Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  I almost yell, “Hey, Jonathan, got your wife with you?” But I decide against it. I don’t want to engage him in any way.

  “Ava, please baby, you have got to let me explain. We can work this out.”

  The yogurt-toast combination from earlier churns in my stomach. We’re not working out anything, motherfucker.

  I tiptoe back to my bedroom, slip my ear buds in and crank up my iPod to obliterate his presence. I crawl back in bed.

  Sometime later, as I drift out of my haze, I hear Riley’s voice nearby. She sounds agitated. I wonder what time it is and how long she’s been home from the movies. I get up, and as I open my door, her phone rings, so I eavesdrop.

  “Hey, Max.”

  “No, it’s okay . . . I don’t mind. Yeah, she turned it off early this afternoon.”

  My heart pounds, knowing Max is checking up on me. For a moment, I remember how it felt when he held and soothed me, but then I focus back on Riley’s words.

  “Did you talk to Dylan?”

  “Well, I think he slipped the note under the front door after we’d left for the movies. I can’t believe he had the nerve to come here. What a fucking creep. Of course she didn’t answer the door. Serves him right; he’s done a real number on her.”

  “Yeah, I still can’t believe no one knew. If I ever see him, I’m giving him a piece of my mind. Dylan wanted to beat the crap out of him, but we all need to be careful, considering what he could do to Ava’s career.”

  “She stayed in bed all day, and she’s barely eating. She’s really messed up . . . Yeah, she hates his guts now, but she’s blaming herself. I just don’t get it. I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “Okay, why don’t we talk tomorrow before you try to come over? She may not want anyone to see her like this, so let’s see how she’s doing. Yeah, I’ll tell her you called.”

  “Oh, and Max, she told me what you did . . . how you defended and helped her. I just want to say thank you for that.”

  “Okay, goodnight.”

  I wait a minute before I wander into the living room.

  “Hey, Riley.”

  “Ava! You startled me.” She looks me over carefully. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really okay, but I’m awake at least. How was the movie?”

  She tells me about the historical romance she dragged Dylan to. He actually didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

  I listen intently, because it feels good to think about someone else’s world for a change. I ask her what’s been happening at work.

  Riley fills me in on the big holiday presentation they’re preparing the following week, which will force her to put in a lot of overtime. The design department works at least eight months ahead of the release date, so they’re always developing product in the wrong season. It must be weird thinking about Christmas ornaments in March or Halloween costumes in January, but that’s the reality of manufacturing. I curl up on the couch and listen carefully, still grateful to be out of my head for a while.

  When she finally winds down to go to bed, I notice how awake I actually am. I slept on and off for a crazy amount of hours, and now I’m going to pay the price for it. I decide to watch a movie, but the titles on the bookshelf are all about relationships. Where are the damned comedies when you need them?

  I settle on Annie Hall, Woody Allen’s ’70s classic about a couple falling in and out of love. At least there are a lot of laughs in this film, and I love Diane Keaton’s character. I remember when I first saw it, I used her phrase, la de dah, la de dah for weeks. Now that my life is so complicated, I don’t think I’ll be using that phrase anytime soon.

  I’ve mastered the fine art of being a drama queen, and my self-loathing spreads through me like a virus. I may not be able to actually live on an island, but there’s nothing to stop me from creating an island for my heart and mind to play castaway on. In this dark moment, my survival depends on it.

  Chapter Ten / Ragged Edges

  Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.

  ~ Scott Adams

  Around eight the next morning, I wander into the kitchen and stand in front of the sink, forgetting why I’m there. My edges are ragged, and I’m disoriented from watching four movies in a row and staying up all night. The sky outside is asphalt gray and as flat as my mood.

  There’s no way I can make it through a day of work, so I call Adam’s voicemail and tell him that I need a sick day. I wonder if there’s a way to arrange my life so that all I do is sleep and watch movies, since those are the two events that spare me from feeling much of anything. This time, when I crawl back in bed, I’m finally able to sleep again.

  Something flops down on the edge of my bed and startles me awake.

  “This isn’t going to cut it! Come on, Ava baby, playtime is over. Time to get out of the fucking bed and face the world.”

  Who let Jess in for God’s sake? This is more than I can take.

  “Did you break in?” I ask, highly irritated.

  “Did you forget, Ms. Emo, that you gave me the key and the code to your place after the robbery?”

  “I didn’t realize that you’d put it to devious use.”

  “Man, you look like crap! Have you looked in the mirror, girl?”

  “If you came here to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

  “Enough with the cutesy banter, outta bed now!” She rips back the covers, storms into the bathroom and turns on the shower. She returns, grabs my arm, and drags me out of bed.

  “You are one pushy broad,” I grumble, as I shove her aside and walk to the bathroom.

  I have to admit the hot shower feels good, and I scrub my skin until I’m flushed pink like a newborn. When I’m done, I dry off and get dressed in my most comfortable jeans and T-shirt.

  Jess stands by the window and looks deep in thought. As soon as she hears me, she snaps back to reality. “Okay, let’s go.”

  She drags me down to her car and drives to Hugo’s Restaurant. “Let’s get some healthy food in you,” she says, as the hostess leads us to our table.

