Lion's Share (12 page)

“Painting supplies,” Jana laughed. “What did you expect?”

He hadn't known what to expect this time. “You should have told me you had this much gear. I'd have driven up to Saratoga and gotten you.”

“I guess I'm just used to managing by myself.” Jana laughed, hearing the echo of her comment from the time when Ed had offered to drive her back to the gallery. “Let's not have a replay of
that
day,” she silently admonished herself.

They'd barely set everything down in the corner of Jana's studio when someone knocked on the door. Jana opened it to admit a young guy with blonde hair longer than Jana's and Ed's put together, tied back in a ponytail. “I thought I heard someone in here,” he said as he barged in.

“You heard right. Niels, meet Ed. Ed was kind enough to help me schlep everything home.”

“I just thought I'd bring your mail down,” Niels said after exchanging a few words with Ed. “There's also a slip for a package at the post office—they refused to leave it with me.”

“I'll get it Monday, thanks. Want to sit down? I think there's some cold beer in the fridge.”

“I'm afraid I can't stay, I've got to get to work.” With a quick nice-to-meet-you in Ed's direction, Niels took off.

“He's an actor,” Jana told Ed when Niels left. “Works as a waiter between jobs. He's on the road a lot too, and we've worked out an arrangement to take in mail and look out for each other's apartments.” She leafed quickly through the mail, opening four or five pieces and putting them in a separate pile on the table.

Niels' intrusion reminded Ed that Jana probably had a million things she wanted to get done today. But he'd promised himself he'd invite her back to his place, and he had wine, bought the day before, chilling in his icebox. He had to at least give it a try.

“Sounds good,” Jana said, getting up and pulling a few things together. “But why don't we walk at least partway over? Even short legs get cramped from sitting in the bus.”

“Fine with me,” he lied. The last thing he expected was that she'd agree so readily. He'd settled in to work this morning and had gotten more involved than he'd planned. He hadn't even had time to change the sheets on his bed.

Jana grabbed a sweater out of her suitcase. “Should I bring a nightgown?” she asked, almost as an afterthought, as they were leaving her apartment.

“That might not be a bad idea. You'll probably feel a little more secure if you're wearing something.”

She bit her lower lip. “Ed's only looking out for me,” she tried to tell herself. “He has no way of knowing I sat by the window imagining him cuddling my naked body.”

They sauntered over to the park and headed for the reservoir. Runners of all shapes and sizes approached and passed, along with walkers going in both directions. Most of the runners were unencumbered, wearing shorts or cut-offs and tee shirts, one or two with money belts on, many with earphones, one guy with a backpack. One runner dropped change out of her pocket, stopped to pick it up. A squirrel paced Jana and Ed's walk for a moment, almost hidden in the tall grass sloping downhill beside the path. A little lower, a few bikes went by.

“The park seems so much quieter on weekends, when the drives are closed,” Jana said.

“It seems natural to me. I guess I only get here on weekends.”

“When I'm trying to sketch, I come here in the middle of the week. There are fewer people, it's easier to focus on one person or group without interruption.”

They sat down on the benches facing the south gate. Two horses passed on the bridle path, below them. A few runners leaned on the building or benches and did stretching exercises. Others stopped for drinks at the fountains, splashed water over their arms. “Want a drink?” Ed asked.

“Not here, thanks.”

So they headed on. There were a dozen ballfields on the Great Lawn, with softball games going at right angles to each other. On a corner of grass beside the field, what looked like forty ten-year-olds in Cub Scout uniforms were goofing off as they did warm-up exercises, led by three men. Some of the boys were wearing their baseball gloves already. When the exercises ended, there was no open field, so they played in the same stretch of grass. “Where's first base?” one boy screamed. And another: “That's not where the catcher is.” Jana and Ed laughed at the interchange. Finally one of the men said he'd set up the bases.

They wandered toward the children's playground. Ed started for the benches to the left of the thick gates, but Jana sat on a swing, so he eased himself onto the canvas swing beside her. “This is the one place I never have to worry about sitting alone.” Jana let the ropes sway gently as she talked.

“Worry no longer,” Ed swayed closer.

“It never ceases to amaze me how children have to be
taught
how to play sometimes. That's something I was totally oblivious to when I was growing up. I never played well with other kids, but nobody ever taught me how, either. I was ten or twelve before I learned how to pump my legs on a swing. Someone always had to push me.”

Before Jana realized what was happening, Ed was standing behind her. “Do you want to go fast or slow?” he asked, giving a gentle push.

“Fast.” Jana took firm hold of the ropes. “No, slow! Slow!” she shouted a moment later, laughing as Ed pushed with all his might, and she went zooming so high she could feel the bars holding the swing shake.

“Say please,” Ed called, pushing as hard as ever. “Say pretty please with hamburger on it.” And then, a moment later: “Say it like you mean it.” At last Ed gave in, the swing slowed, Ed walked to the front and Jana leapt into his arms.

Jana saw there was no one in the sandbox. She wandered over, picked up a twig, and began drawing. She drew Ed's face, half-portrait, half-caricature, then quickly rubbed it out. “I can't draw well when someone's looking over my shoulder,” she laughed, tossing the stick away.

“You artists are never satisfied,” Ed teased. “I thought you caught my resemblance perfectly.”

“If you're nice, maybe I'll draw you for real sometime,” she said, heading out the gate again. “When my parents used to take me to the beach, I remember drawing in the sand. They'd try to get me into the water or to hunt for sand crabs, but I'd just pick up a popsicle stick and start drawing.”

