringe in her hand. Apparently, she’s into heroin and it was time for her fix, so she went in the bathroom and shot up and then nodded off. She was naked because she needed to find a good vein and all the ones in her arms have collapsed. If I had to guess, I’d say she probably she shot herself up in the stomach.”
Gary Schefft, Head Guard: “That bastard James is totally into rough sex, man. He tore her clothes off and was whipping her with a belt so she ran into the bathroom and locked herself in. In the morning, he made his roommate drive her home.”
Tracey Jacobs, Administrative Assistant in Paintings: “Wasn’t she wearing winter white trousers? That’s what I heard. And then she got her period right in the middle of the party and wasn’t prepared…”
Corey Feldman, Director of Corporate Giving: “She’s on anti-depressants, isn’t she? And you’re not supposed to drink when you’re on those. It makes you cra-a-zy. So she freaked out, started crying about something that happened to her back in high school and then passed out.”
Tovi Darrell, Advertising Coordinator: “I heard she was so upset about how the date went that she ran into the bathroom and locked herself inside so she could cut her wrists. But James only had an electric razor. She was too embarrassed to come out so she slept on the bathmat.”
Carlotta Carvel, Director of Communications: “I heard she got really drunk, took some pills at the party, peed on herself in the car and passed out while cleaning up in the bathroom. They had to break down the door to get to her. She couldn’t go home because by that point the buses had stopped running, so she slept on the couch and James’ roommate drove her home in the morning.”
Jeremy Fontaine, Guard: “Whatever happened, I’m pretty sure it was James’ fault. I hope she doesn’t hate all men now. Isn’t that just like James? To ruin it for the rest of us? Shit.”
The initial source for the story was, of course, James Trehorn. He arrived at work on Monday morning so determined to keep to himself that he actually walked around with his lips pressed together. But then, around noon, he realized that Phoebe wasn’t at work. A quick check of her desk mid-morning on Tuesday revealed that she had still not returned. He didn’t quite know what to make of this except that he suddenly felt the need to unburden himself. He sought out Penn Bradley, a friend who worked as the assistant curator in the Drawings Department and stood in front of Penn’s desk for half an hour, talking, before they walked together to the vending machines so Penn could buy a Coke.
Clifford Watts, who worked in the mailroom, was also at the vending machines. He had just pressed the button for a Milky Way when he heard Penn say, “What a crazy bitch!” James hissed, “Shhhh!” Then he said, “Please don’t tell anyone what I told you,” and walked away.
“What was all that about?” Cliff asked.
“Nothing,” Penn said.
“Come on. Who’s a crazy bitch?”
“Well, if you really want to know…”
At home for the second day, Phoebe lay on the couch in her pajamas and tried to watch The People’s Court but it wasn’t the same without Judge Wapner. She considered whether or not she could call in sick all week. Maybe two weeks. Maybe she’d never go back to the museum. She closed her eyes and the image of James and Andrew breaking down the bathroom door, jolting her from her slumber on the bathmat, floated up in the darkness. James turning away in disgust. Andrew with a mop and bucket for the vomit. In the morning, Andrew didn’t say anything during the entire ride home except to answer her when she’d asked where James was.
“He has a migraine. He asked me to take you home.”
James Trehorn was not a man who liked to clean up messes.
NEXT