Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  During the drive to Pasadena, Dylan receives a text and has Riley read it.

  “It’s from Max . . . painting’s on its way. What does that mean?”

  “Every year, Max gives us a painting to raise money for our charity. It’s always one of the highlights of the auction. Anyway, when he went to the framer to pick up the piece earlier, they had scratched the painting, so he had to repair it. Ideally, it should’ve been here hours ago.”

  “Here he was doing such a nice thing, and it’s turned into a hassle.” Riley frowns.

  “Exactly. I have to hand it to him, though. He always comes through with the art for this fundraiser, so I’m not going to complain if it’s a little late.”

  Dylan pulls off at the first exit in Pasadena and drives into the elite neighborhood of San Marino, which is one of the wealthiest areas of Los Angeles. The homes are older and quite grand, and set on huge pieces of property by L.A. standards. We pull up to the valet, and I just begin to realize the magnitude of Dylan’s parents’ wealth and why it intimidates Riley.

  The sprawling Mediterranean estate has a grand entrance, huge picture windows trimmed with hand-painted Italian tile, and carved wooden Juliet balconies off several of the upstairs rooms.

  I give Riley a squeeze as we walk to the reception area under the portico.

  She gives me a wide-eyed look. “I know . . . crazy, huh?”

  The front lawn leading up to the house is the size of a football field, every inch of the property is meticulously landscaped, and almost every tree is decorated with twinkling white lights.

  After Dylan checks us in, we follow the other guests to the back patio. There’s a huge rolling lawn with a pool lit dramatically and a fountain on the far end. The tennis court on the right will serve as the dance floor and stage for the band scheduled to play later. There’s also a massive patio dotted with Italian-style pots filled with flowers and miniature fruit trees that run from one end of the house to the other. Besides the various sitting areas, including an outside living room complete with fireplace, dozens of tables with chairs and several bars have been arranged for the event. Live music from the jazz quartet floats past us.

  Dylan detours to the bar to get our drinks, as Riley and I wander around the tiled patio, trying to corner the waiters with the trays of fancy hors d’oeuvres. We score an eggplant-gorgonzola crostini, two bacon wrapped scallops, and a mushroom stuffed with sausage and Romano cheese before Dylan finally returns with our drinks.

  “Where were you?” Riley asks a bit indignantly.

  “I can’t go more than ten feet here without running into someone I know. Let’s just stay together from now on. That way, I can introduce you to everyone. There are a lot of family friends here.”

  I can’t tell if Riley is happy about the idea or not, until three good-looking young men in tuxedos stop to say hello to Dylan. She looks newly inspired. Evidently, they all went to private school together, and Dylan introduces Richard, Davis and a tall Swede named Rodger. They’re all clever and charming, and before I know it, they’re all gathered around Riley and laughing as she tells stories about Dylan. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was standing in the middle of a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

  As Riley continues, I notice Rodger checking me out, but just as he turns to me and starts to ask me something, Davis interrupts.

  “Who let him in?” he says loudly, looking off into the distance.

  I follow his gaze, and my heart skips a beat when I see Max in his leather jacket and paint-splattered jeans moving toward us with a framed painting in his arms. His jaw is locked and his expression angry as he fixes his glare on the tall Swede, who’s still trying to get my attention. By the time he reaches us, the group stops talking and there’s an awkward moment.

  “Great . . . the painting,” Dylan says, as he takes the artwork from Max’s hands. “Thanks a lot for bringing it all the way over here. You know it’s going to raise a lot of money tonight.”

  Max nods.

  “Hey guys, this is Max.”

  The men don’t acknowledge each other—not that I’m surprised.

  Dylan shakes his head. “Man, I didn’t know you were going drive it all the way out here. You should’ve let me know. I would’ve had someone come get it.”

  “It’s all right,” Max says, as he glances my way, his gaze moving over me—the dress, the makeup, the hair. He finally meets my stare, and his face is flushed and his gaze intense.

