Becoming His Muse, Part Three (21 page)

Slowly, Dr. T offers a smile. “Then there’s hope.”

“Hope?”

He nods. “That you’ll take all that you’ve experienced and turn it into something that can be shared with the world. That’s what an artist does.”

“You’re not mad that I broke the rules?”

“Personally, I’m not going to hold that against you. Artists are supposed to break the rules. That’s how they carve new paths for the rest of us to follow. There’s a price though, and you’re paying it now. But in the end that will give you the strength to keep carving new paths.”

“As your teacher, I offered what I could to help you become an artist, but it’s you who really had to do the work of becoming. You chose some unconventional ways to go about it, and it’s led to some uncomfortable consequences, but if you followed your heart and didn’t betray yourself then you have to accept that you’ve been true to your path, and who am I or Dean Ascott or the College Board to get in the way of that? School’s behind you now, Ava. Your life is beginning to unfold before you.”

He starts the engine. “And I believe you have a train to catch.”

When Dr. T dropped me off at the station, my plan was to go home to my parents for a week until I was informed about the board’s decision. But at the last minute I changed my ticket. Instead of going home, I bought a ticket to Boston.

Tess was happy to take me in. Her roommates, with whom she shares a quaint but dilapidated brownstone, had headed off to a career conference in Maine for a week.

Tess confessed she called my parents when I showed up on her doorstep. And they’ve been calling every day since but I haven’t wanted to talk.

***

On the third day, when I finally get up after a long sleep in, Tess says, “Your father called again. He says he wants to negotiate with you.”

“Ever the lawyer,” I grumble.

“Hey,” says Tess, sitting on a chair in front of me and blocking my view of the TV. “I know our fathers can be asses sometimes. Okay,
most
of the time. But they’re turning into dinosaurs. They’re those middle upper class aging white men who still think they run the show. Just be patient. They’ll all die off eventually.”

I give her a strange look. “You’re advising me to wait until my father ‘dies off’?”

“No, just his kind. With those particular values and standards. Act as if they don’t matter.”

“I have been. Look where it’s gotten me.” I wave my arm to encompass my surroundings.

“Hey! I like my run down brownstone.”

“You know what I mean. Alone, ostracized, and sleeping on the couch in my cousin’s den. This is not how I thought I’d end up.”

“This isn’t the end, Ava. You’ll have your come back.”

I harrumph and turn the TV on.

***

Toward the end of the week, I still haven’t made much progress on my come back.

Sometime after lunch on Wednesday, Thursday or Friday, I don’t even know which day it is, Tess interrupts my TV marathon. I barely stir from my nest of cushions and pillows.

“Ava, there’s someone who looks a lot like George Clooney downstairs.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Tess laughs and chucks a pillow at my head. “I’m glad your sense of humour is coming back but I am being serious. Who is that guy?”

“George Clooney? He’s an actor who—

“—Ava!”

I slowly drag myself up from my prone position on the couch. Tess grabs the remote and turns off Storage Wars.

“You might want to brush your hair,” she says.

I don’t even bother to tie up the terry cloth robe I borrowed. It hangs open over my Sponge Bob Square Pants pajamas, also borrowed.

“I don’t need to impress anyone, even if it is George Clooney.” And I know it’s not, but as I head toward the foyer, it occurs to me who it might be.

Outside on the cement landing stands a man in a suit carrying two envelopes. I open the door. He turns.

“Hello, Lowell.”

“Wow. Ava.” He looks me up and down. “I suppose I should have expected something like this.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”

“Can I come in?”

I push the door open wider and then shuffle toward the tiny living room off to the right. Lowell closes the door behind him.

“Lisle sends her regards.”

“Hmm.”

“And Sukira has been wondering why you haven’t visited her at her studio yet.”

I shrug before plopping down in the overstuffed and very threadbare plush velvet armchair. Lowell sits in the middle of the couch across from me.

I suppose I should be curious about why he’s here — like, why would he bother to come all the way from New York? Surely, not to convey Lisle’s regards or to repeat Sukira’s invitation — but the fog I’ve been in for days is slow to lift.

