Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  I blink, picturing my demure cotton panties with the tiny bow. I give him a saucy look to throw him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  He narrows his eyes seductively as the corners of his mouth curve up. “I knew it.”

  He looks very pleased, and I wonder if he knows how much he’s provoking me. I gaze at his full lips and wonder how they would taste.

  He leans forward, places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand. His head tips one direction, then the other. I feel as if I’m being studied for a portrait.

  “What?” I ask, before taking another sip of wine.

  “You’re really something, Ava.”

  “So are you.” I run my fingers down the stem of my wine glass and hope he doesn’t ask me to explain. Instead he elaborates.

  “You’re smart, beautiful and sexy too.”

  Is he kidding? I’m doubtful due to the intense look he gives me. I should know better, but damn, this man knows how to unravel a woman. My face is on fire and the flush moves across the top of my chest. I gaze at him while trying to control all the impulses surging through me.

  My mind wanders and I imagine he’s leaning back against the booth, his head tipped toward the light while I slowly undo each one of his buttons and pull his shirt open. I start by pressing my lips just under his jaw and slowly burn a trail of kisses across his chest, and down his abdomen. He tangles his fingers in my hair as he holds me gently, his soft moan encouraging me on.

  “Ava?”

  My eyes snap into focus when I realize he’s speaking again.

  “Will you come to my show tomorrow night? You must know Jess. She’ll be there. You could come with her . . . or of course, you can bring whomever you wish. It’s down in SoHo at ArteHaus.”

  “I’d like to go. I’m sure I can come with Jess or even Adam.”

  “Give me your phone,” he says, holding out his hand open. “I’ll give you my number and you can call if you can’t arrange it with anyone, and I’ll send my car.”

  A thrill shoots up my spine. Am I really going to do this?

  I hand him my phone, and when he’s done entering his number, he pulls out his phone and asks for mine. He’s smooth as silk.

  I’m programmed in Max Caswell’s phone, I giggle to myself. I wonder how many other girls are on that microchip?

  He takes another sip of his wine and looks back up as he slides his phone away. “So what’s your passion, Ava? Working in the art field, or is there something else?”

  His question and earnest look surprise me. Is there more depth and empathy to him than I realize? I take a sharp breath, realizing this is the first time in my entire life anyone has asked me this question; not just what I want to study in college or do for my career, but what my passion is, what my heart tells me to do. Dozens of thoughts slide through my mind.

  “When I moved to California, my intent was to survive and prove I could take care of myself. I was so lucky to meet Adam and Katherine’s son, Brian, who led me to the gallery business.” I smile, remembering those early days getting to know the Kesters. “It’s been very exciting to work in the art world. It’s one of my great passions. But it can be discouraging too, as you know, especially with the Mrs. Stanhopes of the world. It’s eye-opening to learn it’s merely a business to so many.”

  “Unfortunately, a majority of the people,” he agrees.

  “I’ve loved the experience of getting to know the artists. And seeing how people create sparked that feeling in me to create something too. I’m not an artist, but I do have a gift with words, so now I spend a lot of my free time writing. I recently was accepted into a writing group, so it’s helping me develop my craft and share my work with my peers. It’s nerve-racking, but fulfilling at the same time.”

  “That’s cool. It’s so easy to get off-track when real life gets in the way, but always remember, there’s nothing more important than following your passion.”

  As he smiles, he skims his fingertips back and forth across the tabletop and I watch, mesmerized. What if it were my bare skin instead?

  His face is so alive, so handsome, and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel as if I’m the most important person in the world. As a result, I’ve lost my will to fight my attraction to him.

  There are certain moments of clarity where you can feel your world shift, and that’s how I feel in this moment. This complicated man has pushed me off a cliff. The free-fall is terrifying yet exhilarating because I feel a crack opening my heavy heart. I’ve never felt so wide-awake. It’s dangerous and joyful and wicked and deep—the realization that I’m under the spell of Maxfield Caswell—and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  Chapter Two / Paint by Numbers

  Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.

