Lion's Share (21 page)

Ed reached out to draw her onto his shoulder, maybe hold her until she drifted off to sleep. But his arm froze in midair. They'd come so close, another minute and he'd have been inside her. He wanted to pound the bed, strike out at something. Anything.

Quickly he was on top of her, large, enormous, catching her off-guard. Her legs spread wider than ever, he was inside her before either of them could think twice. He was naked, full, inside her with passion, loving her, proving she was worth the risk, and always would be. Proving to himself how much he was able to love her.

Jana's mouth fell open. Instinctively her arms closed tight around his back. “That was dumb,” she laughed. She felt alive, awake again. She wanted to keep him next to her forever. She wanted to keep him
inside
her forever. She felt his sperm trickling warmly down her leg. “That was dumb,” she said again. What a dumb, wonderful way to begin the holiday season.

“I THOUGHT executives had secretaries to do their Christmas shopping,” Jana teased as she and Ed headed down Lexington Avenue toward Gimbel's.

“Sounds to me like your vision of executives comes from the those Hollywood comedies they made in the forties and fifties,” Ed laughed.

“I'll make it clear from the start: I am
not
buying gifts for your mistress. Besides, if I recall those movies correctly, the lacy black nightgown always ends up in the box he gives his wife, and the perfume is a fragrance his wife's allergic to.”

“Right. I'm amazed your parents let you see such movies. They could have ruined your character.”

“They did, they did,” she laughed.

“You can say that again.” Ed pulled her close and playfully felt her up through her down jacket. “We've been seeing each other for almost three months. Haven't you learned more from me than from those movies?”

“Sure, but it doesn't hurt to remind you,” Jana teased.

“Seriously, though,” Ed said, “shopping for Christmas has always been a high point of my year. Even growing up, I loved Christmas—not only getting things, but trying to pick out the right gifts for people I cared about. I always felt shortchanged by those aunts and uncles who wrote out a check and told me to buy what I wanted.”

“If you feel that way, why did you ask me to come along tonight? I've never met your sister and her kids. How am I going to help you select presents for them?”

“I trust your taste.” Ed pushed her before him in the revolving door.

“You don't know my taste.”

“Sure I do. Look at that hat you're wearing. Now
that's
taste. Wherever did you find it?”

“Oh, I have my places,” Jana said, stopping herself before admitting she bought it at the Canal Street flea market. She'd learned early on that Ed had a distaste for anything purchased secondhand. Her hat was unusual, to be sure, a tapestry cap with flaps over the ears and fur trim. Ed probably assumed she'd bought it in some Madison Avenue or SoHo boutique. Surely he would know that such things couldn't be purchased at Gimbel's. It had been years since she'd been in a department store, and never during the Christmas rush.

“If I were smart, I'd probably be keeping one eye out for something for Ed while we're in Gimbel's,” she told herself, at the same time questioning if she'd have enough energy to come back here. She'd been wondering for weeks what to get him. Records seemed a natural choice, but his taste in music was too esoteric to pinpoint. She knew he loved Sarah Vaughan, for example, but might look askance at an album recorded in 1956 because the albums she cut in 1953 or 1958 were far better. When they were in Tower Records last week he found a John Coltrane album he wanted, then double-checked it and realized he wasn't playing with quite the right people, so put it back in the bin. There was always clothing, but she'd never shopped for a man before. The jackets and shirts that caught her eye in windows were the Italian cuts, and let's face it, Ed had a conventional body.

Losing patience with the men, women, and children roving through the aisles, she began pushing people aside to make a path for herself. Ed mumbled apologies as he followed in her wake. “This crowd's nothing compared to what it will be three weeks from now. That's why I suggested we get started right after Thanksgiving,” he told her. “I sometimes like the excitement of all the people shopping at the last minute, though—that's part of the holiday festivities.” Ed wandered over to a table of Hummel music boxes. “My eleven-year-old niece might love these,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I think they're tacky and exactly what she could buy in a department store in Indiana, or anywhere else in the country. Why don't you get something distinctly ‘New York'? We could probably find great music boxes at the WBAI craft fair.”

