The Inspiration (7 page)

I’m happy for our success, but distracted as I think about Max and the way I felt in his arms as we said goodbye. To be that close and take in the scent of him, the hardness of his chest in contrast to the soft warmth of his hug, was a feeling I’ll dwell on in the days to come.

In sharp contrast, I force myself to view an internal PowerPoint presentation on the dark and very real side of Max: Max entertaining the art groupies, Max insulting Jonathan, Max with the art slut on her knees grabbing his crotch, Max drunk and broken. Flashing red signs tell me to make a sharp U-turn and head quickly in the opposite direction of this man.

Despite my late flight, I’m happy to see that my roommate, Riley, is still up. She instantly lifts my mood. After I drag my luggage through the apartment, we curl up on the couch and I tell her about my trip and purposely leave out Max. I want to talk about him when I can think clearly and am not completely exhausted.

Riley frequently travels to New York for her design job, so once I tell her the restaurants, museums and galleries I visited, she can picture my time there vividly. One day, we will end up in New York at the same time and we’ll paint the town red.

Before I finally head to my bedroom, Riley fills me in on the latest drama at her job overseeing the design of merchandise and packaging for the girl’s accessory and costume lines. The irony of her position is that Riley develops a lot of their princess and fairy dress-up designs, which sounds like fun. Yet, the reality is that it’s amazing how nasty people can get fighting over complications with tutu manufacturing and design issues with magic wands.

I sleep in late since Adam told me not to come in until after lunch. Wandering into the kitchen, I find Riley’s note next to the coffee maker, asking me to join her for dinner. I put in a load of laundry before heading off to the gallery.

As we get ready for our meeting, Brian and Katherine give me big welcome-back hugs, but Sean stands silently to the side. I sigh in frustration. I’m not up for his moodiness today.

What have I done now?
But just when I’m ready to confront him, Adam sweeps in, ready to hit the ground running.

He’s clearly energized by the trip. We go over sales and the follow-up to accomplish in the following days, including a lot of printing. Adam asks me to finish out the week helping Sean.

Oh goody
, I think sarcastically.

When we get to the print studio, I peruse the schedule Sean has posted and start preparing the inks for the first run. He’s in the back burning the screens as I unwrap a new ream of archival paper. I love working in the print studio with the smell of the ink, the richness of the colors, and the handwork involved when so much of the world is mechanized.

Sean carries the first screen for the print run to the front of the shop. He holds it high over his head to protect the fragile surface as he walks past the equipment drying racks and pallets of paper. He wears a tight tank top and his formfitting faded jeans, accentuating his muscular build. Even when I’m steaming mad at him, I have to admit he has a beautiful body. He’s classically defined like Michelangelo’s
David
, and his movements have an elegance that make him addicting to watch. He notices I’m looking at him, and he smiles. He’s a very proud man and undoubtedly likes to be appreciated. It’s all part of our love-hate relationship.

As we step into position and start the run, he waits until we have a rhythm going before he addresses me.

“So was the trip good?” he asks with little inflection in his voice.

“Yeah,” I reply with no intention of making this easy.

“Sounds like you sold a lot of art.”

“Yup.”

“Did you get out much after the show?” His tone sounds disinterested, but I know he thinks I’ll share more if he doesn’t come on too strong.

“We went out a bit.” I see where this is leading.

“Jess tells me that Caswell was quite taken with you.” He looks pissed as he says it. For a stoic, he’s so transparent.

Bingo! The flashing lights go off in my head. Mr.
Misogynist
is out of his cage. He always thinks he knows better than I do what’s good for me.

“Really? Jess has an active imagination, considering he was surrounded by art groupies the entire show.” I stretch the truth a bit.

“Well, I saw a picture.”

“Really?” I’m exasperated. “There were lots of pictures Sean. It was an
art show.
That’s what they do, take lots of pictures.” I point at him agitated. “Were you stalking me on the internet again?”

He backs down. “I worry about you, Ava. You don’t realize what you do to guys, and I worry something’s going to happen to you. That Caswell is an asshole, and I don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

You always assume everyone is going to take advantage of me
, I think, frustrated. “You have to lay off, Sean. You aren’t helping me when you get like this.”

I can see that this agitates him. He turns away, his eyes hooded with anger, and I get a profile view of him with his high cheekbones and his smooth Hispanic caramel skin. Sean is good-looking in an exotic way, but when he’s angry, he’s hot. If we didn’t work side-by-side daily in the studio, I would’ve slept with him a long time ago.

We work quietly the rest of the afternoon, only speaking when we have to give each other specific demands. The tension remains thick, and as soon as the last print is pulled off the press, I quickly hang up my apron and head out the door.

Riley and I do our monthly splurge and meet at Nobu for sushi, lucky to get the last table in the crowded restaurant. We check off a variety of rolls and specialties on the sushi order form and order large sakes to go with our meal. I’m finally ready to tell her about Max.

“Riley, there’s this guy…” I start. Her eyes widen, since this isn’t how I normally start our conversations.

