Work of Art ~ the Collection (9 page)

He picks up the after two rings. “Hey, Ava. What’s up?” I swear I can hear the smile in his voice.

Smooth,
I think.
Let’s all pretend his demands haven’t changed the course of my career.

“Hey, Max. I met with Jonathan last night and he asked me if I would write the copy for your art book. That’s a pretty amazing offer for an inexperienced writer,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you? Jonathan said you were a little nervous about it.” He’s the one sounding nervous now.

“No, I’m excited about it, and of course flattered, but I can’t imagine why you think I’m the right person for this? I’m sure there are hundreds of writers in the art world far more qualified than me.”

“But they won’t be you, Ava. Remember all the things I said at tea, how I have a feeling about you . . . that we were destined to meet and help each other? And remember how I wanted us to work together? I haven’t stopped thinking about that and then the book issue came up again. It was all so clear. This is our chance!”

I have to steel myself because the sheer joy in his voice, the conviction destiny has pushed us together is seductive in the most dangerous way.

Remember the dream, remember the dream,
I chant to myself. The image of me on my knees in the darkened gallery is sobering. I try another tack.

“But Max, what if I screw it up? What if it sucks? I’m not even a published writer. You don’t want to be embarrassed.”

“Ava, I’d never let that happen. Surely you know how important this project is. I wouldn’t want either of us to look bad.”

“But—”

“Look, don’t make up your mind now. Let’s meet and talk about it. At least get your feet wet. Then if it isn’t working, we’ll move on.”

“You promise? You promise if it’s going badly and I suck, you’ll let me walk away?”

“I promise,” he says solemnly.

Somewhere inside, I don’t completely believe he’ll let me walk away that easily, especially if he knows my heart’s holding me there.

We agree to meet for lunch at his home on Sunday, and he’ll have Dylan join us. He assures me he’ll talk to Dylan to update him on everything. I take down his landline number at his house and the address on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu.

I’m a bit uncomfortable with the idea of two against one, and I ask if I can bring my roommate, Riley. I mention she’s a designer and always has an interesting viewpoint.

He agrees and I find comfort in the idea. Riley can try to get a read on Max. Clearly, I’ve lost my objectivity with this man, and Riley will protect me if I’m stumbling down a murky road with no sense of how to get home again.

Chapter Six / Follow the Yellow Brick Road

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud

~Émile Zola

B
right and early Saturday morning, Riley wakes me up, excited about the day ahead. After coffee and bagels, we head to the salon for our pedicures. Riley gets polka dots painted on top of her polish, but I go for a solid burgundy. My pale white feet have never looked so exotic.

We hang out in the salon while our toenails dry, since Riley refuses to be seen in public, wearing flip-flops and little rubber strips between her toes. When it’s finally safe, we put our sandals on and we head out to do a little window-shopping before going to lingerie nirvana. Agent Provocateur’s presentation is minimal in a darker, kinkier and way more expensive way than Victoria’s Secret. Once I’ve adjusted to the shock of hundred dollar panties, I’m able to appreciate the intricate detailing in the gorgeous lingerie. Riley convinces me that the real fun is trying things on. So we pick out a number of outfits and head to the dressing rooms.

I strip down to my plain panties, and I take the first bra off the hanger. It’s an intricate design of satin with lace insets. When I put it on, it pushes my breasts up and out, making my cleavage look even fuller than it already is. I hold up the matching panties over my cotton ones as I look in the mirror. The lavender color is beautiful against my fair skin.

I wonder what a man would think of me in this outfit. It looks like something sophisticated Jonathan would appreciate.

I take a sharp breath, surprised I thought of Jonathan in such a provocative way, and remind myself where I am.

“Hey Riley, what’s the point of spending so much money on lingerie? Anything that looks this good is going to instantly come off, if you know what I mean,” I say over the dressing room wall.