He sets his two envelopes on the chipped coffee table and looks around the room. “Reminds me of my college days,” he says with a sigh.

“I imagine the
memory
of college days is far more pleasant than the days themselves.”

He stares at me for a minute or two and then folds his hands in his lap. “Do you know how long I’ve known Logan O’Shane?”

I don’t move a muscle but I feel a whole sub-skin reaction throughout my body when I hear his name.

“Ten years.”

Lowell looks around the room, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. It’s as if he’s looking into the past. He smiles.

“Boy, did he have a chip on his shoulder when I first met him. It’s still there, but it’s softened and filled in considerably.” He makes eye contact with me. “He used to be a big drinker, but I helped him tone that down. I saw his talent back then, and I could foresee him ruining it if he kept going down the destructive path he was on.”

He pauses before continuing. “One thing about Logan is that when he makes a change, he sticks to it. With my help, he stopped binge drinking years ago. And he managed to quit smoking this past year. I think you had a lot to do with that.” He smiles at me now.

“What’s your point, Lowell? That Logan’s capable of change even though he hates it?”

“A little bit.”

I sit up straighter and ask, “How did you find me?”

With a slightly embarrassed bark of laughter he says, “Well… Let’s see. First I went to meet with your Dean.”

“Dean Ascott, why?”

“I’ll tell you about that in a minute. He wasn’t terribly helpful. At least not until he left the office to get something and I managed to get a look at your file.”

“You looked at my college records?”

“Only to get an
address.”

“My address? Why?”

“I’m getting to that, just give me a sec. Of course, he wouldn’t give me your home address so I snuck a peek—”

“—You went to my house?”

I’m sitting up in my chair now, a hand on each of the arm rests. I can’t picture Lowell and my father meeting face to face.

“I was planning to but—”

“—Why?”

“Ava, will you let me finish a sentence?”

“Oh, sorry.” As I fold my hands in my lap and try to be patient, I notice I am wearing Sponge Bob pajamas. I start to blush with embarrassment, but it’s a little too late for that. I attempt to pull the robe closed to cover those crazy googly eyes, which must be a little distracting to the impeccably dressed agent sitting across from me.

“In the end I didn’t have to go to your house because someone came to me.”

“Someone?”

“A lovely young man by the name of Warren Simmonds.”

“What?”

Lowell nods. “Apparently, he contacted Logan’s publisher in an effort to reach him and they put him in touch with me. He explained what he wanted—”

“—Which was what?”

Lowell holds up a hand to shut me up. I bite my lip.

“It turned out that we both wanted the same thing.” Before I can interrupt again he says, “Some kind of reconciliation between you and Logan.”

I’m very confused. “Warren wants
that
?”

Lowell appraises me again and sighs heavily. “I think what he wants is for you to get back on track, to be happy again, and maybe
get dressed
before noon like other people.”

Tess must be giving Warren daily reports behind my back. I haven’t returned any of his calls so maybe I’m partly to blame.

As Lowell adjusts his tie, I pull my borrowed robe tightly across my chest and purse my lips. “This is not my finest moment. I’m well aware of that.”

“The same is true for Logan. I’ve never seen him in such a state.”

Despite my best efforts to remain detached, I feel an inkling of curiosity. As I let it rise to the surface it grows in intensity until it becomes concern, and then it expands like a rash until I’m at the brink of the love I’ve been suppressing for weeks.

With a catch in my voice, I say, “I don’t care.”

Lowell raises an eyebrow. I know I don’t sound very convincing. I turn away and bite my thumbnail. Quietly, I say, “I don’t
want
to care.”

“Look, Ava. I know that what’s gone down has been painful, embarrassing on so many levels, has strained your relationship with your family, put your degree in jeopardy, and possibly shattered your love for Logan and your dreams of moving to New York.”

I look at him, feeling a fiery temper uncurling in my belly. “What do you know of my love or my dreams? Did you hear it from
him
? Well, he stomped all over everything I cared about.” My voice is rising in pitch. “I know about Jesse, Lowell. And the baby. Tell him that when you see him next. Tell him he’s a liar and a cheat and—”

“Jesse Myers? That’s old history, Ava.”

