“I can work around losing my week to pack and flying there next Monday, but I can’t miss the Paris trip. I just can’t.”
“Let me talk to them. You’re already agreeing to be there next week. I’ll make sure they love you for it.”
“Okay, let me figure things out on my end.”
“Great, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
Having learned my lesson, I call my man first.
“Hey, Max.”
“What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”
“I am. I just got a call from Jackson. The production company needs me in New York next week.”
“And why is that?” His words sound calm, but his voice is tense.
“Because two of their biggest artists for the first season can only do the shoots next week.”
“So, it’s next week or nothing? What about Paris?”
“I told Jackson to tell them that I absolutely can’t miss our Paris trip.”
“Yeah, well let’s see how they take it.”
“This means I’ve got to finish packing by Sunday.”
Although he quietly sighs, he manages to resist saying “I told you so.” Max had predicted this very thing.
“If you’re worried about packing, let me help you. I’ll pick up some stuff at the box store this afternoon and get takeout for dinner. And since I’m storing some of your stuff in my garage, I’ll bring some of the packed boxes home with me.”
I take a deep breath. “You’re willing to help me pack?”
“Of course.”
“What would I do without you?”
“I’m not going to give you the chance to find out.”
For my last day on Friday, Adam has arranged a farewell lunch at Maggiano’s and included Max and Jess. Katherine meets us there, along with Brian, Sean, and the guys. We are seated at a long table in a private room. Since it’s a family style Italian restaurant, large bowls of salad, pasta, and chicken are passed around the table.
Knowing how emotional I get, Adam saves his farewell speech for dessert. He orders champagne for a toast, and when he stands and lifts his glass, I start to cry. I’m such a wimp. Max puts his arm around me, and pulls me close.
Adam gives me a warm smile, walks over and kisses me on the top of my head before returning to his place and lifting his glass again.
“Ava, you’re the daughter we always wanted. You’re not just bright and beautiful, but you’re a kind, loving person that everyone adores. As much as we’ll miss you at the gallery and studio, I want you to know how impressed we all are. This is an exciting time in your life, and we want you to make the most of it. We know you’ll make us proud. Here’s to your success, to Ava!”
Everyone lifts their glasses. “To Ava.”
“We love you!” Brian booms.
“Yes, we do, girl!” Jess agrees.
One of the guys pisses me off by chanting, “Speech, speech, speech.”
Damn, I’m crying like a baby. How can I possibly talk in this state?
“Go on, you can do it,” Max whispers in my ear, as he squeezes my hand.
I slowly rise, wipe my tears with my napkin and gaze at this group of people I love.
“You know, all of this with the television show has happened so fast, I’m not sure I believe it yet. It’s like a dream. But what I do know is how much I love you guys. You’ve been my family and Adam and Katherine, you two not only became my surrogate parents, but you brought me into your gallery. Everything you taught me, not just about art and the art business, but how to care about other people, I will carry with me for the rest of my life.”
Adam and Katherine have such proud looks on their faces. I can only hope they know what they truly mean to me. I take a deep breath and continue.
“One thing I know for sure is I would not be standing here with this future at my feet if Brian hadn’t taken me under his wing and brought me into your family. I love you so much, Brian.” My voice cracks, and I hold the table’s edge to steady myself as Max rubs my back gently. The look on Brian’s face breaks my heart.
“You guys have taught me so much and supported me with my dreams. But we’ve also had a great time along the way. Sean, you always made working on the press so much fun, and Brian, your artful handling of the clients taught me so much. And it’s through you guys that I met my Jess, the greatest friend a girl could have and, of course, Max. Well, I think you all know by now, he’s the man of my dreams.” More tears fall, but I’m winding down.
“I could go on and on, but we need to get back to work. Just thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart.”
Warmth of hugs and well wishes come in a colorful blur. I wish I could freeze this moment, tuck it in my pocket, and bring it out whenever I need a reminder of how good things can be.
Max drives me back to the gallery so I can gather up my stuff and wrap up the final details. I twist my hair and gaze out the window.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Max says.
“I was just thinking . . . I mean, I know it sounds strange with some of the challenges we’re dealing with right now. But I was thinking how damn lucky I am.”
He smiles and takes my hand in his. “You are lucky, but so are we.”
The weekend ends up being a packing marathon. Boxes are everywhere, and at times, I find it so overwhelming that I want to walk out the front door and keep going until I’m miles away. I’m grateful for Max, though, because despite his feelings about my moving, he tries to make it fun. At one point, I catch him trying on my past Halloween getups with Riley. Naturally, his favorite is the tall red and white striped top hat from Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat.
“Only you could make Dr. Seuss hot,” I laugh.
When he brings more empty boxes from the living room, he wears the Michael Jackson silver glove and reflective aviator sunglasses.
“Nice,” I comment, smiling.
He grabs his crotch, rocks his hips, and moon walks a few times before tossing the stuff into the donation box.
