Lion's Share (30 page)

“The drawings look better, that's for sure,” Ed told him.

Matt seemed to be trying to read between the lines of Ed's face. Well, Jana realized, there were a few more wrinkles than she'd noticed before. “Just because someone represents a company doesn't mean he shares all their views,” Bill commented. “Off the record, of course.”

“Right, free speech and all that,” Matt laughed. He promised to stop by and see the show over the weekend. “Let's face it, you're reserving damn good champagne, it's the least I can do,” he said, raising his glass on leaving. Jana, Ed, and Bill stood watching him head for his table, then burst out laughing. They got through it, Jana told herself—Ed had handled himself magnificently, not compromising APL and not embarrassing her. No wonder she loved him.

Jana surveyed the rest of the room as she and Ed walked toward Table 2. At the ribbon-cutting ceremonies, the artists had shyly clustered together, but now, loosened by champagne, she watched them introducing themselves as they sat down next to social register couples who regularly supported the arts. She recalled a friend of her father's, a successful stockbroker, who insisted that he played golf solely for business reasons. Who knew what deals might be arranged tonight while waiting for the second or third course to be served?

Natalie was seated with Frank Markowitz and his wife, at a table shared by Ed Koch, Bess Myerson (the other keynote speaker), plus various members of APL's board of directors. Jana and Ed shared the next table with two artists and members of The Paperworks Space board. Diners had their choice of steak Dijon or a shrimp and scallop casserole that was a Vista specialty. A bowl in which orange and white lilies floated was centered on every table.

Ed struck up a conversation with Gary and Larry Rivers, drawing them out on their perspectives about the recently initiated “Percent for Art” program, by which corporations pledged a percentage of their profits toward arts funding at the beginning of each fiscal year. Jana listened almost with envy—given the slightest encouragement, Larry elaborated upon his views until he turned even enthusiasts against themselves, but Gary was reserved and usually withdrawn, especially when his wife was with him. And here was Ed, meeting them both for the first time, knowing the history of her aborted romance with Gary, chatting away as if he'd known them for years. He wasn't making inane comments like “Maybe you'd like to do some drawings in time for the exhibition,” but participating in an informed, stimulating dialogue.

The conversation continued through soup and salad, into the main course. As dinner plates were being collected, the Buck Clayton Band began playing one of Duke Ellington's songs. “I haven't heard this swing sound since I was a kid, but it's wonderful to heat it again,” someone at the next table commented. “Where did you dream up a band like this?” Not waiting for Natalie's response, Jana beamed in Ed's direction. Her lover had, as always, made a good choice. A dozen couples got up to dance, and Jana was enchanted by the colors of their flowing skirts. She recalled teasing Ed about sleeping in a tuxedo two months ago, then hanging up the phone and giving free rein to her insecurities about dressing up tonight. Now she caught herself enjoying watching the women blend with drapes and flowers, creating a fairy tale spectacle.

Ed placed his hand over hers. It wasn't until he whispered “perfect beat” that Jana realized she'd been tapping her fingers on the table. They'd been to two previous dinner dances, and each time Ed asked her to dance she'd used the excuse that she had no sense of rhythm. The room was noisy, she had to keep one eye out for people coming over to congratulate her on the exhibition or to just say hello, and yet tonight her subconscious was hearing the music perfectly. Smiling, gracious, grace-
ful
, and relaxed enough to let the evening proceed in whatever way it would, she let Ed lead her onto the highly polished dance floor.

“Give me a hand with this, will you?” Jana made quite a sight, standing barefoot in the bedroom doorway. Her left arm was over her shoulder, elbow out at the side like apathetic chicken wing, her right arm stretched backward as she leaned forward. She'd somehow managed to get her zipper halfway down; now neither hand could reach it.

“Oh, for God's sake,” Ed said, purposely taking his time coming over. “I can't take you anywhere,” he jokingly protested.

