Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  “The problem is that I don’t remember how I lived without you, Ava. What am I supposed to do when you leave?”

  Tears well up and spill across my cheeks. “Max, can’t you just try it before you give up? There are phone calls, email, and texts. I’ll come here and you’ll go there.” I rest my hands on his chest.

  He’s watching the trail of my tears.

  “Think of how fast a year passes. Please, can’t you try?” I beg.

  “A year, a whole year.” He looks panicked.

  “You know what? You’re making me feel like I’m not worth waiting for. If it were you, I would wait . . . I swear I would.”

  He looks gutted. “Not worth it? Oh, Angel, don’t ever say that.”

  I look up, and in a single moment, it’s as if he’s cracked a hole in his protective shell and he’s pushing his way out. As he finally opens up to me, he’s a speeding train, and I’m standing in the middle of his tracks. He powerfully lifts me up in his embrace, his words of regret and desperate need jumble together, while our hands frantically grasp and pull. He passionately kisses me with love and tenderness, and hope flares brightly.

  Lowering us to the bed, he pulls me tightly against him, front to front, lying on our sides. My heart pounds from the heated connection we share everywhere we touch. I’ve missed this feeling so desperately that I’m drunk now with the sensation of it. All I can do is press closer to him and pray he never lets me go.

  “I’m such an ass,” he says with a moan, as he gently strokes my cheek.

  “Yes, you are. If I didn’t love you so much, I swear . . .”

  “I’m sorry I’ve put you through this. So sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I’m ashamed for how I freaked out and shut down. Sometimes, I don’t understand what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m so proud of you getting this job, and I don’t want to ruin this for you.”

  I still and listen, but don’t respond right away while he waits patiently.

  Finally, my heart speaks as I look in his eyes. “No, it doesn’t make me feel any better. We’ve both made mistakes here. I should’ve told you everything first. And it was really wrong that I didn’t stop and consider everything before I surged ahead when I got the offer. You abandoned me out of fear without even trying to figure things out. We need to be better than this, much better.”

  He gingerly slides his fingers through my hair, then down my back, pulling me closer still. He takes a deep breath. “I want to be better. I’m going to try to figure this out with everything I’ve got. I can’t lose you.”

  I fist my hands over his chest and twist up his T-shirt. “Then fight for me, damn it. Don’t just give up. Don’t ever do that again.”

  I want his weight on me, but instead, he inches toward me and slowly trails kisses over my cheek, across my forehead, and down my nose. I lie still, my heart aching. There’s so much love in every touch, but there’s a searching too, as if he’s still looking for answers my words won’t give him. If only he could see in my heart, any fear he has would fade away.

  I return the gesture, but I start by grazing his chin with my teeth and then feathering my lips along his cheekbone and down his neck. He moans softly, so I lift up to look at him and smile. He presses his forehead against mine.

  “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

  “Please . . .”

  Oh, and the feeling of his lips against mine—all warmth and softness, liquid love pouring through me, washing all the pain away. I kiss him gently, but with an edge of fire. I feel his heart pounding close to mine. Then, before we pull apart, he gives me the kind of kiss that wipes out all reason. Sheer desire is all that remains.

  Oh, my God. I’d give anything to hold onto this feeling. We still, each holding our breath.

  He lifts up on his elbows and gently brushes the hair out of my eyes as he looks at me with an intensity that tears through me. I hold his gaze, waiting. His eyes roam over my cheeks and lips, and then back to my eyes. He lets out a deep sigh.

  “I love you, Ava.”

  “I love you too.”

  He looks so earnest, so determined.

  “I want you to follow your dreams, so I’ll try to make this long distance thing work. Please be patient with me, and I’ll try my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask, Max.”

  Chapter Eleven / We are Stars

  I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.

  ~ Michelangelo

  As the early morning sun peeks into his window, my gaze skims over my beautiful man. I say a silent thanks to the sheet that has wiggled its way down, leaving Max gloriously naked. As he lies fast asleep on his stomach, I restrain myself from running my hands over his perfect ass and strong thighs. But I have to leave soon to get home, shower, change, and get to work on time.

  Despite my efforts not to disturb him, when I get out of bed, his eyes pop open.

  “Where are you going?” he grumbles.

  I turn and run my hand across his back. “I have to leave. I have to be at work in two hours, and the drive into town will be brutal.”

  “Drive back now? To hell with that—just call in sick and come back to bed.” He gives me a lazy, sexy smile as he burrows his head into his pillow and reaches for me. This isn’t helping my resolve.

  “I can’t call in sick when I’m only going to be working there a few more weeks. They need me to be there.” I put on my clothes.

  “You can’t blame me for wanting you to stay,” he says with a smoldering look that almost makes me lose my resolve and climb back into bed.

  “Oh, Max. You’re making this so hard. I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  I kiss him, and then whisper in his ear, “Call me later?”

  He nods and winks.

  Jackson calls just after lunch to tell me that he has made good progress on my contract. They’ve agreed to a three-day weekend twice a month, which will leave me enough time to come to L.A. I have all holidays off, including two weeks when production shuts down around Christmas and New Year’s. They’ve also agreed that the New York contingency will only apply to the first year, when we’re actually shooting two seasons of episodes. If the show gets picked up for season three, they will base production in L.A. and focus on West Coast artists.

