Part 24 (2/2)

Donald Judd fell ill on a trip to Germany in early 1994 and died in a New York hospital at the age of sixty-five. He is buried on his beloved ranch south of Marfa. The Dia Foundation survived but without Heiner or Philippa. Heiner Friedrich, now seventy-four, recently opened a museum in Germany and bought a $2 million home in the Hamptons. Philippa de Menil, now sixty-five, converted to Sufi Islam and is known as Shaykha Fariha Fatima al-Jerrahi; she is on Facebook. And the source of it all-Schlumberger stock-now trades near $80, giving it a market cap of $103 billion. The company is a leading international player in shale gas fracking.

'You reading a book at lunch?'

Border Patrol Agent Wesley Crum stuffed the last of the large pepperoni pizza into his mouth. He and Angel Acosta sat on stools at the counter.

'What are you reading?'

His words came out garbled through the pizza he was chewing. Angel looked up from the book.

'What?'

'What are you reading? That Shades of Grey book they was talking about on The View?'

'No, I'm reading his book.'

'Whose?'

Angel nodded past Wesley; he turned and saw the professor and his gal walk into the place. Angel waved like a kid to a sports star. Wesley shook his head. This was G.o.dd.a.m.n embarra.s.sing.

'Professor,' Angel said. He held up the book. 'Would you sign my book?'

The professor stepped over, greeted them, and autographed the t.i.tle page.

'It's very enlightening,' Angel said.

'Thanks, Agent Acosta,' the professor said.

He and the girl found a table across the room. Angel stared at the professor's signature on his book. Wesley sighed.

'Jesus, Angel-he ain't one of the Kardas.h.i.+an sisters.'

'It smells great in here,' Book's intern said. She inhaled the place. 'Olive oil. I love extra virgin olive oil.'

Her eyes glazed over and her mind seemed to drift off into another world.

'Ms. Honeywell?'

Nothing. He spoke louder.

'Ms. Honeywell.'

She snapped.

'What?'

She had a wistful expression on her young face.

'Oh, sorry, Professor, I was, uh ... thinking about olive oil.'

'Cooking with it?'

'Something like that.'

She shook it off with a full-body s.h.i.+ver.

'So why'd we go look at the art?'

'You're a student. I'm a professor. I'm trying to educate you.'

'In art?'

'In life.'

She eyed him with suspicion. 'You're not telling me the whole truth.'

'See? You've already learned an important life lesson.'

'Don't trust law professors?'

Book smiled.

'Can we go home now?'

'No.'

'When?'

'Tomorrow.'

She groaned then pulled out her cell phone and began tapping with her thumbs on the little keyboard.

'What are you doing?'

'Tweeting.'

'What?'

She read off her phone: '”Help! I'm being held hostage in West Texas by a deranged law professor.”'

'How many followers do you have?'

'Two. Including my mom.'

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