Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  Cas

  His mission is complete? Will the letter suddenly smoke and dissolve with that iconic Mission Impossible music pounding in the background? I can’t believe how crazy life has become. I’ve got to hand it to Cas—he’s got my curiosity spiked. Between the buildup and intrigue, I hardly know what to think. I look at my watch. What really matters is that in four hours and thirty-seven minutes, I’ll hopefully be with Max. I take a deep breath and wonder how I’ll ever wait that long.

  I pace through the suite and then nervously unpack my bags.

  After a long bath, I open the closet doors wide to select an outfit. The retro Audrey Hepburn sundress and flats I choose belie the seductive lingerie I plan to wear underneath. I dress slowly, hoping Max will be the one to take off everything I slip on.

  As I fasten my charm necklace around my neck and watch on my wrist, I double-check the time to make sure my watch is accurate.

  My attempt to eat lunch in the hotel’s most casual café is futile. I can only get down a few bites I’m so nervous. By the time I speak to the concierge about the best way to get to l’Orangerie, my watch shows I have two hours and eleven minutes left in the Max countdown. With my letter, Paris guidebook, and a light sweater, I head off on my adventure.

  Happily, the museum is a great place to spend a couple of hours and keep myself distracted. In their permanent collection, I’m absolutely enchanted with the Renoir painting of two young girls at a piano and the Gauguin landscape. There’s a particularly striking Picasso nude. But as I enter the round foyer leading to an oval shaped gallery, I buzz with anticipation to experience Les Nympheas, the exhibit housing Monet’s series of water lily paintings.

  The paintings circle the room and create one connected image, and I’m stunned as I slowly turn in a circle to take it all in. It’s a religious experience. I walk around several times to study each separate panel before finally sitting on the bench in the middle of the room to meditate on the experience as a whole.

  This is considered one of Monet’s greatest masterpieces. The softness of the palette and the subtle movement of color and light are exquisite. It’s amazing that he painted it at the end of his life while going blind.

  I brush a tear away that trails down my cheek. I take a sharp breath. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t imagine sitting in front of such an iconic collection of art in Paris. I am living my dreams.

  By the time I finish with my museum visit, it’s a quarter to four. It’s difficult to part from the Monet paintings, but I exit in an ethereal haze. I imagine tonight I will dream of floating in cobalt-blue ponds with lavender reflections and water lilies woven in my hair.

  Moving to the terrace, I look for the Rodin. When I find it, I laugh out loud.

  Le Baiser translates to the kiss? I gaze at a bronze casting of Rodin’s famous couple whose lips are about to meet. Cas, you really know how to set up a scene.

  Of course this is where Max and I should meet. It’s absolutely perfect.

  I settle down on the bench facing the work of art and study the bronze as I begin my wait. Each passing minute is a lifetime and reminds me of how long I waited for Max and me to come together as lovers, and all the insecurity and uncertainty we suffered through until our moment in Santa Fe when all of our heartfelt desire tumbled together in a victorious surrender.

  The sun has fallen, lengthening the long shadows around me. But I bathe in a patch of sun, surrounded by warmth and golden light. My gaze falls past the Rodin and across the green sweep of the Tuileries. The gardens are formal, yet have the worn elegance of a grand place that has been well loved. Generations of children have run through it, countless lovers have strolled arm in arm, and old people have rested on its benches. This park belongs to everyone who has left footprints in its fine gravel.

  I tap my foot nervously—nine minutes to four. The minutes that pass are an eternity: planets could have collided or black holes could have formed and sucked us all inside. Instead, the tiny hand inside my watch stubbornly taunts me about moving forward. Refusing to be patient, I look up again, searching as far and wide as my vision allows.

  This time, my tenacity is rewarded. In the farthest distance, I see my future wearing a navy jacket and walking my way. My heart flip-flops. Is it him? It may not even be him. He’s so far away it’s more like a mirage, shimmering under my watchful gaze. I blink several times, still holding my guidebook open, so I can pretend I’ve been reading and not about to pass out from nerves.

