Work of Art ~ the Collection (77 page)

In that heavy thickness of jet lag, I do my best to get through the following workday. I’ve gone from princess of the art ball to working stiff in a matter of hours. It’s a rough transition. I go over my task list with Brian, but my mind is somewhere else.

“Earth to Ava,” he teases.

“I’m here, I’m here. Why are you so pushy anyway, mister?”

“Because, my Spanish
señorita
, I’m leaving early today, and I need you to pick up the slack. Thomas is whisking me away for a mini-vacation in Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Yeah, he has a work gig, and they’re putting him up at the Wynn. So we’re going to lie by the pool all morning, then he’ll go and do his thing, and when he’s done we’ll party all night. He even got us Celine Dion tickets.”

“Honestly, you’re so gay, Brian.”

“I know, but you love that about me.”

“Yes, I do.” I hug him hard. “You big, gay, beautiful boy. I love you so much it hurts.”

“Watch it, girl, your man has a sixth sense about someone touching his woman, and he’s going to break through the door in a minute and beat the crap out of me.”

“So, you think he’s the jealous type?”

“Does the sun shine? I mean, seriously, I’ve never seen anyone look at their lover the way he looks at you. It’s rather endearing, even when he pisses me off.”

“Pisses you off? How?”

He gives me an exaggerated wide-eyed stare before shaking his head. “He doesn’t like to share his play toys. Sometimes, I worry that he’ll lock you in his dungeon, and it’ll be the last we will see of you.”

I shrug playfully. “Ah, come on, he’s a little caveman, but he’s getting better every day.”

It’s all well and good that Sean and I have been getting along at work. Wednesday, we even grab burgers together after working late, but by the time I get back to my apartment, I’m really getting itchy. There’s nothing like spending time with the wrong guy to put a hot spotlight on the right guy. I need my Max fix.

Coincidentally, Max must need his Ava fix, because when I turn my phone on I find five messages from him.
If he goes caveman on me, I’m going to be furious,
I think irritably. I was with my buddy Sean, for goodness sake.

I call him and steel myself for the jealous onslaught, but it never comes. Instead, he sounds calm and concerned.

“Are you all right, Ava? I couldn’t reach you.”

“I told you I was working late, and Sean and I grabbed a quick dinner afterward.”

There’s a long silence on the other end before he calmly asks, “And how is young Sean? Has he found a boyfriend yet?”

“Oh, Max, you know he isn’t gay.”

“I don’t know, love, my gaydar goes a little wonky when he’s around.”

“Is that why you called five times . . . to make sure
my
gaydar was on?”

“No, I actually have a legitimate business reason to call. And sorry for the late notice, Dylan swears he told me about this already, but . . . are you free three Saturdays from now to do a big book signing at Barnes and Noble at the Grove?”

I suppress my desire to squeal. “The Grove? They only do the biggest authors and personalities there.”

“Yes, looks like we’ve made the big time, Angel. How does it feel?”

“As long as I’m with you, fantastic.”

“Well, one other thing came up, but it will be more problematic . . . I want you to think about it, though, okay?”

“You’ve got me curious, what is it?”

“The Pompidou in Paris wants to meet with me, and they’re asking me to come out. I know this is sooner than you expected, but I want you to join me. We could keep it short and just stay a week. Our first trip to Paris.”

“Damn, Max. Are you serious? Of course, I want to go, but how will I get more time off from Adam?”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No. Let me think about how I want to handle this. You know how much I want to go with you. I just have to figure out the logistics.”

Somewhere in the apartment, my roommate, Riley, sings at the top of her lungs. She must’ve come home while I was on the phone. She’s singing
Wicked
. Things must really be bad.

“Who the hell is that?”

“It’s Riley,” I reply, baffled. “She must’ve had a crappy day. She sings Broadway musicals when she’s really upset. I better go see what’s up.”

Riley launches into “Defy Gravity,” and I’m pretty sure Max can hear the words through the phone. The last time she sang that song this loud, she’d found out she’d been passed up for a promotion at work.

“Okay, you better make sure Riley’s all right. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

Riley’s upset reminds me that sometimes we can try our best and still some tornado or flying monkey can turn things upside down.

The next morning at the gallery, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number and let it go to voicemail. But on my break, I listen to the message.

“Hello, Ava. It’s Travis, from ArtOneWorld. There’s a great opportunity we want to talk to you about. I know this is short notice, but can you come to my office late this afternoon? We’re in Hollywood just off Melrose. Give my assistant Susanna a call and she’ll schedule it.” He leaves the number before hanging up.

I hold the phone to my ear for another minute in a daze. Great opportunity? This afternoon? I’m overwhelmed with curiosity and a touch of anxiety, and my mind races with possibilities. This must be why he’s been paying so much attention to me . . . all the checking up and phone calls. I call Susanna and she schedules me for six thirty. They must work late. At least I don’t have to take time off work.

Luckily, it’s just a short drive to their offices. They’re located in a retro building on a street that’s home to production offices, shooting stages, and recording studios. I’m a few minutes early, so I sit in my car, trying to calm myself before going in.

The receptionist is impeccably dressed, her pale skin startling against her jet-black hair.