“I know, but children—or at least my sister's kids—don't want to be different. They expect exactly what everyone else has.”

“That's what used to drive me crazy about the kids I grew up with. You don't think you ought to try to improve her taste?”

“There's not much I can do about it, is there? I see my sister and her kids maybe once every two years. It's especially hard now that they're getting to be teenagers, but I try to buy gifts that fit their lifestyle.”

Jana was speechless. The ground floor of Gimbel's at the start of the Christmas season was definitely not the place for earth-shattering insights, but she couldn't help remembering how, when she'd first left home, she'd bought a few birthday or Chanukah gifts for her parents. She finally gave up when she realized they were never used—the vase sat on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet, the unique stone candle holders were shoved in a drawer. Her selection of gifts, even gift-giving itself, had been a defensive statement that she was an artist now, that she'd escaped their value system. It never crossed her mind to shop for the sort of gifts
they
might want.

Jana caught hold of herself just as Ed was selecting a glossy ceramic clown that played “Send in the Clowns.” They took the elevator to the sixth floor and bought a Cuisinart for his mother. They went down to the boys department, where she actually got into the spirit of choosing a Guess sweater for his nephew, then headed for the customer service desk to get their selections wrapped.

“I've got a better idea,” Jana said, looking at the line of waiting customers. “Why don't we take these home and I'll wrap them. It'll be my contribution.”

“Sounds good to me.” Ed didn't like the prospect of that line any better than she did. “As long as we're in the area, do you feel like a good German dinner?” he asked as they spun through the doors again.

“Great. How about the Ideal?”

“I had in mind someplace a little more relaxing. Kleine Konditorei is just down the street—you helped shop, I can spring for dinner.” Much as he hated to admit it, it
did
make things easier with Jana paying her own way, but every once in a while he felt it his duty to treat her to someplace special. Kleine Konditorei might not be the most expensive restaurant in town, but it brought back memories he wanted to share with her.

He dropped some change into the bucket of a Salvation Army Santa Claus, then led her into a bakery near Second Avenue. They walked past the narrow counter, where people were lined up ordering cakes for the holidays, and up a few steps to a nearly empty dining room. “This restaurant does a huge lunch and early-evening business,” Ed said, seeing her look around in dismay. “My first copy-editing job was for a small textbook house on First Avenue and 80th Street. I used to treat myself to lunch here every Friday.”

“Starting the weekend in style?” Jana teased.

“More like ending the work week with a sense I'd accomplished something. Line-editing high school history books was not my forte, and the money was ridiculous. But even so, I got into the Christmas spirit—the first Christmas I had that job I spent over a month's salary on presents. Thank God for credit cards.”

“At the rate you're going, you might end up spending a month's salary this year, too.”

“Not much chance of that,” Ed laughed. “The only way I'll overspend this year is if I buy that elephant I've had my eye on for you.”

“Whatever for?” Jana asked, laughing.

“To help you lug your paintings around, of course. I thought of it the day you came back from Yaddo.”

“And because of that, you're going to buy me an elephant?”

“Either an elephant or a pack mule. The elephant's cuter, though, and it's still a baby elephant. It might not grow too large.”

“You just don't want to have to help me get home from the bus station.”

“Did I look like I was complaining that day last summer?”

Slightly embarrassed thinking about that day, how naive she'd been, and how she'd run out of his apartment the next morning, Jana turned her attention to the five-page menu. “They have the best sauerbraten in the city,” Ed commented, and when the white-haired 150-pound waitress in a ridiculous Dutch-looking blue pinafore finally arrived and took their order in a thick German accent, they both ordered sauerbraten.

Jana gazed at another waitress walking past with a drink tray. “I remember drinking Shirley Temples,” she commented.

“I've never heard of them.”