  The man in the navy jacket moves with purpose through a blanket of shadows from a row of trees. I don’t recognize the clothes—white button-down shirt, loafers, pressed jeans—very French. When he’s finally closer and the sun falls over him again, I gasp. It’s Max, all right, and he’s even more beautiful than I remember. Our eyes haven’t met yet as he’s looking down, deep in thought.

  Even though I want to run to meet him, I can tell he needs these last few moments. So I remain still as each step brings him closer. His jacket falls open from his long strides and floats behind him like a modern day cape.

  When he’s about fifty feet away, he finally looks up and our eyes meet. There’s a spark in his expression, and the corners of his mouth turn up. I slowly stand and wait, wondering. Will he scoop me up in his arms? Will we reenact The Kiss?

  I coach myself to keep breathing. Finally, he’s before me and it’s quiet and gentle, not at all what I expected or imagined.

  “Hi,” he says softly, taking my hands.

  I tip my head to the side and look at him intently. His tentative expression is hard to understand, yet I’m fairly certain I see love reflected in his brilliant blue gray eyes.

  “You found me.” I smile softly.

  “I’d been searching for you my whole life, so now that I’ve found you, you can bet I’m not going to lose you in Paris.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I squeeze his hands.

  His gaze moves lower as he reaches out and traces his fingertips down my neck.

  “You’re wearing the necklace I gave you for your birthday.”

  “Of course—look, I added the Eiffel Tower.” I lift the tiny silver charm and grin. “Can you believe we’re here, Max? We’re really here!”

  Something about the necklace and my excitement is the affirmation that he needs, and he pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly.

  “I’ve missed you so much. What a journey this has been.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, worried, as we pull apart.

  “Yeah. I guess I’m just nervous.” He looks cautious.

  “Nervous, why?”

  “Some of the stuff I want to talk to you about.”

  My heart falls. “Is this about Chloe?”

  “Chloe, yes, it’s about her, but not just that—it’s about everything: Chloe, Jonathan, your moving, my dad, my past, our future . . . everything.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair and points to the bench. “Let’s sit down.”

  I lower myself to the bench and grip my book tightly to still my trembling hands. I follow his eyes as they look from the top of my head down to my shoes.

  “I have to say, you look especially beautiful today. You look very French.”

  “Thanks.”

  We get quiet, and I wait for the real conversation to begin.

  He looks off into the distance. “Well, to start, I can’t begin to tell you how mad I was when you sent Dad to straighten me out in Ojai.”

  “Yeah, I was worried you’d feel that way.”

  He laughs. “But you did it anyway. That’s my girl. But, once again, you proved you always know exactly what I need.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Really? I’m so relieved. Did he help you?”

  “I think the last few days we spent together changed my life and our relationship permanently. I’ll just say that we came to an understanding about our past and made a new start for the future.”

  “Oh, that’s so wonderful, Max.”

  “We
fought, we yelled, talked for hours, and eventually realized we’re both crazy, but the crazy manifests itself in different ways. In some aspects, we’re so much alike.”

  “I’ve always thought so,” I admit.

  “So, we healed a lot of old wounds while he tried to get me to deal with my current problems.”

  My curiosity can’t wait another moment. I finally ask what’s been plaguing me for the last three days. “When your dad and I talked, he told me you talked to Chloe. What was that like?”

  He digs his heel into the gravel. “Well, you know I had no interest in engaging her in any way. But Dad finally convinced me that if I truly felt that way, the best thing I could do was tell her directly. He felt my silence became an enticing challenge to her, and she would only get more outrageous with her antics in an attempt to get me to react.

  “So, we made a plan, and we all agreed that we needed to get a restraining order. I can’t tell you how unsettled I was when she conned her way into my home, and if we didn’t do something, who knows what she’d do next?”