  ~Twyla Tharp

  “Are you going to get in trouble?” Max asks with a mischievous grin.

  The waiter delivers the check, and Max picks it up immediately so there’s no question who’s paying. The interruption has succeeded in snapping us back to reality before I have a chance to share any more of my story.

  “Trouble, why?” Has he been reading my mind? The idea that he knows my illicit thoughts horrifies me, but then I realize he doesn’t and instead studies his watch with a frown.

  “We’ve been here over two hours.”

  “Good God!” I exclaim, sliding out of the booth. “Adam’s going to kill me. I need to get back.”

  “Slow down, Cinderella,” he says with a laugh. “I won’t let our carriage turn into a pumpkin or anything. We’ll get a cab and I’ll call Adam and make up an excuse.”

  The restaurant staff showers us with a medley of warm good-byes as we make our way out the door.

  It takes a few moments for our eyes to adjust to the bright light after the dim restaurant. The bustle of traffic and people rushing past only amplifies the stunned feeling. I notice a group of exceptionally thin and good-looking people talking to our left. I assume it’s a bunch of models from the agency just down the street, although I can’t be sure.

  As we step toward the curb, one of the women turns toward us. Max looks at her, and they both immediately gasp and share wide smiles.

  The tall beauty runs over. “Max!” she squeals as she wraps her arms around his neck.

  He hugs her, swinging her off her feet. “Katya! It’s been forever. Where’ve you been, beautiful?”

  She stays in his arms while they talk and she runs her long fingers through his hair. Meanwhile, his fingers are clasped together behind her back, holding her in place. It’s intimate and makes me uneasy. I feel like leftovers from an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  During the time I’d spent with Max, he’d aimed a glowing spotlight on me. Now it’s shifted to Katya and I’m left standing in the dark. It’s abrupt and startling, as if I’m not even here, and I feel myself slowly seeping into the cement of the gray, grainy sidewalk. I feel like I’ve been played, and I’m so humiliated I want to disappear.

  A vacant cab turns onto our street, so I flag it down and open the door.

  “Hey, Ava, I’ll see you back at the show,” Max calls out.

  I nod, not looking back until I’m seated and the door is closed. The beautiful couple is still talking animatedly, and I can’t believe how crestfallen I am, considering I only met him hours ago.

  As the cab rolls toward the exhibit hall, I admonish myself for believing his flirtation meant something. Some men make a hobby out of charming women.

  It’s possible he does it automatically, so effortlessly that he doesn’t even realize the wilted egos he leaves behind. I stoically try to remind myself that, even if Max were interested in me, we’re so different. What could we have together but an impossible mess?

  Adam’s involved with clients as I approach our exhibit, so I quietly slip into the viewing room to put my things away. I’m grateful he’s doing so much business because it’s distracted him from my absence for over two hours. The rest of the afternoon s
tays busy as we prepare for Jess’s appearance.

  Jess is my favorite of our artists. She’s tough as nails and doesn’t give a crap about what anyone thinks of her or her art. Her current work, oversized canvases featuring textured paintings of street musicians and dancers, is painted in a loose style with bold strokes and color, full of energy and tension. Collectors either love Jess or hate her, which makes for entertaining openings and appearances. What I wouldn’t give to have a tenth of her attitude.

  Samuel, the DJ for our event, has arrived along with the three street dancers we’ve hired to perform. I jump in to direct the bartender where to set up. In all the excitement, I realize there’s no time to go to the hotel and change into my dressier outfit.

  “Ava! My favorite bitch!”

  I turn crimson as Jess storms toward me laughing, her blonde hair spiked like little daggers around her head. She’s wearing tight black leather pants and a dramatic long jacket with graffiti painted on the back.

  “Girl, how the hell are you?”

  As Jess grabs me in a bear hug, I look over her shoulder and see her entourage in tow.

