Quarrel with the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page B

sunglasses. She carried a portfolio and a shoulder bag the size of a tire. Josh was signing the release papers when she rushed over to him, kissed him warmly on the side of the head and said, "Sorry, handsome, I've, got to run. No time for even a Bloody Mary. I'll give you a call. Really, I will. I want to thank you in person." With that she had dashed toward Central Park West in search of a cab.
    Josh had been sure that that was the last he would ever see of her.

3

    "Hey, mister, you wanna buy that mag'zine or not?"
    Cresta the bride faded away, and Cresta the farmgirl came back into focus. Josh shook off his reverie, pulled the magazine from its clothespin holder and paid the grumpy newsman. As he continued his walk, he leafed through the September issue of Charisma and was surprised to find that Cresta graced many of its glossy pages. The world of high fashion was alien to Josh. It always surprised him that his lover was one of New York's ten top models. He accepted Cresta for what she was to their relationship and did not become a member of her audience. He would make a point of reading the magazine over coffee, and then he would be able to discuss Cresta's work with her. Josh knew that would please her more than anything he could do.
    The New York Institute of Anthropology was a sprawling brick and granite building. Constructed in 1892, it was considered one of New York's great monuments. Complete with rifle ports and graceful towers, the building evoked memories of long-forgotten operettas. The architectural integrity of the building had been preserved and the stained glass windows, designed by Lewis Comfort Tiffany, remained intact, despite constant attempts at vandalism.
    For decades the building had housed an immense collection of books, artifacts and exhibits on the evolution of man in the civilized world. These treasures were available to the public three afternoons a week and on weekends.
    Josh bounded up the staircase leading to the giant double oak doors inset with intricate brasswork. The guard, a relic of respectability, wearing an impeccably tailored uniform trimmed with gold braid epaulets and buttons, touched his cap as Josh entered. The young man was well aware that the guard's aloof attitude toward him was typical of the rest of the staff. Josh was the youngest professor and newest member of the professional staff of thirty-seven, not including those of lesser standing - security guards, janitors, and maintenance personnel.
    "Good morning, Muldoon," Josh called out affably. "Beautiful day, isn't it? How's the wife and kids? Sure hope it doesn't rain."
    Josh was considered an upstart despite his impressive credentials, the articles he had written for many publications (including Natural History , Smithsonian and National Geographic ), and the series of trade paperback books he edited, entitled Plain Living. Despite all this, his position at the institute remained the same as if he were a newly arrived professor at a University. He would have to wait out his apprenticeship, and he resented it, although he was careful not to let it show.
    The institute was, as usual, as quiet and proper as a Boston library. Josh wended his way down the corridor past a series of tiny, gerrymandered office cubicles toward his own slightly larger office. He nodded brightly toward the various secretaries and study assistants. He filled a styrofoam container with dreadful coffee from the communal urn and went into his office.
    A buxom woman with Teutonic features was standing by his desk arranging the mail. Her name was Elsa Krupp; she was the secretary Josh shared with several other members of the institute.
    "Good morning, Elsa," Josh said without enthusiasm.
    Miss Krupp adjusted the large coil of blond hair wrapped loosely around her head; it resembled a slipped halo. As usual, she eyed Josh suspiciously. She instinctively distrusted good-looking young men. "I've arranged your mail, Mr. Holman," she said unnecessarily. "I'm