  I nod. “I bet she was surprised when you called.”

  “She was thrilled until Jackson got on the phone and told her the call was being recorded. As much as I wanted to rail on her, they had coached me to remain strong and detached—so I was. I told her I was madly in love with my girlfriend, who I intended to marry, and I had absolutely no interest in pursuing business dealings or any type of friendship with her. After years of no contact, I made it clear how irritating it was to hear from her and told her she must not contact me again.”

  “Well, that’s pretty damn clear.” I smile, relief surging through me.

  “You bet. She babbled, something about me not knowing what I was missing. I assured her that no one had ever even gotten close to making me happy like you have, Ava—incredibly happy in every way.” He smiles and my heart flutters.

  “Well, that shut her up. So Jackson got on the phone and explained the restraining order, and that we had the resources to make sure she didn’t get near us again. Dad sent some scary thug to serve the restraining order—just as a scare tactic, of course. But I guess he gave her a quite different, more vivid kind of warning, along with a nonrefundable one-way ticket back to Florida.”

  “Yes, your dad said we won’t be hearing from her again.”

  “I’m sure we won’t.”

  My head falls forward with relief. He watches me carefully when I finally look up.

  “You weren’t seriously nervous about Chloe, were you?”

  “Of course I was. If you were me, wouldn’t you be?”

  “Well, yes, but I’m nuts and you’re so sane.” He leans forward on the bench and his jaw flexes. “While we’re on the subject of exes, I have to bring up something.”

  “Okay.”

  “The afternoon just before I went home for the Chloe-Granville meeting, I found out you had run into Jonathan and talked to him. What the hell, Ava? Can you imagine how it made me feel to hear that from someone else? It was a total mind fuck that you hadn’t even told me. I kept thinking it must have meant something more or you were hiding something; otherwise, you would’ve told me about it.”

  My mouth falls open, and I blink my eyes. In the whirlwind of the last few weeks, the elevator incident was just a tiny blip on my radar. But, obviously, I need to see it from Max’s point of view.

  “Honestly, running into Jonathan happened at the worst point of our fight, and frankly it was so unimportant to me that it didn’t come to mind.”

  “Well, it really messed with my mind.”

  “I’m sorry, Max. But, like Chloe, let me assure you Jonathan is the last person I want to see.”

  “You weren’t attracted to him when you saw him again?”

  “Not in the slightest. You’ve ruined me. How could I possibly be attracted to anyone else?”

  “Point made.” He smiles and turns his face to the sun.

  What a face, I think as I watch him—his chiseled cheekbones and jawline, the electricity in those blue gray eyes.

  “Can I ask you something, Max? Why wouldn’t your dad let me talk to you the last few days? It made me crazy.”

  He laughs quietly. “Yeah, we had a number of fights over that. I mean, he fucking took my phone away. I got desperate on Sunday and found where he’d hidden it while he was in the shower. I knew you were asleep and wouldn’t respond right away, but at least I got a message to you.”

  “That message meant a lot. I got it right before my plane took off.”

  He squeezes my hand and presses it gently to his lips.

  “Anyway, Dad kept saying that he wanted my undivided attention while he was trying to help me. But I have another theory.”

  “You do? What is it?”

  “The man’s a Hollywood producer. Drama’s in his blood. He wanted this to play out like a classic movie screenplay, and he’s master of setting the stage for a gripping drama. He used to always say, you’ve got to make all the elements work together like a finely tuned orchestra before you get to your perfect ending.”

  “And we are the stars of his production?” I laugh and shake my head, but I know Max is right.

  “Precisely. Dad even wanted us to have our big reunion in our hotel room. He told me to have the hotel concierge arrange for someone to trail rose petals through the room, and for me to be waiting for you out on the balcony with a bottle of champagne. He’s such a cornball. So I put my foot down. I had to pick my battles with him, but this was one worth fighting. I wanted to meet you outside, under the sky, in someplace beautiful like a park where we could talk. Then I remembered this place surrounded by art and beauty.”

