Lion's Share (27 page)

Jana turned on the bright overhead light. She leaned the sketch pad against the wall and stared at it. Picking it up again, she extended the one raised paw until there were claws coming out of it, the hair shorn and bloody around them. She laughed at the image, and at herself; she laughed partly from the pleasure of drawing in the middle of the night, no plan, no huge project, a little off-center but comfortable.

She sat back down and drew a woman's face with shaggy black sheep hair. Then she made the face her own. “That would be an interesting hairdo,” she mused: it seemed almost stylish. She turned the page and drew two women's heads, back to back, their sheep hair intertwining. Then she moved the women farther apart, until there was almost a whole sheep between them. “If I paint this, the sheep should be white,” Jana realized. That would also give the women white hair. What conveyed age in women would be the sheep's normal color—it made an interesting contrast.

She drew that original sheep, the same shriveled husky body. She sketched the fence in front of him. She moved her pencil on the other side of the fence, sketching pillows, a bed. Laughing to herself, Jana imagined a woman lying there, a woman whose toenails were painted bright red, who wore a dark dull shade of lipstick and heavy blue eyeshadow even while she slept. The sheep was trying to get up to her.

On a new page she drew the outline of the bed again. She gave the woman huge breasts, placed the sheep on top of her, drew large, balloon-like paws. One paw was raised, the other sank into her breast, pressing hard, trapping her. Originally he'd intended to walk across her, but he'd been distracted by a fly buzzing around the room. Every bone in that woman's body hurt, yet she was afraid to move. The sheep doesn't need claws to imprison her, Jana realized. The terror in that woman's unseen face was obvious from the tautness of her muscles.

Still curled in the chair, Jana felt anything but tense. It was after three, and she had to get up at eight, but it should be easy to get to sleep now.

AT FOUR O'CLOCK on Monday, Jana stepped off the plane, and there was Ed waiting for her. He'd gotten a piece of poster board and written REPLANSKY on it, like the limousine drivers carried. With one of her pastels, he'd drawn a flower in the corner. She fell into his arms, hardly believing her eyes.

Yes, she'd been missed. “It's sometimes so comfortable when we're together that I find myself taking you for granted,” he told her. They needed to spend more quiet, passionate time with each other. Tonight he planned to make up for lost time—he'd take her back to the apartment, carry her over the threshold and straight into the bedroom. “I've got a bottle of wine breathing on the table, and dinner just has to be popped in the oven—filet of sole wrapped around asparagus with hollandaise sauce.” They'd work so hard at loving that they'd both be famished.

“Sounds fantastic.” Jana pushed through the crowd to get a better view as the bags began circling. “I haven't eaten since breakfast.”

It was almost five by the time they got out of the parking lot; most of the traffic was headed in the other direction, but driving through the city created an edge of tension that put thoughts of ravishing his girlfriend on the back burner. They walked in, poured wine, and Ed put the fish in the oven and boiled water for noodles. Everything in due time, he told himself, glad simply to have her home with him.

At last they finished eating. Ed put the dishes in the sink to soak while Jana began unpacking. She appeared at the kitchen door a moment later, holding up the sketch of the sheep standing confused before the fence.

“Where'd that come from?”

“Minnesota. I started counting sheep, and he just came out. It's a wolf in sheep's clothing.”

“So I noticed. Anybody we know?”

“I'm not quite sure. I think it's someone who has sheepskin covers over his car seats,” Jana teased. “Someone who's been looking a little woolly lately.”

“Are my teeth that big?”

“Right now they are.”

Ed grinned. “Remember what happened to Red Riding Hood,” he cautioned as he lunged toward her.

“Remember what happened to the
wolf.
” She fended him off for a moment until she could put the drawing safely away. “Your teeth aren't the only thing that have gotten so big, I notice,” she said, turning back to him.

“The better to love you with, my dear.” He led her toward the couch.

“Is that really what the wolf did?”

Ed didn't answer; his head was buried in her hair as she curled against him. Neither could seem to get close enough. Just as he was about to suggest they get rid of these awkward garments and move this same configuration to the bedroom, Jana jumped up.