“That isn’t the point. The goal today is to get
you
to feel sexy and beautiful. When you wear the good stuff like this, you feel different. I swear it’s true. And once you realize what a goddess you are, the men will naturally follow.”

“Oh, okay.” As I turn in the mirror and admire how the lavender lace accentuates the swell of my breasts, I admit I’m feeling pretty damn sexy.

Next I try on the black lace ensemble with the tiny, hot pink bows. It’s so out of character for me that I giggle. This outfit has a garter belt, and I imagine how wicked I would look with black stockings and shoes with spike heels. The bra for this outfit is cut so low my nipples peek over the tops of the cups.

Max would appreciate this outfit.
My breath hitches.
Surely it would inspire him.

I close my eyes and imagine the feel of his hands all over me. Would he pull me against his hard body with a groan, slowly unhook the bra and slide the panties down? Suddenly investing in expensive lingerie makes perfect fiscal sense.

I’ve saved the virginal outfit for last. I fasten the top hook on the corset and look at my reflection. My skin’s almost as light as the white satin. The overall effect is ethereal. I imagine I’m stretched out over fine linens on a canopy bed and surrounded by sheer white curtains with my hair fanned across the pillow.

I gaze at an imaginary bare-chested Max standing by the bed with a fierce look in his eyes as he unzips his jeans. I’m going to need a cold shower after this shopping trip.

“I’ll meet you at the register,” Riley says, as she leaves the dressing room, and I snap back to reality. There’s no way I’m getting this white outfit—it’s too wedding night-ish. I decide on the lavender bra and panties as I get dressed again.

A wave of buyer’s remorse hits me as soon as I’ve signed the credit card slip. I’ve no business spending this kind of money on underwear, but I try to rationalize it by remembering the bonus Adam gave me from the art show. Besides, I’m usually careful with my money.

With our purchases complete, we get in the car and drive to the Kings Road Café to get a late lunch. We’re about halfway through our salads when Jess and her posse stroll by.

“Hey Jess,” I call. She grins and sweeps me in a big hug.

“Hey, Riley. What’s shaking, ladies?”

“We’re having a girlie day.” I reply as I stick out my foot and wiggle my toes while holding up my Agent Provocateur bag.

“Cool,” she says and turns to her friends. “Go on in and get a table. I’ll be right there.” She slides into the empty seat next to me.

“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do,” she quips, giving me a stern look. “I heard from Adam that Jonathan from
Art+trA
hired you to write Max’s book. Is that true?” She gives me the Jess-look of dubious judgment, and I can’t hide my surprise that she heard the news already.

“Isn’t it exciting!” Riley chimes in.

“Well, that depends on expectations,” Jess replies.

“Can you elaborate?” I ask nervously.

“Look, Ava, we both know you can do this, and you’ll do a great job while you’re at it. But how much of this is about Jonathan and Max wanting to get into your pants?”

I feel the sting as if I’ve been slapped.

Riley groans. “Jess, this isn’t helping her confidence with her writing.”

“Well, Jess, even if that were true, and I don’t think that’s the case, I can handle myself. I’m not going to do anything I don’t want to do.”

Jess folds her arms over her chest.

“The project is a great opportunity and challenge. Should I really turn it down without seeing how it plays out?”

She purses her lips and nods. “Not a bad point. Okay, I’m going to go join my friends. But let me know if anyone steps out of line. I’ll be happy to kick their ass,” she says, as she playfully shakes her fist and smiles.

“Ciao, ladies. Give me a call next week and let’s go out for a drink.”

The next day, Riley and I decide to leave for Malibu by eleven-thirty to avoid traffic. Riley’s wearing white capris and a halter top that shows off her tan shoulders, while I wear my new lavender lingerie under my sundress. I put the top down on my convertible, so we can soak in the glorious Southern California sun.