  He glares at the Swede and clenches his fists. I can feel his anger rising like steam from a boiling kettle. Rodger takes a step back.

  “I’m going to take it over to the auction area,” Dylan says, and Riley turns to join him.

  Max moves closer to me, and the Ralph Lauren boys take the hint and walk toward the bar.

  “Damn, Ava, you look gorgeous,” he says in a low voice.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t realize how much his reaction meant to me until that moment.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” he says.

  “I didn’t expect to see you either,” I say with a smile.

  Suddenly, his eyes get very dark and he looks around. “Who are you here with? Did you come with Jonathan?”

  “No, I’m dateless. I came with Riley and Dylan. Why don’t you stay? I’d really like to dance tonight.” I gesture to the tennis court where the band’s setting up on stage.

  He shakes his head, waving his hand up from his old jeans to his leather jacket. “I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately. Not that I care, but Dylan’s parents would be horrified.”

  “Okay, I’ll just have to find some other good-looking young man to dance with,” I tease him, and I take a step toward Rodger, who’s still watching me from the nearby bar.

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me back gently, but his eyes are stormy. “Well, maybe I could stay for a while.”

  “Oh, good . . . besides, you’re an artist contributing to their event, so you can get away with this look.”

  He shrugs and jams his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

  I step closer, grab the collar of his jacket and kiss him on the cheek. “My night just got a whole lot better.”

  He takes a deep breath and the corners of his lips turn up. “Are you flirting with me?”

  But before I can answer, a waiter distracts us, offering us a selection from a tray of brie and mango quesadillas. After we each take a piece, Max tells me about the fiasco with the framer and how the painting almost didn’t make the event.

  A couple of minutes later, Riley and Dylan rejoin us. “Doesn’t Ava look beautiful?” Riley asks Max. Evidently, tonight she’s my one-woman cheering squad.

  “Mmm,” he replies, studying me. “But she’s always beautiful.”

  Dylan looks over our heads, searching through the crowd.

  “Who are you looking for, babe?” Riley asks.

  “I want to say hello to my parents and introduce Ava.” His eyes wander a bit more and then he pauses. “Hey, is that Jonathan over there?”

  My stomach curls up, and I pray Dylan’s wrong. I really, really don’t want to see Jonathan right now. But I turn around with the others to look.

  Since every man but Max is wearing a tux, from a distance it could be easy to misidentify one tall man with sandy-blond hair from another. But even though we only see his profile, Jonathan’s tortoise-shell glasses give him away.

  To my great irritation, Riley asks, “Who’s the woman he’s with?”

  I guess she can’t help herself, knowing what she does about my situation.

  We all continue to stare now, examining the middle-aged woman with her arm linked with his. She’s facing our direction, and I get a clear view. Attractive, although not overtly so, she’s gazing warmly at Jonathan. Despite looking a bit frail, she’s elegantly dressed in a black dress with a short beaded jacket, and even from this distance, I see a very large diamond on her ring finger. It’s the materialization of my worst nightmare and I feel myself float
out of my body and hover just over the scene.

  The woman looks up, scans our group, and furrows her brow. But when she sees me, her expression clouds over.

  The weight of her stare makes me shrivel inside. My breath is shallow and I can’t feel my hands or feet.

  Riley quickly steps in front of me, blocking my view. “Dylan, could you show us the auction items inside?” she asks, her voice slightly edged with panic. She gives him a push and he turns toward the house. Max frowns and slips his arm around my waist as we follow them. He watches me carefully. Does he sense that something’s very wrong?

  We walk into the great room, which is devoid of furniture to act as the auction viewing room. Everything swirls in slow motion. Even the sounds blend together in a cacophony.

  Riley chatters nonstop, glancing at me as they examine tables filled with picnic baskets of expensive wine with tickets for Hollywood Bowl box seats, gift certificates for ski trips to Aspen and designer jewelry.

  When the woman in charge of the auction asks Dylan for help with an issue, he and Riley turn away for a moment.

