Lion's Share

by Rochelle Rattner

  “Oh Christ,” Jana told herself. “Here I go on another one of my guilt trips.” She was feeling guilty that she had the show at Walker to prepare for, that she couldn’t devote her full attention to the crisis at hand. But instead of getting upset with her perfectionist goals, she was finding fault with Natalie, with the board, with the relationship. “It’s a wonder Ed puts up with me,” she mused. “I can barely tolerate myself at a time like this.”

  At “a time like this” her attention should be focused on the discussion. She might not want to hear what they were saying, but she had no choice. Two board members, in particular, seemed adamant that the name of the game was compromise, but the arguments Bill and Larry Rivers presented finally won out, and everyone on the board was brought around to a decision that the drawing had to remain at all costs.

  “Next order of business: how do we proceed from here?” Bill asked.

  “You’re the board president,” Natalie said. “I would hope that APL would be attentive to your opinions concerning the work.”

  “Didn’t you say you were instrumental in Matt Fillmore’s Dallas commission?” Jana asked, already knowing the answer. “It would seem that you could approach Frank Markowitz as one CEO to another, as someone who took similar risks with your own company.”

  “Certainly I can attempt that, but the controversial aspects of Matt’s work never came to the forefront of that Nationbank commission.”

  “Pure luck,” someone mumbled, to which Bill responded that he’d been just thinking the same thing. The group broke out in much-needed laughter. After they calmed down, Bill began making a list of the aspects he wanted to stress to APL: the need to avoid negative publicity about that generating plant was first on the list, but what else?

  “Free speech in general,” someone suggested.

  “The fact that the message will go over the heads of many viewers.”

  “Don’t forget, there are six exhibition sites; this drawing will be at Lincoln Center. A lot of viewers will only see one or two of the sites and will perceive APL’s original message—‘look at the efforts we’re making on behalf of your city’—without any knowledge that one artist saw fit to argue with their ‘good intentions.’ Unless, of course, the higher-ups at APL want to draw people’s attention to the controversy.”

  “The drawing will still be in the catalog. Weren’t we relying upon that catalog to provide wider coverage than the six sites?”

  “If need be, I could probably ensure that the catalog is not distributed as widely as we’d planned,” Natalie began.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bill said. “Far be it from me to put any ideas into APL’s head.”

  “As I said in my letter that accompanied the articles about similar incidents, I think it’s wise to point out we’re not trying to pull a fast one,” Jana said. “APL will have copies of this drawing in their hands in plenty of time to seek the advice of their own board and make a calm decision. We could have held out longer if we’d wanted to. But the fact that we’re confronting them with the problem almost as soon as it comes to our attention should speak well for the gallery’s professionalism and social responsibility.”

  Bill checked over his list again. “I’d say this gives us a pretty good beginning,” he said. “But I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’ll give Frank Markowitz a call tomorrow morning and try to arrange a meeting.”

  “Let us know what happens,” Natalie said.

  “That should be the least of your worries.”

  Bill called the next morning to say he was having lunch with Frank on Thursday. “Just one more night,” Jana thought. She wanted to make every moment left with Ed count. And then, on Thursday, she found herself counting: five more hours until seven o’clock, four more hours, three more hours … They’d arranged to meet in one of their favorite restaurants. All afternoon she was hoping Bill would call to let them know how the meeting went, but no such luck. As Natalie reminded her, it was nice enough that Bill was taking time out from his job on the gallery’s behalf for the second time this week. They couldn’t make more demands on him.

  Jana pushed the wild mushroom ravioli around on her plate. A house specialty, this was one of her favorite dishes, but tonight it seemed tasteless. Ed twirled two strands of angel hair pasta on his fork, letting the peas and baby shrimp fall in the process. Didn’t Jana realize he knew? He felt it would be best to wait for her to bring up the subject, but he couldn’t wait forever. They continued eating in silence, until Ed couldn’t stand it any longer. “Bill Fitch spoke with Frank this afternoon,” he said, making no effort whatsoever to hide his anger. “I wish you’d told me.” He turned his face away.

  “That wouldn’t have done any good.”

  “It might not have done you any good, you mean. All you were thinking about was yourself. Not about me, not about my job.”

  “I didn’t want to mix business with pleasure. It would just confuse things. Besides, it wasn’t as if we were keeping it secret forever. I knew Bill would talk to Frank.”

  “Dammit, Jana, it’s not Frank’s job to find out about such things, it’s mine. Frank expects me to keep track of the exhibition’s progress and let him know the minute there are problems that can’t be easily solved. Especially in this case, Frank found it hard to believe I didn’t already know. He raked me over the coals for having held out on him.”

  Jana sat there stunned, batting back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It never dawned on me that not telling you could cause more problems.” They stared at each other, trying to see who’d break down first. “What happens now?” Jana asked.

  “With the exhibition or with my job?” Ed asked accusingly. Or with us, Jana wanted to add. Biting her bottom lip, she waited for him to continue. “Frank’s going to have to speak with the board of directors.” Ed’s tone softened just a little.

