The Masterpiece (Work of Art #3) Read online

  “Maybe not, but I do know that she’s crazy in love with you, dude. Don’t push her away. She already thinks you don’t want her. You keep this bullshit up and it’ll seal the deal.”

  My heart’s pounding frantically. I’m numb as I move closer.

  “A year will go quickly. It isn’t the end of the world. You can go see her, she can come out here, and before you know it, the year is over.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. What is the longest Riley’s been away from you? For me, just the idea of a week without her is too fucking much. And what about my crazy jealous imagination? I’m already going nuts imagining every artist and production person hitting on her while I’m a million miles away.”

  I wrap my arms tightly around my waist. He’s right about his jealous nature with me across the country.

  “You know what it is, Dylan? I feel like she captured my heart, reeled me in, and now she’s leaving me high and dry. I don’t remember how to get by without her, and I don’t have any choice in the matter…I just get to fucking take it or leave it.”

  “So, you’re leaving it? That’s what you’re telling me? So, you’re choosing to go back to how your life used to be, back to the art sluts and vapid life…back to the meaningless misery?”

  I hold my breath and every molecule in my body freezes, waiting.

  “Maybe I am. ’cause you know what? During that whole fucking time, all those years, I never felt pain like I’m feeling right now. There’ve been moments since she told me that I thought I was losing my mind…I don’t know; maybe I am. But, at this point, I’d rather be numb than have another minute of feeling like I’m being ripped in two.”

  The Nobu bag slips from my hands and lands on the grass. I curl forward.

  “I know, dude, I know,” Dylan says in a fatherly voice.” But I can tell you, if you give this up, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

  I hear the sad intonation in Dylan’s voice. I hear something else too, but I can’t tell if it is real concern or just frustration.

  “I didn’t give this up!” Max suddenly roars. “She did, and I’m not even sure I can survive it. So stop trying to make me think everything is my fucking fault!”

  The tears are streaming down my face as I take several steps backward.

  “You’re being too damn dramatic, Max. You’ve got to talk to her.”

  “Dramatic? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I’m like a wild animal. What in the hell do you expect from me? I keep wondering if, deep down, I’m really crazy and Ava made me sane…then I start worrying that maybe she’s better off without me. And you think I’m just being fucking dramatic? Get the hell out of here, Dylan.”

  A moment later, Dylan steps out of the doorway and our eyes connect. From the instant look of concern on his face, I surmise that he knows I’ve heard everything. Before he can say anything, I turn quickly and head toward my car. He moves to catch up, and by the time I reach my car door, he grabs me.

  “Ava, stop!”

  I crumble against my car, the tears now flowing freely.

  “He doesn’t mean half the shit he just said. He just goes over the top when he’s upset. He needs to calm down, and then you’ll be able to talk to him.”

  Before he can say another thing, I’m sobbing, and he pulls me into his arms as I try to catch my breath.

  “He’s not just upset, Dylan, and you and I both know it. He’s not going to get over it in the morning.” I use my sleeve to wipe my tear-strewn face. “The worst part is that even if I turned down the offer tomorrow, this whole thing has tainted what we had. He’ll never trust me the same way again…never love me the same way again.”

  “I don’t believe that, Ava, and you shouldn’t either. Remember, I’ve known Max a long time. He just needs some time. He’ll come around.”

  I shake my head as I step back. “No, he won’t. I know he won’t.” I look toward the garden gate and realize Max is a matter of steps away. He’s so close, yet he couldn’t be further away. “I need to get out of here,” I whisper aloud.

  I fumble my keys, dropping them twice before getting my car door open. Dylan watches me carefully as I slide in my seat and drop the keys again before getting them in the ignition. Frustrated, I let my head fall forward and rest my forehead on the top of the steering wheel.

  “Are you okay to drive?”

  I can feel my shoulders start to shake. I shouldn’t drive, but I don’t want to admit it. Instead, I remain silent.

  He pulls my door open wider. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

  “But my car…”

  “We’ll get it tomorrow.”

  I quietly cry the entire drive home, while Dylan tries to fill the time talking about different artists I may interview and neighborhoods he likes in New York. His parents maintain an apartment there that he and Riley can use when they visit me. I know he’s trying to be helpful, but the last thing I want to discuss is New York.

  At one point, he calls Riley from his headset and warns her in the most abbreviated words possible what’s happened and that he’s bringing me home.

  As we pull up to my building, Riley comes downstairs and waits for me to get out of the car. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and leads me upstairs with Dylan right behind us. After they get me settled on the couch with a glass of wine, Dylan says his goodbyes and leaves.

  Minutes later, Riley puts a big pillow on her lap and has me curl up against her so she can run her fingers through my hair. I finally calm enough to quit crying.

  “He hates me, Riley. He’s going to pretend I never existed.”

  “Ava…you know he doesn’t hate you, and he could never pretend such a thing. Please stop saying that. He’s just hurting right now.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I still believe what I said earlier. Just downplay the drama. Act like you guys will get through this and even have some fun along the way.”

  “Fun?” She’s got to be kidding.