  “It’s the perfect choice,” I reply, smiling.

  “Yeah, eventually he realized I was right . . . feisty old guy.”

  “Well, Max, you’ve got to love the man. He really threw himself into the situation without a moment’s hesitation. The idea that he could help you—that you may actually need him—meant the world to him.”

  “Through all this, I really felt like he would do anything to help me, and help us. In the past, I never would have believed it could happen. And that leads to the next part. What I’m nervous about.” He leans forward and twists his hands together.

  “I’m listening.” I rest my hand on his thigh reassuringly.

  “Maybe it’d be best if I showed you.” He takes out his phone, brings up a photo, and hands it to me.

  I study the image of an expansive living area of a hip modern apartment. There are huge floor to ceiling windows, and I make out the skyline of a city through them. “Is this in New York?”

  “Yes, it’s New York, actually my dad’s apartment in New York. We arrived there early Saturday, and I flew here from JFK early this morning.”

  “You were in New York?” I widen my eyes in disbelief.

  “Here, let me show you more.” He flips through the images: there’s a beautiful bedroom with a view, a full spacious kitchen, and a wide balcony with an outside living area.

  He tips his head to the side. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous—a showplace. Did you even know he had it?”

  “No. Evidently he bought it as an investment when the market fell. He did live there at one time, because he had a series in the city and needed a place to stay for an extended period. He ended up liking it so much, he kept it.”

  “Wow. It must’ve been nice to stay there.”

  “Yeah, there’s a beautiful guest room and the bathrooms are state of the art. Even though it’s in the middle of the city, it has a calm feeling because it’s up so high and so spacious. I think you’d really like it.” The tone of his voice is hopeful.

  My heart pounds. “I bet I would,” I reply quietly.

  “So, following our flight, Dad and I settled in, and after a few hours, he decided to spell out everything. He told me it was time for the talk. We had already fought, agonized and reminisced, so what was one more heavy conversation? I mean, the man
is tenacious. He wore me down.

  “So, he takes me to the balcony and points down to the busy streets far below. ‘I want you to imagine Ava is down there stepping out of a cab.’ I decided to play along with this game—even though I didn’t like how it started.

  “After I imagined you down below and just an elevator ride away, he told me to close my eyes. ‘Now I want you to picture yourself alone in Malibu with Ava here in New York, stepping out of that cab without you.’”

  I look up. Max’s face is twisted in pain. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was angry.

  “It hit me so hard, Ava. It all became so real.” His voice gets low and quiet as I rub my hand over his back. He opens his eyes, stills himself, and takes a deep breath.

  “So, he pulls me back inside the living room. ‘Okay, now imagine your easel and studio set up right here, and you’re painting. Ava is still in the cab, but in a minute she will get out, enter the building, and step into the elevator to go up.’” He clears his throat nervously, and I rest my hand over his.

  “Why did he say I was heading up the elevator, love?”

  “Because you were coming home to me like you would every night.”

  “Yes, every night.” I sigh, fighting back tears. His energy surges through me as he continues.

  “This was his brilliance, Ava. He knew I just needed to see it, feel it, understand how it could be.” We lean further into each other.

  “Oh, Max.”

  “I know.” He wraps my hands in both of his.

  “So, what happened next?”

  “Dad just had to look in my eyes to know that I understood his faith in me—that I could handle this big move to be with you. And with his help, it was going to be better than okay; it was going to be great.”

  I gasp, almost not wanting to believe it in case I’d misunderstood. “What about being too anxious to live there?”

  “Well, as my dad put it none too gently, ‘Buck the hell up, son. That’s what extra medication is for. Besides, do you really think your anxiety has been manageable in Malibu now that she’s gone? Since she left, you’ve tried to put on a good face, but your friend Jess told me you’ve been a mess.’”