“If you think the wolf's good, wait till you see the drawings I did after I got him out of my system,” she said, rushing to get her portfolio. Ed stayed slumped on the couch where she'd left him, too stunned to move, while Jana presented an endless display of drawings. “So what do you think?” she asked.

“I think I want you back here.” He tapped the cushion beside him.

“I'll be back in a moment. But seriously, Ed, how do you like the drawings? I think I've really broken through to something…”

“What is this, some kind of test? If my reaction's appropriate, you'll sleep with me?”

“What the hell?. .”

“You're a cockteaser, you know that?”

“You're out of your mind. All I wanted was to show you a few drawings I'm excited about.”

“Go call Gary! He's a better critic than I am.”

“I don't want a critic, I want a lover.”

“You only think you do.”

“Don't tell me what I
think
, please,” Jana said as she started toward the phone. “I'm sorry if I spoiled your romantic moment, but to tell the truth, it wasn't very romantic to begin with.”

“Excuse me! I thought you wanted a man who would take things slowly.”

“Slow, sure. But you take forever, when you have energy to do anything at all.”

“Look who's talking. You're so involved in your work you're not even aware when I walk into a room sometimes.”

“You sound just like my parents. When I lived with them I
had
to be accommodating, but I'll be damned if I'm going to drop everything because you want a glass of water. If I let the process be interrupted, I lose the inspiration, and the work's ruined. I've told you that a thousand times.”

“You use
inspiration
as an excuse for everything, don't you?”

“It's not an excuse, it's my life.”

“But it doesn't
have
to be.” Ed grabbed her arm. “All I'm asking is for you to love me, pure and simple. Look at me! Sure, my hair's white, but I'm not Dr. Waters. I'm not seventy years old. I'm with you because I love you, not because there's no one else in my life. And I'm not trying to take advantage of you. But you've got to trust me, Jana. Don't you even care enough about me to let go of the artist for a few minutes?” He stepped in front of her, ready to scoop her up in his arms again.

“No, I don't!” Jana screamed, turning away and shoving the sketchbook back into her portfolio. “You seem to be forgetting, I
am
an artist.”

“And what am I, a chauffeur?”

“Nobody told you to pick me up at the airport.”

“Pardon me. I
thought
I was picking up my girlfriend!”

“I'm
myself.
I can't just fall into some role you expect from a woman.”

“You're the one playing roles, my dear! One minute you're loving, the next minute you're playing Little Miss Art Snob and treating me like a groupie or something. I want to be supportive in all aspects of your life, but I can't just sit back and let you abuse me.”

Jana had no comeback for that one. She slumped down on the sofa and stared off into space. What could she tell him—that lately the roles had been getting confused for her, too? That sometimes she found herself wanting to go back to the uncomplicated life she'd had before she'd met him, when all that was expected of her were the demands she made on herself? That she didn't know who she was anymore, she felt herself losing control? “I don't mean to be abusing you,” she said weakly “And I'm certainly not aware when I'm doing that. Sometime I catch myself snapping at something you say, and I have no idea why.”

“I know that,” Ed said, sitting down beside her, close but not touching, “I'm aware this is your first relationship, and that it's confusing at times. I try to be patient, but you have to realize there's a limit.” Almost in tears, he shifted his head away. She was hard to understand sometimes. For over six months they'd spent every night together; if she went through any changes, he'd be the first to notice, and he couldn't help feeling slighted now. That sheep resembled a stuffed animal, yet she didn't even seem to realize their conversation about stuffed animals might have prompted the drawing. Whatever he said or did seemed of no importance anymore.

“So you're counting sheep, are you?” he asked. It was the only safe thing he could think to say. It reminded him of when he used to sleep at Kathe's. Near the end, when she had only two or three dogs left, she often let them sleep on the bed. If he was there, they'd come around to his side and whine to be picked up. He'd pick up one then another would cry, the first would jump off then cry to be picked up again, and so on through the night, an endless stream of little dogs crying to be picked up. It was the closest he ever came to counting sheep. And who knows, maybe Jana's obsession with her career was as bad as Kathe and her dogs after all.

