Egret

Egret

By Helen Collins

published by Niantic Press, Niantic, CT at Smashwords

Print Edition published by Alice Street Editions, Harrington Park Press, Inc

Copyright © 2001, 2013 by Helen Collins

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Synopsis

Egret vividly evokes the art scene and gay world of New York in the 80’s. It's the story of a young artist, Jodi Marquette, shy, proud and idealistic but very inexperienced, very talented and very poor. She comes to 1980's Manhattan seeking to establish herself with her beautiful and haunting images of birds and the natural environment. As she is drawn from the chic galleries and gritty lesbian bars of Manhattan to exclusive private parties in elegant beach houses of the Hamptons, she is awed but masks her insecurities. And almost everywhere, she encounters Morgan Smith, a beautiful, older, and seemingly inscrutable woman and the powerful owner of a prestigious art gallery. For Jodi, each encounter feeds a conflicting jumble of emotions -- humiliation, helplessness, anger and raw physical passion.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Street

Chapter 2: The Gallery

Chapter 3: The Lower East Side Apartment

Chapter 4: The Bar

Chapter 5: The Cottage

Chapter 6: The Dune

Chapter 7: The Beach House

Chapter 8: The Hospital

Chapter 9: The Pad

Chapter 10: The Upper West Side Apartment

Chapter 11: The Theater

Chapter 12: The Exhibition Rooms

Chapter 13: The Shop

Chapter 14: The Penthouse

Chapter 15: The Restaurants

Chapter 16: The Village

Chapter 17: The Ocean

Chapter 1: The Street

The day after Jodi Marquette arrived in New York, the Summer Group Show opened at the Castelli Gallery on West Broadway, exhibiting works by Johns, Lichtenstein, Rauschenberg, Schnabel, Stella, Warhol and other luminaries. Tchelchen’s Sand Lift sold at Christi’s for $100,000 and Jodi’s Egret was rejected by a store front gallery on St. Mark’s Place.

One must have connections. Network. Be connected or be invisible. Walking in cold off the street gets you nowhere, even if you’re the 20th century Mary Cassatt. Jodi walked in, not cold but hot, hot off the hot streets, high-summer New York streets, streets stinking from a long sanitation workers’ strike. She walked into galleries, shops, and markets--and out again, her heavy portfolio unopened.

The subway system was still an enigma and its steps and gates difficult to maneuver with the portfolio. Busses at first were even worse. And so she walked, walked through the Soho of the 1980’s, its new galleries hidden in old factory buildings, through the East Fifties and Sixties. Uptown she was not even able to leave her name with a person who might give it to the secretary of the person who might look at her works. She had no better luck on Columbus Avenue on the Upper West Side. Only in what she now considered her own neighborhood, the Lower East Side--East Village--were her drawings and paintings even considered. A couple had been hung in each of two small galleries on Avenue B, converted store fronts, and there they remained perhaps to be admired but never bought.

The whole city stank but the poorer residential neighborhoods seemed worse. Uncollected garbage lay on the sidewalks, spilling over abundantly into the curbs. Traces of refuse floated along on the streams of water bursting out of illegally opened hydrants, water spouting on the city’s children and giving them instant, wet relief from wet heat.

Women cursed the children away from doorways and stoops. The children cursed in return, curses and language that burned in Jodi’s ears.

Jodi began to miss real nature: trees growing out of dirt and not cement: colorful birds--even a blue jay she had spotted here was a solid grey from city dirt; animals, not pet dogs, leashed and groomed, or rats at subway entrances.

It was ironic that the subject of much of her work, painting and sketches, was nature in all its forms, those she had observed in person and those she had only imagined. Water creatures and water scenes were her specialty. She had spent much of her young life on lakes, rivers, and streams, alone-observing, recording, and recreating. She had yet to see the ocean.

And it seemed that everywhere around her were paintings on building walls, some small, most gigantic. Most of it was incomprehensible. It was grotesque, graffiti.

Actually Jodi did have a connection, just one, her best friend from college, Alta Jankouskus. Alta’s great-uncle, Ray Jankouskus, was an art dealer in Brooklyn. He, in turn, had a connection, Morgan Smith, the owner of Smith-Kirsten Gallery, the biggest and most influential in the city--maybe in the whole country! Mr. Jankouskus had arranged an appointment for Jodi the next week with Ms.Smith herself.

But is it right? Jodie asked Alta. It seems unfair to use someone and get ahead of other people. I’d be getting ahead for the wrong reasons. If my work is really good, that should do it.