  See there, Jana wanted to point out, Frank can’t act without his board. Well, it’s the same thing at The Paperworks Space. My job might not be as high-paying as yours is, but it matters a lot to me, too. I couldn’t tell you about it before I had the board’s approval, anymore than Frank can act without the board’s approval now. Bur what was the use of getting caught on such a merry-go-round? That wasn’t what this conversation was about; that wasn’t what she read in Ed’s anger. She sat there sucking her breath in.

  “I can’t be much help to you when I don’t know what’s going on,” Ed said.

  Jana drew back. “I don’t want that kind of help.”

  “You don’t know what kind of help; I don’t know what kind of help!”

  He’s screaming out of frustration with himself, not out of anger at me, Jana realized.

  “Look, it’s my job to help The Paperworks Space organize the exhibition,” Ed continued. “Frank knows we’re seeing each other, and I’m sure he realizes we discuss the exhibition. As he reminded me again today, I’ve been working at APL long enough to know where the professional boundaries are drawn. But you’ve got to be willing to confide in me. Otherwise our relationship won’t be based on trust, either.”

  “Trust me—that’s what all men say,” Jana laughed nervously. “You make it sound simple.”

  “It is simple.” Ed sounded more confident than he felt. Working his way through college had its benefits, after all—once you’d mastered the art of selling World Books to families who couldn’t pay the rent that month, you could convince people of anything. “I didn’t say we could just go ahead and include that drawing, but there’s not much question that we have to take some kind of action. Yours isn’t the first program we’ve funded that’s become more controversial than we’d anticipated. The use and misuse of energy is a hot issue these days.”

  Not wanting to add to that debate, Jana changed the subject. “Frank’s not thinking of taking you off the exhibition, is he?”

  “The thought probably crossed his mind. But I’ve invested too much in this project already, and Marsha’s got her hands f
ull with other proposals,” Ed said, reassuring himself at the same time. “As I said, Frank knows we’re seeing each other. If he was planning to replace me, he’d have done that months ago.” Ed tapped one finger firmly against his palm. “Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

  “I’m liking it more and more.” Jana tried to smile. Ed hadn’t told her what he thought of that drawing, she realized. Surely he’d seen it by now. The last thing she’d expected was that they’d be able to avoid a political discussion tonight.

  Ed placed his hand over hers. “I know it’s been hectic for you. It’s been hectic for both of us,” he said. “After the exhibition opens in May, maybe I’ll take some time off and we’ll go on a vacation, just the two of us. How does a cruise to Nassau sound?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. It sounded boring as hell: costume parties on shipboard, food and more food, gambling once you got to port, shopping for painted shells with a hundred fat grandmothers in sleeveless dresses who’d put on too much perfume. Didn’t Ed understand yet that she was happiest when she was working, that she wanted more time to paint, not less? Sometimes she felt as if she’d been living a lie all these months, wining and dining at restaurants Ed could afford more easily than she could, playing the same games with her lover that she was forced to play with society matrons. She couldn’t even cling to him and forget everything else these days. Natalie once commented that she worked better when there was a man in her life; knowing the evening was planned, she got more accomplished during the day. Jana thought she’d enjoy having her life structured around a relationship, especially since she’d been finding it increasingly difficult to spend twenty-four hours a day painting. Instead she felt as if everything she’d been struggling so hard for was slipping away from her.

  “Four months from now the exhibition will be open and your show in Minneapolis will be over; you’ll finally be able to relax,” Ed continued.

  “No, I won’t. Even if everything goes well, it will only prove I can reach further, get a bigger show of my own work, curate a larger exhibition.”

  “I don’t know how much larger you can expect,” Ed laughed.

  Jana was, as usual, humorless. “If I don’t expect, then what’s the use? I’m really sorry, Ed, but I can’t sit back and watch other people get ahead of me. We’re not talking about climbing some corporate ladder, we’re talking about my life.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Ed said, trying to repress his irritation; using her painter’s mask for protection was one thing, but when she set herself above the corporate world it couldn’t help but grate on him. “It still doesn’t make any sense to get all caught up with the next project or the project after that,” he continued. “You have to give yourself over to what’s needed at the moment, and do the best job you possibly can. That’s part of being a good executive.”

  “I’m a perfectly good executive or curator or whatever,” Jana mumbled into her dirty plate. Those words slipped out before she could stop herself—words she said by rote now. They were almost as easy as saying “I love you,” and equally meaningless at the moment. She used to be good. Everything she did, she did well. Until now, that is. “You’re an incredible lover,” she remembered Ed whispering last fall when she was still a virgin; the words sounded like a taunt now.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said, catching hold of herself again. “I build up adrenalin by going in circles, but I always come through it and get things done in the end. I’m not used to having someone around watching, that’s all.”

  “Having someone around is new to me, too.”

  Jana tried to smile. “Any idea how long till it becomes comfortable?”

  “Nope. That’s what keeps life interesting. When couples get too comfortable, they start taking each other for granted.”

  “I guess.”

  “You don’t sound very convinced.”

  “I don’t know. Being on strange ground is time-consuming. I don’t seem to have either the time or the energy to accomplish things. I’ll be lucky if we make it through this exhibition, let alone a larger one.”

