Leap Year (4 page)

Amanda reappeared carrying a large tray, which she set down on an Indian ceremonial knife-sharpening rock that apparently doubled as a coffee table. On the tray was a bottle of champagne, a bottle of Badoit water, three glasses, and a large silver tureen filled with ice, oysters, and violets. Heath assumed the violets were decorative.

“I should tell you something about Anton before he makes his appearance,” Amanda said, pouring the Badoit water into two glasses. She handed one to Heath. The air around it was alive with spritz.

“Thank you,” said Heath.

“Anton is many things to many people,” Amanda said. “The gallery is just one of his divertissements. He is actually quite a naif when it comes to art. However, you may be catching him at a bad time. His wife has recently bolted—she’s in Europe—and, unfortunately for us, it’s mostly her money he’s playing with.”

If there was something else Amanda meant to tell him about Anton Shawangunk, Heath would never know, for at that moment the man himself entered the room. He was a large, handsome man, younger than Heath had imagined: He couldn’t have been much more than fifty. His complexion, neither red nor brown, reminded Heath of polished maple furniture, and his long hair, wet from the shower, was combed back from his face in a dark, slick mane. He was wearing a celery-colored linen suit over an open-collared shirt. He was barefoot.

“Hi,” he said. He picked up an oyster and slurped the bivalve from its shell. A bit of seaweed clung to the cleft in his chin.

“Good afternoon, Anton,” said Amanda. “This is Heath Jackson, the photographer I told you about. He’s come to show us his portfolio.”

“I’m all eyes,” said Anton.

“Well, then, let’s not delay,” said Amanda. “Let’s look at your art, Mr. Jackson.”

Heath unzipped his portfolio and handed it to Amanda. She began to flip through the photographs. “Come look,” she said to Anton, who was pacing around the room.

“I will when you’re done,” said Anton. “Do you want an oyster?” he asked Heath.

“Sure,” said Heath. He selected an oyster and ate it a la Anton Shawangunk.

“Have you exhibited before?” asked Amanda.

“In New York?” asked Heath.

“New York or Europe. You’ve shown abroad?”

“No,” said Heath. “Just in New York.”

“Where?”

“At the New Prospect.” The New Prospect Cafe was a restaurant in his neighborhood that had let him hang some of his photographs in the restrooms.

“I’ve not heard of the New Prospect,” said Amanda.

“It’s in Brooklyn,” said Heath.

“Who cares if he’s shown before?” said Anton. “We want to discover talent, not prostitute it.” He was looking out the window, down toward Fifth Avenue and the park. All the trees in the park were surrounded by hazy nimbuses of green or white or pink, and even the hermetically sealed smoked glass could not obscure the fact that spring was rubbing itself against everything in the city, which seemed to be bathed in a post-coital glow.

“I know,” said Amanda. “That’s why I was asking. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t overexposed. You should look at these, Anton. They’re really very interesting.”

“I don’t want to look at them,” said Anton. “Not now. I want to go outside. I want to go to Paris. It’s April, for Chrissakes. Let’s all go to Paris.”

“I can’t go to Paris,” said Amanda. “I have a gallery to run.”

Anton turned away from the window. “What about you, Mr. Jackson?” he asked. “Can you come to Paris?”

Heath didn’t know what to say, because he didn’t know what was going on. “What about my photographs?” he finally managed to ask.

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” said Anton. “Amanda, tell me, are they wonderful?”

“I already told you what I think,” said Amanda. “I think they’re very interesting.”

“Well, that settles it,” said Anton. “Except for what will we call it? What do you want to call it, Mr. Jackson?”

“What?” asked Heath. “Call what?”

“Your show,” said Anton.

Amanda spoke up. “I know what we’ll call it,” she said. “We’ll call it ‘Simultaneous Organisms: The Photographs of Heath Jackson.’ Do you have a middle name?”

“Edward,” said Heath.

“So much the better,” said Anton, opening the bottle of champagne.

L
OREN WAS LOOKING AT
an ant that was crawling across her desk. It walked as if it knew where it was going.

Stacey, her assistant, appeared at the door. “Gregory’s on one,” she said.

“Okay,” Loren said. “Look.” She pointed to the ant.

“What is it?” asked Stacey.