Jodi, you are crazy! You aren’t misusing anyone. It's okay to have connections, friends, who want to help. If your stuff weren’t good enough, my uncle wouldn’t have set up a meeting. And anyway your work is good enough. And stop fussing and worrying. You go back and forth about everything always. You are so hard on yourself.

Morgan Smith knows me, Mr. Jankouskus had said. We’re not bosom buddies but we do a little business sometimes. I’m not in her league but sometimes I find her something she can use; sometimes she sends a little business my way. And she’s good, really good. She knows what she’s doing. And she’s tough! But I know what she likes. She knows if I say ‘Look at this kid’s pieces,’ it won’t be for nothing.

So Jody stopped being hard on herself, got excited about the appointment, fantasizing, rehearsing both her parts and Ms Smith’s in the little drama that would take place. Ms Smith would be stunned, gaze in surprised delight at the paintings. Jodi would be shy and modest.

But until then Jodi continued her endless trek. First, she thought she would to feel more secure with the Smith woman if she had seen at least the outward face of the New York art world. And second, what if-maybe-just-in-case-suppose that against all odds, some other dealer did show interest? Wouldn’t it be splendid to tell the Smith woman--very casually--that she already had an offer for some of her work!

So with each new rejection she had only to take out the magic jewel, the glorious prospect of the Smith appointment. It would surely change her life and all things were bearable.

She began to see the city itself with new eyes. All of it had begun to look better. Somehow even the street art! Some of it was actually very good.

And the same children became beautiful in her painter’s eyes. They came in all colors, shades of warm brown large doe eyes in mobile faces, full-lipped babyhood mouths, innocent--in spite of the words streaming from those lips-- words reduced to a mutter, another sound for breathing.

She wondered if the words were for her benefit and on her first days of plodding through the city streets had crossed over to avoid bunches of boys. Soon she became comfortable with most of the younger ones. It would have been possible to join in one of their ball games with no great shift in her sense of reality. Her adjustment to living with her cousins after her father’s death when she was twelve had been far more difficult.

She thought of her father suddenly with longing and pride. He too had been an artist, and a great one, she knew. She doubted she could ever equal his talent, but she surely matched him in determination. She had already achieved much recognition in college and some in the few galleries of the largest city in her home state. And now she was in New York. Perhaps if her father had come to New York when he was young…

She shook the thought off. It was too heavy, too dangerous for now and here. Instead she turned about, deciding which way to walk home to the East Village where she shared an apartment temporarily with Alta and Alta’s lover Lisa. The building was an old brownstone, unrenovated for sixty years. Jodi climbed the three steep and crooked flights of stairs that sagged frighteningly--although native New Yorkers seemed not to notice. She ignored their condition as she dragged herself heavily upwards. She wished longingly that she were heading for her old college room or even the crowded bedroom she had shared with two of her boisterous cousins. In fact, any past residence seemed preferable to the one behind the monstrous metal door whose three-and-a-half locks she had such difficulty releasing.

Alta had moved to New York and into the apartment with Lisa a full year before Jodi had come to stay with them--temporarily.

Jodi could see that Alta loved the apartment. Her special touch was everywhere. Its few decorations were her meager personal possessions: a small rug from college, a sketch Jodi had once done for her, a hooked tapestry she had worked herself. She had also painted the kitchen and bedroom by herself in her favorite colors. Only the living room remained the ubiquitous off-white, whether because Alta hadn’t gotten to it yet or because Lisa wanted it that way, Jodi never asked.

The apartment was also perfect in layout: it had a huge living room, an eat-in kitchen, a bath, and one sexy bedroom. It was perfect, that is, for two, but impossible for three, especially if two of the three were lovers.... Of course, Alta and Lisa had the privacy of the bedroom. Jodi never told them that--although she couldn’t see them--she could hear them. She slept on a sofa in the living room, which they had to cross to reach the bathroom or the kitchen. Jodi had no privacy at any time of day or night. Since she had no lover, it shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. Terribly.

Alta was in the kitchen putting canned goods away when Jodi came in.

Any luck today? she asked without turning around.

Jodi could tell by the vague tone of her voice that she was depressed. And it had to be Lisa.

Are you okay?

Oh, I will be. It’s just a thing with me and Lisa. Sometimes she seems so…so disappointed with me. I just have to understand… to try--

Let her try! Too late for Jodi to remember to keep her mouth shut. I have tried to understand and I am grateful that I can stay here but I care about you. And Lisa hurts you.

Jodi, you don’t understand …We are working out our problems. Lisa has had a hard time.

This time Jodi did keep her mouth shut. She started to help Alta put away the cans. They worked silently for a while.

