Work of Art ~ the Collection (45 page)

“I want you to put on the nightgown I bought you at La Perla. Will you do that?”

“I guess so.” In my wine-soaked state, I’m a little confused as to why I need to wear a nightgown to talk on the phone. This thought is followed by the realization that I don’t want to talk to him. I picture Max in my mind, and it makes talking to Jonathan feel even more wrong.

“Good, I’ll call you back and tell you what I’d do if I were there. So, go get ready, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll call back soon.”

“But—” I start to explain that I’m not up for a call, but he’s already hung up and I throw the phone down.

“What does Mr. Oopsy-daisy want?” Riley asks as she examines her toes.

“For me to put on my nightgown before he calls back. Geez. Why in the hell does he want that?”

“I bet he wants to have phone sex, silly!”

My mouth falls open. Now I really don’t want to talk to him. I pick up my phone and text him as fast as my wobbly fingers will allow.

Sorry, but all of a sudden I’m not feeling so good.

Let’s talk another time when I’m in better shape.

My phone rings a minute later and I feel guilty as I watch Jonathan’s call go to voicemail. We need to have a serious talk, but it won’t be tonight.

“Poor Ava.” Riley shakes her head sadly, as I collapse back on the couch. “Your love life is wonky.”

When I awaken my ragged self the next morning, I remember fuzzy details of last night and pick up my phone. There are three voicemails from Jonathan. I let out a long sigh. He probably wasn’t happy that I didn’t pick up his calls.

He’s flying to L.A Saturday, so I text him and ask if we can have lunch Sunday. It’s time to face the music.

The following morning at the gallery, I spend my time numbering prints and working on a press release for our upcoming show. Around eleven-thirty, Max surprises me with a call.

“Are you free for lunch?”

I grin. “You’re in town?”

“Yeah, I had a meeting, and I’d really like to see you before I head back to Malibu.”

I swoon a little. “You want me to meet you somewhere?”

“I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. I have a plan.”

A plan?
I’m excited. A few minutes later, I grab my purse and hurry to the bathroom to brush my hair and touch up my lipstick.

When I pass Brian, he gives me a crooked grin as I slip my phone in my purse.

“What?” I ask.

“Who was that on the phone?”

“Max.” I can feel my cheeks turning red.

“I thought so.”

Max is in a great mood when he picks me up. He hands me his notebook and encourages me to look at the drawings inside. They’re the studies he’s making for his new series, and his ideas incorporate the paintings we bought from the thrift stores. I love seeing his ideas materialize.

As he drives, he asks about the gallery. I skip my Monday screw-up stories and tell him about the public relations I’ve been doing for the upcoming show instead. He hangs on my every word, just as interested in what I’m doing as I am to hear about him.

I’m so engrossed in our conversation that I don’t notice he’s pulled into the LA County Museum of Art parking structure until he takes the ticket from the machine and parks.

“We’re going to the museum for lunch?”

He nods and grins before we take off for the ticket booth.

Tickets in hand, he leads me into the Broad Building to see the
Renoir in the 20
th
Century
exhibit.

“We’re having lunch with Renoir?” I tease.

“Amazing, right?” he says as he approaches one of the paintings with a dreamy look in his eyes.

The exhibition is full of fleshy women stretched out languidly.

He reaches out for my hand and pulls me closer. “Look, Ava,” he whispers.

I step close enough to see the threads of every color within each of Renoir’s brushstrokes. “His art is so sensuous.”

Max sighs. “I love how he paints women. I have trouble not touching the canvases. I was here yesterday and was so engrossed, they had to throw me out at closing time. I knew I wanted to come back with you.”

I look over, surprised. “I’m glad you did.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand as we move from painting to painting, and I can feel his energy flow through me. It’s inspiring—every passing moment is threaded with color and joy, much like Renoir’s brushstrokes.

When we get to the landscapes, he glances down at his watch. “We better eat. I don’t want to get you in trouble at work.”

He retrieves his backpack from the coat check and leads me outside to a bench under a tree on the edge of the sweeping lawn. He pulls sandwiches and cans of fancy soda out of his bag. He grins widely at my reaction to the spread. “Do you want turkey or roast beef? And I have brownies for dessert.”

Max has put so much thought into our lunch date that I’m overwhelmed by this sweet side of him. It’s almost more than I can handle. How can I keep the promise I made to myself to take things slow when he treats me like this?

When we’re done with lunch, we run to the car and laugh the whole way back to the gallery, taking turns making up outlandish stories as to why I’m late getting back. When he zooms up to the front door, I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Best lunch date ever!” I say before I jump out of the car. I look back before I step inside, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy.

That night, Riley reminds me about the fundraiser at the home of Dylan’s parents on Saturday. I realize that I’d better figure out what I’m going to wear, since this event is formal. As we brainstorm, I remember a vintage Valentino dress Katherine loaned me for a similar event with Brian several years ago. I decide to ask her if I may borrow it again. Riley spent the weekend shopping and has something on hold at Barney’s while she figures out how she’s going to pay for it.

