The Masterpiece (Work of Art #3)

by Ruth Clampett

  “I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t hightail it back to Florida. I guess it depends on Max. He has to remain firm in his refusal to see or talk to her.”

  “Is there any reason you think he won’t be?”

  “Who knows with that kid? He was unhinged, but Jackson coached him. He was cool and calm when he spoke to her, just like Jackson told him to. Your name came up. I’ll just say she isn’t your biggest fan now.”

  “Oh great,” I say with a moan.

  “Don’t worry. The restraining order is on its way to her as we speak. And it’s being delivered by an associate of mine, who will also make things clear off the record. She better not bother either of you again.”

  “Oh, God, I hope not. Thank you for taking care of all of this Cas.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. So now that’s settled I want to make sure you still want this son of mine.”

  “What? Of course I do! Why would you ask that?”

  “He’s a handful.”

  “Well I won’t deny that he’s high maintenance.”

  “And now that I’m in the middle of this I have to know…what made you think you could make it work if you’re on opposite sides of the country?”

  “I was hoping we could. It sounds like you don’t you think we can survive being apart for a year.”

  “It just seems unlikely after talking to him face to face.”

  I feel like I’m going to faint. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Look Ava, I’ve got to be straight with you. Max may be my son, but the kid’s an artiste and he’s a little bit nuts. Maybe he’s nuts because he’s my son but there’s part of me that thinks he and Crazy Chloe deserve each other.”

  “No. Don’t say that,” I whisper as I lean against the wall to keep from swaying.

  “You’re such a great gal. I swear I love my boy, I just think you could do better.”

  I blink back a tear. “But I love him, Cas.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I love him with all my heart.”

  “Alright Ava, that’s what I needed to hear. I’m going to wrap this up and I feel better knowing that you’re still all in.”

  “I am, Cas. Completely. Can I talk to Max now?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “You asked for my help, and we’re doing this my way. I need him focused.”

  “Really? And he’ll lose his focus if he talks to me?”

  “Do you really need to ask me this?”

  “Doesn’t he want to talk to me?” I ask, trying to underplay my concern. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  “Calm down, buttercup. You don’t need to worry. Yes, he wants to talk to you, but I took his phone away. If it makes you feel any better, he’s pissed over the phone issue, but we still have some important work to do. In fact, I’m taking him on a brief trip, and if I get my way, he’ll meet you in Paris. Your plane ticket, car pick-up, hotel instructions, Euros and such will be delivered to you tomorrow.”

  “What? I don’t want to fly to Paris without him.” Good God, I’ve unleashed a monster. What have I done?

  “Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Cas. Why should I trust you?”

  “You really don’t have any choice, my dear. I’ll text you by noon tomorrow.”

  The click when he hangs up rings in my ear long after I pull my phone away.

  As it turns out, the shoot runs so late that I wouldn’t have made the later flight either, even if they’d had an available seat. Because of the permit delays, the light was falling, and they had to set up additional lighting and on and on. It seems like it’s just as easy for things to go wrong on a shoot as go right. So, by the time I get back to the hotel and check in for a second time, I’m completely spent. After a shower and glass of wine, I crash, while my mind whirls with thoughts of all the things Cas said about Max, and all I have to get done tomorrow after I get to L.A. and prepare to leave for Paris.

  Unfortunately, my sleep is not peaceful—a tall blonde with a halo of glowing hair lingers on the edge of every scene and haunts my dreams. In some settings, I ignore her; in others, I try to dodge her, but she’s always watching me. In the final dream before I’m torn awake, I walk through the Country Mart in Malibu. I notice Chloe’s perched on the edge of her café chair, laughing and holding the hand of her lunch date.

  When I take another step forward to see whom she’s with, he’s wearing designer sunglasses pushed up on his head and a shirt covered in a tattoo style pattern. I step closer and they both turn to look at me. When I see her date is Max, my heart drops. She gives me a smug smile, and he turns to see what she’s looking at. What finally devastates me is the complete disinterest in his expression when he notices me, before he turns back to her and smiles.