“Not that old. And he kept it a secret.”

“On purpose? I don’t see why he would.”

“Because he’s a cowardly, lying seducer, that’s why.”

Lowell sighs and shakes his head. “I didn’t realize you were so angry, Ava.”

I cross my arms and scowl.

“Do you even know why you haven’t heard from him?”

“Because he’s a selfish, exploitative bastard! He
left
me, Lowell. He just ran away!” I start to shake and tremble, with rage or despair I’m not quite sure. Maybe both. “That night Derrick and Casey played their stupid video and when I turned around, he was gone. At that terrible moment, he wasn’t there for me.”

But Warren was. He was my rock that night. And Ruby helped me. And my cousin Tess has seen me through these dark, foggy days. Where has Logan been?

“It’s partly my fault, Ava,” says Lowell quietly and seriously. He clears his throat. “I called him that night. Because his mother died. I had him booked on a flight to Florida at midnight.”

“
What
?” I freeze with disbelief. That’s not possible. In a squeaky voice, I say, “The night of my art show?”

Lowell nods. “Brain aneurism. Logan was devastated.” Suddenly I feel terrible. Terribly, horribly, emotionally selfish. An ache spreads through my body as this news penetrates my awareness.

“But why didn’t he tell me. Why didn’t he call?” I whisper.

“You truly don’t know?” Lowell searches my eyes, seemingly surprised to find me so confused.

I shake my head and watch him quizzically. I could understand if Logan was devastated and grieving. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Lowell leans forward.

“Your father, with his legal finesse, managed to get a restraining order to keep Logan away from you.”

“
What?
” Now I’m sitting straight up in my chair.

Lowell holds up his hands. “The last thing I want to do is add more strain to your family dynamics, but you need to know that he would have tried seeing you or calling you if he could have.”

I am shocked. My anger bubbles back to the surface and this time it’s directed at my father.

“You came all this way to tell me that?”

“Partly. But there’s something else I need your help with. Oh, and I brought you a letter.”

I inch forward. “From Logan?”

He nods. The thought of a letter from Logan is like a lifeline and I feel my fingers twitch in anticipation of holding it. I glance at the large envelopes on the table, wondering which one contains the letter.

“Even a letter breaches the restraining order so you have to promise to keep it secret.”

“I’m good at that.” I’m anxious to read the letter, but Lowell also said there’s something he needs my help with.

“There’s another reason you’re here?”

“Yes, the matter closest to
my
heart. Apparently, the college, represented by the firm Nichols, Baines and Woodrow is suing our publisher to claim the rights to Logan’s novel.”

My ears perk up. That’s my father’s firm.

“Why?”

“They think they have a case because Logan wrote most of the manuscript on campus while in their employ. It’s not as if they plan to do anything with the manuscript. It’s his best work to date and they want to bury it.”

“That’s ridiculous.” No doubt my father’s the mastermind behind that suit, in cahoots with Dean Ascott. My anger and indignation are beginning to solidify inside me.

“Logan’s in such a bad state he says he doesn’t care, he’ll just write another book, but
I care
. This book is
good
, Ava. It’s
important
.”

He pushes the thick envelope toward me and says, “I brought you a set of galleys, in case you’re interested.”

“Galleys?”

“It’s the last proofed copy before the manuscript goes to the printer.”

I look at the thick envelope. Inside is the story that Logan was working on the whole time we were together?

Lowell reaches for the other, thinner envelope and opens it. A white business envelope slips out when he removes some pages. I wonder if the white envelope is my letter. I call on all my patience not to seize it and rip it open immediately.

Lowell scans the pages he’s holding. “These here are the early reviews for the new book.”

He reads selected lines.

“
O’Shane’s most daring and provocative work to date
.”

“
Surprisingly, full of genuine heart
.”

“
Expect the unexpected here. Still as raw and forceful a talent as ever he was, but softer edges are at play, and a sense of hope we’ve not yet seen
.”