Saturday, March 12, 2011

Max is banished from MoMA.

This story happened when I was doing the Broadway show in New York - before Peter came to visit. It was just Max and I most days, before and after rehearsal, and on the weekends.
Max was one and a half, and I would zip him up in this puffy,blue snow suit, pop him into his stroller, and we'd take off for ADVENTURES IN THE CITY!

My favorite children's book store was right around the corner on Seventh Ave. (when I saw 'You've got Mail' much later, I thought that book store could have been based on OUR little store around the corner!) We spent a lot of time there, and I started acquiring a great collection of children's books. I tried to do everything I could with rambunctious, little Max - but I quickly discovered that, A : it's really hard getting in and out of subway terminals by yourself with a heavy toddler and a stroller and a big diaper bag. And, B : that it is next to IMPOSSIBLE to find anywhere in New York City to accomplish the complicated task of changing the diaper of a squiggly child who is zipped up inside a one-piece snow suit.

However; I let neither of these things deter me. I was determined to show Max the best the city had to offer, and have a great time doing it.
So, one freezing Saturday, I got all of our stuff together, and we headed for the Museum of Modern Art. One of my very favorite places in the whole wide world.

I freed Max from the puffy,blue suit, and we had a grand time looking at all the art. Then, I decided it would be oh-so-glamorous to have lunch in the brand new cafe upstairs. The hostess looked at us dubiously, and finally sat us on the very edge of the noisy, crowded room. I didn't mind - it was a MUCH better spot to be in with a little kid. We were over by the entrance, by a white wall with a HUGE, grey sculpture hanging on it. It looked like a giant, cubist spider. I looked at it thoughtfully during lunch, shaking my head. I didn't like it. Maybe I didn't get it. The thing was probably 9 feet tall and six feet wide at it's widest. "At least it's BIG.." I thought. "Maybe you can get away with anything if it's big enough."

I ordered 2 glasses of good white wine during lunch, in an attempt to make the busy waiter stop glaring at me. And Max was pretty well behaved. He didn't make a big mess or anything. But then, we were waiting for the bill. And waiting. And WAITING. Our waiter was slammed, the whole place was PACKED, and he just forgot about us. So, when Max started getting really restless, I let him get down from his high-chair and do some exploring.He hid under the table, made cute faces at the cranky old man sitting next to us, and then, just as I thought I was going to catch our waiter's eye, Max toddled over to the giant grey spider sculpture hanging on the wall behind me.

I turned around to see what he was doing, and at that moment, everything melted into slow motion. Max reached the sculpture in SLOOOOOWWWWW MOOOOOOOTIOOOONNN...Max patted the sculpture in SLLLLOOOOWWWW MOOOTTTIOOOONNN...then the unthinkable happened - the GIANT SPIDER THING FELL ON MAX'S LITTLE BLONDE HEAD in ....(you got it!)... SLOOOOOOOWWWWWW MMMOOOTTTIOOOOONNNN!

There was a terrible CRACK sound as the sculpture hit his head and broke into three pieces. It was LOUD. Then....SILENCE. It was like a scene in a movie. The whole place just FROZE! Every uber-glamorous head in there whipped around, their gazes fixed, astonished, on Max.
Max was silent, too. For just a MOMENT. He was STUNNED. We ALL were STUNNED. Then, he took a deep breath and WAILED at the top of his lungs.

I broke out of my stunned fixation and rushed over to him. Thank GOD he was ok enough to WAIL! "What is this thing MADE of anyway!??" I thought, as I looked him over and held him.
I felt his head for blood. There didn't seem to be any, but there was already a huge goose egg forming on the top of his head where the thing had landed.
I looked at the sculpture, now in open pieces around us on the floor. I could see the inside of it. It was made of wire and paper machete with heavy, stucco-like paint slathered on top like frosting (only GREY). No wonder it had made that cracking sound, and no wonder little one and a half year old Max was relatively ok.