  “You’ll make it through the exhibition, believe me. But even if there are more hitches between now and the opening, you don’t have to blame yourself for them. Problems crop up all the time; you needn’t take them so personally.”

  “Okay, I take things too personally, but that’s the way I am,” Jana admitted defensively.

  “You don’t really see yourself. Take this drawing, for instance. I know, you thought I was attacking you, but I wasn’t, I was attacking your not telling me. There’s a difference. I might have been angry, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

  The distinction was harder for her to accept. “I feel as if I haven’t been on top of things lately,” she said. “Ever since we’ve been together, it’s almost as if I haven’t been paying attention to anything else. Sometimes I worry that we won’t have anything more to talk about once the exhibition’s over, that we’ll get bored with each other.” She recalled her astonishment last summer: here was someone praising her when she wasn’t standing on her head to get attention. Six or seven months ago, she’d been able to enjoy that praise, but the more often she heard it the less it seemed to fit. All they had to do was start talking about the exhibition for a minute, and she had the perfect excuse to discredit all their tender moments. If she’d had to work harder for Ed’s love, maybe it would be easier to trust it.

  “Don’t mistake fatigue for boredom,” Ed said. They sat in silence, casting careful glances at each other, as if checking each other over again, rethinking their involvement. He knew Jana’s modus operandi by now: if she was worried about something concerning the gallery, she could talk to him about frustrations in her painting. If she was struggling with things in her painting, either she complained about the gallery or shut him out completely. He tried to be patient and understanding, he tried not to push her either sexually or emotionally, he felt as if he understood her struggle to come to grips with that traumatic summer twenty-five years ago. But he also longed for the day when she’d be open and honest with him. Everything in due time, he assured himself. “You’re stuck with me,” he told her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Free Speech

  FRANK MET with APL’s board of directors; Frank, Ed, and Marsha met with Jana, Natalie, and Bill Fitch; the holidays intervened; Frank met with Bill; Ed met with Natalie and Jana; Jana ran back to her apartment for a few hours after work to have some time to paint; Frank and Ed passed each other in the halls; Jana and Natalie met with Phyllis to discuss the promotion campaign; Frank suggested he’d like to talk with Matt Fillmore; The Paperworks Space board met; Ed and Jana found other things to talk about over dinner; Bill told Frank he felt it would be best if the administrations resolved this issue without involving the artist; Jana and Natalie met with Phyllis to continue plans for the gala; Jana spoke with Matt Fillmore twice and carefully avoided any mention of his slides; Jana, Natalie, and Bill met with Ed; Frank met with the board of directors; negotiations dragged on until the middle of February. Then, just after Presidents’ Day, Frank called to arrange a meeting with Natalie, Jana, and Bill. “Off the record,” Bill told Natalie he was reasonably certain APL had accepted the work’s inclusion; “off the record,” Ed told Jana he loved her.

  Jana walked into APL’s conference room. So much had happened since the first time she’d entered these offices last spring that she no longer felt uncomfortable in such lush surroundings. “Let’s just hope that, after today, I’ll be welcome back,” she thought. Ed was, as usual, late for the meeting.

  “Before we get down to technicalities, I want to reiterate the fact that, despite the conflicts which have arisen, APL’s commitment to the Artistic Response to the Environment exhibition remains as solid as it was at the onset of the project,” Frank began.

  Jana cast a slight smile in Natalie’s direction, then in Ed’s. Ed had his nose pointed at the heavy oak table. “If Bill doesn’t know Ed and I are s
eeing each other, he’s certainly not going to suspect it from this meeting,” Jana thought.

  “As you probably suspected, our board decided that, in the interest of free speech, Matt Fillmore’s Power and Light drawing (he winced when he mentioned the title) should be included in the exhibition. We do, however, insist upon one stipulation. We see it as imperative that APL make its own position known as well.” He nodded to Ed, whose fingers were nervously drumming on a manila envelope in front of him.

  “We’ve drawn up a statement presenting our views,” Ed began. “And we’d like it presented alongside the drawing—on a plaque at the exhibition, as well as in the catalog.” He opened the envelope and passed copies of the statement around:

  The Indians who lived on the Onondaga Reservation were relocated by the federal government in 1974. At that time, the prospect of Associated Power and Light building a generating plant on that land was not even under discussion. By the time the land was granted to APL in May of 1981, those who had been driven from their homes had successfully adjusted to lives elsewhere. We could not have given the land back to the Seneca Nation even had we wished to.

  Work on APL’s new generating plant is scheduled to begin in the summer of 1986. The additional power we will provide upon its completion will help enrich the lives of all New Yorkers.

  “Free speech means free speech for everyone,” Frank said.

  Bill glanced from Natalie to Jana and back again. Drawing a blank on both faces, he saw it as his duty to respond. “It might be best if we discuss this with members of The Paperworks Space board. Hopefully, we can get back to you by the end of the week.”

  “We’ll also have to talk with the artist,” Jana said.

  “Of course, I understand perfectly,” Frank said, rising. The meeting had been adjourned.