Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  Awake, I run my hands up and down my body in complete disbelief. My nipples are hard and sensitive to the touch. I’m covered with a sheen of sweat, and every muscle is quivering, as if I’ve just run a marathon. I slide my hand between my legs and feel the tenderness and swollen wetness of my sex.

  In the inky darkness of the night, I lie on my bed, and in the confused gap between awake and sleep, I believe that somehow, some way, I really was with Max tonight.

  I curl into my pillow and imagine that my head is resting on his shoulder and I let out a long sigh. When I move my knee higher, I’m sure my leg is resting over his thigh. His presence is overwhelming.

  “Max?” I whisper.

  I close my eyes and vividly picture him flung across his bed, his heart still racing as he pulls me close.

  “I’m here, Ava,” he whispers back.

  Chapter Five / On the Road to Ojai

  The man she had was kind and clean, and well enough for every day, but oh, dear friends, you should have seen, the one that got away.

  ~ Dorothy Parker

  Morning creeps quietly into my bedroom until the light of day can’t be denied. As I flutter under the sheets and blink the fuzziness out of my eyes, the answer comes to me.

  I must drive to Ojai and tell Max face-to-face what’s on my mind.

  With that resolve, I rise and begin getting ready, including checking how to get to Ojai on MapQuest. As I print out the instructions, an idea occurs to me, and I send another job to my printer while I finish my breakfast.

  It isn’t until I’m settled into my car and driving north that the panic sets in. What am I going to say? What if I get there and he refuses to see me? Even though we are or were just friends, one hundred-forty miles is a long way to go to be rejected. Luckily, I didn’t have these thoughts earlier when I was home and could’ve easily abandoned the idea of going in the first place.

  The first hour on the freeway is endless as possible scenarios run through my head, including ringing the bell and finding no one home. It reminds me that art boy does not like surprises. The irony is, I’m not so sure I like surprises either.

  Eventually, I reach the turnoff to Ojai off the 101, which leads me through a rural area as I drive inland for about twenty minutes. As I get closer, I see a couple strip malls, one with a Burger King and Taco Bell, and the second has an out-of-place looking Starbucks that must service people coming and going from Ojai. I hit the brakes and swerve into the parking lot. Time for a latte, I surmise.

  I may be tired from the drive and can benefit from a shot of caffeine, but I’m not fooling myself. I’m losing the courage to pay Max and his aunt a visit, and I need to regroup.

  Other than the lone woman working behind the counter, I’m the only one in Starbucks. After years of waiting in lines in L.A., walking right up to the counter and ordering is a new experience. I look out the window, my mind wandering.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” the barista says, while wiping her hands on her green apron. Her brown hair is threaded with gray and she has a sun-worn, kind face—quite different from the college students and wannabe actors that usually help me at home.

  I snap to attention and face her. “Oh, yes, I’ll have a tall nonfat latte with a shot of sugar-free vanilla and extra foam. Oh, and Splenda mixed in.” If I’m going to pay three bucks for a cup of coffee, they can mix in the damn Splenda.

  She smiles. “You’re not from around here.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “I just had a sense . . . let me guess . . . L.A.? You’re too intense for Santa Barbara.”

  “Intense? Gee thanks,” I chuckle. “And yes, I just drove in from L.A.”

  “It’s a man, isn’t it?”

  My eyes grow wide. “Pardon me?”

  “A man. I sense that’s why you’ve come here today.” She says it matter-of-factly, as if she knew about my plans ahead of time.

  Great, I’ve found the Starbucks psychic. I’ll not only get a latte, but my fortune too. I leave an entire dollar bill in the tip box before sighing. “Yes, a man.”

  “He must be special, since you came all this way.” She clucks her tongue as she pulls a lever and the milk steamer hisses and moans.

  “But I’m not sure he even wants to see me. I’ve come all this way, and he may not be home.”

  “Oh, he’s been waiting for you. He’ll be there.”

  She says it with such authority that it gives me the creeps. What else does she know?

  “But you gotta remember, dear, that men are slow about this stuff. You have to teach them the right way to be with a woman . . . how to appreciate what’s right in front of them.”

  Good God, Ava, why are you having this conversation with a complete stranger? What the hell . . . I’ll never see this woman again. This just adds another side note to my unexpected road trip. “You really think he’s interested in me like that?”

  She gives me a long intense look, almost as if she’s looking right into me.

  I twitch nervously.

  “Yes . . . yes, I do,” she says with certainty, as she carefully splits open the little cardboard sleeve and slides it on the cup of latte.

  Just then, four teenagers stumble through the door, and another employee brings supplies out from the back room. The ambience is broken. The psychic barista heads over to the cash register to take their orders, and I grab my drink and walk back to my car.

  I roll down the windows and sip my coffee, while thinking about her prediction. The certainty of her words has had an effect on me. I start up the engine, determined to reach my destination.

  Ann Emerson’s home sits in a cluster of one-story ranch style homes at the base of the Topatopa Mountains. Despite it being almost midday, the street in this idyllic little town is quiet, and the only person in sight is a woman tending her lush garden. Clusters of California poppies run along the edge of her yard, the delicate paper-thin flowers turning their happy faces toward the sun. I continue along, moving toward Ann’s address.

