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holding court with five people. Three men, two women. I slipped in close, making sure she noticed me. Without interrupting her conversation, I handed her the full glass of wine and took her empty glass out of her other hand. She put her free hand on my arm, and I waited.
    "Wayne, my partner, Dr. K.C. Fontero." Sage introduced me to a heavyset balding man about my height.
    Uh-oh . Sage had busted out my academic credentials. I gave Wayne a quick once-over. He wore khaki trousers and a dark green button-down shirt. He hadn't buttoned his collar all the way up and his white undershirt peeked above the fabric of his shirt. Little round wire frame glasses completed his preppie ensemble.
    "Hi." I shook his hand and stifled a shudder. He had one of those limp fish grips.
    "Wayne Hampton." He looked at me with disapproval. I wondered if it was because I was a woman or a lesbian or both. Maybe that's why he didn't really want to shake my hand. Dyke cooties. "I was asking Sage here about Shiprock and how the Navajo feel about photographs of it."
    I looked at Sage, puzzled. She knew the answer to this question. I shrugged mentally. "As I'm sure Sage has already explained, it's always good to check in with tribal headquarters before you do any kind of art on Indian land. Common courtesy. The formation is considered sacred, but it's okay to take pictures of it. Just be respectful."
    "But if you make money off this photograph--" he gestured at the image--"aren't you exploiting the Navajo for your own personal gain?"
    Sage and I exchanged a "what's got this guy's undies in a wad" glance.
    "I suppose it depends on intent and how you express it," I responded diplomatically.
    He was about to say something more when Shoshana politely interrupted him. "Sage left explicit instructions with us that if this image sells, all proceeds are to go to a scholarship fund for Navajo high school students from the Four Corners area who are interested in pursuing fine arts after graduation."
    The other people standing around us nodded and smiled, pleased at this information. What organization did Wayne run with, that he felt the need to go to an art opening and try beating people with the Indian exploitation stick? From a guy who seemed to have a problem with women at the very least, that struck me as a bit hypocritical. I glanced at Shoshana, actually grateful that she had intervened. She inclined her head at me then moved on through the crowd.
    Wayne harrumphed and headed over to another group of people standing near the Baja images.
    "Thanks," Sage said to me. "That's the asshole at Diné College in Shiprock who rides my case about the photos I do on Indian land." She pronounced it Din-eh, like it sounded when Navajos said it.
    "That's the guy?" I looked at him again. "I can take him," I muttered, drawing a giggle from Sage. She was about to say something else when a trim woman wearing jeans and a casual black blouse approached. She wore her long dark hair loose and her dark eyes reminded me of pieces of black stone. She beelined for Sage.
    "My apologies for Wayne's behavior," she said, regarding Sage. "He isn't always the most tactful person."
    "Thanks," Sage responded, gracious. "But he does raise good questions."
    I watched the exchange, wondering who this woman was and why the hell she'd bother apologizing for an ass like Wayne Hampton.
    "I'm Tamara Kee," she said, apparently able to read my mind.
    Sage's eyes lit up in recognition. "Of course. You teach at Diné College. Any word on the photography workshops I've proposed?"
    Kee smiled, but her expression didn't lose its intensity. "I'm checking on a grant for three, a week long each. I've been out of town and didn't get a chance to respond to your last e-mail." At that juncture, she looked at me.
    "K.C. Fontero," I offered. "Good to meet you."
    She nodded once, then turned her attention back to Sage. "I was on my way back to Shiprock from Oklahoma and checked your event schedule on your website. This