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better than most of the artists who exhibited in this gallery, artists with no sense of direction, wanting nothing more than to blend in with the crowd, paint or draw highly salable imitations of what everyone else was drawing. Well, she would have done that if she could have, especially when she’d first moved to the city, she reminded herself. She’d never studied art per se, never mastered the techniques of imitation—a blessing in disguise.
    â€œNo, no, don’t bother searching for more material.” Ed was anxious not to lose her under more papers. “You’ve done a more than adequate job of explaining his process.” He stared for a moment at the distant back walls of the gallery.
    Oh Christ, Jana thought. I shouldn’t have gone on so long about Lou’s work. I’ll bet he’s wondering if I pull away when Lou touches my arm. “Yes!” she wanted to scream, “Yes, yes, yes! I pull away from all men!”
    Ed turned and looked out the huge front windows at the street. “As we were driving here, I was noticing how much the neighborhood has changed,” he began. “I wouldn’t mind walking around and exploring a bit. Do you feel like joining me, maybe showing me your favorite places? We could stop for a drink or even dinner …”
    â€œThanks, but I’ve got things to finish up here,” Jana said, barely looking at him.
    â€œOkay, we’ll make it some other time.” This was going to be tricky, he thought. A business lunch to discuss a proposal was one thing, but driving down here he’d begun to realize that his interest in Jana Replansky might go beyond the bounds of his professional responsibilities. He didn’t want Jana to think she had to socialize with him in order to guarantee funding for the proposal, but he understood she might have interpreted his invitation that way. He suddenly felt top-heavy, unsure about the best way to exit gracefully. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, as he reached out to awkwardly shake her hand.
    Jana shuffled through a pile of papers, letting Ed find his own way out. She found herself thinking about Ed’s bald spot. She’d never noticed it before, but as he’d walked out, she’d spotted the classic half-dozen hairs combed carefully over a balding pate. Staring at one of the postcards announcing Lou Daniels’ show, she picked up a pen and wrote in bald spot. A vast improvement. Lou’s work would grow enormously if he could open up, let particulars about people enter his landscapes. He seemed right on the verge of doing that. A year from now, five years from now, there was no telling where he’d be. In one of the larger galleries, more than likely.
    She dropped the postcard into the wastebasket. Thinking about Lou’s work was supposed to take her mind off Ed, but no such luck. Was she going to go home and draw bald spots on grid paper? Damn Ed. Damn all the artists who seemed to be clouding her own vision.
    No, the artists were no problem; damn all the men who seemed to be clouding her vision. Truth was, she’d been thinking about Ed since their first meeting. She remembered wanting him to like her immediately. It was almost a sexual, or at least sensual, feeling. She hadn’t expected Ed’s touch to remind her of her sexual bald spots. She thought she’d matured since she’d moved to the city fifteen years ago, that she’d be able to handle a relationship now, but her growth was all in her mind. Her body still remembered the way things used to be, and reacted according to conditioning. She would have frozen at the touch of any male hand.
    She glanced at her watch and saw ten minutes had passed. That should be long enough for Ed to have gotten to his car and driven off, or at least to have walked a few blocks away, if he actually did decide to explore the area. She made a quick tour around the gallery, following the same route