We get off the 101 at Malibu Canyon and wind our way through the hills. As we near the coastline, we see that spectacular view. It’s a different world at the beach, and the clean air lifts my spirits. Following Max’s directions, we pass Zuma Beach and turn into a driveway.

I pull up to a large gate and punch in the code Max gave me into the keypad. With a grand gesture, the tall emerald-green gates part.

Riley and I grin. It’s as if we’ve been transported to Oz. We break into an enthusiastic round of “Follow the Yellow Brick Road,” using munchkin voices as we drive through the soaring entry, and head down toward the ocean. Halfway down the hill, we stop singing.

Riley gasps. “Wow! He lives in paradise!”

I nod, quietly taking it all in. I shake my head with disbelief and realize I don’t need another reason to be infatuated with this guy.

We reach the bottom of the hill where there are four houses in a row facing the ocean. Max’s place is on the far left and set apart from the other homes.

My nervousness kicks in as we walk down a short path and through two large wooden gates. The portal opens to an incredible garden, complete with a koi pond and waterfall. A velvet green lawn is edged on all sides with clusters of lacy ferns and wild lavender. There are fig trees and rambling rose bushes and dozens of exotic plants I can’t even identify. The entire garden is surrounded by a tall stone wall with fuchsia and apricot-colored bougainvillea crawling along its edge. There’s no order or symmetry, just lushness, which only adds to its beauty.

“Wow,” Riley says again. She looks as overwhelmed as I feel.

The front door is wide open, so we gingerly stick our heads in, looking for our host.

“Hello!” I call out, and after a few moments Max rounds the corner, drying his hands on a dishrag. He throws it over his shoulder as he approaches us. My breath catches in my throat at the delectable sight of him. He’s gotten some color since returning from New York, and it’s set off by his white linen shirt. His sleeves are rolled up, and he’s wearing faded jeans and bare feet looking like Mr. California casual.

“Ava,” he says, stepping forward and kissing me lightly on the cheek.

“And you must be Riley,” he says, warmly shaking her hand. “Thanks for coming all the way out to the beach. I’m glad you’re here.”

Riley nods, star struck. I try to speak to Riley telepathically or at least with a look.
Close your mouth, girl, you’re gawking.

Max doesn’t seem to notice.

“Come on in and say hi to Dylan. Hopefully he’s off the phone by now.”

After we join Dylan in the living room, Max heads back into the kitchen to finish preparing lunch. He insists he doesn’t need any help.

And he cooks too . . .

I’m beside myself, so grateful for the distraction of Dylan. The one and only time I met Dylan was when I defended Max at the show.
I have some work to do to get on his good side.

Luckily, he seems good-natured and doesn’t appear to hold a grudge. He takes Riley and me out to the patio. There’s a small steep hill at the edge of the property where the beach begins. The waves crash just beyond the narrow strip of sand, and the sound of the ocean can be heard inside the house.

The breeze whips my hair around my face, and it feels glorious. When I look to the horizon point where the water meets the sky, I can’t believe the vast magnificence of the ocean. It must be incredible to live here, right on the edge of the earth.

Max beckons us inside, and we sit around a table facing the view. He carries plates of linguini with grilled salmon in a butter, lemon and caper sauce. There’s a bowl with a mixed salad and a fresh loaf of French bread.

Dylan helps with the wine and pours everyone a glass of crisp Pinot Grigio.

There’s music on the stereo, echoing through the large room.

Riley regains her bearings and entertains us with stories about product design gone bad and corporate shenanigans. Between the nonflammable PJs that burst into flames during product testing to her office-mate who was escorted out by security last week for spending hours ‘researching’ hard-core porn on the company computers during office hours, Riley has a way of making everything comical and much more entertaining than it probably is.

When we’re done with lunch, Max explains the general idea and specs for the book. The work will be organized from the early years and influences to the initial notoriety, when Max became accepted as an important emerging artist and, finally, a commentary on where he is now and what the future might be. Obviously, the work is going to require a lot of research and interviews.