  Max seizes the opportunity for us to be alone and leads me to the formal living room at the front of the house. This room is huge, like those showplaces in 1940s movies where the couples lounge in evening gowns, having cocktails before dinner. We move toward the sitting area near the massive fireplace. The room’s softly lit by a collection of Murano chandeliers. All the colors surrounding me are muted—burnished silvers, pales blues and beiges—providing a sharp contrast to the panic of red coloring my mind.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, gazing at me with concern on his face.

  I wonder if I should tell him what’s going on when I sense we’re not alone. I look over to the doorway and there she is . . . my usher leading me to my front row seat of my personal horror film.

  It’s clear the elegant woman with the big ring intends to speak to me.

  Fucking A. Ladies and gentleman, the film has started. I hope you have your popcorn and soda already, because you aren’t going to want to miss a minute of this show.

  I turn to Max and look him in the eye with the most serious look I’ve ever given him. “Can I have a moment? I need to speak with her.”

  He looks over at the woman and then back at me. “Are you sure?”

  I nod silently.

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting for you in there.” He points to the auction room and gives my hand a squeeze before he walks out and shuts the door.

  “Are you Ava?” she asks, quietly.

  “Yes, and you are . . . ?”

  “Heather Alistair, Jonathan’s wife.” She watches me carefully.

  A whimper escapes from my lips, and I wrap my arms around my torso, curling inward.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “Oh, I make it my business to know who my husband’s playthings are.” She pauses and considers me carefully.

  “You didn’t know about me?” she asks next. Her tone is eerily patient.

  “No, I had no idea . . .”

  “Hmm . . . Jonathan is very clever at hiding things.”

  “Oh, God. I would’ve never, ever . . . if I’d known. I’m so sorry.” The tears stream down my face as the pain and regret rip through me. “I’ll never see him again.”

  “Yes, well you aren’t the first one. He tends to pick young innocents for that very reason. But he’s normally much more discreet. I have no idea why he was so sloppy this time. I mean Spago . . . really. I have friends all over this city.”

  I might pass out as I consider the fact that I’m one of many. And someone saw us at Spago? What exactly did they see? This is all too much. I grab the edge of the couch to steady myself.

  “When I finally confronted him, he promised it would stop. But, just a week later, I had you followed to Santa Barbara. Even my private eye was embarrassed about the lewd sex on the patio. Disgusting. Jonathan is completely out of control.”

  I’m about to die. Where is the Twilight Zone when you need it? I wish a hole would open up in this Persian rug and swallow me. I’ve never been so horrifyingly humiliated in my life.

  She narrows her eyes. “Ava, I would like to believe that you’re a smart girl and are going to do the right thing. But, I can assure you that if I find any more evidence that you’re with Jonathan, and believe me, I’ll know, then I’ll have to make things . . . uncomfortable.”

  A chill runs up my spine. Uncomfortable?

  “It’s come to my attention that you desire a career in the art world. I hope you comprehend the kind of people I know. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Yes,” I sob before my knees give out, and I slide down onto the couch.

  “Very well. I think that is all then. Enjoy the party.” She pivots on her heel, opens the door, and walks out, disappearing into the bustle of the auction room.

  I cover my face with my hands and try to prevent more tears from falling onto Katherine’s dress. A moment later, Max is at my side.

  “Ava? Ava, what is it? What happened?” The concern in his voice makes me cry harder.

  “I need to leave now. Can you take me home? Please?”

  “Of course, let’s go.” He extends his hand to me, but I pause. I need him to let Riley and Dylan know we’re leaving.

  “Max, please do me a favor. Please go tell Riley that it’s true . . . that I’m all right, you’re taking me home now, and we’ll talk tomorrow. Can you do that?”

  “Of course,” he replies, his expression determined. Perhaps he’s figured out what’s going on. He quickly charges into the next room, and I lean back on the couch and stare up at the fresco on the ceiling. I can’t believe this is happening.

