Work of Art ~ the Collection (22 page)

Adam looks at Sean. “I told Dylan, with our schedule, it would take you at least a week to do the color separations, but that we’d probably start printing next week. So, give me an update after you’ve analyzed it.”

Sean leans back defeated, but this won’t be the last time I’ll hear his opinion on this situation. I can only imagine his mood when we start the actual run with Max in the studio.
Fireworks, anyone?
I dread the idea of it, but hold onto the hope that it won’t be as bad as I’m imagining.

When the meeting ends, I help Brian hang three of Jess’s newest paintings. One of them is a huge canvas of Ba-roque Beat performing in Times Square, and it’s a riot of hot colors: flaming oranges, sultry reds and electric yellows. I’m thrilled, for as I study the crowd in the background, I realize she’s included all of us dancing that night in New York. We’re now immortalized in Jess’s painting.

I’m glad we gave her new work the prime spot in the gallery on the pristine white wall you face as soon as you step inside. I also like this location because, at night, the art is lit and visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls facing Robertson Blvd.

That afternoon, as I’m heading to Starbucks to refuel myself with caffeine, my cell phone rings.

“Hi, Jonathan. How was your trip?”

“Hello, Ava. It was good, thanks . . . very productive.” He sounds happy. “Have you made progress on the book?”

“I’ve finished two more sections. Shall I email them to you?”

“Yes . . . Look, I have some news that you will undoubtedly find unsettling, but don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way to manage it.”

My heart sinks. “Yes?”

“The museum in Barcelona called, and they want to move Max’s show up to July. It seems that they had a dramatic confrontation with the artist from the originally-scheduled show for this time, and they banned him from the museum. Leave it to the Spaniards to be so dramatic.”

My heart drops further. I am barely keeping up with the book demands as it is.

“This is completely unheard of in the museum world, but we can probably pull it off if we get the book to press in about four weeks. This will require putting your part of the project on an accelerated schedule. To accomplish this, I’m going to team you up with my best and brightest editor, Phoebe. She’ll help you achieve what right now seems impossible.”

I’m honestly too stunned to freak out. “So, you really think we can do this?” I ask, my voice steady and confident, betraying my significant degree of hesitancy.

“I know you can, Ava,” he states firmly. Whether he actually means it, or is saying it to boost my confidence, the resulting message is clear—where there’s a will, there’s a way. We’ll just have to get it done.

As I wait for his next directive, I hear someone speaking in the background. He pulls the phone away and replies, “Tell them I’ll be right there. Sorry, Ava. Listen, I need to go, and I’m looking at my schedule for the next two weeks and it’s completely crazy.” He lowers his voice. “But I’d like to see you. There’s an event at the Getty this Friday . . . if you’re free, I thought you could join me.”

“I’d like that,” I reply, not exactly sure what I want, but he’s caught me off guard. Attending an art opening at the Getty with Jonathan could be a tense situation. Because he’s so well-known in the art world, I’ll be under all kinds of scrutiny just being with him. It’s the kind of attention I usually try to avoid. It’s interesting that he doesn’t seem worried.

“Good. Let’s have dinner first and then head over. It’s not formal or casual, but dressy works.”

He’s read my mind . . . since I am wondering what to wear. He’s nothing if not thorough.

“Jacqueline, my assistant, will contact you about specifics. And Phoebe’s flying back from Seattle as we speak, so she’ll contact you first thing in the morning.”

When we hang up, I push the new deadline out of my mind and distract myself, wondering if I’ll finally hear about his dream on Friday.

Back at the gallery I hand Brian his blended mocha, and he reminds me that I’m coming with him to a charity event tonight. His boyfriend, Thomas, is one of the hosts for a fundraiser for the Pet Rescue Initiative.

“Damian’s going to be there,” he taunts me, unable to resist the impulse to set me up with the endless supply of metrosexuals he knows through his business dealings.

“I saw Damian at the nail salon getting a pedicure. Now I can’t get the image out of my head. You’re going to have to find someone a little more macho,” I grumble.

Of course we’re playing with each other. He gave up trying to set me up a long time ago.

“Okay, but I want sexy tonight—a short skirt and those Jimmy Choo heels I got you for your birthday.”

“Ah, you’ll make a diva out of me yet.”

When he picks me up that evening, he lets out a low whistle as I playfully model for him. Riley’s lent me her short black skirt with swirls of silver beading and it shows off my long legs. I matched it with a fitted black silk sweater and Brian’s shoes. Well, the Jimmy Choo shoes Brian gave me. I suspect he’d secretly wear them if he could.

As we enter the charity event, I’m grinning from ear to ear. Sanrio’s one of the major sponsors of the evening, and the party is a Hello Kitty wonderland. The first clue is the life-sized Hello Kitty as we walk through the entrance, and we stop to have our picture taken with her in all her furry glory. Inside, girls dressed in tiny tank dresses embellished with rhinestone Hello Kittys serve pink Kitty cosmo martinis.

We wander around taking it all in, and I’m immediately sorry I didn’t bring Riley along.

Brian locates Thomas, and I’m thrilled to finally meet him. He’s handsome and quite charming, and Brian glows as they stand together. We chat for a few minutes before Thomas graciously excuses himself for an interview, and I give Brian an enthusiastic “thumbs up.”

We move into the next soundstage where there’s a Japanese girl band playing. We walk to the far wall that’s brightly lit and covered with different Hello Kitty paintings.