He sat there holding her for a few minutes then softly asked if he could see the drawings again.

“Not now,” Jana responded. “I'm exhausted. I just want to get to bed.”

They gave in and lay side by side on the freshly laundered sheets. Tired as she was, Jana quickly found her mind churning. She tried one position, then another. In her few days away the bed seemed to have become lopsided, Ed's side sinking further than her own—she found it hard to keep her balance.

Ed's heavy body motioned toward the foreign object beside him; he lifted his head off the pillow. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—Natalie called last night.”

“I know, she was confused about when I was corning back. She reached me at the hotel.”

“What did she want?”

“Some complication about one artist coming to town. I didn't get the details—I'll deal with it tomorrow.” Jana turned away from him, fluffed the pillow under her. She had half a mind to get up, go out to the living room, and work. Only she didn't exactly want to draw. “I'm probably overtired,” she mumbled aloud.

“And you have every right to be.” He went on to lecture her about how important it was that she get a good night's sleep: she had to go into the gallery tomorrow, there was probably a stack of work waiting for her. “It's always hard getting back to work after a vacation,” Ed whispered, running his hand along her back.

“No, it's not. I mean, it never used to be. Besides, this wasn't a vacation.” She lay silently, swallowing her tears. “Sometimes I think I'm no good to anyone, including myself, unless I'm painting, and right now I don't feel very much like an artist,” she told him. “I come home all excited about new perspectives I want to work toward, and instead of getting down to work I have to go play curator tomorrow.” Instead of getting down to work, Ed expected her to make love to him. Wearing two hats was bad enough, but three was impossible. Small wonder she was getting the roles confused.

“You
are
an artist,” Ed assured her. “A three-person show at the Walker is nothing to scoff at. And you're turning down other shows—what about that woman who wanted to give you a show in New York last month? I don't understand why you didn't want…”

“I don't need another line on my resume.” Jana pulled away from him. She stared up at the ceiling as she talked. “Audrey would give me a show, she'd put up the paintings, although last time she didn't even manage that very well—instead of hiring union workers, she arranged for some art student to hang it. An hour before he was due at the gallery he called to say he was involved in a painting and couldn't make it. The two of us worked till two AM, and I was a wreck at the opening. And once the show's up, Audrey won't do anything else for me—she won't bother to get out press releases, she won't get in touch with critics, the gallery doesn't even have a list of regular patrons.”

“What's preventing you from calling the critics yourself? You certainly know plenty of them; you and Natalie are constantly taking critics out to dinner. And it would be a chance for all my friends to see your work.”

“It's not the artist's job to get in touch with the right people, and artists who push too hard aren't respected. If I had a show with Audrey, it would cost over $1,000 to get everything framed, plus all the time and energy that would go into preparations, and I wouldn't get enough in return. At this point, it might even be detrimental. I can just hear Nancy Hoffman now: Why, darling, I'd truly been planning a show for you next fall, but you've just had a show, haven't you? We must not flood the market. You of all people understand that, don't you, dear?”

Ed laughed at her impersonation; he'd never met Nancy Hoffman, but he could just imagine what she must be like. It was a forced laugh, though. He was laughing to cover his initial anger and embarrassment at Jana's treating him as if he didn't know the first thing about marketing artwork. He told himself again she didn't realize what she was saying, or how the words affected him. He tightened his grip on her. He tried to let his muscles speak all the tension and love he had in him, but his body lost its hold. Jana settled her head on his chest and drifted off to sleep. It was Ed who lay awake, feeling a surge of delight that she had fallen asleep at last in such a trusting position, that she had, indeed, returned home to him. Long after she rolled over onto her own side of the bed, he lay awake rehashing everything that had happened this evening. He fixed the sheet so it covered his nostrils, to make sure she wouldn't waken from his breathing, then lay there guarding her sleep for as long as he could.