  “Jess, I’m so glad you’re here.” I sigh happily, feeling grateful because this party will take my mind off the events earlier in the day. “Are you pleased with how things look?” I wave to the artwork. “Anything need to be moved? Is the lighting okay?”

  “Yeah, it looks good. And Adam tells me he’s already sold five paintings. It’s all good.” She steps back and looks at me. “But what about you, sweet Ava, I thought you were going to pretty up for my show?”

  “I know I promised, Jess, and then I went and forgot my stuff at the hotel. I’m sorry.”

  She calls over her girlfriend. “Laura, Ava forgot her fancy threads at her hotel. What can we do with her?”

  Without any hesitation Laura leads me into the viewing room and shuts the door behind Jess. Laura’s a makeup artist for film, and working magic is her job. She opens her black canvas tote and pulls a series of items out.

  “Take off your shirt.” Laura yanks a small black tank top encrusted with rhinestones out of the bag. “The embellishment is Jess’s logo from her website. It’ll be perfect.”

  I remove my shirt, revealing my white lace bra.

  She shakes her head. “The bra will have to go too.”

  “No way.”

  “Look, this shirt is tight and will hold you in. Besides, the rhinestones will cover your whole chest area, so it won’t be a big deal, Ms. Modesty.” I lift my eyebrows and break out in a cold sweat. Jess undoes my bra clasp before I can say anything, and Laura pulls the bra away. Her eyes get big. “Oh baby,” she moans playfully. “So gorgeous—are these real?”

  “Lay off, Laura, you’re going to freak her out.”

  I blush, but before I can fully process her reaction to my breasts, she drags the tank over my head and down to my waist.

  “It’s tight all right,” I say trying to deal with the idea of wearing something so provocative.

  “Skirt’s too long.” Laura grabs my waistband and yanks the skirt up so it’s mid-thigh and she folds the excess waistline down over my hips. She reaches again into the Mary Poppins bag.

  “Here, put these fishnets on those long legs. That’ll look hot, especially with the pumps you’re wearing.”

  To finish the effect, she whips out a makeup kit and applies a smoky color around my eyes and a dark berry stain to my lips. Finally, she takes my hair down and, in a fury, works gel through the chestnut strands until it’s a tousled, wavy mess.

  “You’re good to go,” Laura says as she steps back to review her work. The whole thing has taken less than five minutes.

  “I can’t go out there like this. I look slutty.”

  Laura laughs. “You wish. Your natural look is like an elegant porcelain doll; you couldn’t look slutty if you tried. You definitely look fuckable though, but in a Four Seasons, Dom Pérignon kind of way.”

  Jess smiles widely. “Now you’re talking. Come on—let’s do this thing!” She heads out the door, ready to party.

  If Adam’s reaction upon seeing me is any indication, I must really look different.

  He does a double take. “Wow, Ava, you look stunning.”

  He turns to Laura. “Is this a good idea? Everyone’s going to be looking at her instead of the paintings.”

  “Oh yeah, right.” I moan and get my client list and folder in an attempt to focus on my job.

  I instruct Samuel to start the music, and as the Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire” blasts through the speakers, the guests start arriving. The bartender’s serving up mojitos in graffiti-scrawled glasses, along with beer and wine. Soon the crowd loosens up and gets comfortable, the perfect vibe for buying art.

  Adam is the master of the soft sell, cleverly talking people out of buying the work until they’re begging him for it. He then turns them over to me for the less glamorous chore of arranging payments and delivery. I don’t even mind this part of the process tonight because the vibe’s so festive. The dancers interact with the clients, and Jess holds court like the queen she is. The photographer gets shots of her with the significant guests and other artists who have come by to say hello. A few of these will surely be published in Art World News, if Adam has anything to say about it.

