Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  After he downs a glass of water at the sink, he turns around. “Can I hitch a ride, Ava? I think it’s time to go home.”

  Wow!

  I hide my surprise behind a big smile. “Sure, Max, I’d be happy to take you home.”

  After breakfast, we load up my car with the few items of clothing and art supplies he’s acquired since arriving in Ojai. I give Ann a warm hug and wait as Max says good-bye.

  They’re so sweet together as she rests her hand on his cheek and talks to him softly. He nods and then takes her hand and kisses the center of her palm before wrapping his arms around her. They hug for a long time, and I can see the sadness in their eyes when they finally pull apart. Ann is such a good person for Max to have in his life. If only she lived closer.

  We’re quiet for much of the drive home. At first, I think he’s still sad to part from Ann, but then I wonder if he’s apprehensive about returning to his old life. Will he make the changes he needs in order to be happy?

  When we arrive in Malibu, we stop at the market at Trancas so Max can pick up some groceries. While he goes inside, I stay behind to call Jess. She’s grateful for the update and that Max has come home. She offers to spend the afternoon with him, and I promise to call her after I talk to him about it.

  The tension in the car is tremendous as we finally turn down Max’s driveway. I’m relieved that the walls are repainted and the broken plants and pottery are gone, but the house holds ghosts waiting to haunt us. I take his hand as we approach the front door.

  When he steps inside, he throws down his things, walks straight to the French doors in the living room, pulls them open, and walks out onto the patio. He leans over the railing and gazes at the ocean.

  I select a playlist from his iPod dock and press Play before going to the kitchen to make some tea. Max is still outside on the patio when the tea is ready, so I carry our mugs outside to join him.

  “You know, Max,” I finally say, as I gaze across the brilliant blue combination of sky and water, “I normally don’t like those bullshit self-help books, but sometimes they actually can make sense. I read one once that said your intentions define you. You can decide to be whoever or whatever you want. You just have to make up your mind.”

  “Is that so, Oprah?” he says, teasing me.

  “Yup, it is. So you better listen to Oprah. She’s actually the leader of the free world, and she’s never wrong.”

  I linger for a while and finally tell Max that I have to go, but I let him know that Jess wants to visit. He begrudgingly agrees, knowing that it may be unwise to spend a lot of hours alone right off the bat.

  On the way to my car, he stops me. “Ava, I need to say something.”

  “Yes?”

  He pauses on the walkway, looks down and kicks a pebble toward the lawn.

  “I know that as much I’d like to . . . I can’t ask you not to see Jonathan . . .”

  What? I glance up at him with my head tipped to the side.

  He’s twisting his hands together as I wait for him to continue. He finally looks me square in the eyes.

  “ . . . But, will you do me a favor? Don’t fall in love with him.”

  I arch my brow. “Did you really just ask me that?” Should I tell him there’s little to no chance of my falling in love with Jonathan now?

  He gets a devilish look in his eyes as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know . . . I just don’t want you to get involved with him on the rebound.”

  I put my hands on my hips and arch my brow. “Max, to be on the rebound you have to have been in a relationship to rebound from.”

  He seems to ignore my logic. “Besides, Ava, you could still be really attracted to me and not know it.”

  “Really? I don’t think my attraction to you is in question.”

  “Yeah, what if you’re secretly falling in love with me?”

  I playfully push him on the shoulder. “You wish!” I tease.

  “There’s only one way to know for sure. Don’t you think you should know before you go out with Jonathan again?”

  “One way to know for sure?”

  “Yes. Kiss me. I promise I won’t touch you—look, hands free!” He tucks his hands into his back pockets.

  My mouth falls open as I press my thighs together. Just the idea of being kissed again by Max makes me instantly hot and bothered.

  “Just one little kiss,” he says in a low voice.

  I can’t believe he’s playing this game with me. But the fire in his eyes and the sweet smile on his face are more than I can bear. I take a step toward him. Two can play this game.