"Jodi, I have told you about my support group. I joined because I love Lisa, because I want it to work. When I realized how miserable I was getting. I understand a lot more about Lisa from other members whose lives have been more like hers than ours, or mine at least.

"You don’t know what her, what her life had been. Difficult small suburb, strict codes on every level. She was tormented by boys in one way and by groups of girls in another. Not necessarily or always for being a lesbian, but a strong, independent female. Beaten badly once. The authorities did nothing, maybe agreed that she needed to learn a lesson. So she became what they were saying she was. Tough and hard.

I know you had a bad time when both your parents died, Alta went on. But you…Both of us were so innocent! Maybe innocent and stupid!

Jodi laughed with relief.

Alta climbed on a wooden stool to reach the top shelf of the old wooden cabinet. She turned to look down at Jodi. We were so innocent. You didn’t even know you were a lesbian. I knew because I was more extreme than you in crushes and obsessions. You buried yourself in art. It was your passion.

No, Jodi laughed. I did have a crush. It was on my art teacher, and she lived with another woman. I still didn’t get it! Talk about unconscious.

We had high ideals, Alta said, jumping down. And you still do. You can be too harsh on yourself, Jody. Don’t be harsh on me."

The night before the interview, Alta requested that Jodi join her and Lisa for dinner in Chinatown. You’re a nervous wreck. Come out with us and relax. Besides, you’ve been in New York for weeks now and you’ve seen nothing, done nothing.

I’ve seen the whole city, been everywhere, Jodi answered, but it wasn’t true.

Chinatown. Jodi was amazed at how Chinese it was. Even in the heat of a slow summer afternoon the area seemed alien, Eastern, and, to her innocent eye, exotic.

Alta and Jodi stood at the end of a long line formed on the steps leading from the sidewalk down to the basement restaurant. Jodi noticed that Alta seemed as serious as always, cool in spite of the extreme heat radiating from the concrete and metal which had absorbed sun all day. With her light brown, softly curling hair pulled back in a simple coil on her nape, she looked to Jodi like a Botticelli Madonna. It would be hard for the more conventional passers-by to believe they were waiting for Alta’s lover, Lisa, a woman. Jodi scolded herself for stereotyping, but went on to wonder vaguely what Mr. Jankouskus would say if he knew his niece was a lesbian. Probably nothing. He was a loving and lovable man. Unlike her own relatives. Her aunt’s first reaction would be, Oh, Jodi, don’t tell your uncle!

Table for four! Four? The waiter was standing at the bottom of the stairs holding up four fingers. Who’s four?

We’re four. A bunch halfway down the steps answered eagerly and moved out of line and down into the restaurant ahead of all the resigned but disappointed two’s in front of them. Hey, what about us? We’re six, a man on the bottom step called out, but it was too late.

Jodi and Alta moved down a few steps and new people collected behind them. At least there was a feeling of progress.

"Do you think Lisa will be annoyed that we didn’t get here earlier? We could have been inside when she gets here if we had… Jodi didn’t like Alta’s nervous frown as she looked at her watch. It wasn’t Lisa who was standing out in the heat waiting.

Just as the waiter reappeared, they heard Lisa’s voice call out, loud and breathless, from above and behind them, Four! Here!

Okay, okay, you come. Lisa edged her way down past the line with her friend Pat behind. The four of them proceeded into the crowded little restaurant where, amidst heavy smoke, heavenly smells and the din of voices, Asian and western, they were seated at a small table tightly surrounded by other small tables.

Why didn’t you say ‘four’ before and get a table? Lisa asked Alta.

I didn’t know Pat was coming. You weren’t here yet and…

Oh, Alta love, they wouldn’t have known the difference. You can’t be shy in New York. Lisa looked around at Jodi and Pat. You’ve met Pat before, haven’t you, Jodi?

Yes, hi. Pat always made Jodi uncomfortable and she was disappointed that she had joined them for dinner. What bothered her most, she decided, looking at Pat over her teacup, was the posing. Pat’s every position, every movement, every facial expression, struck an attitude, but what the image was supposed to be, Jodi wasn’t sure-something strong, comfortable, not exactly masculine but like a great hunter relaxing in front of his fireplace after the kill. It certainly didn’t work. In person and face, especially with her nervous blinking eyes, Pat was just not the type.

Jodi, what are you smiling at? Answer, please. Do you want to chip in for some vodka? We can bring our own here. Pat’s going out now before we order.

Jodi said she definitely wanted nothing to drink.

Alta didn’t either, but, when pressed, agreed to please Lisa.

Pat lounged back in her chair, legs sprawled in front of her, her thumbs caught in her wide belt, Master of Ballantrae.