  I sit up with a start and tear off the sheets. My chest heaves and my stomach rolls. Why in the hell does Chloe have to haunt me in my sleep too? I slowly sip the bottle of water on my nightstand and try to settle myself as my mind wanders.

  Even though I’ve tried to rationalize my thoughts and calm my paranoia, the seed of doubt has been planted.

  Cas forced everything about the Chloe meeting, even having Jackson coach Max on what to say. What if Max has doubts or confusion? What if there’s a part of him that still feels something for her, and he’s avoided her so he wouldn’t have to face his feelings and upset me? A first love that powerful stays with you your entire life.

  What if his eventual acceptance of my move to New York is actually a sign that he’s drifting away from me? I’m suspended in a foggy state between dream and wakefulness, and it clouds my mind, letting my imagination soar. His initial fears of separation morph into a monster furiously pacing my hotel room while I tremble on the bed. My mind swirls as the creature takes shape to haunt me.

  I finally switch on the light and the monster disappears as quickly as it came, but the impression and disturbing thoughts linger.

  Turning to look at the glowing green numbers of the clock, I run my fingers through my hair. “Four in the morning—yay me!”

  I’m talking to myself now, not a good sign. I turn on the TV and search for the most innocuous channel I can find, but everything annoys me. In a final act of self-punishment, I settle on the Disney Channel. If I can survive perky preteens, I can survive anything.

  I get a call from Jackson just as I’m about to board the plane. I take the call, anxious to hear his take on the Chloe situation, but I quickly learn that’s not why he’s calling.

  “You mean you aren’t going to give me a play-by-play breakdown of the Chloe showdown?” I ask, half-teasing, half-begging.

  He sighs. “Ava, you know I can’t. That showdown was for Caswell, who is also my client. When you see Max, ask him to tell you about it.”

  The tone of his voice is hard to read.

  “How have the shoots been going?”

  It seems odd he’d be asking me this now. “Fine, why?”

  “I got a call yesterday evening from ArtOneWorld’s lawyer about your contract.”

  I take a sharp breath. “What about my contract? Do they have a problem with me?”

  “Frankly, I’m a little puzzled. Essentially, they want to revisit the days you have off per your contract. Evidently, someone in management doesn’t approve of it. Somehow they missed the contract review before it was signed.”

  Travis. What a bastard. I bet he talked to the lawyer as soon as our conversation ended yesterday.

  “Let me guess. They want to take away my days off.”

  “They’re asking for more flexibility. I pressed for a reason why. From what I’ve seen, you’ve stayed on the production schedule. Nothing is behind.”

  “Svengali is throwing down the gauntlet.”

  “Excuse me? Is someone not treating you well, because I won’t tolerate that. Let me guess. Is this about Travis Williamson? I’ve heard he’s extremely controlling.�
��

  “Indeed it is. From the moment I met him, he’s been weird, and at first I had no idea why. But we had a showdown yesterday afternoon after I found out he’d purposely created extra setups so I’d have to work the weekend Max was coming to visit. I told him I would be taking all my days off from now on.”

  Jackson lets out a long sigh. “I really wish you’d let me handle this, Ava. That’s what I’m here for—to protect you and be a buffer between you and management.”

  “I appreciate that, Jackson, but it was one of those moments where everything became very clear, and I had to get it off my chest. I’ll work my ass off for these guys, but I’m not giving up my personal life.”

  “Understood,” he says in a professional tone.

  “So, am I going to get fired?”

  “No, you aren’t in breach of your contract. Actually, you’re just insisting they stick to the contract. I’ll let them know this isn’t negotiable.”

  “Okay, and then what?”

  “It depends on how the series does. If it does well and the audience likes you, I’m sure they’ll keep you. We already have the option for season three signed off on, so those contracts are set. If they want to go into season four, they may push their point again—”

  “And if they do, I’ll just walk away.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He whistles low and chuckles.