  “So, if I feel nothing, we’ll agree to be friends—that’s it—no complications. And I can friggin’ marry Jonathan if I so choose.”

  He makes a sour face, but nods anyway.

  I bite my lip as I look into his eyes. One kiss, one kiss . . . I close my eyes as I edge closer until I can feel the heat shimmering from his skin.

  “Oh, Ava,” he whispers, a deep longing in his voice.

  His breath on my cheek undoes me, and when our lips meet, they meld together as if they’d just kissed a moment earlier. We kiss languidly, sensuously, our tongues meeting in an erotic dance. He gently bites my bottom lip before I press my lips even harder against his. An overwhelming current suddenly surges through me, practically knocking me over.

  I’m on fire. I run one of my hands along his shoulder and behind his neck, pulling him closer, while winding my other hand into his hair and tugging it passionately. Our bodies are pressed together so tightly I feel as if I’m one with him.

  He moans my name over and over as the kiss intensifies. I’m lost in his sweet mouth, his lips turning me into a traitor to logic and reason.

  When I finally pull away to gasp for air, he grins widely, and the bright-eyed expression on his face is victorious. He gambled big and won.

  Like there was ever a question—he owns me. He probably has all along; it’s just taken me all this time to figure it out.

  He studies me with a spark in his eyes, and he takes a sharp breath. He takes his hands out of his pockets as if to grab me and never let me go. My heart’s so full I can’t help but shine with a smile.

  I remember we’re taking things slow, so without a word, I hurry to my car before he can say something to draw me back into his arms. But even as I flee the charged atmosphere and speed down PCH, I can feel his joy follow me all the way home.

  Chapter Seven / It Must Be Magic

  Art is the guarantee of sanity.

  ~ Louise Bourgeois

  By Monday night, the circus that is my life has rolled into town, chock-full of exciting and daring acts. Frankly, it’s exhausting.

  Due to the distraction created by all my drama, I manage to make two major screw-ups at work in one day. Brian gallantly covers me for the client screw-up. Sean isn’t as accommodating as Brian is. While working on the press, I feed prints to Sean upside down and ruin fifteen images before we realize what I’ve done. He yells until I cry out of frustration, but there’s really no excuse for such stupidity.

  When I get home from work, there are two-dozen lavender roses waiting for me from Jonathan, and I wonder if he’s caught a whiff of Max’s intentions and hopes to head him off at the pass. Even though Jonathan’s still in New York, I get the feeling it’s going to be an emotional roller coaster kind of week. I just need to figure out what to say to Jonathan next time I see him—a lot has happened.

  I also receive a flirty text from Max, and although I’m secretly delighted, I’m not sure what the best way to respond is, since we’re supposed to be going slow. So, rather than texting Max or calling Jonathan to thank him for the roses, I decide to be immature and avoid everyone. When Riley gets home from work, she’s wound up from an impossible deadline, so we decide to be really stupid and have wine and Cheetos for dinner.

  We’re both pretty loaded, our mouths and fingers covered in that sticky Cheetos orange powder, when my phone rings.

  I
look at the screen and sigh loudly. “Jonathan. He’s probably wondering if I got the roses.”

  “Oh, answer it, you big baby,” Riley slurs.

  I roll my eyes, tap my screen and launch right into the conversation. “Jonathan, thank you for the beautiful roses.”

  “You’re welcome, Ava. Are you okay? You sound a little funny.”

  “I’m a little tipsy. Riley and I both had shitty days, so we decided to have wine . . . with Cheetos for dinner.” I sway on the couch.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good day. But Cheetos aren’t food, sweet girl. If I were there, I’d take better care of you.”

  I remember the fancy lunches we’ve had. “I bet you’ve never had Cheetos for dinner.”

  “No, Ava, I haven’t.” His tone reminds me of my middle school math teacher.

  I try to picture Jonathan eating at Phillippe’s or El Coyote, and realize how unlikely it is. He’s so serious about everything. “Do you even eat tacos?” I ask.

