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face and pretended to check it over before handing it to Ed. “This contains a statement by Lou Daniels, the artist whose drawings are in this room,” she said. “You might recall discussing him at our last meeting. He’s the young rebel graphic artist from San Francisco—this is his first show on the East Coast. Natalie and I are especially excited about introducing him to a wide, general audience through the Artistic Response to the Environment exhibit.”
    Talking quickly, she told him about the artist on exhibition in the two smaller rooms. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll go in the back and get a copy of his promo sheet and price list. There have been more people than usual through here the past few days, and the stack seems to have evaporated.” The exhibition space occupied 1,500 square feet, and Jana was grateful for every blessed inch of it. She let Ed look around alone, taking longer than necessary to gather the information she needed. By the time he’d finished looking at Lou’s work, she was able to thrust the vitae on the other artist into his hands and busy herself with paperwork at her desk.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ed survey Lou Daniels’ work from room-center, then begin a closer inspection. Even from behind, she could tell his reaction was the same as that of others seeing Lou’s work for the first time. Initially his drawings appear to be architectural blueprints, pencil lines on grid paper. Then it would dawn on the viewer that these blueprints weren’t for buildings; they were for landscapes, with plans for trees, birds, bushes, broken fences. The one Ed was studying now included wind circling one tree and shadows running off the left side of the page.
    His interest in the drawings reassured Jana that she’d been making too much of his attentiveness to her in the car. “I’ll bet he’s envisioning Lou’s work fitting into APL’s concept of the Artistic Response to the Environment exhibition,” Jana guessed. Even though she’d described the artist as a “rebel,” these drawings didn’t shock or offend; there were no nuclear explosions, no radioactive waste dumps. Their original exhibition proposal had included five pages of biographical material about the artists they planned to include, carefully outlining the content of their work and conveying to APL the message that overtly provocative imagery would be carefully avoided, but Jana was delighted to see Ed further reassured by this walk-through.
    He took a quick look at the smaller rooms, then eased his way over to Jana’s desk. “I’m impressed,” he said.
    â€œWell, that’s good.”
    â€œWhich of these two artists do you prefer? Give me your personal opinion.”
    But this wasn’t a personal visit: he was a grants officer for a major corporation, and she wanted to keep a professional veneer to the conversation. “I like them both, but for different reasons.” Jana barely looked up from her papers, for a moment feeling out of place in her own gallery. She shifted her pen from one hand to the other. Ed patiently waited for her to continue. “Lou’s work features a minutely detailed exploration of space. His concentration on depth and perspective makes him perfect for the Central Park boat house, where the windows will add a further dimension. I’ve overheard viewers comment that they want to crawl inside some of his mazes and wander around in them.” To be honest, she found his drawings cold and intellectual, but it was easier for her to talk shop than to think about being alone in the gallery with a man.
    â€œWe have some brochures around from Lou’s other shows, if you want me to hunt for them,” she continued, getting to her feet as she was talking. “A review appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle that I found extremely perceptive.” Lou Daniels was