Work of Art ~ the Collection (105 page)

I nod and wait until she gets up and turns her back, before I stand up and adjust myself. I pull out my phone before I'm even out the door. Luckily I get phone reception in the elevator and even in the parking garage.

"Ava," I sigh a breath of relief.

She lets out a contented sigh. "How was your session?"

"It was intense. Remember the night on our trip that I got jealous and how we had wild, angry sex when we got back to the hotel?"

"Mmm, wild passionate sex. Of course, I'll never forget that."

"Well, we started to talk about how that night made me feel. You know, how much the idea of losing you scared me when I was raging about those men."

"Good God, so you told her about what we did? I'm so embarrassed!"

"Baby, she's a therapist, I bet that's nothing compared to some of the shit she hears about."

"Well, that night was unbelievably hot," she says in a low voice.

I picture her bent over the bed, beckoning me with her gorgeous ass. I shift myself again, struggling to handle the pressure building. I need relief desperately. I need my Ava now.

"Let's just say that talking about it got me thinking . . . and I was wondering, how soon do you get off work?"

"I'm almost done for the day. What do you have in mind?"

Her voice is lower now—almost a whisper, a sultry tease.
God, I love this woman.

"How about if I make love to you for hours and worship you to make up for being too harsh that night? I've got to have you, so can you hurry home? I'll meet you there."

"And what if I'm naughty and come a bit late?"

I sigh deeply. This woman is going to be my undoing.

"Well, then there will be repercussions. You know how worked up I get. So keep that in mind."

"Oh, I will," she whispers. I can imagine her wicked smile.

I reach for my keys and turn my wrist sharply, firing up the ignition. I'm a lucky bastard because right now there are only eight miles, a flight of stairs and some clothes between me, and my baby. It will be intense no matter how she wants it . . . if she let's me be sweet to her, or if she wants me raw with passion—worked up to my edge. All that matters is that my love, Ava, will be gloriously naked and in my bed.

A Valentine for Ava from Max

Dear Ava,

When I was young and naive I asked my mother what it felt like to be in love. She told me love was warm and bright, like being filled with sunlight. She said that when my special girl looked at me I would be filled with happiness and everything in my world would look brighter. I realized later that mom was a hopeless romantic but at the time I clung to her every word.

I was too young to fully imagine these ideas, but I interpreted it with what I loved the most . . . art. I imagined what I would feel like to step inside a painting and my love would be waiting for me. What if the girl with the pearl earring was mine? She would look at me with her knowing eyes and I would see love inside their luminous depth. Then slowly she would unwind her head wrap until her hair cascaded around her shoulders. I would take her hand and draw her out of the canvas and into my world. I’d never be alone again.

So when I met you Ava, I knew I had to paint you as my angel. I wanted to capture you in a canvas until it was time for me to step inside and pull you into my arms. You are a work of art, my Mona Lisa and my Botticelli Venus all wrapped up into a breathtaking masterpiece. Your beauty, grace and loving heart are the shades and color that render the joy in my life.

One afternoon we were driving Pacific Coast Highway with the top down and I glanced over to see your hair whipping around as you gazed out at the ocean. You had a serene look on your face. I rested my hand on your thigh and asked you what you were thinking about. You turned to me with tearful eyes and said, “Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re
my
man.” You squeezed my hand and turned back toward the view.

You couldn’t have known at that moment what those words did to me.

It was everything.

I suddenly felt rooted to the earth in a way I never had been. I glanced down and for a moment the invisible threads that connected our hearts shimmered in the falling sunlight. My eyes glazed as my left hand gripped the steering wheel and I knew that was a moment I’d always remember. I was full of sunlight and everything was brighter, just like mom had told me all those years ago.

The Valentine paper hearts and colored candies are right . . . I am yours. You are mine.

This is love and it’s everything.

I love you, Ava.

Max

Work of Art ~ Liz's Boys

This short story is alternating point of view between Max and his father, Cas, at the end of book three. It starts after Max flees his house to get away from Chloe, and what happens leading up to Ava and Max’s final scenes in Paris.

Max

A
m I in Ojai? I don't remember getting here, just my car cutting through the gray fog of the coastline, a blanket smothering me until there is no color, only shades of gray that get darker and darker until there is almost no light at all—no light, no air . . . no Ava.

I shake my head and try to remember if she’s already left me to move to New York, or not. It was all clear yesterday and now everything is twisted up in my mind.

When I finally pull up to my aunt’s house, I take out my phone and see that there are seven new messages, and I know crazy Chloe is still after me. I frantically look all directions down the dimly lit street. She's probably tracking me down right now. Everything that matters to me is slipping away.

Ava isn’t here to ground me, and pull me back to reality. Knowing she’s gone leaves me in my dark place, as if the insulation I’ve been wrapped in is shredding and the world is falling away. A wave of panic unfurls inside my gut. I curl over my steering wheel and feel myself slowly shutting down.

Suddenly there’s a pounding on the glass of the car door. My body seizes and I can’t breath. Chloe’s found me.

"Max, Max! Open the door!"

I turn to press my palms to the glass, willing it to hold and not crumble underneath the pounding. But with the smooth glass cooling my burning hands, I open my eyes and see an older woman. I can’t see clearly. Is it my mother? She's calling my name.

