Harlequin Smile
Jenny stood, staring at the painting for long minutes. She didn’t get it. It stood vibrantly against the stark, white museum walls…mocking her.
“It’s a harlequin,” said a voice from just over Jenny’s right shoulder. She half turned, half jumped, but managed to put forth an attitude that said that she was startled about something else, and certainly not the handsome, smiling man behind her.
“I’m sorry?” asked Jenny, partially entranced by the man’s easy smile.
“It’s a smiling harlequin.” He noted Jenny’s furrowed brow, but didn’t have time to explain it to her right now. “I’m Quinn. And you’re Jenny?”
Jenny’s brow furrowed further, showing a tinge of mistrust. “How did you know my name?”
“It’s on your nametag,” Quinn said in an amused manner.
“Oh, yeah,” Jenny said suddenly realizing that she was still wearing her museum nametag even though her shift was over. But still, Quinn’s statement somehow felt like a half truth.
“Would you mind giving me a hand with this?” Quinn asked in a conversational tone. He was pointing at the painting that Jenny had just been staring at.
“Sure,” Jenny said without giving it another thought. Jenny helped remove the painting from the wall and lay it on the floor. Quinn produced a razor, cut the painting from its frame, and rolled it up. He then placed it in a cylindrical case that Jenny seemed to be holding.
As Quinn ran outside, Jenny followed, the case with the painting slung over her shoulder. As they reached a black luxury coupe left running just outside the entrance, Quinn took the case from her and placed it in the trunk. He walked over to Jenny…and kissed her. It was an odd kiss, at once tender and cruel with a hint of mirth. It made Jenny want to laugh, and she did.
“Thanks Jenny Columbine. You’ve been most helpful,” Quinn shouted as he jumped into the car and sped off. “I believe I owe you a favor.”
Jenny stood in an odd sort of reverie as she watched the car race to the intersection, make a hard left, and disappear behind the Butler building on the corner. A moment later police sirens ended her daydream. I think I just helped him rob the museum, she thought, though never wondering why. The memory felt more like a movie in which a character eerily similar to her had helped the handsome leading man steal the painting. The police were now pulling up to the stairs to the museum’s entrance. Then it hit her. How did he know my last name, she wondered. It’s not on my nametag. As the officers jumped out of their vehicles, Jenny just stood there with a bemused smile on her face, curious what would happen next in the movie.