Lion's Share (5 page)

Bill spoke with Matt Fillmore, then had Jana call and give him the particulars. “He seems like an easy-going guy,” Jana said out loud as she put the phone down. Larry Rivers called on Thursday afternoon to say the artist he'd suggested was willing to participate. Natalie thought she was being optimistic by promising to get back to APL with the names of these artists in three weeks; as it turned out, they had all the material together, including bios and letters of interest from the artists, by the end of the following week, and they arranged a meeting for the following Thursday. “This ought to be the last meeting with Frank, Ed, and Marsha,” Natalie prayed, delicately crossing her fingers. “After this it will be up to APL's board of directors.”

Natalie had appointments in midtown on Thursday morning. She wanted to go over the bios with Jana before the meeting, to double-check which aspects of these artists they should stress, so they met in a little coffee shop around the corner from the APL building. They were standing in the short line, waiting to be seated, when Ed walked in, alone. Before Jana could catch her breath and smile, she heard Natalie inviting him to join them. For a moment Jana wondered if Nat had planned this accidental meeting, then decided it wasn't possible. Her boss might be a hopeless romantic, but she also had innate business sense; when contradictory aspects of her personality came into conflict, the level-headed executive won out.

Jana stared at the white tile wall their table was set against. This place looked more like a bathroom than a coffee shop, and sorely lacked the individuality one found in coffee shops in Soho or the Upper East Side. She raised her fork and watched the tile catch its reflection. Ed, sitting across from them, seemed to be going out of his way to talk with Natalie, telling her how much he'd enjoyed touring the gallery, asking questions about individual drawings. Jana was beginning to think maybe she and Nat
had
misinterpreted Ed's romantic interests.

She looked across the table to catch Ed rubbing his eye, trying to push a contact lens back in place. “Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular. He left the table and headed for the men's room.

“Get it fixed?” Jana asked when he came back.

“For the moment, at least. Once those things start moving around in my eye, I'm usually in for a full day of trouble.”

“Ever lose one?”

“No, but I've ripped them. I did that the first week I had them.”

“That's the sort of thing I'd probably do.”

“Before I got them, all my friends were telling me how wonderful soft lenses were. Now all I hear are their horror stories.”

“I'll bet. I'd be terrified at the thought of putting something in my eye. Besides, I like having my glasses as a shield.” Small, gold granny glasses; she'd worn them long before they were considered fashionable.

“As do I,” Ed laughed. “I've never broken the habit of pushing my glasses up on my nose when I'm absorbed in thought, even though they're no longer there.”

They finished the meal in silence, but it was an easy silence, miles away from the tension that had filled the car two weeks ago. Soon plates were pushed aside; Ed stubbed out his Camel in a flimsy tin ashtray. He ground the butt into the tin, anxious to catch every last spark. Jana glanced at the potato chips left on his plate.

Ed noticed. “Help yourself,” he said, pushing the plate toward her. “But I warn you, one potato chip has twelve calories. I keep close track.” He stood up and playfully tightened his belt a notch.

Jana took one chip. She had her hand halfway toward a second, then pulled back and pretended to hunt around in her purse for something. If they didn't get out of here soon, they'd be late for the meeting.

The meeting itself took less time than lunch had taken. Frank got right down to business, so pleased with the luster these new artists would bring to the exhibit that he seemed to overlook Matt Fillmore's highly charged political stance. He probably knows the name but not the work, Jana realized.

“Between your proposal and the biographical profiles of these artists, I think we have a solid game plan to take to the board,” he said. “Our board meeting is scheduled for Monday, April 18, and we should be able to let you know their decision shortly after that. If you don't hear from us by the following Friday, give Ed a call.”

Ed lingered for a moment after Frank left, as if to reestablish personal contact. He told the two women that, assuming the proposal went through, the funds would be disbursed in two payments. “It takes roughly a week to get the paperwork out once the decision's been made, but we can cut the first check fairly quickly if you need money to get things under way.” He smiled as if the proposal were through already.

By two o'clock Jana and Natalie were in a cab headed downtown, celebrating their success. Natalie returned to her favorite theme of late: “I think you and Ed make a cute couple.”

Jana mumbled something about Natalie needing her head examined.

“He managed to get your address, didn't he?” Natalie's words would echo in Jana's ear for the next three weeks, drowning out thoughts of APL's board meeting. It was true: before they had left the coffee shop Ed mentioned that he was going up to Maine for a vacation and wanted to make sure he had their addresses so he could send postcards.

Ed called on Wednesday, one of Jana's days off, to tell Natalie the funding had been approved, adding that he was taking off in two days and promising to put the paperwork in motion before he left town.

Unfortunately he was not as efficient in his personal life; Jana never received the card he'd promised. The adventurous part of her hoped to hear from him, while the workaholic was relieved. Just when she'd concluded that his interest was purely professional, Ed called her at home—he obviously still had her number, although he claimed he'd lost his address book (his excuse for not writing).