  “What?”

  “You’re such a breath of fresh air. I was telling Tasha just the other day we should have you and Max over for dinner when you’re home for the holidays. There aren’t too many clients I want to be friends with, but you’re the exception.”

  I’m surprised and delighted by his honesty. “Thank you, Jackson, I feel the same. I’m sure Max would agree. We’d love to get together.”

  “Ava, you’re a strong, talented woman with a true spirit, working in a business that will test every standard and moral you’ve ever had. Hold onto your truth and always follow your heart. You’ll never go wrong. Meanwhile, I’ll have your back. I’m looking forward to a long and successful working relationship with you.”

  “I’m counting on it. Thank you.”

  When the plane lands at LAX, I check my messages and call Jess on the long walk to baggage claim.

  “Hey, babe, I thought you were coming home last night?” Jess sounds confused.

  “Me too. There were delays with the shoot and I missed my flight. Good times, let me tell you. We just landed, and now I’m headed to baggage claim.”

  “So, what’s the deal with Max? Ann said he left yesterday with his dad. What happened with Chloe? His dad didn’t tell me what their plans were when I called with her contact information.”

  “According to him, she’s been taken care of. Between our lawyer Jackson straightening her out and the restraining order served up by a threatening thug, she’s probably quivering in a corner somewhere.”

  Jess’s thunderous laugh puts a smile on my face. “So, I take it you like that?”

  “Love it! What made you think to get Max Sr. involved? I mean, pure genius, girlfriend. That’s really calling in the big guns.”

  “Maybe divine intervention. It just came to me and felt right, only now I’m not so sure. He’s kidnapped Max, and won’t let me talk to him.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Jess, do you know if he’s a Scientologist or something?”

  There’s a loud guffaw. “Why would you ask that?’

  “Well, if he’s taken Max somewhere, maybe they are doing one of those mind cleanses or whatever the hell they do in that Celebrity Centre in Hollywood. I mean, look what happened to Tom Cruise! Cas says Max is meeting me in Paris and not flying with me. There must be some strange reason for that.”

  “How weird. He won’t tell you why or let you talk to Max? I don’t like the sound of that, but he has no reason to mess you guys up—he thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He told me so on the phone.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Listen, you aren’t staying at your apartment tonight. It’s almost empty. Come stay with us, and I can take you to the airport tomorrow.”

  “That’d be great. You really don’t mind? I’d planned to stay at Max’s until this happened.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she adds.

  I finally reach the baggage claim area, just as the baggage carousel starts moving.

  “The near-empty apartment just sounds depressing,” I say, as my bag hurtles from the chute and tumbles toward the stainless steel conveyer belt.

  “I know, girl. We’ll help you take your mind off things.”

  “Thanks so much, Jess. I’ll tell you what; I have some errands and stuff to take care of, so why don’t I call you this afternoon and we can figure out timing?”

  Twenty minutes later, I get a text from Cas, aka The Kidnapper, who keeps it short and sweet.

  Still working on the plan.

  Is he serious? That’s all I get? But, how mad can I be? After all, I brought this on myself.

  I shove my phone in my purse with a frustrated huff.

  Luckily, the rest of the day is a whirlwind of activities, and I’m grateful for the distraction. Between all my errands and phone calls, I’m a very busy girl. I get a call from Cas’s assistant who arranges to meet me at my old apartment to deliver the documents for the Paris trip.

  Of course, his assistant is adorable, albeit a bit frazzled, as she hands me a large Saks Fifth Avenue bag.

  “What’s this? I was just expecting the tickets and hotel info.”

  “Oh, no, that would be too pedestrian. Mr. Caswell likes to do everything in a big way.”

  I pull out an incredibly luscious cashmere travel blanket and neck pillow. “Wow! He meant this for me?”