  After we place our order, I finally ask, “How much of the story do you know?”

  “I had dinner with Max last night.”

  “You know about Jonathan?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to beat the shit out of him right now. If I’d known he was married, I would never have pushed you to go out with him. Whatever happened to married people wearing their fucking wedding rings? It would really make all of our lives simpler.”

  “I know. He never mentioned whether he’d ever been married, but I assumed if he had been, he’d be divorced now. I should’ve had him categorize his collection of women.”

  “Categorize . . . hah! Yeah, Max wants to categorize and kick his sorry ass.”

  I wait for her to elaborate, but she looks at the menu instead.

  Impatient for more, I ask, “What else did Max say?”

  “He’s worried and doesn’t know how to help you.”

  “I don’t want him to feel like he has to help me. Isn’t it funny how quickly the tides can turn. We were so worried about him only a few weeks ago, and now you guys are worried about me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m really proud of him, Ava. He seems to be on the right path now. He’s trying to turn his life around.”

  “I think you’re right. Brian said he didn’t even go to that opening at the museum last week with all the models and actresses.”

  “Yeah, he told me he’s done with all that shit. No more art groupies. Thinks he wants something more now.” She watches me carefully.

  The waitress brings us our food, and I take a bite of my tofu and vegetable scramble.

  “But enough about Max. What about you? How long will this emo thing last? I mean, that married fucker was only good for hot dirty talk, freaky sexual encounters, and career advancement. It’s not like he was your soul mate or anything. You’re just pissed because he played you, so why don’t you get an
gry and get over it?”

  I laugh. It’s the first time I’ve smiled since the party. “So, what do you think, Jess? I can’t tell how you feel about this situation.”

  “I think it’s time to get out of town. Max and I are taking you to Santa Fe next week for the art fair. I’ve already worked it out with Adam. It’s going to be great.”

  “You worked it out with Adam?”

  “Yup, and Max got you a plane ticket with his miles. And my friend Michelle has offered to share her room, since her girlfriend can’t make it. Her company is paying for her room, so it’ll be free for you. You just have to cover your food.”

  “You sure are a get-it-done kinda gal, Jess. And I really appreciate it, but what if I don’t want to go?”

  “Oh, you’re going. We’re gonna have a great time. You’ll see.”

  I’m not sure whether to feel grateful or pissed off, so I quietly eat my lunch and listen to stories about her previous travels to Santa Fe.

  Next, the wild woman drags me to the art store. While she shops for supplies, I wander around and marvel at the wall of markers in every hue, sliding shelves full of exotic handmade papers, and enough paint brushes to supply an army of Picassos. I almost wish I were an artist so I could play with all this cool stuff.

  Jess takes her full basket to the register, and when we get to the car, she hands me a box.

  “A gift for you.” She winks.

  It’s a Hello Kitty paint-by-numbers kit. It’s as if the best of my worlds have collided, and I squeeze her in appreciation.

  I examine the kit carefully. The age restriction is four years old and above, due to the simplicity of the design and the thick black lines to contain the wandering little paintbrushes. “I think I can handle this. Thanks, Jess.”

  On the way home, Jess takes a call on her Bluetooth, so I turn my cell phone back on, and it practically explodes with messages. I ignore my voicemail and text Max, since I’m sure he’s wondering how I’m doing.

  Jess just dragged me out to lunch. I was mad, but it was a good thing.

  He responds right away. I’m glad. How are you doing?

  A little better. Jess bought me a paint-by-numbers kit I’ll tackle when I get home.

  Max replies, Maybe it will end up in my painting.

  I doubt it . . . it’s Hello Kitty, I respond.

  That bigheaded cat? You’re right . . . I don’t think so.

  If I do a nice job, I’ll give it to you for your birthday, I tease.

  Gee thanks. BTW what time do I pick you up for Harry Potter Wed?

  So he still wants to take me to Harry Potter? How about 11?

  10 and we can have a late dinner.

  We pull up to my apartment. I send one last text to Max.

  OK 10 it is-Gotta go-talk to you later.

  His response makes me smile.

  Good-bye, Kitty.

  That afternoon, I open my paint-by-numbers kit, which features a piece of white cardboard with the black outline of Hello Kitty at the beach. There’s a tiny paintbrush and a row of little plastic pots of colored paint.

  As I carefully apply the paint with the little brush, I think about what Jess and I talked about. She’s right. I can’t just burrow in a hole. I need to get out and live my life. Even though Jonathan’s attention was addictive and filled an empty part of me, it’s not as if I were in love or anything close.

  I’ll just try to wipe the memory of him from my mind like one of those felt rectangles sweeping across a dry erase board. The image is rubbed away until all that’s left are the insignificant particles of residue.

  When I click the last pot of paint shut, I prop my masterpiece against the vase on the table. The bigheaded Kitty looks blissful as she frolics on the beach. I think I’ll give this to Max after all. I lay it back down and write along the edge Hello Kitty in Malibu.

  If I could, I would paint Max’s house in the background of my little masterpiece. As I look once more at her blissful expression, I laugh and think to myself, That cat must be so happy because she’s on her way to Max’s.