“It’s an ant. How do you think it got up here?”

“It probably came in on your person,” Stacey said. “Oh, FYI: Hannelore wants to put a scratch and sniff thing on the money market brochures. I heard her talking to Maureen in the bathroom.”

“That’s really tacky,” Loren said. “What would it smell like?”

“I don’t know,” said Stacey. “Money, I presume.”

Loren picked up the phone. “Hello,” she said.

“Finally,” said Gregory. “Listen, this has got to be quick. Do you want to have dinner out tonight? I thought it might be nice.”

“Sure,” said Loren.

“What about Provence? At seven?”

“Okay,” said Loren.

“Great. Can you make a reservation? I’m going into a meeting.”

“Sure,” said Loren. “I’ll see you later. Bye.” She hung up. The ant was gone, but Stacey was still standing in the doorway. “Could you call Provence and make a reservation for two at seven?” Loren asked her.

Fuck you, thought Stacey. Make your own dinner reservation. “Sure,” she said.

David and Lillian were walking around the Central Park Reservoir, trying to stay out of the way of the people running around it. This early evening promenade had become a weekly tradition since the arrival of spring.

“You wouldn’t believe what I did today,” said Lillian.

“What?” asked David.

“We’re doing this promotion thing for the Canadian Tourist Board, so we rented this horse and hired a model to dress up as a Canadian Mountie. He was going to ride it around the park at lunchtime and hand out maple leaves. Great, right? So the horse arrives and we immediately get a ticket from the police because you can’t have a horse in the street without a permit. Apparently you can ride a horse
in
the park but you can’t ride a horse
to
the park. It has to be born there or something. Anyway, we get the friggin’ horse to the park and the model shows up, but of course he can’t ride. He swore he could but he fell off twice. So that kind of spoiled the Mountie effect. It was pretty pathetic.”

“It sounds funny,” said David.

“Only in retrospect,” said Lillian.

“Most of life is like that.”

“Do you think so? I think just the opposite: I think stuff is funny while it’s happening and then in retrospect I see how pathetic it is. At least that’s how I see my life. How’s your life these days?”

“I don’t know,” said David. “Funny and pathetic, I guess.”

“How’s Heath?” Lillian asked.

“He’s great. This gallery in SoHo is going to show his photographs.”

“Really? That is great.”

They walked down an incline to check out the people on the tennis courts. Everyone was playing seriously and joylessly, like prisoners who were forced to recreate at gunpoint. David and Lillian continued their stroll. The sun had set behind the castles of Central Park West, and the water had turned dark and choppy. Lillian put her hand through David’s arm. Every time someone ran by they could hear Walkman refuse: snatches of tinny music, hovering in the air, then evaporating.

They walked for a while without talking, watching the light drain from the sky, the birds skim low over the water.

“I love the park. It’s all so pretty,” said Lillian.

“It’s a nice night,” said David.

“I’m glad spring is here. I really needed a change. I was going crazy. Sometimes I think it’s all a trick, though. God makes the weather change, and we feel like we’ve changed. Doesn’t it feel like things have changed?”

David looked up at the sky. It was smudged around the edges with clouds. “Kind of,” he said. “I know what you mean.”

“But nothing’s really changed,” said Lillian. “It’s just a trick.”

“What do you want to change?”

“I want my whole life to change,” said Lillian.

“So change it,” said David.

Lillian looked at David. He was looking away from her, up at the trees. The very top branches were waving in a high wind. She wondered what he was thinking. She held tighter to his arm. “The changes I want…I don’t know. I mean, sometimes, you need help, you need someone else.”

David looked at her and smiled, but he didn’t say anything. As they emerged from the park the streetlights flickered on, and they found themselves in a pool of amber light.

“What are you doing tonight?” Lillian asked. “Would you like to get a drink? Or some dinner?”

“I don’t think so,” said David, extricating his arm from Lillian’s. “I think I’ll head home.” Actually, he was meeting Heath at the Japan Society to see a movie. He knew if he mentioned it to Lillian he would have to invite her, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to be alone with Heath. That’s fair, he told himself, but he still felt a little guilty.

“Well, good night then,” said Lillian. “It was good to see you. Maybe we can do something this weekend.”