“Shirley Temples were devised to keep kids happy while their parents are ordering real drinks. Mix grenadine and seltzer, top it with a piece of fruit on a parasol toothpick, and the result is juvenile bliss.”

“They sound horrible, but if that's what makes children happy, I promise you our children will drink them all the time.”

Jana's salad fork hung in midair. “You never mentioned anything about wanting children,” she said when she'd recovered enough to speak.

“I didn't say I wanted children—I thought I was getting too old. But a few little girls who resemble you running barefoot around the apartment might be sort of fun.”

“Please don't say that.” Jana shook her head, trying to free herself of the tension that had been building all day—first trying to get through the day at work, then Gimbel's, now this.

Ed pressed a napkin tightly against his lips. “I know Dr. Barbash said you can't get pregnant, but that would all change if those tumors were removed. I thought anyone who kept a closet full of stuffed animals must be saving them for her children.”

“I collect the animals,” she said flatly, without meeting his eyes.

The corners of Ed's mouth tensed. Jana could see his lips straining against cigarette-yellow teeth. Collecting stuffed animals is a hell of a lot better than Kathe and her dogs, he reminded himself. The plates arrived. Ed took two bites of food, then asked if she used the animals as models.

“No. I liked to cuddle them sometimes—before you were around,” she mumbled.

“There's nothing wrong with cuddling animals. But if they're an important part of your life, I'd expect them to appear in your paintings as well.”

“I can't paint to order,” Jana protested, losing more patience with each word. She recalled those first meetings with APL, when Ed suggested she work on drawings to include in the exhibition. “I don't choose my subjects, they choose me. And I'm working hard to get my work less figurative. When I
do
work with the figure, I concentrate on muscle tension. Stuffed, flaccid bodies offer no resistance—you can form stuffed animals into any shape you want, make them fit your body, that's why children love them. Translate that into painting, and it would be like working with watercolors.”

“What about the rigid bodies on Steiff animals?”

“Ed, please, I know what I'm doing.” Ed was as bad as Harriman, trying to force her into working with oil. Harriman, at least, based his arguments on experience. Were she having this conversation with Marilyn or Gary, they'd get into a discussion about foreshortening and developing tension in the figure—talking with other artists helped her workout the process, even if they didn't have any answers. But Ed wasn't familiar with artistic terminology, and explaining things to him wasn't worth the effort.

No, it wasn't a question of effort. Being with Ed still felt strange to her. She was accustomed to hiding behind her art, talking about technique to avoid more personal subjects, especially with men. Avoidance, tonight, was bordering on calamity. Ed's face was as red as that Santa Claus.

She ran her eyes over the Christmas presents piled up on the chair next to him, recalling one present she'd gotten as a child—a painting of Lady and the Tramp. The only uncle who'd encouraged her art, a butcher cum Sunday painter, painted that for her eighth birthday. He set the two gold dogs on a dark red background, painted white borders to save her parents the expense of a frame. She'd tacked it on her wall with a nail, and never again felt close to him. Five years later, when she was painting more seriously than he was, he gave her his stamp collection. Neither gift was appropriate, but at least he'd tried, which was more than her other aunts and uncles had done. She had the frightening vision of Ed trying too, spending $100 on a Steiff animal to give her for Christmas. Assuming we're still together this Christmas, she thought, remembering that tomorrow was the board meeting scheduled to discuss Matt Fillmore's drawing.

“Getting back to the subject,” she said calmly, almost as if she were making peace with her uncle, “I used to think about adopting a child, but I'd never want the responsibility of creating life.”

“As I said, a family isn't my main objective. If that's how you feel about children, then I promise never to bring up the subject again.” Ed signaled for the check and a refill on coffee. His gaze wandered the room as he found himself thinking about how, with Kathe, there was always her craziness to use as a cover. Half the time, Kathe wasn't even aware of what he was doing or saying; she just wanted someone there to support her. His conversations with Kathe never got out of hand, as this one had. “Maybe it's just hypertension,” he thought, glancing up at Jana waiting impatiently for him to finish eating.