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by people. I looked up and recognized one of the faces that was looking down at me in horror.
It was my old boss. From the American Festival Cafe (in Rockefeller Center),where I had finally found a job the last time I lived in NYC. We had all opened that restaurant together. It was a super fun job, and my boss was gorgeous. Apparently, she was now managing this cafe. But she had no time to be sympathetic, because just as we were realizing we knew each other,a team of security guards surrounded Max and I, and told everyone else to back OFF.

The security guys were hard core.
They all had walkie talkies, and they barked at me to get out of the rubble with Max, instructed me to have a seat with him and "DON'T MOVE!"
Then they made a chalk outline of the sculpture on the ground - just like in cop shows, with dead bodies. One of them told me I might be arrested. I was terrified. I think Max was,as well. He snuggled up on my lap, whimpering. And his head must have still been hurting, too.

And then we waited. People asked me questions. And we waited. More questions. More waiting. They took my driver's license and copied it. Filled out forms with my address, work address, etc. They were very rude. More waiting.
"Excuse me.." I asked one of the burly guards. "Would you mind telling me WHAT we're waiting FOR, exactly?"
"The curator." he barked.
"Well, I need to change his diaper. And I need to use the ladies room, too. We've been waiting almost 2 hours."
"Be glad you're not waiting in jail." he replied.
Then he arranged for one of the guards to come into the bathroom with me while I changed Max's diaper. He wouldn't leave so I could pee, so I just did it with him in there.

A few moments after I came out of the lady's room, A handsome man in a beautiful navy suit walked in and a couple of the security guys rushed over to greet him, speaking in hushed tones. This must be the curator we had all been waiting for. Now, I would be going to jail.
The handsome curator glanced over at me, with Max getting bored and squirmy in my lap. Then he looked at the big, broken spider on the floor. I felt guilty about my kid breaking what I assumed was a HUGELY EXPENSIVE piece of modern art - but I would have been HEART BROKEN if it had been a Rodin, or a Pollock or a Matisse.
Next, the handsome curator looked at the wall where the piece had been hanging. He put his hands in his pockets, then stepped over the broken spider and came right over to me. He sat in the chair next to mine, pulling it very close to us.

"Is your little boy alright?" he asked.
I shook my head, 'yes', and started to tear up. It was the first time anyone had asked about MAX being alright. We had just been treated like criminals. My adorable,blonde one and a half year old hooligan and myself - as if we had gone to the museum that day with the INTENT of destroying some art.
"Are you alright?" he asked me in his warm voice (did I hear the tiniest hint of a Southern accent?) He looked in my eyes with concern and put his hand on my arm. I nodded again. He looked familiar. Where had I seen THIS face? I was trying REALLY hard not to cry.
"Look, it's going to be ok. Don't worry about anything. And it's not your fault. That huge sculpture was hanging on the wall, unprotected, by ONE NAIL. Look..." he pointed to the wall to show me. "...You see? It could have fallen on anyone. That was just crazy. We'll have you sign some forms, and then we'll let you get out of here. I'm really sorry I kept you both waiting for so long."
I started crying a little bit, partly from relief."I feel just HORRIBLE! I am so, so sorry!"I told the sweet man.
"Well, don't feel THAT bad. Between you and I,"(he leaned in close to say this)"..it wasn't my favorite piece."

I signed a bunch of forms that I barely looked at. The head security guard explained to me that Max was not going to be allowed back into the museum until after his 18th birthday. That was the meaning of one of those forms. I had to sign my agreement to never bring him back as a child.
We were escorted out of the museum, and I hurried back to our apartment as fast as I could.

The handsome curator was Kirk Varnedoe. He had looked familiar because he was the BRAND NEW curator, and I had seen his photo in the papers. Modern art was his THING.

Just between us, Max HAS gone back to MoMA. And before he was 18, too. And I've been back many times - but we've always gone separately, and we didn't get arrested.

And,no. It never, ever, ONCE occurred to me that I could have sued the museum.

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