The Inspiration (6 page)

I sit for a moment on the couch and realize that I should leave him a note in case he wakes up completely disoriented. I find a pad and pen by the phone.

I notice a sketch lying on the floor. In fact, there are drawings lying all over the room— some on the floor, some scattered across the desk and end tables. I can’t believe I’d missed them when I came in.

The drawings have the ragged edge from being torn out of a bound book. I set my pad down and take a closer look. They’re all very loose-gesture drawings of a woman. There are loose sweeps of charcoal across the rough paper, some roughly blended. Then layered over are minimal cleaner lines from a dark pencil.

The woman is nude in all the drawings and it feels like the sort of thing done during a life drawing class. They’re beautiful in their simplicity. I feel a pang of jealousy for whoever she is. She got to pose for Max here in his room. With that wave of jealousy comes the resolve to get out of his room and back to my reality.

I go back to my note and add a final line before tearing it from the pad and laying it on his bedside table:

In the morning, I head to the exposition to oversee the guys packing up the art. I also go over all the details with the shipping company transporting our crates back to California. It’s a relief to know the show’s finally over and it’s been a success.

On my cab ride back to the hotel, I ask the cab driver to drop me off in Central Park so I can take a leisurely walk in the brisk air.

As I wander down one of the many paths that wind through the park, I watch the nannies pushing their strollers, the old couples sitting on the benches and the young people with their lunch bags and sodas. A middle-aged woman takes a picture of her daughter standing proudly in front of the pond. A gaggle of school children in uniforms walk past while their teachers try to keep them on course. My love for New York City swells up in my chest, and I vow to return soon, hopefully next time for pleasure, not work.

I decide to turn down another path when I hear my cell’s ringtone.

Maxfield Caswell.

I’m only half-surprised. He’s probably calling to apologize for last night. I’m curious to see how he’s doing.

“Hey, Max,” I say casually.

“Ava.” He takes a sharp breath. “What are you doing?”

“Um, walking in Central Park. Why?”

“I was wondering if we could meet for coffee before you leave. You mentioned you guys were flying home tonight.”

I’m amazed he’s remembered that detail. “Well…I just had coffee,” I say, trying to be playful to lighten the mood.

“Okay, then tea. Where are you in the park? I’ll grab a cab and meet you now.”

I look around for a landmark, impressed at his determination. “I’ll sit on a bench facing the pond at 61st Street, just in from 5th Avenue.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

I pace for a few minutes as my heart races, and I finally sit on the bench.
What’s this about?
I wonder. He doesn’t have to take me to tea. A thank-you call would’ve been sufficient.

Each minute feels like an hour. I finally look up just as he exits a cab on 5th Avenue. He strides toward the pond and flashes that gorgeous smile when he sees me stand up from the bench.

God, he’s beautiful,
I marvel, allowing myself one last swoon before I steel myself for what’s to come. The only thing I’m sure of is I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.

“Hi, you want to walk?” he asks casually as he approaches, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets.

I nod and we stroll silently toward the park exit at 59th Street and 5th. The trees are all edged with a brilliant green as their coats of spring leaves are just breaking through. I’m trying to imagine that this silence isn’t awkward, but he gives me a break by finally speaking.

“Thank you for looking out for me last night,” he says quietly, looking down at me.

I smile. “It wasn’t a big deal. You didn’t have to come out of your way to thank me.”

“I know, but I thought we could talk.”

“Sure.” I realize that we’re now heading down 5th Avenue and he seems to have a destination in mind. He rests his hand on my back and leads me into a turn on 55th Street. The fancy doorman at the St. Regis Hotel tips his hat as Max leads me into the elegant lobby.

“We’re having tea here?” I ask, glad I’m wearing nice slacks and a tailored jacket.

“Yes, high tea. Would you prefer something else?”

“Oh, I love high tea, but I wouldn’t imagine it’s your style.”

“See, one of the many things you don’t know about me…I love high tea. I had high tea frequently with my mom, and this was her favorite place to go in New York.”

My eyes grow wide.
He’s taking me to his mom’s favorite place for high tea? Why?

The hostess leads us to a low silk-covered settee facing a linen-covered table set with elegant china and silver.

We must look like we’re a couple,
I think, noticing most of the other seating options have traditional tables and chairs.

We sink down into the loveseat with our thighs lightly touching. I open the tasseled menu to choose from a selection of over twenty teas, everything from English breakfast to exotic mango spice.

I pause to admire my surroundings and the frescoed ceiling with delicate painted cherubs floating in a cloud-filled sky, the layers of intricately carved moldings framing each scene.

I could get used to this
.

“Does your mom still come here?” I ask, setting my menu down.

“No, she passed away.” He looks down and shifts the fork on the table.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Good going, Ava. Ask about his dead mother. That would explain why he spoke in the past tense, idiot.

“She’s been gone for six years, breast cancer,” he says calmly as the waiter approaches.

I’m glad for the distraction. The waiter takes our order, and after he moves away Max takes a deep breath and shifts to face me.

“So, I want to apologize for last night. I’m angry with myself for what I put you through.”

Am I going to let him off the hook?
I decide not to. “You’re quite the party boy, Max, and that’s okay I guess, if it’s what you want. But I decided to get involved when you looked like a fool in front of Jonathan Alistair from
Art+trA
. It felt like a career disaster and I couldn’t let that happen to you.”