I tell her all about him, the good and the bad, culminating in his nominating me to be his personal savior. As she hears my story she’s amused, excited, confused and undecided, all rolled up into one.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, her big Tweety-bird eyes searching.

“I have no idea. But there may be nothing I
can
do. It’s kind of up to him at this point. I’m certainly not going to contact him.”

As we discuss various possibilities, I mention my makeover courtesy of Laura and Jess and how Max reacted to it. It’s like giving the addict a hit. Riley chokes on her spicy tuna roll in excitement.

“She actually got you to dress sexy!” she says with delight. “Oh, and what I wouldn’t have given to see the men around you dropping like flies!”

“Hardly,” I scoff, pushing Max’s heated reaction out of my mind.

“It’s a new day, Ava!” she announces. It doesn’t matter if you ever see Max again or not. It’s time to own your fabulousness.”

“Right!” I laugh, but Riley looks serious and announces a Saturday shopping trip to Agent Provocateur.

“Feeling sexy is the foundation to finding your inner goddess! And we’ll get pedicures!”

Normally, I’d run for the hills with this agenda, but Riley’s delighted…and maybe I do need to loosen up. So I nod with only a moderate amount of dread.

Riley then launches into a blow-by-blow description of a doomed blind date she went on while I was away, and we laugh hysterically while sharing a serving of green tea ice cream.

When we finally stand to leave, I sway.

Riley admonishes, “I knew you shouldn’t have had that second sake. You look like you’re going to fall over. You know you always have weird dreams when you drink sake.”

“I’m just really tired,” I whine, waving my arms.

As we tumble out the restaurant door and head back to the apartment, a wall of exhaustion hits me. My bed’s never looked so good.

I’m not sure if it was indeed the sake or the emotional unloading, but Max takes center stage in my dream that night, and not in a PG kind of way.

It’s dark, so dark, and I slowly crawl on the floor through the gallery. The rooms are deserted. I’m so low to the ground that even when I look up, I can’t see the paintings clearly. I move to the back and see someone leaning against the wall but I can’t tell who it is, and I’m very nervous.

As I get closer I realize it’s Max. He hums but I can’t distinguish the tune. I crawl closer until I’m under him and my fingers inch up his legs. He doesn’t acknowledge me at all, just keeps humming. Even though I have a sense I’m dreaming, I can really feel the texture of his jeans.

My hands keep moving up, pressing on his thighs and feeling every tense muscle. Finally, I get to his crotch and my fingers press everywhere, but I can’t find his cock. I panic, not understanding what has happened to it, but then he reaches down and strokes my face with one hand while unzipping his fly with the other. He pulls his cock out and it’s substantial…how could I have missed it? He lifts my chin and watches as I take him in my hand and rub him against my wet lips.

Suddenly, instead of the darkness, we’re in a painting…something like a Jackson Pollock with paint splattered everywhere, and my mouth is moving over him as we float through the abstract landscape. I feel lost in his heat, the scent and feel of him. His humming gets louder and he starts thrusting. I’m jolted awake just as I feel his cum hit the back of my throat.

I pant, tangled up in my sheets, as I come down from the dream and slowly grasp that I’m in my bed alone. The dream comes back to me in pieces, my stomach churns as I realize that I’m the art slut in the dream. I swallow the bile edging up my throat. Even the idea of lowering myself to that level is enough reason to never see him again. It’s four in the morning, and I curl in a ball and don’t sleep another wink until my alarm goes off at six.

Wednesday afternoon Adam calls me in from the studio. I sit down in his office and he shares that Alistair has asked him if he’s comfortable with me taking on a writing project for him.

I explain to Adam that Jonathan and I met at Max’s show and he offered to review my work and look at samples.

“I thought he was just being polite. So I’m confused why he’s wants to hire me for a project when he hasn’t seen my work yet.”

Although I need to find out what’s going on, I’m happy to see Adam not only doesn’t mind, but also encourages me to do the work. As long as I do it on my own time, I have his blessing.

He pulls off the Post-it, hands me Jonathan’s number and tells me to use his office to call him. After he leaves for a meeting, I dial the number.

“Is Mr. Alistair available?” I ask his assistant, “Ava Jacobs calling.”

There’s a short pause.

“Ava!” He sounds happy to hear from me.

“I’ve had a good chat with Adam. Since we’re colleagues, I felt compelled to speak to him before talking to you, and I’m happy to report he was encouraging about the idea of you working on a project for me.”

“Yes, he just told me.”

“Well, let’s meet to discuss it. Are you free for drinks tomorrow evening?”

“Absolutely!”

“Meet me at the bar at the Chateau Marmont at six-thirty. Give them my name when you arrive.”

“I’ll be there. Thank you, Jonathan.”

After I hang up, I clap my hands together excitedly.
My first professional writing job for a real client who isn’t Adam!
Nothing against Adam, but it’s like working for my dad. I happily float through the afternoon.