Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  I shift until I’m sitting with my back to his front. I wrap us up in a throw blanket. “Make it a good one.”

  He laughs softly. “So demanding.”

  A minute passes. “Well?” I snuggle against him.

  “Do you remember that note you left me after my art show in New York?”

  “In your hotel?”

  He rests his chin on the top of my head. “Yes. You asked me about all the drawings I’d left around the room.”

  My heart skips as I pull the blanket tighter around us. The image of his hotel room dramatically strewn with rough sketches is still vivid in my mind. “The drawings of the woman? You’d drawn her so many times. I was so jealous of her.”

  “You shouldn’t have been. It was you.” His lips press into my hair.

  “No!” I turn and look at him.

  He nods solemnly. “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  He shrugs as if the answer is obvious. “Because you intrigued me. I wanted you, Ava. Surely you must know. I’ve always wanted you. Always . . .”

  I let out a long sigh. “And I you.”

  My heart is full as I curl into him, and he holds me tight. Exhausted and deliciously content, we lie together silently, and I imagine the vastness of our journey until we finally drift off.

  Wrapped in the cloak of sleep, we soar to the places Georgia dreamed of. The moon shimmers over us, silver and soft, edging us with light as love lifts us up toward the open sky.

  Chapter Fifteen / My Fucking Faux Pas

  The course of true love never did run smooth.

  ~ William Shakespeare

  Max and I sleep in each other’s arms under the moonlight until a chill sets in and we make our way back inside to our bed.

  The next morning, we hide under the covers as long as possible and order room service to put off dealing with the outside world. We’re both wiped out from the last couple of days, so it feels good just lying in bed, eating French toast and bacon, watching old cartoons, and not rushing off somewhere.

  Eventually, we have to face the world though, as I’m meeting with Nick Castallani for lunch and Max has an interview this afternoon. Max isn’t happy about my meeting, because he asks a bunch of suspicious questions, but at least he offers to drop me off on his way to the show.

  I kiss Max good-bye in front of the restaurant, and as I slip inside to meet Nick, my insecurities start. Will I be successful with my writing a second time? Was Max’s book just a fluke, a flash in the pan? I take a deep breath and push forward.

  The hostess informs me that Mr. Castallani’s already here, and she leads me to his table. There’s an open a folder, a pad covered with notes, and a large Montblanc pen on the table. A half empty cup of coffee, several empty sugar packets, and a glass of water complete the mess he’s created. In my mind, I decide to title the scene Still Life of a Busy Man. He looks down at his phone as he types.

  As I approach the table, he lifts his head and smiles.

  “Ava, good.” He points to the chair opposite him. “Have a seat.”

  “Something to drink?” The waitress places a cocktail napkin in front of me.

  “Iced tea, please.” I sit down and place my notepad and phone on the table.

  He finishes his text, sets his phone down, and studies me. “So, as I said, I have you in mind for an important project, but first I’d like to give you something smaller to see if you live up to your hype.”

  “Hype?” My shoulders curl in and I press my fingers into my knees.

  “You’re new to publishing, but you already have fans, Ava. As I’m sure you can imagine, that’s not a victory easily won with this damn crowd.”

  “Well, I appreciate that you’re willing to take a chance on me. I do believe my enthusiasm and dedication make up for my lack of experience.”

  “Hmm . . . Alistair said you’re smart and tenacious . . . but he knows that’s what I want to hear.”

  “Did he tell you my deadline was pushed up by two months in the middle of the project, and I still made the deadline?”

  He purses his lips and nods. “That’s impressive. He also said he didn’t have to do any major edits to your work.”

  “Well, he was great to work with.” I sit up straight, maintaining my composure, so there’s no hint that anything else happened between Jonathan and myself.

  “Look, what’s most important is that you have a fresh voice. You bring a lot of emotion into your writing, which is unconventional, but works surprisingly well.”

  “Art is emotionally driven, so why shouldn’t the writing that accompanies it be as well?”

  He studies my face for several moments and then smiles as he closes the folder. “Why don’t you check out the menu? Let’s order.”

  As we eat, he explains how he likes to work. There’ll be no coddling with Rampart. My first assignment will be a ten-page piece on multimedia artist Andrea Altman’s traveling exhibit that’s opening at the Smithsonian in Washington DC next January. She’s been referred to as the next generation’s Cindy Sherman, and I’m excited for the opportunity to work on a project about a female artist for a change.

  Halfway through lunch, Jess and Max approach our table and I have to fight from saying something I shouldn’t. Max watches Nick carefully and doesn’t even look at me. Jess looks genuinely surprised to see us.

  “Hey, Ava, Nick, good to see you again,” Jess says.

  Nick shakes her hand.

  She motions to Max. “Nick, this is Maxfield Caswell.” Jess looks at Max suspiciously.

  “Max,” Nick’s voice booms in the quiet restaurant. “Ava and I were just talking about your book. Great work. You must be pleased.”

  Max shakes his hand. “Yes, you have no idea how pleased.” He finally turns and smiles and I glare back. This is no fucking coincidence. He came here to watch me. My head starts to pound as my frustration builds.