  Finally, when Jackson tells me what he’s negotiated for my salary, I almost fall out of my chair. It may not be a lot by Hollywood standards, but it’s certainly more money than I ever thought I’d earn in my lifetime.

  “I think it’s time to give your boss the official notice, Ava. Congratulations, my dear. Soon, you’ll be a star.”

  I thank Jackson profusely and hang up feeling optimistic. If I can fly to L.A. at least once a month, and if Max can come see me as frequently, our separation doesn’t sound completely horrible. Meanwhile, this crazy fantasy is actually becoming a reality.

  That evening at my apartment, I lay in Max’s arms and explain the contract details. He listens patiently, relaxed from our ardent lovemaking.

  “If you come see me once a month and I’m here twice a month, then we will be together three times a month. That’s almost as much as we see each other now.”

  He gives me an exasperated look. “No, it’s not. Besides, when production starts, there will be all sorts of reasons why you have to keep working. Between my dad and my friends in the business, I know all about the huge gap between what they say, what’s expected, and what actually happens. Before you know it, you’ll never make it home.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “You won’t be able to control it. And I’ll be here all pent up, waiting for you. It’ll be frustrating. I’m not used to restraining myself that long.”

  I pull away angrily. I can’t believe he pulled the horny man card. My inner cheerleader face-plants because it’s the very thing I’ve feared. With women circling him like buzzards searching for fresh prey, can he keep his cock in his pants while I’m a world away? He’
s just made a vague suggestion that his self-restraint is questionable.

  I can’t hold back my anger. “So, you need sex so badly you’ll do other women while I’m gone? Really? I heard what you said to Dylan about going back to the art sluts. Can you imagine how that made me feel?”

  “Damn it, you know I didn’t mean it. I was foaming at the mouth that night. But you’re in denial if you think this isn’t something we’ll need to work on.”

  “Your insatiable desire is a big issue?”

  “And yours . . . What about you, Ava? You’re more passionate and sexual than you give yourself credit for. You’ll be spending long hours with guys like your buddy, Zach the cameraman, who practically undressed you with his eyes right in front of me. Hell, you’ll be with some very hot artists for days at a time. You’ll be pursued aggressively. Can you really promise, in a weak moment, you won’t slip?”

  “Weak moment? Is that all you give me credit for? You’re talking about yourself, damn it.”

  “You worry about me, but you haven’t experienced how intoxicating fame is. People will do anything to please you, and sometimes you let them because your resistance gets worn down or you’re tired of being alone.”

  “I haven’t even thought of another man since I got involved with you. Can you say the same about other women?”

  The anger in his expression scares me. “Oh, you’re right, Ava. I’m thinking about other women all the time. Can’t you tell?”

  I give him the most hostile face I can muster.

  “You’re just someone convenient to sleep with. Once you’re gone, all bets are off.”

  My rage explodes. “That’s such a screwed up thing to say! Why do you react to everything like a child? I swear, if you’re going to talk to me like that, I’m going to treat you like a child.” I growl and point toward the living room. “You need a fucking time out!”

  He jerks away and gets out of bed. The air is thick with anger as he puts on his clothes and grabs his keys and wallet off the nightstand.

  He narrows his eyes and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he stares me down. “You think I’m acting like a child? You better not pull this shit when you’re in New York. I’ll tell you what . . . I’m taking a time out, all right, before I say something worse. We’ll discuss this in the morning after you’ve calmed down.”

  “After I’ve calmed down?” I yell after him as he storms down the hall.

  When he slams the door, I lie stunned on the bed, my chest heaving with fury. I yell out a string of expletives. If all he cares about is whom he’s going to screw next, then maybe I’m better off without him. As passionately as I yell in the empty apartment, I don’t mean it, but the release is cathartic.

  This rant goes on and on until I have listened to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” on replay about twelve times and I’m well into my second glass of wine.

  I keep replaying the ridiculous argument in my head. When the fire burns out of me, I calm enough to turn my anger inward and have second thoughts. Why did I immediately fly off the handle when he just wanted to have a straightforward talk about the challenges ahead of us?

  My stupid insecurity blew things out of proportion when we’d finally made some progress. We’ll never make it through the year I’m away if I don’t get a grip on my trust issues. After all, he hasn’t done anything since we became a couple to justify my lack of faith in him.

  Drained and unsteady, I set my wine glass on my nightstand and I see my necklace with our charms. The shift in my mood is startling. One minute, I’m furious, and the next I’m clinging to my special gift and sobbing. Maybe I’m losing it and the stress has finally made me snap.

  I pick up my phone. Knowing Max is probably in the studio, I send a long text.

  I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I’m having trouble with all these changes too, and I need to get a handle on things. I don’t want to make things worse. I’m really sorry.

  I crawl in bed and pull my blankets up to my chin. My pillow is wet and my face swollen before sleep finally quiets me.

  I’m still a mess when I wake up, but a determined mess. After a long hot shower, I feel human again. I check my phone and find the reply he sent after I’d fallen asleep.