  Thanks to Jess’s tough-love, I manage to get through the rest of Monday night and make it to work on Tuesday, despite my lingering feeling of doom.

  Everyone tiptoes around me at the studio, avoiding the big, fat, married, cheating elephant in the room. Riley warned me that the word was out. Adam even called Dylan to confirm, because he wanted to confront Jonathan on my behalf. Luckily, Dylan convinced him not to do anything until I got my bearings.

  I’m grateful I don’t have to rehash the sordid details, especially with Sean, who would have turned it into an epic drama I don’t have the fortitude to face. My snarky sass has left the building—so lying low is my only option until I can get my mojo back.

  We spend most of the day printing, and I stay focused on the work at hand and the music playing in the background.

  Late in the afternoon, I cock my head to the side. Is it my imagination or did I just hear my name? I set down the print I’m working and move to the door. Brian’s saying something and he sounds agitated.

  “Ava!”

  My name is called again louder, and my stomach lurches. It’s Jonathan.

  The door into the studio opens slightly and slams shut again. I gasp.

  “I asked you to leave. You can’t see her now!” Brian booms.

  “I saw her car, and I know she’s here. I have to talk to her. She isn’t returning any of my calls.”

  I’ve never heard Jonathan sound anything but calm, cool and collected. This version of him is so different—almost panicky—and it’s unnerving. I break out in a cold sweat.

  “I don’t care what you need . . . I’m thinking about what Ava needs. And she sure as hell doesn’t need to see you!” Brian’s anger’s building, and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster sitting at the top of the track during that teasing pause before you plummet to the ground.

  I glance nervously at Sean.

  “I can’t believe the motherfucker showed up here! Don’t worry, Ava, I’ll take care of him,” Sean growls, rage etched across his face.

  I step into his path, and he almost knocks me over, but grabs me in time and steadies us both.

  “Please, please, Sean, no . . . Brian can handle him. I want you here, not out there beating the crap out of Jonathan.” Tears pool in my eyes.

  Sean studies my expression and stills, his aggression deflating. “Come on, Ava. Let me beat the crap out of him. I’ll do it outside, so you don’t have to hear it.”

  “Oh, Sean, that’s so sweet in a very twisted way.” I take a step closer and press my hands against his still-heaving chest. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly.

  The sounds just beyond the door snap us back to attention.

  “Last chance, Jonathan . . . If you don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to have to kick your ass!” Brian roars. He’s really pissed now. Does Jonathan know who he’s messing with?

  Sean and I hold our breaths, listening, but it’s quiet in the other room. I hope Jonathan has finally left the building. Another minute passes before Brian opens the door and slowly walks into the studio. He doesn’t look happy.

  “Damn! He wasn’t going to take no for an answer,” Brian groans.

  I brush the tears out of my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe my personal problems are following me to work. I feel terrible you had to deal with him.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that, but it was pretty weird. I’ve met him a few times, but today I barely recognized him. He looked like hell.”

  “See, that’s what Ava does to men,” Sean teases.

  A bad attempt at a joke, Sean? I think with a grimace.

  “I don’t know why he can’t just leave me alone. What the fuck does he want? There’s nothing he could ever say that would make what happened okay.”

  “Yeah, I get the feeling he isn’t used to not getting his way. But sometimes wanting something just isn’t enough,” Brian says.

 
; “You can say that again,” Sean adds. He looks over at me and his gaze gets intense. “Ava, why don’t you take off? I can finish up here.”

  “Thanks.” I gather up my things.

  Brian walks me to my car, just to make sure Jonathan isn’t lingering in the parking lot. My head is a high-speed blender whipping together anxiety, regret, anger, and despair until I’m numb. I don’t even remember the drive home.

  By the time I leave work on Wednesday, I’m exhausted. I head home and nap before my late evening with Max. After a wake-up shower and Diet Coke, I realize that I’m actually looking forward to going out. That has to be a good sign, considering that I couldn’t even get out of bed just four days ago. Maybe I’m starting to resurface after all.

  When the bell rings, I pull open the front door. Max is holding a stuffed snow-white owl and a package of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. His grin makes him look like a young boy as he offers them to me.

  I give him a hug. “Where did you get these?” I peek into the decorative candy box and give the owl a little hug.

  “The bookstore had a special display. I had to restrain myself from buying the light-up wand and red and yellow striped Gryffindor knit scarf.”

  “Wise choice . . . these are perfect. Thanks, Max.” I set my plush Hedwig on the mantel and put the candy in my purse before we leave. We taste and try to guess the jelly bean flavors all the way to the complex. He swears he got a liver and onions flavored one, but I don’t believe him.

  We have dinner in the café at the fancy ArcLight Cinema, so we don’t risk being late for the movie.

  “Guess what?” Max asks with a grin, right after our food is delivered.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be a teacher.” He sits a little straighter with a proud expression on his face.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  “Well, a guest teacher . . .”

  “That counts.”

  “When I was talking to my therapist, Cara, I remembered my friend Raphael. He teaches art at a magnet program in downtown L.A. He’s asked me to be a guest in the past, but I’ve never had the time.”