The Masterpiece (Work of Art #3)

by Ruth Clampett

  “I’m okay, and the show’s going well.”

  “Glad to hear it. Is this about the Mark Ryden article, because if it’s too much—”

  “No, that’s not it. I’m excited about that job and so glad we’re still able to work together, even if it’s much less often.”

  “So, what’s this about?”

  “I want to thank you because, other than working for Adam in his gallery, you’re the only person who I’ve worked with that’s a straight shooter. There are no weird undertones, no hidden agendas, no flirting. You tell me what you want, and if I do it right, you tell me so, and if I do it wrong, you explain why and have me fix it. You do what you say you’re going to and, right now, I just needed to tell you how much I appreciate that.”

  There’s a long pause. “Okay then. Not sure what brought that on, but you know what I’m about. This is business. If you do a great job on my projects, we both succeed.”

  “Exactly! So, thank you for that. Well, I just felt compelled to tell you, so I guess I’ll get back to the set now.”

  “Okay, the deadline for the Ryden piece is still November first.”

  “Got it.”

  There’s another pause, as if he wants to say something, but isn’t sure if he should. “Stay tough, Ava.”

  “I will.”

  “And you’re welcome.”

  At different points during the shoot, the energy is intoxicating, and everyone is professional and treats me well. Jarod is a kick with a sharp wit and teasing tone, and we play off each other. Although his studio is a maze of projects in various stages, I manage to hit most of my marks, and only mess up my lines a couple of times.

  At the end of the day, Billy is encouraging. “Wow, you did great, girl! I’m impressed.”

  I grin. “Gee, thanks. It really helps that everyone has made me feel so welcome.”

  “Well, I know you need to rest tonight, but tomorrow will be a shorter day, due to the location, so we’ll take you out for dinner afterward.”

  “Sounds like fun. Thanks for all your help today, Billy. You’re so great.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. We’re going to have a great season. I can tell already.”

  My next day in New York, I learn several important lessons. The first is that when I talk to Max on the phone about my new experiences, I’m going to need to edit, heavily. He was already in a funk when I called him after Wednesday’s shoot. But when I finally tell him about the temporary housing, he really comes undone and says he’ll come out if I need help finding someplace better to live. Just the idea of not being able to hang up art upsets him, but I know when he sees the tiny space and bleak view, he’s going to steam.

  I try to ease his concerns, but by the time we hang up, I can tell he’s still worried. His anxiety about me leaving is going to manifest itself in many unexpected ways.

  As for other lessons, I learn the following week that not everyone who works in television is brilliant. Consequently, my confidence in my own ability has grown exponentially.

  I also quickly learn that being a television host isn’t nearly as glamorous as it sounds. The days are long and hard, and you’re expected to be ready to go and focused at a moment’s notice. Since everything is on location, it only exacerbates the situation, where the glamour of upscale porta-potties and craft services is pretty much non-existent.

  I frequently wake up to my early morning alarm with my notes for the next shoot scattered all over the bed, after falling asleep while attempting to prepare myself. The days blur by, and I feel like a passenger on an unfamiliar train. We keep barreling ahead, but never stop, and I’m still not sure what the final destination will be.

  Naturally, our production team gradually gets to know each other, becoming an odd but functioning family. Cecilia is still impenetrable, until I learn one evening at our production dinner that she’s a lot more fun and open after a couple of martinis. These moments are the times to win her over and secure my golden place in her production lineup of favorites.

  Once she gets going, Cecilia’s stories of production mishaps told with her snarky edge have us all rolling with laughter. Her sauciest is the dramatic tale of her time as a line producer for the cooking channel. She went into the dressing room of one of the top chefs to leave a schedule revision printout. He was supposed to be on location, but when she walked in, he was inside changing. Boy, was she surprised to see him wearing women’s lingerie under his chef’s coat. And we aren’t talking just panties.

  “A frilly corset and thigh-high stockings over his shaved legs,” she says with a shudder. “He was a big dude too—must’ve had the corset custom made. I’d bleach my eyes if it’d erase my memory. We made an agreement; he wouldn’t have me fired, as long as I didn’t reveal his secret. I figure, as long as I leave his name out, I’m still holding up my part of the bargain.”

  I will always see male hosts of cooking shows in a completely different light from now on. I take a sip of wine and push the whole idea out of my head.

  Meanwhile, after several weeks, life in L.A. marches along without me, and sometimes my time living there seems like a dream, as if I was never really there. Riley loves living with Dylan, and our emails have focused on what to do with the things left behind in our apartment, instead of daily chatter about regular girl stuff. I already long for the times where we’d pour glasses of wine and park ourselves on the living room couch to share our days. As awesome as Billy is, his chatter could never replace Riley’s, and I miss that time we shared. A lot.

  At the gallery, they’ve hired a UCLA graduate as my replacement, and Brian tells me she’s a hoot. I’m pretty sure I was never a hoot. Maybe I’m hoot-deficient and they’ve realized how much they needed someone hoot-ish. I wonder if Brian will end up liking saucy Esperanza-the-hoot more than me.