  The sky seems bigger and bluer than it is at home. I take a deep breath, then another. It will be okay . . . It will be okay, I chant to myself.

  I approach the house cautiously. My heart’s pounding, and the note with Ann’s address is wadded up in my fist. I distract myself by concentrating on the dark-gray painted wood siding and bright white shutters on the house, the pots of fiery orange geraniums, and two white Adirondack chairs on the front porch. I press the doorbell apprehensively, knowing everything could change from this moment on. It has a gentle chime, belying the emotional turmoil that could exist inside.

  I listen for any sound in the house. A moment later, footsteps echo inside and the door swings open. A tall woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and bright eyes stands in the doorway. She’s wearing a colorful long skirt and a red shirt.

  “Ava?”

  For a moment, I’m dumbstruck . . . Is this whole town psychic?

  “Yes. How did you know who I am?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Please come in.” She steps aside. “I’m Ann, Max’s aunt. He’s told me all about you.” She shakes my hand slowly, clasping it in both of hers.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I smile and look at my surroundings. “Is Max here? I was hoping to see him.”

  “He’s out for a run. Why don’t you sit down and wait for him?” We walk into a warm room filled with window light, an eclectic mix of antiques, and a big comfortable looking couch. There’s an elaborate Asian rug on the floor, and all the colors in the room from the pale ochre on the walls to the ivy color of the sofa are accented in the rich design. Framed black and white photographs hang on every wall.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. It’ll be good for Max to see you.”

  “I feel bad barging in without calling, but I woke up this morning and had to come. If I’d planned or thought about it too much, I would’ve talked myself out of it.”

  “Yes, you must be nervous to see him. I think you were brave t
o come.”

  “Brave or stupid, I guess, depending on how Max reacts to my being here.”

  “Stupid, never . . . it may not be easy to work things out, but I think it’s important that you do. Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Water?”

  “No, thanks, I just had some coffee. So, how’s he doing anyway?”

  “Well, he’s making progress. He was in quite a state when I picked him up in Oxnard. Evidently, Max’s been on a downward spiral for a while, but he was trying to hide it from everyone. It’s a hard lesson when you finally achieve everything you thought you wanted and realize that you’re unhappy . . . that your life feels empty.”

  I nod. Now I have to wonder what signs I missed that Max was in worse shape than I realized.

  “Then the unfortunate way he handled his complicated feelings for you pushed him over the edge. The night he walked out of his house, he was convinced he’d lost you, or maybe I should say, your friendship, for good.

  “As hard as this has been on both of you, I believe that the best thing that could’ve happened to Max was you, Ava. You’ve made him realize that there can be so much more.”

  I want to ask her what she means by that cryptic so much more comment, but a door closes somewhere in the back of the house. Ann turns and listens carefully to the fridge open and shut and footsteps moving away.

  “He must be going to take his shower,” she says, but the look on her face belies her earlier words. There’s an awkward pause. He couldn’t have missed my car parked in front of the house.

  To divert the conversation, I ask Ann about her photography and the work hanging in her living room. She explains that all but one of the images are from other photographers she’s collected over the years. Some are the work of friends of hers, some from people she’s admired from afar.

  I walk over to one in particular that’s caught my eye. It’s a rear view of a couple leaning on a railing and overlooking the scenery. A sweeping view of Paris lies before them with the Eiffel Tower rising tall above the enchanting city.

  The couple’s dressed in clothes I would estimate are from the fifties, and their body language suggests they’re in love. It’s a nontraditional composition with the couple low and to the side of the frame. It’s brilliant.

  As I gaze at the image, Ann says, “Don’t you love that . . . just the idea of being in love in Paris? That’s one of my favorite images.” She sighs.

  “Have you been to Paris?” I ask, getting the feeling that she’s traveled extensively.

  “Yes, a number of times. You?”

  I shake my head.

  “You must go . . . every artist must go. I think Lizzy took Max the first time when he was nine. As a creative person, a writer, you’ll find it incredibly inspiring. You’ll be changed forever.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I’ll tell Max that he should take you.”

  I laugh uncomfortably. “Somehow, I don’t think that will happen.”

  “Not now, but maybe one day.”

  I feel awkward, so I ask her about her work. She’s semiretired now and no longer shoots commercial jobs, but she still shoots personal commissions and is working on several long-range projects. She even sells a portion of her images on her website. Her most serious fine art work is in a number of photography galleries such as Fahey Klein in L.A., Verve in Santa Fe and Marian Goodman in New York. I’m very impressed. Creative talent must run deep in Max’s family.

  We’ve been chatting for a while when I realize Max’s shower must be long over. I feel ridiculous, knowing I shouldn’t have taken this chance. Ann tips her head again, listening.

  “It seems it was a mistake to come. I think I’d better go.” I stand, feeling sick to my stomach, as the desire to flee builds inside me.