  “Yes, if you’re creative, you can have lots of fun. In college, I had a long distance relationship, and I think we fried some phone lines with our heavy-duty phone sex. I had sexy photos shot and sent them to him in little care packages. I also made sure the times we did get together were extra special. One time, I showed up in his office late Friday with only a trench coat and spike-heeled boots on. Damn, we had a good time.”

  Her words give me a spark of hope. “Oh, I forgot you had a long distance relationship. I can’t remember, did it outlast the separation for long?”

  She looks down. “No. But we weren’t meant to be together like you and Max are.”

  I shut my eyes tightly. I keep grasping at straws for a way to believe this can work, and I keep coming up empty handed.

  Riley lets out a long sigh. “Ava, I know you may think I’m crazy and just saying this to make you feel better…but I have a powerful gut feeling about you and Max.”

  “A good gut feeling?” I ask, not much louder than a whisper.

  “Well, I’m not sure how, but I just know this is going to work out. I have the strongest feeling you two will be together in the future. So, I’m just asking you to have faith, to not give up. Can you do that?”

  My heart lifts to think there’s a chance, even if it comes from a source as intangible as this.

  “I’ll try, Riley. I promise, I will try.”

  Chapter Ten / The Push and Pull

  We’re going to rise from these ashes like a bird aflame, take my hand…we’re going to go where we can shine.

  ~David Gray

  I push my key into the lock, but it doesn’t slide in smoothly. Instead, it sticks, and even though I wiggle it firmly, it doesn’t turn. I pull it out and try a few more times before giving up. I ring the doorbell again and again. Damn it all. Why isn’t Max here? He was going to meet me here and help me get my stuff inside.

  Leaving my suitcases by the front door, I walk along the side of the house, which is overgrown like a jungle. Once I’m a
t the back patio, I find the French doors wide open, the sheer curtains rustling in the breeze.

  I slowly walk through the house, noticing subtle differences. One painting has been replaced with another I’ve never seen. The couch is a different color, and the entryway is now painted a dark gray. I call out Max’s name and there’s a soft echo of my voice. After I get the security locks figured out, I pull open the front door and drag my suitcases upstairs, one at a time. They’re overstuffed and heavy, so this task requires considerable exertion. I’m frustrated Max isn’t here to help.

  Finally upstairs, I flip open the first suitcase and pull out a long white slip dress before opening the closet to get a hanger. What I see stops me in my tracks, and the dress slips through my fingers and puddles on the floor.

  Not only are all the open spaces Max made for me in his closet now filled, but the closet is so completely overstuffed with miscellaneous junk, you can’t even walk inside. Startled, I lean in and attempt to lift some shirts off the wardrobe pole to make room, but they’re stuck and no matter how hard I pull, they don’t move. I try to push some pants over on one of the shelves, and the same thing happens…they won’t shift an inch.

  I sit up in bed with a panicked start. My body is covered with fine layer of sweat as a shiver moves through me. Bad dream, just a bad dream, I say over and over to myself. But no matter how many times I remind myself, the feeling behind the nightmare still haunts me well into the morning.

  Work’s boring today, which is good and bad. Good in that it gets me even more geared up for my new job, bad because the day drags painfully slowly and gives me extra time to worry about Max. At least my doctor’s appointment will break up the long afternoon. I tell Sean there’s a problem with my car, and he insists on loaning me his truck to get to the Century City Medical Tower.

  My physical is thorough, everything from an EKG to urine and blood samples. They even wire me up and have me do a treadmill stress test. If there were a way to test my emotional stress, I would fail miserably and not be hired. But the most powerful intangible is the very thing that can’t be measured on their charts. I’m relieved when it’s over, and I scurry to the elevator to start my journey back to the gallery.

  In the silent hallway, I press the elevator button, becoming impatient when it takes several minutes to arrive. Stepping into the car, I lean against the back wall, hoping we don’t have too many stops on the way down. I groan when we stop at the thirty-second floor. Damn, could this thing go any slower? I’m anxious to get back to work.

  When the door opens and the new passenger steps inside, I look down to avoid eye contact and notice he has very nice shoes. Suddenly, I realize that there’s a strange tension in the air.

  “Ava.” My name is half whispered, and there’s pain and hope mixed into the tenor of the voice.

  Oh no, I know that voice.

  I slowly lift my eyes to find none other than Jonathan Alistair in living Technicolor. We haven’t seen each other since our farewell conversation in Santa Fe. I’m momentarily speechless. We’re trapped, descending in an elevator for thirty-two floors. Life is unbelievably cruel. I mean, really…What are the odds?

  “Jonathan.” I don’t know what to say beyond that. I desperately want to punch the button for the floor we are about to descend to and get the hell off. But if I do that, it makes it seem like I am really affected by seeing him, and I can’t have that.

  “How are you, Ava? Are you well?”

  I realize that he may be wondering since I’m in the medical tower. Of course, I can wonder the same thing about him.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I was actually here to get a physical for my new job.”

  “Yes, I heard. Congratulations. This is such a fantastic opportunity for you, and I know you’re going to be amazing.”

  “Thank you.” I’m curious. Does he have eyes and ears for every little thing that happens in the art world? I mean, how does he know about my job when I’ve barely told anyone?