You’d better have some, she told Jodi. The bar we’re taking you to is awful, the drinks are weak, terrible. The whole place is a rip-off. The music isn’t even real.

Bar!? Jodi looked at Alta. Alta blushed and shrugged. Lisa was studying the menu. Had they planned this? And not told her?

I’m not going to a bar. And why are you if it’s so terrible? Inadvertently, Jodi had offered Pat just what she wanted.

You should see what I picked up last week! She actually curled her lip in a half smile and attempted a long, knowing look at Jodi. I make out every time I go there.

Lisa put the menu down and watched them, looking back and forth, smiling, eyes half closed. Alta saw Jodi’s expression and turned a questioning look to Lisa, who kissed her cheek without actually looking at her--an act not remarked on in any way by the patrons of the restaurant.

Disgusting! Jodi said after Pat had gone for the vodka. Is it really true or is she just putting us on? Does she really … pick up women she doesn’t know…and sleep with them?

‘Sleep’? ‘Sleep’ indeed! But the answer is, of course, said Lisa, laughing. When she can, which is probably not as often as she claims.

I think it’s obscene, ugly. It’s an abuse of…life! Jodi was so angry she couldn’t continue.

Why? Lisa was still laughing. Men do it all the time, straight and gay. It’s only all right for them? You of all people believe in a double standard?

But that’s the whole thing. Women have been victims, used as objects. Aren’t women always complaining that men don’t need anything more than just a...body? That they don’t need any emotion or communication or…love? That should be the greatest thing about being.a…lesbian. Jodi still had a hard time using the word and sensed that Lisa knew it. And here is someone like Pat going out and imitating them--the worst of them. Men, I mean.

But, Jodi, the woman, whoever it is she finds, agrees. So it can’t be using someone.

Oh, just the words, her words--‘what’ and ‘it’--show making a person a thing. Besides she’ll probably find some desperate girl, some poor thing, thinking she’s finding love…

Jodi, you are completely crazy. So romantic! Unreal. You say you’re queer and you seem to be living in the 20th century, yet one wonders. Alta, where did you find her? Lisa seemed highly amused, especially at her own contribution to the discussion.

Jodi knew that the more serious or emotional she grew, the more amused Lisa would become, but she had to go on.

It’s hurting people. I mean, it’s got to be something more… Jodi spluttered to a stop.

What if they’re both just out to have some fun? Who are you to say that it’s wrong? Lisa asked. Alta said nothing through the whole discussion.

You know I don’t really disagree with Jodi, Lisa said, turning to Alta. Most of all I hope you agree with her. If you fool around with anybody else, you know what I’ll do to you?

She leaned over and whispered in Alta’s ear. Jodi looked away, embarrassed and feeling like an intruder, a feeling growing more and more familiar the longer she shared an apartment with them. She could understand some of Lisa’s appeal to Alta. She was large boned but slim, like a Cherokee in her proud posture and slow, graceful movements as well as in the color of her skin now in summer. Her face, rather flat in shape with broad cheek bones, was bronze, a red brown. Most attractive were her eyes, light brown, glittering; they seemed always to be full of thought. She gave the impression of being very wise, deep, as if understanding more about everything than she could or would express. One kept waiting, without quite realizing it, for the magic words to come from her lips, the ultimate truth. So far Jodi had not heard it; perhaps Alta had and that was the secret of her adoration.

More likely, Jodi thought, looking at them across the table, it was because Lisa had been Alta’s first and only lover and that she had come like an irresistible storm into Alta’s life when she had attended their college briefly as a transfer student. She had left--for whatever reason, perhaps academic, Jodi wasn’t sure-before Alta had recovered from the shock of first love or the discovery that she was gay. The absent Lisa had become idealized and idolized.

Later, as they opened their fortune cookies after the meal and after Pat and Lisa had finished the vodka, Lisa made a general and pointless announcement: Alta was straight before she met me. Alta looked embarrassed.

No, she wasn’t! Jodi exclaimed.

Oh! And how do you know? Pat leered at Jodi meaningfully. Her voice was loud even for the noisy restaurant.

Jodi ignored her. She and Alta could be alone on a desert island for a hundred years and neither would ever appeal to the other.

No one develops her sexual orientation so late in life. By then a person is what she is. You helped her to discover it, Lisa.

Are we on that old choice argument, Jodi? Lisa asked with a tired sigh.

Everyone has a choice! Pat sputtered importantly.

It depends on what you mean by choice. Everyone can make a moral choice, Jodi said, doubting if Pat ever had, "to act or not to act. That is not the same as the choice of