“Call me,” said David. He leaned over and kissed Lillian’s cheek. “Good night,” he said. He began walking down Fifth Avenue, along the cobblestone sidewalk, beneath the canopy of trees. When he looked back, Lillian was still standing where he had left her. Although he was too far away to see her face clearly, something in the way she stood alarmed him. She looked as if she were lost—or lost at least in thought—and he stood for a moment and watched the people hurry around her, everyone either going home or going out, everyone walking quickly and purposefully to their singular destinations.

Gregory ordered a bottle of champagne.

“What’s the occasion?” Loren asked.

“Actually, I do have some news,” Gregory said. “But first I want to ask you something.” He buttered a piece of bread. Loren was looking particularly beautiful tonight, and her beauty unnerved him. I don’t want to blow this, he thought.

“What?” Loren repeated. She took a piece of bread but didn’t eat it. She tore it into little pieces.

“Do you always want to live in New York?” Gregory asked.

“That’s an odd question,” Loren said. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever thought about moving away?”

“Of course,” said Loren. “I’ve thought about it.”

“And what did you decide?”

“Nothing. I mean, obviously I’m still here. But I’ve never had a real reason to think about it very seriously.”

“Now you do,” Gregory said.

The waiter appeared with their champagne. He opened it deftly and poured two glasses. Gregory picked his up. “Cheers,” he said. “To us.”

“Wait a minute,” said Loren. “What’s going on?”

Gregory put his glass down. “I’ve been offered a new job,” he said, smiling. “Producing at Lorimar.”

“In LA?”

“Yes,” Gregory said.

Loren sipped her champagne. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, holding up her glass. “Congratulations. That’s great—cheers.”

Gregory touched his glass to hers. “Cheers,” he said.

“And you’re going to take it?” Loren asked.

“I don’t know. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

“Oh,” said Loren.

“I was thinking maybe we should move to California,” said Gregory.

“Oh,” said Loren. She drank more champagne. A vaguely famous looking woman entered the restaurant. Who is that? Loren thought. Is that Pat Harper?

“What are you thinking?” Gregory asked.

“I don’t know,” Loren said. “I mean, wow—California. I’d have to leave my job. And what about Kate?”

“You have joint custody. You could work something out, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know as I’d want to. And what about David?”

“What about him? How does this concern him?”

“Well, taking Kate. He wouldn’t like that. It would be horrible. And I don’t know, you know…I like seeing him. I mean, Los Angeles is pretty far away.”

“I think that’s good. I think it would be good for you to get away from David. Otherwise you’ll never…”

“What? Never what?”

“Nothing. It’s really none of my business.”

“No,” said Loren, “tell me.”

“Well,” said Gregory. “It just seems odd to me. Like it’s not really resolved.”

“What?”

“You and David. How you feel about each other. At least that’s the feeling I get.”

“We’re friends. I mean, maybe we’re more than friends, but is that so strange? We were married.”

“But now you’re divorced.”

“I know we’re divorced. It was my idea. I’m glad we’re divorced.”

“Oh,” said Gregory. “It’s just hard to tell sometimes. And I just thought, maybe if you moved away, you know, really got far away from him, you could…I don’t know, figure out better what’s going on.”

“I know what’s going on,” said Loren. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Okay, then,” said Gregory, “don’t get upset.”

“I’m not upset,” said Loren, sounding upset, so she said it again. “I’m not upset,” she said more calmly.

“Good,” said Gregory. He reached across the table and touched her arm. “I’m glad you’re honest with me,” he said. “I love you.”

“I
WAS SERIOUS BEFORE, YOU KNOW,”
Anton Shawangunk said.

“You were serious?” said Amanda Paine. “Good God, let’s call a press conference.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” said Anton. “I hate you when you’re bitchy.”

“I thought you hated me period,” said Amanda.

“I never said I hated you. You’re such an alarmist. No, baby. I just, you know—my candle for you kind of flickered out.”

“You have such a way with words,” said Amanda.

“Do you think these oysters are still good?” Anton asked. “Don’t they spoil after a while?”

“I’m sure they’re fine, darling. Why don’t you just slurp them all up? I love watching you slurp oysters.”

“Whatever turns you on,” Anton said. He picked up an oyster and sniffed at it. “It smells funny,” he said. “Here, try it.”