  I study him for a moment. He looks much better than last time I saw him. He even has a tan.

  “So, why are you here?” The words escape my mouth before I’ve realized how inappropriate a question that is.

  “My psychiatrist’s office is here. I just had a session.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s helping me get through my divorce.”

  “Oh.” Too much information, thank you. That’s what you get for asking, idiot. Maybe I should get off now. I can say I need to use a bathroom.

  He squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “I’ve made a lot of progress.”

  He’s trying to provoke me, and it isn’t going to work. It’s selfish, but I don’t want to know he’s getting his personal life together while mine is falling apart. It’s small of me, but I can’t help it.

  “That’s good.” I look up at the light panel. We’re only at twenty-one. I can feel an edge of panic in my chest, and I remind myself to take a deep breath. I look down at my shoes, suppressing a groan when the car stops at twenty. An old woman in a wheelchair is backed in to the elevator by a caregiver. The large man in a medical-aid uniform pushes the button for the sixth floor.

  Instead of quieting Jonathan, the inclusion of other people near us spurs him on. He’s never been one to miss an opportunity. He takes a sharp breath, steps toward me and says softly, “I miss you, Ava, terribly.”

  I look at him, dumbfounded, as I press my back tightly against the elevator wall. Eighteen, seventeen…deep breath…

  “Look, for whatever reason, we were meant to run into each other like this…it gives me a chance to tell you how I feel. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but—”

  I cut him off. “Then please don’t.” The caregiver cocks his head toward us.

  “But, I really miss your company. Can we at least be friends?”

  “I don’t think so, Jonathan. It’s not that simple. Besides, I’m moving to New York.”

  His expression gets dark and unreadable. “What does Max think about that?”

  “I’m not talking to you about Max.” I fold my arms over my chest.

  He exhales and lightens his tone. “You know, I’m in New York at least a week every month. There’s an amazing John Currin show opening in October at the Whitney. Why don’t you let me take you to the pre-opening private party?”

  The door opens and the caregiver gives me a wide-eyed, knowing look before he pushes his client out of the elevator.

  I shake my head firmly. “That’s not a good idea.”

  His face falls. “Okay, maybe not.” We remain quiet for the rest of the descent.

  Thankfully, the door opens and lets us off in the parking garage. We both walk toward the valet. When he speaks up again, his voice is more neutral.

  “Have you enjoyed working with Nick?”

  I stop in my tracks and turn around to him. “I never got a chance to thank you for that. I appreciate that you recommended me to him. It’s been a great experience.”

  His expression lightens. “I’m so glad it worked out. He’s very impressed with you, but I knew he would be. Has he been too tough on you?”

  “Well, not too tough. I’ve learned a lot from him, as I did from you.” I smile, remembering the way Jonathan gently guided me through our project.

  “Don’t be afraid to stand up to him. He has a lot of bravado, but he can be open-minded too.”

  “Okay, thanks for the advice. I hope to still be able to work with him, even though I’ll be busy on the show.”

  Jonathan turns and faces me. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’m so proud of you, Ava. You have risen to all the potential I saw within you from the beginning.” He pauses as if he wants to say something, but stops himself.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He sighs and continues. “I hope you know that I wish you all the best.” He squeezes my hand, and it feels really weird, but I’m grateful he didn’t try to hug me.

  I give him a soft smile
before I hand my ticket to the valet.

  He pulls out his valet ticket. “Well, please let me know if I can be of any help. I know all kinds of real estate people in New York. It can be brutal finding a place if you don’t use the right people. You know, come to think of it, a one bedroom just opened up in my building. I could put in a good word at the co-op board.”

  “Jonathan…” I moan.

  “Okay, okay,” he insists, smiling sheepishly as he pushes his sleeves up. “But you have my cell number. Please call me if you need anything at all.”

  Sean’s truck pulls up, providing my escape. “Thanks, again.” I pause and look at him, and in that moment, what I remember is how he always took the time to look out for me and make me feel special. There was a side to Jonathan that was pretty wonderful, and it is nice to remember that after all the fury. “Take care, all right?”

  He gives me a warm smile before I pull away.

  “How many floors?”

  “Thirty-two. I wanted to die when I realized it was him.”

  “Oh, wow, how awkward,” Riley commiserates.

  We’re on our way to Malibu because, clearly, my life doesn’t have enough drama.

  “He even asked if we could be friends.”

  Riley huffs. “You mean friends with kinky benefits. Like that guy could actually last through one evening without trying to get in your pants.”

  “I’m sure you’re right…and I’m not going to give him the chance to find out.”

  We lapse into silence while I imagine what Max would think if he knew I’d been trapped in an elevator with Jonathan. I realize we’re already on PCH.

  “Thanks for driving me all the way out here, Riley.”

  “No worries…you’d do it for me. That’s what friends are for.”

  “Is Dylan sure he isn’t going to be there?”

  “Yeah, when he called Max last night to tell him why your car was there, he warned him not to talk to you until he got a grip. I think he had a double session booked with his shrink today, and then he’s supposed to attend some type of function this evening at one of the galleries in Bergamont Station.”