Private affairs : a novel by Judith Michael Page B

productivity. Without coffee I am weak in the morning, helpless by noon, and barely conscious by three o'clock."
    Amid the friendly laughter, Matt began to relax. Kirkpatrick, the potential troublemaker, had chosen humor over confrontation. A good beginning, he reflected as he gave Kirkpatrick the job of pricing cof-feemakers, but he still had to face Elizabeth.
    "You've been thinking about speeding up our plans for a long time," she said when they were back in his office. She sat on the edge of a chair beside his desk. "You didn't get that idea on the spur of the moment. But you never mentioned it."
    "You'd have said I was being unrealistic."
    "Aren't you?"
    "I don't know, and neither do you. What can that crew turn out if they're really pushed? What will readers buy? We don't know. I'm guessing." His stubborn jaw reminded Elizabeth of Zachary—obstinate but anxious for approval. "We won't get anywhere if you're too timid—"
    "Just a minute." She was tense from the meeting—after all, she'd let him do all the talking, to make those men more comfortable; she hadn't challenged him in front of them; and now he accused her of timidity! Feeling her anger build, she lowered her voice. "We came out on this limb together, we worked out a schedule together, and I don't expect you to accuse me of being timid if I want to stick to it."
    "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that." Matt leaned forward. "I know we had a schedule, Elizabeth, but it's too slow! You heard them: they're still not convinced we know what we're doing. But if we can get them excited, shake them up, give them a goal they think has a chance, even if it sounds crazy, don't you think we could speed everything up? Didn't you feel it? It went so much better than I'd hoped—you haven't said a word about how well it went—"

    "I meant to. I was going to tell you you're wonderful, but then I was thinking about—"
    "You should never think about anything else when you're about to tell your husband he's wonderful."
    She smiled. "Probably not."
    "I love you," Matt said. "And I know you're not timid." Through the glass wall, he saw Cal Artner hesitate before knocking. "I want to kiss you but I think we'd better wait." He motioned Artner in.
    "I've got a terrific idea," Artner said to Matt. "Been working on it for a long time, waiting for somebody who'll go all out to get more readers. There's a Feast Day Dance coming up at Nambe Pueblo—you may not know about it. ..."
    Amused, Matt said, "We go to it every year."
    "Oh. Do you. Well then, you probably know they don't like to have the dance photographed—"
    "Don't like?" said Elizabeth. "They don't allow it. They don't even allow anyone to make sketches."
    Artner glanced at her, then spoke to Matt. "A friend of mine has a helicopter and he can fly me in low enough to get some shots. It's dyna-mite; nobody's ever done it and those ceremonies are a big mystery to people who've never gone out to the pueblos. We'd blow the mystery wide open; the tourists would eat it up. And we could sell the pictures to other papers around the country . . . shit, it can't miss; we'd put the Chieftain on the map."
    "Cal, don't you understand?" Elizabeth said. "It's not allowed."
    "Look," Artner said with exaggerated patience, "I'm making a suggestion to Matt."
    A heavy silence fell. Looking at Matt's face, Artner got the clear message that he'd made a mistake. "To both of you," he backtracked hastily. "It's just that I'd like to be taken seriously."
    "We do take you seriously; that's what bothers us," Matt said evenly. "It's the Nambes' reservation, it's their pueblo, it's their ceremony. And they say photos aren't allowed."
    "I know what they say! But they couldn't stop a helicopter; you don't suppose they'd shoot us down, do you? Are you saying you don't want these photos?"
    "I'm saying we are not going to be known as a newspaper that violates the holiness of Indian religious ceremonies or flouts pueblo laws. Which means you aren't going to photograph