  But of course, this little break was just intermission, because in the next moment, I realize the second act has begun.

  “Ava,” Jonathan says solemnly and shuts the door firmly behind him.

  “Oh, God, no,” I cry out and cover my face with my hands again, effectively blocking him out of my vision. “Get the hell away from me, Jonathan! I don’t want to talk to you.”

  Footsteps move closer and then the couch dips next to me.

  “Ava.” There’s pain in his voice, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to kill him.

  “Ava, it’s not what it seems. I need to explain,” he pleads.

  I lift my hands, rage burning across my face. “Explain what? That you’re fucking married? This is so cliché and tacky that I can’t even believe it. Were you ever going to share that information?”

  “I know this looks bad, but you need to understand how I feel about you—”

  “It doesn’t matter how you feel about me. Right now, I’m dealing with how your wife feels about me. She thinks I’m a whore, and she’s ready to stomp out my career before it’s even begun.”

  “I won’t let her do that,” he answers fiercely.

  “Oh, that makes me feel so much better. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I’ve never gone after someone’s man, and now I’ve fucked around with someone’s husband. That makes me the very definition of everything I hate.”

  My hatred takes shape, and I’m a mythic ancient warrior drawing my sword for battle.

  “You’re a fucking liar and a cheat, and I feel like the biggest idiot, because I was so easily seduced by you. I’m so pathetic because I ate up the attention without ever understanding what was at stake. The only person I hate more than you right now is myself.”

  He reaches over and puts his hand on my shoulder. “No, baby, please don’t say that.”

  I leap up from the couch. “Don’t you dare touch me! Get away from me!”

  I turn to flee and spy Max in the doorway. I’ve never seen him look so fierce. He’s balanced forward and ready to lunge. I have no idea how long he’s been there, but what’s certain is the look of murderous fury on his face.

  This is all too much. I’m humiliated beyond redemption. Despite my long gown and high heels, I practically sprint for the door to the e
ntryway, the wine-colored layers of my evening gown flying behind me. All I can think about is disappearing into the night.

  Unfortunately, Jonathan comes after me. He grabs my arm, pulling me back hard, and I stumble against him. “Ava, wait, you’ve got to let me explain!”

  I turn to shove him, but Max grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him away from me with such force that Jonathan almost falls backward onto the marble floor.

  “Get your goddamned hands off her, Alistair!” he roars.

  Jonathan turns back to Max. “This is none of your business, Caswell. Get the hell away from us! I need to talk to Ava.”

  “Over my dead body. Can’t you see she’s done talking to you, asshole?”

  But Jonathan is evidently pathologically persistent, or a kind of desperation has overtaken his senses, because he jumps forward and grabs me again.

  “Ava . . . baby . . .”

  I cry out in pain from Jonathan’s grip, and my arm is yanked hard as Jonathan is hurled against the wall. Max surges with fierce adrenalin as his hands wrap around Jonathan’s throat while he pins him against the wall. The crystal chandelier sways with the impact. The contrast of the visual of one man in a tuxedo and the other in worn jeans and a leather jacket, does not escape me.

  “I’m going to fucking smash your face in if you don’t stay away from her,” Max growls. From the wild tone in his voice, there’s no doubt that he means what he says.

  “And I will ruin you, Max . . . kiss your art career good-bye,” Jonathan taunts as he gasps for air.

  “Fuck you, Jonathan. I don’t care what you do to me, but if you fuck with Ava again, I’ll take you down.” Max presses harder on his neck, and Jonathan turns purple.

  I grab Max’s arm. “Max . . . please . . . he’s not worth it . . . please, get me out of here.”

  I feel ravaged, as though these last minutes have sucked all the life out of me.

  He looks at my panicked expression, huffs and releases Jonathan before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. As he quickly moves me toward the intricately-carved front door, I kick something on the floor and send it careening into the wall. Just before we pass through the threshold, I look down and realize that Jonathan’s tortoise-shell glasses are spinning on the marble floor.