“I took you,” Jana said, standing upright and feeling her blood settle away from her head. She shouldn't have drunk so much.

Ed eased the zipper down. Jana stepped out of the evening gown that had held her captive all night. They both breathed easier, then burst out laughing. “What would you do without me?” Ed teased.

“Don't tempt me, or I just might curate that show in California.” One of the guests tonight was a member of Reagan's Task Force for the Environment. He'd told Jana several times how impressive the exhibition was, and mentioned that he was “checking it out” for a close friend who worked in the funding office of a Los Angeles power company. If this show was successful, they were thinking of staging something similar on “the coast.” Praising the works Jana had selected once again, he asked if he could give his friend her name and recommend her as a guest curator.

“Promises, promises,” Ed laughed. If he continued talking, Jana didn't hear him. She was in the bathroom, washing the makeup off her face with handfuls of warm water. Yes, makeup. She'd let Natalie talk her into it. “After all, there will be TV cameras, and with no color you'll look all washed out,” Nat had said. Jana glanced toward the shower, but felt incapable of showering tonight—more than likely the soap would slip away from her. Just as the clock struck three, she slid into bed.

“You
could
curate that show, you know,” Ed said as he enfolded her in his arms.

Jana expected him to break out laughing a moment later, but the laughter never came. “Don't be ridiculous,” she said, moving away from him to fluff her pillow. “I can't abandon my painting.”

“Who said you had to abandon painting? I'm sure there are plenty of workspaces available in Los Angeles.”

“Okay, then I'd be abandoning
you.
” She poked him in the chest on the word
you.

“No, you wouldn't. I don't easily feel abandoned; I'm stronger than you think,” Ed laughed. “If a relationship's going to fall apart because one person takes off for two or three months, then it wasn't much good to begin with. Besides, we're talking about a few years down the road. Maybe I'd be able to take a few months off by then, or I could fly out on alternate weekends. Anything's possible.”

The words rang in Jana's ears:
anything's possible.
It was, wasn't it? Who would have dreamed a year ago, even three months ago, that the exhibition would come off this smoothly, that she'd be back at her own work despite all the pressure at the gallery, despite what Ed now teasingly referred to as his “intrusions.” Who would have guessed two months ago that she'd be comfortably lying here with Ed, without regretting that she wasn't home painting, not aware of any conflicts whatsoever. They'd probably be lying in this same position two or three years down the road. And if they weren't, it wouldn't be the end of the world. People changed, they grew together and apart, but change was nothing to be afraid of.

Jana turned over. The large wooden rocking chair that had once belonged to Ed's grandmother swayed gently in the breeze from the open window. Her robe and Ed's were thrown over the back of it, more carelessly than usual tonight. The belt from her robe lay across Leroy's legs, almost like a seatbelt. “No more closets for
this
lion,” Ed had declared on the spur of the moment one night when he'd picked Jana up at her studio. She had opened her closet to get some summer clothes out, and Ed had spotted Leroy looking rather sad in a corner. Reluctantly, Jana agreed Leroy belonged out in the open, if only to make sure he never snuck up on her the way that dachshund had. “He'll be like our child,” Ed declared. And giddy as new parents always are, they brought him home together. Poor battered Leroy; he might not be perfect but, if anything, they loved his imperfections.

Still feeling the effects of the liquor, Jana thought about that portrait of Ed she'd promised the first day back from Yaddo. Maybe she'd superimpose the lion's head on Ed's. His eyes would be large and unfocused, as they always were without his contacts in. He would be bearded, and his hair would be yellow, not white. Or brown, rather—real lions had brown manes, even if Leroy's was the same yellow as the rest or his body. She'd suggested Ed grow a beard once, and he'd scoffed at the idea, insisting they were dirty and unmanageable—but who knows, anything's possible. Laughing at their unlimited possibilities, she turned toward him again, kissing the back of his neck. His neck was always as smooth as if he'd shaved it, cool to the touch no matter how warm the rest of his body was.