The next time I look up, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses shaped like stars with silver glitter frames as he packs some of my art books.
“Hello, Elton John!” I tease.
“Aren’t you a little young for Elton John?”
“My mom was a huge fan. I grew up on his music.”
“Same with my mom. Well, I don’t think Elton John would be helping anyone pack, so try again, blue jean baby.”
He’s packed a tower of boxes already, and as I examine them closely, I realize that there are drawings on the sides of many of them.
“What’s this, Captain Fantastic?” I ask, moving closer. There’s a loose drawing on the side of the box of a woman on a chaise lounge reading a book.
“Content description, so you know what goes where.”
“And this one goes where?
“Books go in your library, of course.”
“Library? This is New York, I’ll be living in a shoe box.”
“Yet another reason to stay with me. I’ve got a library, and my books would get along with yours quite nicely.”
He grins, and there’s something about the damn star glasses and his sweet, playful attitude that pushes me over the edge.
“You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you? This is the first time I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone resembling Elton John.”
“Well, I’m more than happy to be your first.” He winks as he pushes the star glasses higher on his nose. The following sweet kiss is more than inspiring.
“You’re my ‘Rocket Man,’” I tease, as I pull off the glasses and toss them on the couch.
“Or your ‘Madman Across the Water.’”
He kisses me and pulls me closer. When his fingers skim down my back, I realize he’s looked away.
“What?” I ask, following his gaze. He’s studying our reflection in the large mirror we took off the wall to wrap up.
“Look at how sexy you are,” he whispers, as he pushes my hair over m
y shoulder and kisses my exposed skin.
“No, no mirrors—I look like hell!” I exclaim. I close my eyes, but the mirror still sees, as evidenced by Max’s gasp of protest.
“Stop that. Ava, you’re beautiful.” He kisses my neck, and I slowly open my eyes just enough to see that he’s still watching me in the mirror.
“I see you peeking. Come on, open your eyes wider so you can really see.”
I give up and open my eyes wide. The visual of his hand now on my breast as his other hand slides over my ass to pull me closer is almost more than I can take.
It’s impossible to stop watching at this point. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Just the look of his hooded dark eyes as he watches is enough.
“Maxfield Caswell,” I whisper, shaking my head.
He gives me that lazy, sexy smile. “I like mirrors. Do you understand what I’m saying now? What you do to me? You’re beautiful and hot, Ava.”
I decide to stop fighting the flattery, so the adoration continues. His hands are under my shirt, and I think it’s time for a break from packing. “Yeah, I think I’m finally getting it, handsome. I’m hot—really hot,” I say with a playful grin.
“Yes, you are. And that’s only one of the reasons why I’ll put up with a year of you in New York and us having to circle our wagons since my fucking ex-girlfriend is back. ’cause one day you’ll return home and marry me. And when you do, I’ll have a big mirror facing our bed.”
“Really?” I whisper.
“Oh, yes,” he says darkly, as he kisses me. “And the things I will do to you, girl.” He kisses me again. “As you watch . . .”
“Yes?”
“I promise you, it’ll be worth the wait.”
Chapter Fifteen / The Flickering Light
You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
You are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
Oh, The Places You’ll Go
~Dr. Seuss
“What are you doing?” I turn to Max as he takes the ticket from the machine.
“Parking.”
“Yeah, I see that. You aren’t just dropping me off?”
“No, I want to walk you in. It will give me a few more minutes with you.”
“But you know how it is at the airport—you can’t go in past security.”
“I don’t care. I hate those rushed curbside hugs. I want a really good hug today.”
“Well, for all this effort, you’re getting a big kiss too.”
“See, never question my strategy, woman.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that.”
It’s funny how, in these moments, you don’t care that you’re surrounded by a buzzing swarm of anxious travelers and overzealous security guards. All you care about is your man pressed tightly against you and kissing you like you’re all that matters in the world.
He holds me extra long before we finally separate.
“Call me when you arrive, okay?”
“I will.” Feeling my usual preflight nerves, I check my watch. “I better get moving.” I smile and kiss him one last time before I turn to hand the TSA agent my driver’s license and boarding pass.
Rather than leaving, he watches me as I wait in the security line. After I load the plastic trays with my stuff and pass through, I turn. In the distance, I see he’s still standing there, looking positively lost. I step to the side and call him on my cell phone.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
“Are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Me neither.”
“Ugh, what are we going to be like when I really leave for the actual move?”
“You mean after Paris? ’Cause, isn’t this the real move?”
“Well, I’m pretending that it isn’t, so I don’t start sobbing. So what will that good-bye be like?”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “It’ll be like a scene in a movie where I’m yelling for you not to go and security is dragging me out the doors.”
Why can I picture this in my mind and totally believe it could happen?
“You’re killing me here, Max. Next time, maybe you should dump me on the curb.”
“Don’t say that. Look, I’ll be good. He walks backward as he holds the phone. See, I’m leaving. But one last thing before I do.”