“Your parents must have loved that,” Ed teased.

“They wondered what was wrong with me,” Jana answered seriously. They walked along in silence once again. It was one of those in-between days when the walkers and the people sitting in the park were dressed for anything. Some wore long-sleeve shirts, a few men wore ties and jackets, one girl passed wearing a leather jacket. Many people carried sweaters or sweatshirts, some tied them around their waists.

“I'm struck by the difference between those people who come to sit in the park, and those passing through on their way somewhere,” Jana commented as they sprawled on the grass near one of the entrances.

“I never noticed it before.”

“It's easier to see in the women. Take that woman in the long dress and shawl, carrying a MOMA bag. You can tell she's doing other things today.”

They began guessing at the relationship between people who passed them. “Friends,” Ed said, pointing to two women seated across from them. “Probably close friends, they've been friends for ten years, at least. Since high school.”

“No, I'd say they're sisters. The hair color's different, but look at the shape of their faces. Look at their mannerisms.”

“You think you know it all, don't you?” Ed joked.

“I just know what to look for. Chalk it up to an artist's eye.” A very pregnant woman walked beside a young man in slacks, sports coat, tie, and sneakers. Neither looked overly happy. They walked together but didn't touch. Jana and Ed both watched, but seeing them dampened the game a bit.

Then, noticing how many people were carrying maps and cameras, they played at guessing where they were from. “How about that guy with the two cameras?” Jana asked.

“Definitely cosmopolitan but dressed too warmly, Montreal.” Ed guessed.

“Nope. I'd say he's from New York City, probably the Upper West Side.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He's carrying two cameras, not one, which indicates a photographer more than a tourist.”

“So he's a photographer from Montreal.”

“Nope. He's walking straight, he's looking around him just to check things out, not with any real interest. Which means he's headed somewhere and knows where he's going.”

“I never found strangers so interesting before,” Ed commented, half to himself. He got up to stretch, but Jana took it as a sign to leave. “This way,” he said, grabbing her arm.

“No, it's this way.”

“Go see.” They walked to the avenue a few hundred feet away. Sure enough, Ed was right, Jana would have walked toward Fifth Avenue.

“Sorry. I guess I got turned around.”

“I'm delighted; it proves you don't know everything, after all.”

“I was preoccupied.”

“With what, I wonder?” Ed mused. Jana didn't bother answering.

Ed recalled the last time they were together, when they'd gotten tangled up in each other and didn't bother with dinner. “How about we stop for a bite on the way home?” he suggested.

“That sounds fine, except I don't want any arguments this time: you helped me get the stuff home from the bus station, the least I can do is buy you dinner.”

Ed hesitated. “I was thinking of someplace special, maybe Tavern on the Green as long as we're in the park …”

Jana wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. This difference in their lifestyles added to the tension she felt with Ed: his apartment with bay windows looking out on West End Avenue compared to her shabby studio overlooking an air shaft, his car, his well-polished shoes compared to her paint-stained sneakers. “Ed, look,” she began, “I know you make a good salary, but I have a job, too, and I'm not paid that poorly. I might choose to spend most of my earnings on painting supplies, but that's my choice. So if I want to buy you dinner tonight, or any other night, that's my choice, too.”

“I wasn't implying …”

“I know you weren't implying, but I
was.
Besides, letting you pay for things makes me feel obligated to you, and I don't think you want that any more than I do. It'll be easier if we split things, at least for now.”

Splitting was preferable to her paying for dinner tonight, Ed consoled himself. But instead of “someplace special” he led her toward a moderately priced but comfortable nouveau French place. It was also quicker; the longer they sat there, the more anxious he was to take Jana home with him.

He led her into the apartment, poured a glass of wine. “Wine! I might have guessed it,” Jana exclaimed. She told him about painting the park panel, and how she'd considered depicting him as a wino.

“So, how'd I look?” Ed asked.

“Great, as always. But I'm prejudiced.”

On that note, Ed left her alone in the living room. Jana sat on the Danish Modern couch, noticing how different the room seemed when Ed wasn't around. The painting above the couch, imitation Jackson Pollock at his worst, appeared chosen by a yuppie decorator to echo the various shades of blue used as accents around the room. She crossed her legs, took a sip of wine. It was red wine and should have been room temperature—chilling it had made it lose what little flavor it had. Here I go again, putting Ed down to protect myself, she thought, recalling Marilyn's comment. People were
worse
than cats; they tried to suppress the tension. She took another sip of wine. If she wasn't careful it was going to give her a headache. Red wine always did.

She picked up a throw pillow and hugged it against her chest, running her fingers through the fringe. She wondered if she'd ever let Leroy out of the closet. “Just think, a real lion, I have a real lion now,” she whispered to the pillow. She envisioned walking into the bedroom and discovering that Ed, too, slept on Miss Piggy sheets.

In fact, the sheets were a solid color, mint green, and the pillows had plain white cases. It must have been well after midnight when they climbed into bed. They cuddled for a while. Carefully, Ed began fondling her clitoris. “Look at how wet you are,” he said.

“I'm sorry.” Embarrassed, Jana drew away.

“It's okay,” Ed whispered. “You're wet because you're stimulated. That's what I hoped would happen.” He pressed her against him.

Certainly Jana expected more to happen tonight, but she had to admit she was relieved. She was still on a country schedule of turning in early and getting up at the crack of dawn. She shifted away from him as her eyes grew too heavy to stay open. He began snoring lightly a moment later.