  Maybe he’d bring me a taco? Hey, that sounds good! I giggle.

  He pauses for a moment.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m here. I’m just distracted, thinking of all the things I want to do with you, and it isn’t eating tacos,” he says with a husky voice.

  “Like what?” The thought that I shouldn’t be talking to him while tipsy slides into my head, but then it slides right back out.

  “I’ll tell you, but first I need to finish something. I’ll call you back in ten minutes. What are you wearing?”

  “My work clothes, why?”

  “I want you to put on the nightgown I bought you at La Perla. Will you do that?”

  “I guess so.” In my wine-soaked state, I’m a little confused as to why I need to wear a nightgown to talk on the phone. This thought is followed by the realization that I don’t want to talk to him. I picture Max in my mind, and it makes talking to Jonathan feel even more wrong.

  “Good, I’ll call you back and tell you what I’d do if I were there. So, go get ready, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll call back soon.”

  “But—” I start to explain that I’m not up for a call, but he’s already hung up and I throw the phone down.

  “What does Mr. Oopsy-daisy want?” Riley asks as she examines her toes.

  “For me to put on my nightgown before he calls back. Geez. Why in the hell does he want that?”

  “I bet he wants to have phone sex, silly!”

  My mouth falls open. Now I really don’t want to talk to him. I pick up my phone and text him as fast as my wobbly fingers will allow.

  Sorry, but all of a sudden I’m not feeling so good.

  Let’s talk another time when I’m in better shape.

  My phone rings a minute later and I feel guilty as I watch Jonathan’s call go to voicemail. We need to have a serious talk, but it won’t be tonight.

  “Poor Ava.” Riley shakes her head sadly, as I collapse back on the couch. “Your love life is wonky.”

  When I awaken my ragged self the next morning, I remember fuzzy details of last night and pick up my phone. There are three voicemails from Jonathan. I let out a long sigh. He probably wasn’t happy that I didn’t pick up his calls.

  He’s flying to L.A Saturday, so I text him and ask if we can have lunch Sunday. It’s time to face the music.

  The following morning at the gallery, I spend my time numbering prints and working on a press release for our upcoming show. Around eleven-thirty, Max surprises me with a call.

  “Are you free for lunch?”

  I grin. “You’re in town?”

  “Yeah, I had a meeting, and I’d really like to see you before I head back to Malibu.”

  I swoon a little. “You want me to meet you somewhere?”

  “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. I have a plan.”

  A plan? I’m excited. A few minutes later, I grab my purse and hurry to the bathroom to brush my hair and touch up my lipstick.

  When I pass Brian, he gives me a crooked grin as I slip my phone in my purse.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “Max.” I can feel my cheeks turning red.

  “I thought so.”

  Max is in a great mood when he picks me up. He hands me his notebook and encourages me to look at the drawings inside. They’re the studies he’s making for his new series, and his ideas incorporate the paintings we bought from the thrift stores. I love seeing his ideas materialize.

  As he drives, he asks about the gallery. I skip my Monday screw-up stories and tell him about the public relations I’ve been doing for the upcoming show instead. He hangs on my every word, just as interested in what I’m doing as I am to hear about him.

  I’m so engrossed in our conversation that I don’t notice he’s pulled into the LA County Museum of Art parking structure until he takes the ticket from the machine and parks.

  “We’re going to the museum for lunch?”

  He nods and grins before we take off for the ticket booth.

  Tickets in hand, he leads me into the Broad Building to see the Renoir in the 20th Century exhibit.

  “We’re having lunch with Renoir?” I tease.

  “Amazing, right?” he says as he approaches one of the paintings with a dreamy look in his eyes.

  The exhibition is full of fleshy women stretched out languidly.

  He reaches out for my hand and pulls me closer. “Look, Ava,” he whispers.

  I step close enough to see the threads of every color within each of Renoir’s brushstrokes. “His art is so sensuous.”