At our team meeting the following morning, Adam gives Sean and me a revised deadline to get Max’s prints done. Afterward, we decide to run five colors a day to finish on time. I promise Sean that I’ll give him all the time he needs in the studio.

Later that morning, Dylan calls me.

“Hey, Dylan. How are you doing?”

“Pretty damn good, thanks to you.”

I hope he isn’t being sarcastic. “Why’s that?”

“It’s Max. I don’t know what magic spell you cast over him, but I’ve never seen him this motivated and happy. It’s just fantastic. I’ll be honest. I didn’t know how he’d be after his breakdown, but he’s like a new man.”

“Well, don’t give me the credit. You can thank Ann. She took care of him and got him back on his feet . . . but Max should get most of the credit. I think he’s really motivated to make his life better.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?”

“I don’t think so.” I’m not sure if I’m denying my effect on Max for Dylan’s benefit or not. I just want Max to own this.

“Uh-huh, sure. If that’s how you want to play it, but I still want to thank you, at the very least, for bringing him home. I feel like we can put all the dark crap behind us and the future looks bright.”

“Well, I’ll agree with you there.”

“I’ll see you Saturday, Ava. You’re our
extra
special guest, after all.”

“Are you impressed?” Max’s voice sounds bright, even over the phone.

“You always impress me, Max. Now tell me what I’m impressed with this time.”

“I waited almost two whole days to call you. My shrink has me working on some behavioral therapy.”

“Well, then I’m impressed, I guess. You’re kidding, right?”

“Sort of. Anyway, how are things?”

“I spent the whole day working on your print with Sean. It’s really looking good. And I talked to Dylan yesterday. He waxed poetic about you.”

“Yeah, he loves me again.”

“Well, considering he’s your manager, that’s probably a good thing.”

“I keep meaning to ask you . . . are you guys going to Art Santa Fe next month?”

“Adam’s planning on it, but I’m not sure if he’s taking me. I should ask him. How about you?”

“Yeah. Dylan and I will be there. Jess and Joe are coming too. It’s a really good show, and I love Santa Fe. You should convince Adam to let you come. It’s very casual—not a big scene like New York. We’d have so much fun.”

The thought of exploring Santa Fe with Max, Jess, and Joe makes me smile. I think about all of us in New York, and it’s stunning how much has changed in such a short period of time.

I wind a lock of my hair around my fingers.

“Max . . . Can I ask you something?”

“Well, go ahead and ask, and we’ll see if I want to give you an answer.”

“Are you on antidepressants or something now?”

There’s a long pause. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about something Dylan said—how different you are since you’ve come back. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it if you are.”

He pauses. “Yes, I am. It took a while for the effects to kick in though, so I’m just now starting to feel the benefit. They’re definitely taking the edge off.”

“That’s good. I’m glad they’re helping.”

“You know, I’ve tried them in the past, and they either didn’t help or they made things worse. One round turned me into a zombie. I wasn’t acting crazy, but I was completely flattened out . . . it took away all my creative energy. I couldn’t stand it. This time, Ann found a real good psychopharmacist who’s worked with my psychiatrist to put me on a lower dose of a new drug that doesn’t fuck with my art. I’ll just have to see how it goes, ’cause I don’t want to stay on this stuff forever.”

I smile, glad he trusts me with such private information. “Sounds like you’re in good hands.”

“I am. Look, I understand why you’re curious, Ava, and for the record, I’d rather have you ask questions than to wonder and never ask. Is there anything else you’d like to know . . . anything else you’ve heard?”

I don’t want to lie to avoid upsetting him. “I’ve heard stuff.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s talk about it.”

“When you disappeared, I heard about possible disorders, mental stuff . . .”

“Asperger’s? Bi-polar? Manic depressive? All of the above?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I’m a case. But I don’t want a diagnosis in the Asperger’s spectrum or anything else to define me. It may make some things harder, and I have my low points, but it’s nothing I can’t overcome. Do you believe me?”

“I believe in you.”

“Good. I want you to know that my being better isn’t just the medication. I’m also trying really hard to focus on what I care about now and have a purpose.”

“Yes, a purpose.” I’m really happy he sounds so positive.

“And I’m working really hard on being happy. It sounds crazy doesn’t it—working hard to be happy. I need to stay away from the things that bring me down or get me off track, and spend time with the things and people that mean the most to me. On that note, are you free Sunday?”

My heart sinks, remembering my plans with Jonathan. “Actually, I have plans on Sunday, but let’s plan another day.”

“Okay, well maybe next weekend.” His tone is deflated, and he gets off the phone quickly.

God, I feel bad about bursting his bubble when he’s doing so well. One step forward, two steps back.