His trip had gone smoothly, he told her. It was too early for the tourists, so the rooms were cheaper, and the vacation itself was restful. He talked about Maine's ragged coastline, claiming he'd never seen anything like it: driving along Route 1, one minute you're following the beach, the next minute you're ten miles inland. He told her about side trips he'd made to various islands. “One night I stayed on an island whose only structure was an old stone mansion converted into a rooming house. You could walk across a thin wooden bridge to another island that was all rocky, deserted beach. I woke up the next morning and could have sworn I saw haystacks out the window. Turned out it was seaweed, gold and still wet, left on the rocks at high tide.”

“Popping seaweed was one of the few aspects of the beach I enjoyed when I was growing up,” Jana said. “It was never piled up like haystacks, though, just strands scattered about. I used to think they resembled branches, and before I popped them I spread them out on the sand in different gnarled tree-trunk patterns.”

“You would have enjoyed hunting for driftwood along the Maine coast, then. The pieces were beautifully shaped, washed smooth by the waves. I brought home one piece that I swore at first was the bone of a rat or some other small animal. You'll have to see it.”

“Jersey beaches never had much in the way of driftwood. Plenty of shells, though. Most of them were broken, but even the broken shapes made fascinating patterns. I could have stared at those shells for hours.”

“Were you one of those kids who painted clam shells and sold them as ash trays?” Ed asked jokingly.

“Not on your life. I never wanted to interfere with their natural iridescence.”

“That's how I feel about coral. When I was a kid, we used to go to Miami every Christmas to visit my grandparents, and I remember being enchanted by the pieces of coral along the beach.”

“Unfortunately Lakewood didn't have much in the way of coral, either. But I've seen its beauty. I have friends who went to Florida especially to collect coral to use for their bathroom floor.”

“What a great idea. It sounds gorgeous.” Then, changing the subject a bit, he asked how her three weeks had been.

She told him they'd been hectic. “I'm going up to Yaddo a week from Friday, and I'm trying to get a thousand things done before I leave.”

“You're going where?”

“Yaddo. It's an artists' retreat in Saratoga Springs. An invitation is considered an honor, and this is the third time they've invited me.” She didn't bother mentioning that she'd been rejected the first two times she applied, and how devastated she'd been. That had been back in the early seventies, when she didn't need the time for uninterrupted work as much as she wanted the connections to be made at colonies such as Yaddo or MacDowell. Despite recommendations, Yaddo rejected her twice, MacDowell three times. She might have wanted time out of the city, but she was too proud to apply to the less prestigious colonies such as Cummington or Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. All or nothing, no compromises—that's the way she'd always been, but only in the past five or six years had it paid off for her.

“I didn't realize you were leaving town,” Ed said after a moment's silence. “For a few weeks?”

“A few months. Unless unforeseen problems arise, I'll be up there till early September.”

“How are you able to get that much time away from The Paperworks Space?” He'd hoped this call would help him get to know Jana better, and at first that seemed to be happening. But hearing she was leaving town came as a disappointment. Quickly the little businessman inside him took over, and he began to question the professionalism of the people running the project he'd just recommended for a considerable amount of funding.

“I'm the artistic director, the curator. Natalie's the executive director,” Jana reminded him. “She'll keep the doors open till June 15. Then we're open by appointment only through Labor Day.”

“What about the artists you're exhibiting?”

“We don't offer shows during the summer. Not many people walk the streets doing the gallery tour when it's hot out, and certainly anyone who can afford it gets out of the city. Nat tried staying open through July a few years ago, and I think she sold two drawings the entire month. Most New York galleries close for the summer.”

“I guess I've been working too hard to notice,” Ed laughed, trying to ease his way back to the original purpose of his call. He explained that in his position as community coordinator he reviewed a wide range of proposals from organizations throughout the metropolitan area, but most of the proposals from arts associations had been given to Marsha for review. The closest he'd come to working on an arts project before theirs had involved booking conservationists onto talk shows and monitoring the programs APL sponsored on WNET. Jana's familiarity with the art world was one of the traits which sparked his interest, he realized now. “Do you have time to get together for a drink before you leave town?” he asked.

Jana pressed the receiver tight against her cheek. She wanted very much to see him. But she was also suddenly frightened of seeing him alone again, without Natalie, without the pretense of a business meeting. “Can we leave it up in the air?” she asked. “I want to see how packing and last-minute tasks go.”

“We can do anything,” Ed said.

Silently Jana repeated his words, changing the pronoun: I can do anything I set my mind to, she told herself. If she met him for a drink Thursday night, she'd have ten days to psyche herself up for it. “Maybe Thursday night …” she said out loud.

“Why don't I give you a call Thursday night, and we'll play it by ear?”

“Great,” Jana said. “But don't tie yourself down if other things come up,” she added. “As I said, I don't know for sure if I'll have time. Too often I find myself leaving things for the last minute. I've got clothes to pack, and painting supplies. I have to run down to Pearl Paint and buy some extra brushes and sketchbooks. I never find time to draw in the city anymore; that's one of the things I'm looking forward to this summer.” Think about art, not about Ed, she chanted under her breath. It'll make seeing Ed easier.