  Maybe I’m just wildly emo from working too many long days in a row.

  Max is sweet on the phone and asks about the shoots, but by week two he seems distracted. When I finally ask him about it, he explains that he’s been in the zone with a new series of paintings inspired by the Pompidou show. But I wonder if I’m being paranoid or if he’s just preoccupied and wants to get back in the studio. I remind myself that it could be worse. He could be partying and putting himself in dodgy situations instead, but this idea doesn’t really help. My concerns heighten when he cancels his weekend trip to New York to see me.

  “But I was flying there because you were supposed to have the weekend off. Then I find out you’re going to be shooting Friday night and long days on Saturday and Sunday. What’s the point?”

  My shoulders tense up. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Dylan got a call from Travis asking to meet with me about the Pompidou project. When Dylan suggested later Friday, since I was going to be there anyway, Travis told him your schedule had changed.”

  “No one’s told me about it!”

  There’s a long silent pause.

  “Ava.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to say I warned you it would go like this.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  Our call ends soon after, and over the next few days, our conversations are guarded.

  I finally ask Jess about it. “Is Max doing okay? He sounds weird and distant on the phone lately.”

  Jess’s voice is tight when she tries to reassure me. “Don’t worry, Ava. He’s fine. He’s just really busy and focused on his new work.”

  “So he says,” I mumble.

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “I don’t know. Things just seem off. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Well, don’t go looking for trouble, girl. That won’t get you anywhere you want to go.”

  “Do you think your hot boyfriend would mind if I tag along and come to Paris?” Billy asks me the following day while we wait for lighting to set up.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’d mind.”

  “Ah, so he’s one of those kind of
boyfriends.”

  “What kind?”

  “The kind that isn’t welcoming to your gay besties.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. He gets along great with my L.A. gay bestie. But this is supposed to be a romantic week, so having a friend with us would cramp our style. No offense, of course.”

  “None taken. How’d you get that deal to go in the middle of the season? Travis is renowned for being a Svengali and controlling the talent like they’re pieces in his own personal chess set of life.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’ve heard he evens tell some of the female talent who they can and can’t date.”

  “Isn’t he involved with someone or married?”

  Billy snorts. “To his job.”

  “He sure does have boundary issues. He has no hesitation about calling or texting anytime, day or night.”

  He gives me an epic eye roll. “See!”

  “I still can’t figure out why he’s so dodgy with me. I prefer the straightforward approach to things.”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I overheard him on the phone making sure you’d be working last weekend when Max was supposed to come to New York.”

  I’m ready to spit bullets. “What? Why in the hell would he do that? I thought the sudden schedule change was strange.”

  “I think he’d love it if Max were out of the picture, so he could use your talents and time any damn way he wants to. I’ve heard very few relationships last for the people who work for him. He was infamous for controlling everyone when he was head of production at that home and garden network.”

  “Oh, now I’m really pissed off. I’m not putting up with that!”

  Billy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You go, girl, and good luck with that! Face it Ava, we’re all puppets, and he’s the puppeteer.”

  “That’s creepy. He’d better not show up in Paris. That’ll push Max over the edge for sure.”

  Billy’s eyes get wide. “Hopefully, he won’t. Talk about a threesome. At least I’d be fun.”

  “Speaking of Paris, when I call Max tonight, we’re supposed to figure out what we want to do on our free days, now that he knows his schedule.”

  “Assuming you ever leave your hotel room. How many weeks has it been, girl?”

  I let out a long sigh. “Too many.”

  I get out of the shower and am about to crawl into bed and call Max when my phone rings. I smile. He’s beat me to the punch. But it’s not him.

  “Hey, Jess.”

  “Ava.” There’s a pause and my stomach sinks. Her somber tone sounds serious.

  “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

  “It’s Max. There was a problem at his house—although he’s okay now. But I knew you’d want to know.”

  “Oh, God, what happened?”

  “He called me around five, freaked out because Dylan had arranged for Louis Granville and Chloe to meet with him and Max at his studio that evening at six thirty…And there was a problem.”

  “What?” I try not to scream into the phone. “Dylan knows she’s nothing but trouble and what her agenda is with Max. What was he thinking?”

  “Listen to me, Ava. Max was against this, but Dylan ignored him and planned it anyway after Chloe contacted him directly. I guess she’s been toning down the crazy and actually making deals—getting a little too close for comfort, if you ask me. Dylan has always been desperate to get Max into Granville’s galleries, and maybe thought he could protect Max, but still make the deal happen.”

  I feel sick to my stomach. “I’m going to kill Dylan.” I picture his smug expression. If he were standing in front of me right now, I’d strangle him.

  “Hold on, girl. This is just the beginning of the story.”

  I press my hand to my face. I’m not sure how much of this I can take.

  “So, the reason Max called me is that he had just heard from Dylan, who told him his car wouldn’t start, so he’d be late for the meeting.”

  “Really?” My nerves buzz, and I hope this story isn’t going in the direction I fear, knowing Chloe’s in the picture. She probably did something to Dylan’s car. Is the universe against me or something?