My fingers fumble along the door until I find the buttons, and I frantically press them over and over until there is a click, and the door pulls open.

"Max, what's wrong? What happened?" the gentle voice asks. Her strong grasp pulls me from my hiding place.

"She's after me, you need to hide me." My heart is thundering, my mouth, dry as dust. I feel like I’m a child again . . . a boy who hides in shadows.

She holds me tightly for a minute, but then she pulls away to examine me. As I squint and take in her features, dimly lit from the distant street light, I realize that it isn't Mom, it's Auntie Ann. The concern in her eyes startles me out of my stupor.

Damn, is this some type of twisted dream? Of course it's Ann . . . mom's been gone for years. I must be completely losing it.

She looks up at me, taking my face in her hands.

"Ann," I whisper, feeling a wave of relief. Ann will take care of me. I take a deep breath . . . my first one in hours.

"Max, who's after you?"

"Chloe's after me. She's trying to destroy Ava's faith. She's trying to destroy me."

"Well, you're safe here.” Her calming words belie the concerned look on her face.

I look around bewildered. Nothing looks familiar and everything still feels dream-like. "Fuck, where am I?"

"In front of my house . . . in Ojai. You don't remember driving here?"

"I spent most of my way here trying to forget everything."

“Come on. Let’s go in and talk.”

Once inside her house, I glance around. I try to find comfort in all the black and white photographs I've admired over the years that are lit by the soft lighting from the lamps around the room.

"Ava's leaving me," I whisper as my fingers dig into the couch cushions.

"Leaving you, or moving to New York for that new job?" Ann asks carefully.

"Does it matter which? The result is the same."

"No Max, it's not the same." She hands me a glass of water and nods for me to drink it. "What did Chloe do that upset you this much? I thought you hadn’t spoke to her since college."

“I haven’t.” I pull my hands through my hair as I fight to keep the flashing images, like some crazy-ass power point presentation, out of my head. But they break through, and flicker in and out in three second intervals, no accompanying soundtrack other than the hallow sound of my beating heart.

“It’s a long story,” I say with a sigh.

“I’ve got time,” she replies.

“Fucking Dylan—he set up a business meeting, with Chloe and Granville Gallery’s owner, in my studio! I told him no, but he did it anyway and then he didn’t show up for the meeting.”

“Why didn’t he didn’t show up?” Ann asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“He claimed some kind of car problem, bullshit. And then of course, Chloe, who now has the code to our private gate, shows up alone looking like a stripper, Granville’s owner no where in sight.”

“Oh, no,” Ann moans.

“Oh, yes. I found out before I escaped that it was all a sick set-up. She was very determined and subtle as a freight train. In the short time I was in her presence she asked me to fuck her at least five times while sitting on the worktable with her legs spread open. She even reminded me how good she was at sucking me off. As if I’d let that mouth and her teeth anywhere near my cock . . . crazy bitch!”

Ann blushes and I realize that I shouldn't describe everything so graphically.

"That would freak anyone out," she says, with a gentle tone to her voice.

"I instantly knew that her only agenda wasn't just to get fucked. She was creating a scene where my involvement would be questioned no matter whether I touched her or not . . . her word against mine. She’s going to twist this to make Ava hate me. Everyone already knew I was on the edge."

"What do you mean?" Ann asks.

"Think about it . . . as soon as my girl leaves, I finally succumb to Chloe and allow her to fill my void. My past history would not make this implausible. So I reacted the only way I knew how . . . I needed to get away to a place she wouldn’t track me down."

"And you found yourself here. You were smart to get away." She says quietly. "Oh Max, don't worry; you're safe here."

Later that night I’m stirred from a deep sleep with Ann’s soft voice calling me.

"Max, I've got Ava on the phone. Are you awake? Can you talk to her?"

My eyes pop open. Ava? My best girl . . . my everything. I reach out in the darkness and Ann places something cool in my hand. I realize it's my connection to her, and I press it up to my ear.

"Ava?" I whisper.

"Oh, Max," she gasps
.

I can hear that she's broken. I can hear the tears and I desperately want to reach through the phone and hold her, assuring her that everything will be all right.

"Don't cry, baby. Please don't cry."

I'd give anything to have her here with me again.

As she talks her words wrap around and soothe me, but when Chloe comes up I picture her brown eyes narrowing with rage. My girl wants to protect me. I hear the fierceness in her voice. If Ava had been in Malibu earlier . . . oh God, I don't want to think about what would’ve happened.

"I'm going to get on the next plane, Max."

"No, baby." When I hear her talk about rushing back to take care of me, I realize that I need to protect her too. Her future is at her fingertips, and it's brilliantly bright.

"I'm all right," I whisper. I want to convince her, even if I can't convince myself.

I shift in the bed and look toward the stripes of silver light shimmering through the blinds. The quiet stillness of Ojai's nightfall creates an open stage where each word and idea becomes bigger.

"I love you, Ava."

"I love you too," she responds with tenderness in her tone.

Sometimes I can smell her fear, the crushing of her heart when she thinks I won't wait for her. If only she could see that I would wait for her forever, I could endure a thousand starless nights if I knew I would one day wake up to her light.