  Max gestures to my plate. “How’s your lunch, Ava? We’re going to eat here . . . why don’t we join you?”

  I push my plate away, since my stomach has flip-flopped and my appetite’s gone. “The food’s delicious. But, actually, you guys, Nick and I are having a business meeting, so why don’t I catch up with you later.”

  “Yes, and I need to leave soon for another meeting in a half hour. But good to see you again, Jess.”

  “Likewise,” she says, while stepping back and nudging Max to follow.

  Nick turns to Max while opening up his leather folder. “And it’s great to finally meet you, Max. Here’s my card. I received a proposal for a book that could include you. I think we should talk about it. Why don’t you contact my office next week, and we’ll set something up.”

  Although Max is probably pissed that we’re brushing him off, he takes the card graciously. “Okay, thanks, Nick.” Their parting handshake is a little aggressive for my taste.

  As Max turns to leave, a darkness flares in his eyes and he clenches his hands.

  “Ava,” he says as he turns back, “I’ll see you back in our room.”

  Jess looks like her eyes are going to pop out of her head, and she drags him away. Nick looks at Max and then back at me.

  He actually outed us during my important business meeting? I’m going to kill him. How could he do this? It takes everything I have not to chase him down with the butter knife. Why didn’t he just piss on me to mark his territory, tell Nick that he’d fucked me four times in the last twenty-four hours, and call me his art slut? I’m sure that’s how this looks. Does he have no regard for my professional ambitions?

  “I see you and Caswell worked well together,” Nick says with an arched brow.

  “I-I assure you, it was professional, Nick,” I stammer. “But we’ve become closer since the project ended.”

  He chuckles. “He’s a live wire. Good luck with that one, Ava.”

  The waitress returns and fills his coffee cup again.

  “Look, you’re new at this, and I’m sure you have a lot to learn. I’d s
trongly suggest you don’t mix business with pleasure. I won’t tolerate fucking around on my projects. Are we clear?”

  “Abundantly.” I fold my arms over my stomach, horrified.

  “I like working with new talent. It keeps things interesting. So, every once in a while, I like to take a chance. I feel your talent is worth the gamble, despite that faux pas.”

  It doesn’t feel good being chastised like a recalcitrant child and having my new relationship described as a faux pas, but I bite my tongue. I really want this job.

  “I won’t let you down, Nick.”

  “I’m counting on that.” He gives me one more somber look, and then we gather our things and move to the front of the restaurant. We shake hands, and he hands me the folder with my first assignment.

  After instructing me to schedule one call a week, he walks out the door. I lag behind to use the restroom. By the time I reach the ladies’ room, I’m shaking with fury and grip the edge of the counter to regain my composure.

  Max’s juvenile antics were so off the charts, I don’t even know what to do. We’re less than two days into a relationship, and he’s just tried to sabotage a huge work opportunity. This alone is reason enough to break up with him.

  Damn it all.

  I’m too angry to enjoy the art show, and I don’t want to run into Max and make a scene. I decide to return to the hotel. Even though Bishop’s Lodge is several miles away, I know a long walk is just the thing to clear my head and calm me down.

  By the time I get to the room, I’m sweaty and tired, and I need a shower. When I open the door, the first thing I notice is the darkness. All the blinds and curtains are closed, so I turn on the lights.

  Someone’s in the room. I gasp. It’s Max, and he’s in a chair silently waiting.

  “You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”

  A number of charcoal drawings are scattered in front of him. There’s charcoal smeared on his hands, arms, face, and chest.

  “Where have you been and why haven’t you answered my calls?” His voice is thick with fury as red blotches creep up his neck.

  “You know where I was, and my phone was turned off. You crashed my party, remember?”

  “That was almost two hours ago. Where’ve you been Ava?”

  “I walked back from the restaurant. Where in the hell do you think I was?”

  “I called over to the show, and no one had seen you. I thought you were still with Nick.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Precisely,” he snorts.

  My mouth drops open and my nostrils flair. “Are you fucking serious? So, even though I’ve told you I’m madly in love with you and we’ve made love several times in the last twenty-four hours, you think I’m out fucking around on you? That us being together meant nothing? Are you seriously questioning my fidelity?”

  He sits silently looking straight ahead, his face twisted with rage.

  My voice elevates to a screech. “How dare you! How dare you question me! How dare you make me look like your slut in front of Nick!”

  “He needed to know you belong to me.”

  “I don’t belong to you, Max. And if this is your idea of what love is, I won’t even be with you. What you did back there could’ve destroyed this opportunity and damaged me professionally. Are you really that selfish that you have no regard for my career?”

  “I’ve heard things about him, and I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

  I scrutinize Max. His hair’s more wild than normal, and his eyes are wired and crazy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was on drugs.

  “Do you actually think that because I dated Jonathan that I’d date every publisher I work with? I thought I was with you. Does that count for anything? You’re acting like a goddamned caveman.”

  “What in the hell do you mean you thought you were with me?”

  “The guy I fell in love with would never do this to me. I don’t know who in the hell you are.”

  He slaps the arms of his chair hard as he glares.