  “Max was in a panic. He asked me to call the gallery and cancel the meeting. Dylan had refused to reschedule it, but Max knew he couldn’t deal with Chloe and Louis on his own, even if it was only for thirty minutes until Dylan could get there.”

  “So, were you able to cancel it?” I ask, chewing on the edge of my thumb.

  “I tried, and that’s where this story gets really weird. They informed me that Chloe had ‘not been with the company’ for almost a week.”

  There’s a long moment of silence as the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. The whole meeting was bogus, a trap.

  My heart pounds wildly. “What did you do?”

  “I tried calling Max to warn him to leave. When he didn’t pick up his cell, I tried the home line. By the third round of calling both lines, I had my headset and my car keys. I knew Max was in trouble, and I needed to get my ass to Malibu.”

  I press my eyes shut. “And…”

  “I tried calling him at every stoplight on that damn drive over, and just after I passed the Country Mart on PCH, he called me.”

  “Was Chloe at his house?”

  “Yes, she arrived early. He was in his studio without his phones and had worked himself into a state. He heard someone open the door, and he turned around, and there she was.”

  I gasp. Picturing her in his studio causes my stomach to churn wildly.

  “She gave him some line about Louis being late, and that they could just ‘hang out’ and catch up until he did. I think he knew he was in trouble. His therapist had warned him about her possible behavior.”

  “Oh, Max,” I whisper, holding my phone tighter to keep my fingers from trembling.

  “She asked for a drink, so he left her in the studio. He got in the house and, thank God, he was focused enough to call me.”

  “Did you tell him it was a setup?”

  “I did, and I honestly don’t know who he had more rage for, Chloe or Dylan for putting him in this position. At that point, I was almost there, so we made a plan. I told him to stay busy getting the drinks, and I’d head straight to the studio. Then, once he joined us, he’d announce that he’d gotten an emergency call and needed to leave immediately.”

  “Good plan. So, what was Chloe like when you showed up?”

  “Saying she wasn’t happy to see me is an understatement. She was sitting on his desk, swinging her legs with her skirt hiked up.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! She’s as subtle as a freight train.”

  “Yeah, when she saw me, she immediately got off the desk, pulled her skirt down, and put her jacket on over her Vegas stripper dress.”

  “And when did the plan kick in?”

  “Max charged in a moment later and announced that Dylan just called with an emergency, and he needed to go help him. Chloe’s expression tightened into a bitter grimace, while we listened to his Porsche speed up the driveway.”

  The vise around my heart loosens when I know Max got away from his crazy ex. “Did she leave?”

  “She didn’t want to. She insisted on waiting, saying that Louis would be there soon. I can’t tell you how tempted I was to call her out, but I knew if I did, things could get even worse. I suggested that she call Louis to reschedule the meeting, because Max wouldn’t be back this evening.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “Are you sitting down? I’m not trying to upset you, but I’ve got to give it to you straight.”

  “What, Jess?”

  “She said she’d be back, because she knew she and Max were destined to work together and that once they did, he would realize they’re still soul mates and destined to end up together.”

  “Damn. This is really not what I need right now.”

  “I know, girl, I know. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn�
��t listen. At one point, I was so tempted to slap the shit out of her, but, if anything, that would’ve just fueled her fire. I did remind her that Max has a girlfriend he’s in love with.”

  “What did she say to that?”

  “‘You mean the girlfriend who’s moving to New York.’ She flipped her hair and stormed out of the studio. She was always dramatic.”

  I groan. “This is screwed up. What will she do next? That was a close call, Jess.”

  “Too close. And now Max knows she has his gate code. He can’t just have it changed without informing all the neighbors and their service people who have the current code.”

  “He can’t stay there! She’ll come back for sure.”

  “He knows that, Ava. He wasn’t even willing to go to my place or Dylan’s, because she knows how to find us. He’s decided the only place he’d be safe is at Ann’s. She won’t track him there, and we can figure out how to get her off his back.”

  I let out a deep breath. “Yes, Ann’s. That’s good.”

  “And then you leave for Paris—so that’s good too.”

  “But what happens when I’m back in New York?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to have to figure out some way to stop her.”

  “Okay, I’m going to call Max at Ann’s, and then I’m moving my flight. I wonder if I can get something in a few hours.”

  “It’s what, almost midnight there now? There aren’t any flights until early morning. Anyway, isn’t tomorrow the last day of your shoot?”

  “I don’t care about that right now.”

  “Well, I would wait to change your flight until you talk to him. Aren’t you arriving in the evening tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Before you bail on the show, please just talk to him and find out what he wants. And, frankly, once you get here, what can you do to change this situation?”

  “I don’t know. But we’re supposed to leave for Paris on Sunday.”

  “And you will. Just have some faith in him. You can’t drop everything and run back to L.A. every time something bad happens. It won’t instill any confidence in him if you don’t think he can take care of himself. I mean, how would you feel if he found out an old boyfriend tried to hook up with you again and he jumped on the first plane there?”