  Max sighs. “I love how he paints women. I have trouble not touching the canvases. I was here yesterday and was so engrossed, they had to throw me out at closing time. I knew I wanted to come back with you.”

  I look over, surprised. “I’m glad you did.”

  He doesn’t let go of my hand as we move from painting to painting, and I can feel his energy flow through me. It’s inspiring—every passing moment is threaded with color and joy, much like Renoir’s brushstrokes.

  When we get to the landscapes, he glances down at his watch. “We better eat. I don’t want to get you in trouble at work.”

  He retrieves his backpack from the coat check and leads me outside to a bench under a tree on the edge of the sweeping lawn. He pulls sandwiches and cans of fancy soda out of his bag. He grins widely at my reaction to the spread. “Do you want turkey or roast beef? And I have brownies for dessert.”

  Max has put so much thought into our lunch date that I’m overwhelmed by this sweet side of him. It’s almost more than I can handle. How can I keep the promise I made to myself to take things slow when he treats me like this?

  When we’re done with lunch, we run to the car and laugh the whole way back to the gallery, taking turns making up outlandish stories as to why I’m late getting back. When he zooms up to the front door, I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Best lunch date ever!” I say before I jump out of the car. I look back before I step inside, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy.

  That night, Riley reminds me about the fundraiser at the home of Dylan’s parents on Saturday. I realize that I’d better figure out what I’m going to wear, since this event is formal. As we brainstorm, I remember a vintage Valentino dress Katherine loaned me for a similar event with Brian several years ago. I decide to ask her if I may borrow it again. Riley spent the weekend shopping and has something on hold at Barney’s while she figures out how she’s going to pay for it.

  At our team meeting the following morning, Adam gives Sean and me a revised deadline to get Max’s prints done. Afterward, we decide to run five colors a day to finish on time. I promise Sean that I’ll give him all the time he needs in the studio.

  Later that morning, Dylan calls me.

  “Hey, Dylan. How are you doing?”

  “Pretty damn good, thanks to you.”

  I hope he isn’t being sarcastic. �
��Why’s that?”

  “It’s Max. I don’t know what magic spell you cast over him, but I’ve never seen him this motivated and happy. It’s just fantastic. I’ll be honest. I didn’t know how he’d be after his breakdown, but he’s like a new man.”

  “Well, don’t give me the credit. You can thank Ann. She took care of him and got him back on his feet . . . but Max should get most of the credit. I think he’s really motivated to make his life better.”

  “And you had nothing to do with it?”

  “I don’t think so.” I’m not sure if I’m denying my effect on Max for Dylan’s benefit or not. I just want Max to own this.

  “Uh-huh, sure. If that’s how you want to play it, but I still want to thank you, at the very least, for bringing him home. I feel like we can put all the dark crap behind us and the future looks bright.”

  “Well, I’ll agree with you there.”

  “I’ll see you Saturday, Ava. You’re our extra special guest, after all.”

  “Are you impressed?” Max’s voice sounds bright, even over the phone.

  “You always impress me, Max. Now tell me what I’m impressed with this time.”

  “I waited almost two whole days to call you. My shrink has me working on some behavioral therapy.”

  “Well, then I’m impressed, I guess. You’re kidding, right?”

  “Sort of. Anyway, how are things?”

  “I spent the whole day working on your print with Sean. It’s really looking good. And I talked to Dylan yesterday. He waxed poetic about you.”

  “Yeah, he loves me again.”

  “Well, considering he’s your manager, that’s probably a good thing.”

  “I keep meaning to ask you . . . are you guys going to Art Santa Fe next month?”

  “Adam’s planning on it, but I’m not sure if he’s taking me. I should ask him. How about you?”

  “Yeah. Dylan and I will be there. Jess and Joe are coming too. It’s a really good show, and I love Santa Fe. You should convince Adam to let you come. It’s very casual—not a big scene like New York. We’d have so much fun.”