  Thanks for saying you’re sorry. I’m really sorry too for the “I’ll sleep with anyone” speech. You know I don’t ever want anyone but you.

  There’s a second text he sent immediately after.

  We can’t waste our time left having stupid fights like this. I’ll call you later this morning after my appointment.

  I love it when Max is the sane one. My relief is staggering, despite my pounding headache and ravaged nerves.

  Midmorning, I get another text from him.

  Cara and I had a good session. That argument was every kind of wrong last night. We need to figure out a way to stay calm when we have a conflict.

  Wow. Max is the one saying we need to be calm? That’s a switch. I think for a moment before I respond.

  Yes, and we need to come up with ways to support each other and not accuse each other of what might happen.

  I have the solution. Stay, Ava. I promise I’ll make you glad you did.

  Damn it all, Max. Don’t taunt me.

  Stay.

  Oh, so that’s the only way?

  I’ll marry you, I’ll give you everything. We’ll make beautiful babies and live happily ever after. Stay with me.

  You’re a selfish man.

  Yes, but I know what I want, and I’m not giving up until I get it.

  We agree to meet at my apartment after work to talk more, but talk is the last thing on my mind when I anxiously get in my car. It’s frankly amazing I don’t have an accident on the way home, with my thighs quivering as I imagine Max on top of me, instead of concentrating on what’s happening on the road. But along with the visuals, there’s a chatty little broad on my shoulder, whispering in my ear that I’ve lost my mind.

  I’m under tremendous strain with these impending life changes, but this relationship drama is not healthy. Max is getting himself together while I’m falling apart.

  As I arrive at my apartment, Max pulls up from the opposite direction and quickly parks across the street. I don’t say a word and he silently shadows me a step behind as we climb the stairs. Even though I can’t see him, I feel his energy pulsing through me. I’m certain whatever happens once we’re inside is not going to be easygoing or casual, and I’m pretty sure not much talking will be involved.

  When I get to the top of the landing and slide my key in the door, he’s right up behind me, his hot breath on my neck. I’m completely aroused and almost drop my purse and grab him. Instead, I chant to myself, Get in the house . . . Get in the house.

  The moment the door closes, he’s on me, and he’s taking no prisoners. His mouth consumes me as we slam against the door, his hips pushing his arousal against me. I try to push the craziness of our actions out of my mind as I run my hands over him. I finally take a step back.

  “What are we doing?” I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

  “Hell, I don’t know. I lost my mind last Friday, so I’m just going along for the ride at this point.” He studies me carefully for a long moment. “I suppose I’m trying to get as much of you as I can before you move away to New York.” He bites the nape of my neck and grinds against me.

  He unbuttons my blouse before pulling it apart and off my shoulders. He runs his fingertips along the edge of my sheer bra before he slowly pulls it down to free my breasts.

  “See, I’m going to miss these terribly, so I need to take my time with them.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth, teasing me with his tongue. Lacing my fingers through his hair, I pull him closer, aching with want as I feel his teeth skim the sensitive skin.

  “Good?” he asks as his tongue circles the peak.

  “So good.” My back arches as he sucks hard, and I feel the arousal all the way down to my toes.

  “So perfect,” he moans, as he cups e
ach breast, squeezes, and drags his thumbs across the nipples.

  I slowly pull his jeans open before dipping my hand inside to wrap around his hard cock.

  “This is what I’m going to miss.” I sigh. “If only it were detachable; then I could take it with me.” My grip tightens as he thrusts into my hand.

  “Well, hopefully that wouldn’t be as satisfying without the rest of me attached.” He laughs as he takes my earlobe between his teeth and gently bites.

  “Oh, believe me, I need all of you . . . from head to toe. Nothing less,” I whisper.

  His gaze suddenly looks far away in thought and he pulls back a little.

  “Did I distract you with all that? You probably don’t even want to get naked now.”

  “Well . . . I don’t know. I could probably still be persuaded.” His expression is playful, and he folds his arms over his chest.

  I gently pry his arms apart and trail kisses down his neck as I unbutton his denim shirt. “Well, let’s see how persuasive I can be, since I’ve had this image in my head all day of you naked and hard, stretched across my bed.” I pull his shirt open and lick along his chest until I have his nipple in my mouth. I tease him with my tongue and bite gently as his head falls back.

  “How hard?” he moans, as I move to the other nipple.

  “Oh, really, really hard.”

  “Is this what you had in mind?” he asks as he presses my hand over his erection fighting to get out of his boxers shorts.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely what I had in mind,” I whisper.

  This time, when he carries me to the bedroom, we make love slowly under the low beams of light of the setting sun shining through my open windows. Beautifully naked, he’s rendered in hot highlights and dark shadows, casting the stubble on his face and every muscle in exaggerated dimension.

  I crave the softer light of a Robert Mapplethorpe photograph, ethereal and clean, yet there is truth in this harsh spotlight.

  He pulls me on top of him, and with his strong hands firmly on my hips, he guides me in our passionate dance over the sheets. Our eyes are fixed on each other, seeing past the hurt and anger, and looking directly at the truth we hold inside.