“Yes?”
“I love you, Angel.”
“I love you too.”
That afternoon I’m standing in the hall of my temporary New York housing anxious to see the place I’ll be living in. Maybe seeing it will make everything feel more real.
“Ms. Jacobs, right?” The man in the gray sweater with a matching gray complexion looks down at his clipboard.
“Yes, Ava.”
“Right, I see here. Originally, you were moving in in a few weeks, but now it’s been pushed up to as soon as we finish painting and cleaning the carpets.”
“Yes, and I appreciate you showing it to me early. I just arrived, and my hotel’s a few blocks away. I want to see the space to figure out what I still need.”
“No problem.”
He pulls out a large ring of keys, lifts them up to the designer lights, and examines each one as I wait patiently.
“If you don’t mind my asking, where’re you from?”
“L.A.”
He chuckles. “People from L.A. have the hardest time. They’re used to a lot more living space. But, still, this is pretty good, and it’s in a great neighborhood. Even though this is temporary housing, some people end up staying here when they see what’s available out there.”
He finally finds the key and pushes open the door.
He isn’t kidding about the size of the space. I have spatial shock. Seriously. My bedroom at home is larger than this whole apartment, and don’t get me started comparing this to Max’s house. I mean, French doors looking out over the Pacific Ocean? This place has narrow windows with a view of the office building across the street where I watch the busy worker bees doing their tasks. It’s similar to what I’ve experienced in almost every New York hotel room I’ve stayed in, but it feels so much different knowing this will be my new home, even if it’s temporary.
“So, this is your living room,” he says grandly, as he waves at a sleek love seat and armchair with a contemporary cherry wood coffee table in front of it.
The carpets are high-end Berber wool in a warm taupe. A flat screen T.V. is perched on a high-tech media cart. There’s a framed black and white print of the Statue of Liberty at sunset above the couch, perhaps to remind me where I am, in case I forget.
“Your kitchen is over here.” Despite the fancy granite counter and stainless details, the kitchen looks like the galley on an airplane. There’s a microwave and coffeemaker with a tiny built-in refrigerator below. Even the sink is miniature. He opens up a cupboard to show a small collection of white plates, bowls, and coffee mugs.
“No stove?”
“No, just the burners for heating up soup or boiling water; most people do take out.”
“The bedroom is back here.” The double bed fills the room. When Max visits, I don’t think he’ll fit on this mattress. The only other furniture is a tall narrow dresser and a bedside table with a lamp. The bedspread is a contemporary design in various shades of beige. I hate beige; something about it makes me want to scream. I find consolation in the idea that at least I can replace the bedspread.
Gray guy watches me as I peek inside the small closet and marble-walled compact bathroom.
“If I stay longer, can I hang art on the walls?”
“We would prefer you didn’t. We’d have to patch and repaint, and then charge you a crazy amount of money.”
“I see.”
“The cleaning service comes once a week. You can have them more often for an additional fee.”
I have to admit, the place feels
very clean, but that adds to the sterile feeling.
We walk back into the “living room,” and he slaps the top of a little table with a matching chair. “You can eat here or use it as a desk. The Internet hook up is here, and comes with the package, although most people use the wireless.” On top of the table is a notebook that he lifts and fans through. “Here’s a reference notebook we’ve put together about all the places you’ll want to know about in the area—dry cleaners, best bagels, drug store, gym, etc. There are takeout menus and maps of nearby neighborhoods. Everyone picks up and delivers.”
“Thanks, that’ll be helpful.”
“Most deliver really late, in case you work long hours.”
“How’d you know?”
“That’s pretty common around here.” He shrugs. Gray Guy has seen it all. “Well, that’s about it. Okay, ready to go?”
My heart thumps and I try to figure out what’s freaking me out the most—the overabundance of beige, the framed faux artwork where my Max Angel painting should hang, or is it that I’ve never felt more alone and terrified in my life?
“Actually, would you mind if I took a moment longer to myself?”
He gives me a quizzical look, but nods. “I guess that’s okay. The door will lock behind you, so just make sure you close it tightly.”
When Gray Guy leaves, I sit on the edge of the couch and watch the office workers sit at their computers while the tears stream down my face. The emotions hit me in large waves until I’m sobbing.
What am I doing here? What have I gotten myself into?
After getting enough toilet paper off the roll to gather my tears, I fish out my cell phone and call Jess. The sound of her voice immediately grounds me.
“Hey, girl! How’s New York?”
“Jess,” I sigh and take a deep breath. It catches in my throat.
“Oh no. What happened, Ava?”
“Nothing happened really; it’s just that I’m sitting in the bleakest little shoebox that will soon be my temporary housing. And, Jess?”
“Go on.”
“I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Oh, I see. The hard part is finally hitting you. You’re in this empty plain shoebox, wondering why you left your beautiful life for this leap in the dark.”
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 67