  “What about you, Max?”

  “What about me?”

  “You and all your women? Since you’re acting like this, should I worry every time I leave that you’re going to fuck one of them? That I’ll come back here and find one of those whores on her knees with you in her mouth?”

  “You really think I would do that when I have you? I want your mouth on me, Ava. You’re the only one I want.”

  “But can’t you see? I don’t want you if it’s going to be like this!”

  His eyes reflect the wildfire burning between us. I see the flames flare in his dilated pupils.

  I yank my purse higher on my shoulder. “I’m done with this conversation. I’m not putting up with this crap.” The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I look around frantically. My instincts take over, and I turn back to the door. As I turn the handle, his hand slams up against the door.

  I push his hand, but it doesn’t budge. “Move your hand. I want out of here, damn it!”

  “No, you can’t leave!” he howls. “You can’t leave me, Ava.”

  “What’s wrong with you? Why are you treating me like this?” I turn around and push him away.

  His eyes bug out and his mouth falls open. “Because I fucking love you, and I can’t lose you. It makes me crazy, knowing someone like Nick is after you.”

  He looms over me, and the heat from his fury sears my skin. His eyes are narrow slits, and he’s clenching his teeth as his chest heaves. “I lost you once; I can’t go through it again.”

  He’s freaking me out, but I’m determined to stay strong. I look up into his eyes with a hard gaze. “I have no interest in Nick, nor he in me. This is ridiculous. If this is what our relationship is going to be like, Max, I’m going to have to leave. I mean it.”

  “No!” he yells, and the desperate look in his eyes haunts me.

  “Yes.”

  I gasp as he leans in, grabs my shoulders and presses his forehead against mine.

  “Fuck no, Ava.”

  “Damn you, Max.” I push him away again. “I’m furious . . . Are you trying to make me hate you?”

  “Go ahead and hate me . . . as long as you don’t leave me, Ava. Damn it all. I fucking need you.”

  Some of the black charcoal has rubbed off on my skin and the marks shock me. “This is so screwed up . . .” The anger has intensified every nerve ending in my body until I’m humming like a loose wire about to crackle and pop.

  I push past him and step back into the room. Taking several deep breaths to calm my racing mind, I finally find my voice again.

  “I need some time alone to think this out, Max. So either I leave or you leave. Which is it going to be?”

  He stares at me, gasping with a ragged breath, and I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. They are the most brilliant steel gray, full of desperation, furor, and longing.

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

  I know he can’t stand the idea of me leaving, but I can’t think with him falling apart around me.

  “You or me?” I demand.

  He looks between the door and me. With a look of defeat, he storms outside.

  I watch him stride away until the door swings shut. The click of the automatic lock rips through me like a shot, and I stumble into the bedroom as my eyes fill with tears. I grab the box of tissue before falling onto the bed. I can’t even fathom how quickly things crumbled between us, and I feel hopeless. How could we be on top of the world this morning and sink so low a few hours later? It’s more than I can comprehend.

  I cling to a pillow, crying until I’m hollow inside. Drained, I lie in a daze for what feels like hours, when in reality, it’s just over an hour later when I hear Max let himself back in the room. He sets his things down on the living room table and washes his hands in the bathroom. A minute later, the edge of the bed sinks down. I can smell his fear in the air. There’s a long silence before he speaks.

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry, Ava . . . I’m sorry.”

  I can’t bear the anguish in his voice, and I find new tears to cry. We’ve broken each other so quickly.

  “You know I can’t do this,” I say with a shaky breath.

  “I know,” he admits with an anguished tone.

  “I’m still furious, Max. I love you, but if you can’t trust me, we can’t be together.”

  He hesitates and sighs. “This is how dark I get, and I hate it. When I saw you with him, I came completely unglued. Logic went right out the window.”

  “You scared me.”

  “I know,” he whispers.

  He’s much calmer and appears rational, and when he asks me if he can lie down next to me, I agree.

  He gets on the bed and lies still for several minutes, the room silent other than my sniffling and his measured breathing. Waves of hopelessness, tempered by an instinct to stay and work on things, run through me, and I finally accept that what we have together is more than I can walk away from.

  I clear my throat. “What are we going to do?”

  His voice is quiet but sure. “I have to fix this. It’s killing me that I hurt you and your faith in us.”

  He gently lays his hand on my shoulder. “I want to be better for you. When I got back from the restaurant, I tried to call my therapist, but her service said she couldn’t call me back until three. I finally talked to her after you made me leave.”

  I have a flicker of hope that comes from him asking for help without my prompting. He knew he was in trouble.

  “I’m relieved you called her. You know I can’t be the one to help you with this stuff. Some of it is over my head, and when it affects me—much like what happened today—I get too upset to think straight.”

  “I know.” He sounds desperately unhappy.

  I pull the pillow against me, and turn to face him. He’s fighting back what I assume to be frustration from how tightly his fists are clenched. I stroke his cheek.

  “I’m not Chloe, Max. I’ve lived enough life to know our relationship means everything to me. And when I told you I loved you, it means that I’ll always be honest about our relationship, because it’s the only way it’ll work.”