  With all the important business taken care of, I finally allow myself to relax. Adam stashed away several bottles of champagne for this moment, and he gives me a full glass to toast Jess and our event, which is clearly a success. The first glass goes down easily and I give myself permission to drink a second. As the champagne slides down my throat, I feel the warmth unfurl in my body. I’m almost in my happy place when I glimpse a tall well-built man at the bar. He has his arm around one of the art groupies who follow these events. When he shifts his face to whisper something in her ear, I feel a jolt.

  Max.

  Frustration twists in my gut.

  Although he’s the last person I want to see, I decide to not let him ruin my evening. I wander over to the DJ and request “Solar Midnight” by Lupe Fiasco.

  “Time for some fun, Samuel. I need to relax.” We’ve become friendly through the functions I’ve hired him for. He smiles broadly, his white teeth contrasting his smooth ebony skin.

  “Let it go, girl! And I hope you don’t mind me saying . . . you look very fine tonight.” He dazzles me with his smile once again, and I slip behind his music station so we can chat and dance around. His dreadlocks sway as he takes my hand and twirls me around.

  I throw my head back and laugh, my mood quickly improving. The music has a driving funk vibe and our bodies move easily together. Samuel knocks the volume up again and the crowd reacts. Several people move to the dance floor.

  Samuel leans in and whispers in my ear, “Ava, babe, who’s that dude talking to Adam? He’s staring at you like he wants to eat you for dinner.”

  Adam and Max are across the room discussing something and they look very serious; all the while, Max stares intently at me. I turn back to Samuel and continue to move to the music, but out of the corner of my eye I can see Max come toward me like a leopard stalking its prey. I try to pretend I don’t know he’s there, but the energy from his intensity makes my heart pound.

  Max stops in front of the soundboard. He watches my every move and, with each second passing, his countenance grows darker. I have no idea what his expression means. The music’s too loud for conversation, so he grabs my hand and pulls me out from around the table until I’m in front of him. His eyes move all the way down to my feet and then back up. He smiles. Of course the racy look appeals to him.

  “Look at you, Ava. This is the second time today you’ve surprised me, and we just met. What other secrets are you hiding?”

  Don’t even go there, Rico Suave. I cross my arms protectively over my chest. “Hey, Max, it’s nice of you to come to Jess’s show.” I figure the polite professional route is the best way to handle him.

  “Jess is an old friend, and we were at a
rt school together. But don’t change the subject.” He unfolds my arms, slowly sliding his hands down to mine. “How else can you surprise me tonight?” His expression is blatantly seductive.

  “Surprise?” I press my lips together. He’s messing with me again.

  “Yes, you were dressed like a lawyer earlier, and now you look like a rock star.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, you can thank Laura for that. I had nothing to do with this.” I wave my hands across my body. “Jess seemed to think I was underdressed for the event, so Laura restyled me.”

  “I’ll thank Laura later.” He laughs and looks up. “We’re being watched. You know, Adam just told me to stay away from you.” He watches me carefully for my reaction.

  “I see you take direction well.”

  “Why is Adam so protective of you?”

  “He and Katherine are like parents to me. They know I can take care of myself, but they still look out for me.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I definitely don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. So did Adam give you a reason why you should stay away from me?” I’m curious.

  “Maybe I’m trouble.”

  “Indeed.” I give him a dubious look.

  “But the question is, am I the good kind of trouble, or the bad kind?”

  “Or possibly both?”

  “Hmm.” He takes my hands again and begins to slowly walk backward, pulling me toward the dance floor.

  I really don’t want to dance with Max, but then again, I do. He rests one hand on my hip and slides the other up my arm to my shoulder, his fingertips lightly grazing my neck as we dance.

  Of course, the bastard’s a great dancer, moving slowly, seductively. As I move in tandem with him, my natural hesitancy dissolves. The beat of the music pulses through me as he pulls me closer. I try not to look at him because, every time I do, his vivid gray eyes look not just at me, but into and through me. It’s unnerving and incredibly arousing.