“You’re here to see Travis, Ms. Jacobs?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I sit down in the reception area and pick up one of the production magazines on the fancy coffee table. The custom-designed table reminds me of a Mondrian painting. It’s a combination of various rectangular shapes of thick black metal bars with shapes painted with primary colors.

I hear the music pumping through the sound system and wonder if this is a fun place to work.

“Ava, they’re ready,” the girl says, and I follow her down a hallway with large posters of their various productions framed on the wall.

“Here you go.” She points into the office, and I step through the door. I’m surprised to see not just Travis, but three other people waiting for me inside, and they all stand to shake my hand.

“Ava, do you remember Sonja from the ArtOneWorld party? She’s our director of development,” Travis says.

I shake her hand.

“I don’t believe you met Ben Silverstein who’s head of operations, and Seth Kirkland, VP of production.”

After shaking hands, we all sit down.

“Sorry to take you by storm like this. But we’re under a crunch with the network and things are moving very fast.”

“No problem. I’m intrigued. What’d you want to talk about?”

“Have you seen any coverage of your time in Spain?”

“Coverage? No, I haven’t seen it yet . . . Why?” I’m confused. So, they’ve watched the footage from Spain.

“They must have quite a PR team at the museum. They had you and Caswell portrayed like the royal couple of the art world. It’s not just Caswell; you’re known over there now too.”

I blush and have to stop myself from downplaying the attention we received. “The whole experience was amazing.” This isn’t the time to be modest.

“Well, Bill, the head of ArtOneWorld, saw the footage and is convinced that you’re a star in the making.”

“Really?” I’d be amused, but they all seem very serious.

“He wants you . . . and we all agree you should be part of our team. Are you ready for your life to change, Ava?”

“Part of your team? What do you have in mind?” My mind races, trying to understand what they want.

“We want you to star in our new show,
ArtOneWorld Presents: The Artist Revealed
. And it’s the show we’re most excited about for our launch lineup.”

I’m completely stunned. I can only imagine the look of shock on my face. I take a deep breath and try to control my inner hysteria. The first words to slide out of my trembling mouth sound surprisingly calm.

“Wow, I’m very flattered. But, why me?” Surely my lack of experience worries them. There must be better candidates.

Sonja jumps in. “Well, we understand how sudden this must seem to you, so if I may, I’ll explain how this came about. We’ve had this show in development for well over a year. We already had commitments from a number of fantastic artists, but we just couldn’t find the right host. It seems that anyone we found who had the right amount of knowledge about contemporary art, along with a foundation of art history, was completely flat on camera. We tested over thirty people, many of them very well respected in the field. And of course, there’s a wide selection of personalities who can make a good interviewing host, but they didn’t have the knowledge to pull off informed and relevant conversations with the artist.”

“Exactly,” Travis adds before Sonja continues.

“This concept is about approachability—creating an opportunity where Joe Average can spend a day with the artist in their studio, hanging out, and watching how they spend their time. It’s a chance to see how the artist’s mind works outside the formal interview setting. The idea for the host’s role is a back-and-forth impromptu conversation with the artist . . . not a format where a host would be checking off a list of prewritten questions.”

Seth jumps in. “So, when your footage with Caswell came to our attention, we got very excited. We needed to know, though, that the dynamics of that interview weren’t reliant solely on your obvious chemistry with Caswell. So, when we set up the Andrea Altman shoot, we purposely picked one of the most reclusive, challenging artists to interview.”

“And you gave us a home run,” Sonja states firmly.

“You have everything we want: you’re very attractive and appealing on camera, you have a fresh and fun point of view, and you have all the education and knowledge of art that makes you believable,” says Seth.

“The demographics are perfect. And you’re the perfect blend of relatable versus aspirational,” Sonja adds.

“Aspirational?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s not just that people will like you, they’ll want to be you. You tested extremely high in our focus groups.”

Wow . . . focus groups?
The seriousness of this hits me again.

“So, Ava,” Travis says dramatically. “Are you ready to be the host of the coolest show ever produced in this genre? Are you ready to be the media darling of the entire art world?”

I stare at Travis for a moment, trying to reformulate every idea I’ve had of him. Clearly, he had me in mind for this early on and has studied my every move to see if I could handle it. My instincts tell me that no matter what hesitation and insecurities I have, I need to serve my response up in the right way.

“Yes! I’m stunned, but I am beyond thrilled to have this opportunity. I’m very honored to be chosen for such a great concept.”

“That’s just want we wanted to hear. This is great . . . very exciting,” Ben confirms, clapping his hands together. “So, if you don’t have a lawyer or agent, you need to get one immediately. Our lawyers will be presenting a contract by early next week, and we want this wrapped up as quickly as possible.”

Wow, this is moving at the speed of light.

“I’m going to need to talk to my current boss. What kind of timing are we looking at?”

“Yes, there’s a lot to take care of so that you can be clear and focused. You’ll need to be prepared. The shooting schedule will be intense. Up to six days a week and long hours. And we’d like to go into production in six weeks,” Seth says.

Six weeks? Good God.
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep the shaking out of my voice.

Travis nods and gives me a smile. “Oh, and there’s one other important detail.”