He grimaces. “I guess I deserve the party-boy line.” He looks down. “But why did you help me, Ava? You don’t even know me, not really.”

Because you are the hottest man I’ve ever spent time with, and I want to be in your bed.
I swallow and take a deep breath, glad my thoughts didn’t escape my mouth.

“Well, I love working with artists. I seem to understand them. And I knew you needed help. It was my natural instinct,” I answer thoughtfully.

“I knew it, Ava. I knew it from the moment we met that you would look out for me.” He pauses. “Hey, I’d like to be completely frank with you. Is that okay?”

I nod, speechless.

“I’m in a bad place. I don’t know why I’m so fucked up, but nothing…the fame, nor the success, seems to mean anything. So I screw around and party way too hard. It doesn’t make me feel any better, but I do it because it numbs my brain and gets me out of my head for a while.”

Whoa
…this is way more information than I expected from the man who checked out last night the moment things got edgy. This isn’t exactly high tea conversation, but in a way, I realize that I’d rather be discussing this here than in a bar. The civility of the tearoom presents a different weight to the conversation.

“Can I ask how much you drank or used last night?”

“Use?” He shakes his head. “I don’t do the drug thing—left that behind at art school. I saw too many kids completely lose themselves. But yeah, I had enough shots last night to forget how many.” He runs his fingers through his hair.

The conversation halts as the waiter sets up a tiered set of plates full of tiny sandwiches, pastries and scones. He carefully pours out our tea, using silver tea strainers over our china cups.

“Anyway, the reason I had to talk to you today is because I laid awake all morning and thought about you. I was overwhelmed by the feeling that we were destined to meet right now, at this very point in time…and that somehow you would teach me how to do this right.”

“Do what right?” I bite my bottom lip to prevent my mouth from gaping open.

“Find my way. You know, help me figure out how to be happy in my life,” he stammers, as he taps his pen against the edge of the table and looks down where’s he’s doodled something abstract on the fancy menu.

“And what in the world makes you think I could figure that out for you?” I look at him incredulously. “I have issues myself I still haven’t figured out.”

“I know, Ava, I know…” He wrings his hands. “It sounds crazy, but I have this feeling about you and it’s so strong, so damn strong.”

“Let me get this straight…We were destined to meet so I could help you deal with your unhappiness with being rich and wildly successful?” I know I’m sounding snarky at this point, but what the hell? “How nice for me, Max? Isn’t destiny more two-sided than that? What do I get out of this
Mother Teresa helping Max
thing?”

Max’s expression falls. “I know, I know, what an asshole, right? I just haven’t figured out that part yet, but I’m sure there’s a way I can help you. Maybe help you get your writing career established. I know people in publishing.”

I sit back, stunned. Why in the world does Max think I hold answers to his happiness in my hands? And even if I’m willing to be his supposed savior, how will it work?

“So, since you’ve had the morning to think about this, maybe you can explain how it’ll work in practical terms,” I say, nibbling on a little sandwich. I don’t intend to play with him, but this gets more intriguing by the minute.

“Maybe you could work for me, help me manage my life?” he says, looking hopeful.

“I don’t think so,” I say, holding back a laugh. “First of all, I work for Adam and I’m very loyal to him. Secondly, what kind of career move would that be, professional babysitter and life coach for Maxfield Caswell?”

He frowns. “I suppose when you say it like that it does sound crazy. Promise me you’ll think about it, and I will too. There’s got to be some way we can help each other.”

We polish off the tiny sandwiches and dig into the scones with the clotted cream. There’s a pianist in the corner playing classical music. I wish I could take pictures of Max in this room to capture the incongruity of so much masculinity and intensity perched on a silk settee. If I had pictures, I could always remember our high tea and know it really happened and wasn’t just a dream.

When we’re done, Max insists on walking me back to my hotel, Le Parker Meridien, a couple of blocks away at 56th and 6th. I need to get up to my room to make the promised call to Jonathan and take care of other business before the car picks me up for the airport.

I smile brightly as I turn to him to say goodbye. “Thank you so much for high tea. It was really lovely.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Oh I love this gentlemanlike side of Max.

“Promise you’ll think about we talked about?” he asks.

As I nod, he pulls me into a hug. As hugs go, this one’s a standout. He holds me, really holds me. I feel so warm and protected, and he isn’t letting go.

He tips his head down to my ear and whispers, “You know, I remember a few things about last night, Ava. I remember you took off my shoes and sweater and then tucked me in. You were so gentle with me. But most of all, I remember you stayed and ran your fingers through my hair to soothe me. I wish I could make you realize how that made me feel, how it was just what I needed at that very moment.” And he pulls me even tighter for a moment and gently kisses my forehead before finally letting me go.

I pull back and look into his eyes, while trying to calm my pounding heart. I want to kiss him with every fiber of my being, but evidently he’s determined that I’m destined to be his savior, not his lover. So instead, I walk to the hotel entrance and turn back one last time to smile and wave goodbye.

A
dam’s in a particularly good mood on the flight back to L.A., probably because all but one of Jess’s original paintings sold, along with a sizeable number of serigraph prints. He also got good responses to the three other artists he represented at the show, so it was a hit all the way around.