The mini-show is called
Hello Kitty the Muse: Twenty Artists Interpret the World’s Most Famous Cat.
The artwork is fun and irreverent. One image of Hello Kitty as an angel is rendered entirely in glitter. Another that looks computer generated is of Hello Kitty in space, wearing an entire astronaut spacesuit complete with an oversized bubble helmet. My favorite is Hello Kitty the princess with her crown encrusted with real rhinestones and colored gems. I sorely wish I could buy it for Riley.

At the end of the evening, they hand us goody bags full of treats for humans and their little furry friends. There’s a rhinestone Hello Kitty collar, a decorative tin of organic dog biscuits, and an adult-sized rhinestone T-shirt and embroidered coin purse. I save the T-shirt and coin purse for Riley and keep the box of gourmet chocolates shaped in kitty and puppy heads for myself.

Outside, we wait in a long line until the valet pulls up in Brian’s Saab. He pushes a button and the sunroof opens, giving me a view of the silver crescent moon hanging in the sky.

“Wow, that was really something. I didn’t expect the party to be so entertaining.”

He nods. “Yeah, those charity events can be sooo boring, but Thomas really knows how to do things right.”

“Well, he’s impressive. You two look really happy.” I smile warmly.

“You know, I thought I would never meet Mr. Right. When I’d finally given up on the idea and made peace with being alone, he fell right into my lap! I still can’t believe it.”

“You deserve someone terrific.”

“What about you, Ava? You can’t be single forever, even though you seem set on the idea. What about Maxfield Caswell? Do you have any interest in him?”

“Well, we’re becoming good friends.”

“Friends?” His smile turns down. “Does he have a girlfriend or something?”

“No, but he’s not interested in me that way.” Even I can hear how ridiculous that statement sounds. I decide to test Brian. If I can’t figure out Max’s platonic ways, maybe he can.

Brian’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, let me get this straight . . . he’s single, he’s hot and he likes spending time with you, but he’s not interested in you that way. I don’t buy it. He must be into you, Ava.”

“You’re such a man. Things aren’t always black or white. I know he likes me as a friend. I just don’t think he wants me like that.”

“Seriously? Oh please! Listen, Missy, must I remind you I have a bit more relationship experience than you? You’re a dream girlfriend; you’re gorgeous, sexy, smart, strong, fun and you have a huge heart. Those last two attributes are hard to find in this town in combination with the first five. Hell, if I were straight, I’d have you married and pregnant by now!”

I blush at his overstated compliments, and I giggle at the idea of Brian and me married. Now that would be a comedy.

“When was the last time Max was in a relationship?” he asks, as he turns onto Sunset Blvd.

“Evidently, years ago. I do know whatever happened messed him up.”

“I see, and he knows you’d never be an art groupie, and you’re serious about your work. He must respect you. And let’s not forget . . . you’re writing his book?”

“What about it?”

“It’d be risky to get involved in the middle of the project.”

“Oh, you are full of excuses for Max. How about he doesn’t feel the chemistry or the connection that I do? Maybe he’s only attracted to art groupies. He’s flirted, but I think that’s all it is. He’s never made the moves.”

“Reason all you want, girlfriend, but I’m still not buying it. So Mr. Caswell may be taking his time . . . he may be working other things out, but take my word . . . he’ll come around.”

A cool breeze whips through the car and I shiver, so Brian flips on the heat.

“I overheard you mention to Katherine that you’re going to the Getty opening Friday night. Are you going with Caswell?”

“No, actually I’m going with Jonathan Alistair,” I reply casually.

“Alistair from
Art+trA
?”

“Yes, I’ve been working for him, writing the text for Max’s book,” I quickly add.

“Yeah . . . ,” he says with suspicion in his voice. “But that doesn’t mean you go to fancy events like this together. Is he into you, Ava?”

I want to deny it, but it’s hard to lie to Brian. “Well, let me just say he’s attracted to me, so . . . yes, he’s into me. I’m not sure how I feel about him, though. He’s been so kind.”

Brian lets out a low whistle. “Ah, what a tangled web you’re weaving, darling. Isn’t Jonathan a little old for you? Have you slept with him?”

“No.” I look at Brian and consider what I want to say next. “But if I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?”

“Sure.”

“He’s been rather suggestive.” I swallow, hard. “And I mean in a very provocative way.”

“Ohhhh, how hot!” Brian growls. “Did it turn you on? I mean are you at least attracted to him?”

“Well, he sure as hell surprised me, and I have to admit it turned me on. I don’t know how to handle it, though, because as amazing as he’s been, we’re working together and he’s my boss. Sleeping with him may not be a good idea.” It’s a relief to talk this through.

“Yeah, I can see how it complicates things. Of course this
is
L.A. and everyone sleeps with everyone. It’s how business is done. Well, be careful, baby. Take your time until you know what’s best for you.”

As we pull up to my apartment, he says. “Too bad you can’t combine Jonathan and his hot desire with Max, your friendship, and his stunning looks . . . then you’d really have the dream boyfriend.”

“You’ve got that right,” I say and sigh as I hug him good-night.

The next day is slower at the gallery, and I find myself thinking about Max too often for my own good. I wonder if he’s purchased a new camera yet and if we’re still going to Huntington Gardens this weekend. I’m curious if he’s started working on the thrift shop paintings series. I can’t wait to see what he does.

Will he be at the Getty event on Friday? If so, what’ll he think when he sees me with Jonathan? And I keep wondering with dread, who he’ll come with if he does go. My mind reels with the possibilities.