  “His instructions were very clear. He had me waiting at Saks when they opened this morning to pick this up. Your ticket, Euros, and hotel confirmation are in a large envelope in the bag. By the way, he upgraded your ticket from business to first class.”

  “Wow. He really knows how to spoil a girl.” I can see where Max learned his moves. “But you had to do all this on your day off? I feel guilty.”

  “Oh, please don’t. Mr. Caswell treats me really well and lets me have time off whenever I need to help my Mom, who has health issues. So I’m more than happy to do this for him.”

  “By the way, last time he contacted me he didn’t mention where he and Max are staying. Do you happen to know?”

  She smiles sweetly. “He told me you would ask and made me promise not to tell you. Sorry, Miss Jacobs.”

  I roll my eyes. That man is more James Bond than I would’ve ever given him credit for.

  My footsteps echo as I walk through the living room of my empty apartment. I stop to let the memories wash over me: Riley and I curled up on the couch with our glasses of wine as we talk, our first fancy cocktail party when I burned the hors d’oeuvres, Max showing up to take me bowling, Dylan installing the new blinds in the kitchen backward, and the teasing we gave him for it.

  For me, this apartment represents the beginning of my better life, where I was finally able to get past the tragedies with my parents and create something good for myself. Through it all, Riley has been the dependable girlfriend I needed. Perhaps our personalities didn’t mesh at first, but we learned to love each other, and we always had each other’s backs. She’s moved into Dylan’s now, and I get teary, missing our daily interactions.

  The few things left in the apartment are being donated to a shelter, since we don’t have time to deal with selling the stuff for next to nothing on Craigslist. My stripped down bed still remains and I sit on the edge and calm my thoughts.

  I’m reminded of Edward Hopper’s painting Morning Sun where a woman sits on a bed in an otherwise empty room with the sun pouring in from a nearby window. It’s classic Hopper in its starkness, light and shadow. But what I remember the most about the painting is my curiosity—whether the woman is sa
d and lonely or feeling hopeful as she looks out the window to the world outside. Anyone watching me right now could probably ask the same question.

  I finally stand, pull my lone suitcase out of the closet and lift it onto the bed. I had packed this bag for Paris weeks ago and left it here as a promise that I’d come back to L.A. to travel to Paris with Max. How ironic that he’s the one who won’t be here, and I must make the journey alone.

  I open the suitcase, look at the carefully placed contents and remember how excited I was when I packed it. I’d made a list of what I was going to take when our agenda was clear. Now, uncertainty floods my thoughts. I won’t need this cocktail dress and heels if Max doesn’t show up. Nor will I need this sexy short nightie and robe I bought impulse shopping at Barney’s when I was excited about the trip. But I pat them back down in the suitcase, figuring any positive affirmation is good at this point.

  Passport? Check. Electric converter plug? Check. Paris guidebook? Check. Travel partner and love of my life? God only knows.

  Several hours and half a bottle of Pinot Noir later, I’m surfing a new wave of paranoia, despite Jess and Laura’s best attempts to distract me. There have been no updates from The Kidnapper, and I’m coming apart at the seams.

  “I mean, where the hell are they?” What could he possibly be doing with him? I’ve backed down from my promise and tried calling Max’s cell phone several times. I know Cas said he took it away, but I was hoping Max got it back. Evidentially not, since it goes directly to voicemail and says the inbox is full.

  “You need to let this go. You’ll be in Paris in Max’s arms before you know it, and whatever agony you are in now will have been worth it,” Laura says.

  Her positive thinking annoys the hell out of me. “Really?” I reply sarcastically, as I text Cas.

  What’s going on? Why haven’t I gotten an update?

  To my surprise, he answers right away.

  Sorry my dear, we’ve been quite busy.

  How is Max?

  Difficult.

  Should I be worried about Paris?

  I’m going to get him there if it’s the last thing I do.

  His response doesn’t reassure me. The trip is in the morning, and time is almost up.