The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) by Grace Marshall Page B

all this stuff. Hardly a part of the typical gallery owner’s education.’
    She smiled without looking at him, and somehow it wasn’t a smile that did anything to relax the tension in his shoulders. ‘I’m nosey. You should know that by now, Harris. I want to know everything. All of it. Every last detail.’
    ‘Sounds kind of dangerous,’ he said.
    She laughed, and this time the softening of her face was genuine, self-deprecating. ‘As you’ve seen already, walking’s dangerous for me.’
    Waters had lost interest in the pretty boys, who were now chatting up the two women. He moved to the band, snapping shots of their set-up and of their interaction, managing to render himself so innocuous no one paid him any attention. This crowd seemed a lot more forgiving of photographers than Harris’ great horned owls had been. Grudgingly, he had to admit that he admired Kyle Waters’ ability to blend in and shoot without disturbing his subjects. But he couldn’t hold Harris’ attention for long when he was sitting next to Stacie Emerson, who was practically bursting with enthusiasm. He turned to her. ‘So what exactly is it you want from me?’
    ‘I want your worst, Harris. I want your worst.’
    ‘What?’
    A waitress delivered a pitcher of margaritas and three glasses, and the band began to play the Eagles’ Take it Easy , certainly a bit more palatable than the heavy metal blasts Harris remembered from his last experience of the place.
    Stacie leaned close to be heard. ‘The beer here’s crap, but the margaritas are drinkable. Plus, I paid the bartender extra in advance to actually add tequila.’ She poured them both a glass, then nodded to where Waters was snapping away near the bar.
    ‘Kyle’s work will definitely compliment yours. He deals with urban settings. But your work shows the broader impact of how humans have affected the natural environment in the Northwest.’ She took a sip of her margarita, then pulled up Harris’ website on her iPad. ‘I don’t want pretty pictures. Those are easy to come by. I want the reality of how humans live in the world they’ve taken over.’ She flipped to the most devastating of Harris’ galleries – the clear-cuts, the oil spills, the illicit landfill near John Day – and slowly scanned through the photos of destruction. As always, his stomach churned and his palms felt damp when he revisited those photos and the memories of those shoots. None of them had been in the least bit pleasant. But at the same time, his respect for Stacie rose another notch. She appreciated more than just the pretty pictures; she understood what his art was really all about.
    She continued. ‘Oh, I don’t want to just show the destruction. I know there’ve been some amazing reclamations of old mill sites, of eroded clear-cuts. Polluted streams have been cleaned up, the balance has been restored, even been restored to benefit both nature and humans. I want to see both sides of the story.’ She nodded to Kyle. ‘From both of you.
    ‘And you, Harris, can give me what most people can’t. You can give me the full story behind it all, both the devastation and the hope, as well as the legal implications, being a lawyer and all. Ultimately, hope is what the Vigilant Trust is all about, isn’t it? What Wilderness Vanguard is all about, what everything you do is all about.’
    He sipped at his margarita and stared at the dance floor now filling with goths and bikers and more than a few slummers here from their posh jobs in the city. ‘You don’t want mountain lions or owls, then.’
    She offered him a smile that did things down below his navel. ‘Not this time. No. I want you to tell a story that may not be so pretty, but that might still give us hope. I want you to show us a story that we absolutely need to see and know and understand.’
    Harris had to admit the idea intrigued him more than just a little bit. He hadn’t expected that from Stacie. He’d figured she’d want a few