  “No! Please, before you leave, let me talk to him and find out what’s going on. He’s probably just shocked and wants to be calm so he can say the right things.” She jumps up and it feels like she’s grasping at straws.

  “Well, you can try. I’ll wait a couple more minutes, but then I’m going to go.”

  She quickly exits the room.

  After about five minutes, I’m a wreck. Why did I come here? What did I think I was going to accomplish other than more humiliation? I’m about to make my escape when Ann comes back—alone.

  I stand. “Well, I almost forgot that I brought a copy of his book. He might like to read it. Why don’t I go get it out of my car, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “He thinks I made you come here. He doesn’t believe you came of your own free will. But I know he wants to see you, Ava.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, but it was clear as day the way he asked about you—the look in his eyes. Honestly, he’s a nervous wreck. He just needs to get a handle on his emotions.”

  That just doesn’t mean much when he still isn’t acknowledging my presence after I’ve come all this way. Besides, I’m a nervous wreck too. I move for the front door, defeated. “I’ll get the book. It’ll just take a sec.”

  I walk toward my car and unlock the doors with the keyless remote. I’m only steps away from the car when I hear my name being called.

  “Ava!” There’s anguish in his voice and it’s edged with panic.

  “Please don’t leave, Ava!”

  I turn slowly to see Max rushing toward me, and just the sight of him takes my breath away. His eyes are electric as they frantically search my face for answers. He’s even more stunning than I remember him with his wet tousled hair and heightened color from his run. Barefoot and wearing soft faded jeans, he frantically buttons an old plaid shirt as he moves. I see a glimpse of his strong defined chest before he pulls the shirt closed.

  The look in his eyes tells me everything I’ve wanted to know and more.

  He’s in front of me . . . the most tragically beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And even though the pain, disappointment and longing are still weights in his pockets sinking him into the earth, his hands and heart are open.

  “Ava,” he whispers as he reaches for me.

  In that sacred moment, every doubt about coming to see him evaporates. This is exactly where I should be.

  “It’s okay, Max. I’m here . . . I’m finally here,” I say softly, before I sink into his open arms.

  Chapter Six / Starting Over

  What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?

  ~ Anonymous

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says softly, as he wraps his arms even tighter around me. He takes a deep breath, and his heart thunders in my ear that’s pressed against his chest.

  My eyes fill with tears, and the surge of emotion takes me by surprise. This wasn’t part of my master plan . . . No crying, Ava, I tell myself sternly. I take a deep breath and steady myself.

  “Sorry?” I finally ask. I’m curious where his list of “reasons to be sorry” will start.

  “Well, first I’m sorry that you were leaving and thinking I didn’t want to see you.”

  “Yes, any longer and I would’ve been gone.”

  He tightens his hug again and my breath catches.

  “It was hard because I wanted to see you too much. Day after day, I’ve wanted to see you, but once you were here . . .”

  “Well, I’m not going to bite.”

  “You promise?” The edges of his mouth turn up just a bit.

  I wiggle so that his grasp loosens and then step out of the hug.

  I look up at him. “Why don’t we sit down and talk?”

  He gestures toward the path along the side yard, and as I walk with him, the long grass softly tickles my ankles. When we reach the backyard, we approach the love seat swing perched under a large tree and sit down. He gently rocks the swing as I look around the backyard, taking everything in.

  “I got your letter,” I finally say.

  “Is that why you came?”

  “I suppose. I know you’ve been having a rough time, and it’s made m
e sad and confused. There’ve been so many misunderstandings between us. I thought if you could see me . . . that I’m all right and I don’t hate you or harbor any ill will . . . that it might help you.”

  He flinches. “So you drove all this way to help me?”

  “Yes, I did. I care about you, Max . . . despite everything, I do.”

  His head drops toward his chest and the bright expression on his face fades.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don’t want you here because you feel sorry for me, Ava.”

  “Okay. Why would you hope I’m here?”

  “I guess because you missed me and really wanted to see me. Have you thought about me at all since I’ve been gone?”

  “Of course, I’ve thought about you a lot. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what happened . . . what went wrong.”

  His eyebrows are tightly knitted together. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it. It’s not like I deserve an answer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Dylan told me you’ve continued to see Jonathan, even though the book project is over. Is that true?”

  Damn it, Dylan! Why did he tell Max that? I nod.

  “Why, Ava? Are you really into him?”

  I push off with my legs, setting the swing in motion again. I don’t really want to have this conversation with Max. If I tell him my feelings for Jonathan have cooled off, he might see it as an open invitation, and neither of us is ready for that. I decide to speak in a general way about my feelings.

  “I guess what I like is the way he treats me, like I’m special, and smart . . . beautiful too. It feels really good to have someone treat me like that, and I think it came along at a time when I needed it.”

  His eyes narrow and his jaw tenses. I imagine there’s jealousy permeating through his skin as he sighs and leans forward.

  “Well, you deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel that way.”

  I smile sadly. “Do you remember the day we met when you swept me out of the show and took me to that little restaurant? I didn’t realize at the time you were just flirting like you do with a lot of women, and for those precious couple of hours, I felt very special. You made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.”