Work of Art ~ the Collection (14 page)

“Okay, sure.” I smile.

“So we’re good? Still friends?”

“Yes, still friends, and thanks again.”

“You bet. There are plenty of good times ahead for us.”

I hope so,
I think as I sit back on the couch to look at the painting.

My
painting.

Max succeeds in getting a small group together for Sunday night at The Ivy on Robertson. Riley and I take extra care getting dressed. She insists I wear my Agent Provocateur lingerie under the Derek Lamb dress I splurged on at a Barney’s warehouse sale. I’m feeling pretty damn good.

When we arrive at the restaurant, Max and Dylan are already there, and Max looks exuberant. He gives me a big hug and swings me around. When he puts me down, he steps back and holds me at arm’s length. “Hey, angel. You’re the honored guest tonight.”

I smile from ear to ear, my cheeks flushed.

Jess, Laura and Joe arrive, and we’re seated on the heated patio under the twinkling lights. Max orders several bottles of Veuve Clicquot champagne for the toast.

“As you guys have all heard, I found out Friday that I’m being included in a group show at MOMA. But what you may not have heard is . . . this never would’ve happened if not for Ava.”

Jess, Laura and Joe look at me in perfect synchronization. I look down, embarrassed.

“Having my work in MOMA is a lifelong dream, so thank you, guys, for helping me celebrate this. And thank you, Ava my angel, for waving your magic wand and making my dreams come true.” He picks up his champagne flute.

“To Ava!”

“To Ava!” Everyone repeats the toast.

The table’s immediately buzzing in conversation as Jess, Laura and Joe listen to the story of the Matthews’ installation and resulting phone call that changed Max’s fate. Everyone’s in a festive mood, and we’re in a wonderful bubble when the food arrives.

In my mind, I take a step back and look at the group of us . . . laughing and joyful. A swirl of colors and warm light envelops us. I’ll always remember the feeling of this moment. I’m truly happy.

“So, Max, how are you going to thank Mr. and Mrs. Matthews?” Riley asks.

“Yeah, did you promise them your first born or something?” Joe asks, laughing.

“No.” Max laughs before his expression becomes serious again, making me think he’s thought about what he can do to thank them. “I’m giving them my best painting. I’m delivering it on Monday. I really want them to have it, and it’ll mean something to all of us.”

His declaration makes me smile when I realize how right that feels.

When the restaurant starts preparing to close, it’s time to leave. As we wait for the valet to bring us our cars, Max and Dylan try to convince Riley and I to go for a ride. This idea is dubious at best, even if Dylan barely drank and seems to have his wits about him.

Yeah, let’s drive up to Mulholland and watch Dylan and Riley make out in the car . . .

It’s been a long eventful weekend, and I need to get home and sleep if I’m going to be worth anything tomorrow.

While having a final discussion with Jess, Max, who’s fairly lit from a steady flow of champagne and martinis, stands behind me and affectionately wraps his arms around my shoulders. As they talk, he progressively pulls me closer to him and the heat from his body gets me thinking about things I shouldn’t.

This time spent in close proximity to Max has thrown gasoline on the fire burning inside me. I take a very deep breath. My crazy thoughts imagine his hands sliding over my breasts while I grind my ass against him. Heat surges between my legs, and I fight an inner war to stop pressing back against him.

Oh God, I can’t take much more of this. Is he so drunk he doesn’t understand what holding me like this is doing to me?

When the valet brings Riley’s car forward, Max pulls away, turns me around and gives me a hug. The good-byes are brief. Max and I agree to talk in the next day or so to plan our next book meeting.

My raging libido is still sparking, and I struggle to keep my focus straight.

Thank God Riley’s driving.

When we stop at the first streetlight, Riley turns completely sideways and stares at me with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Oh, you know
what
, Miss Ava. The sexual energy between you and
art guy
was unbelievable. At the end, I thought he was going to throw you on the table and have his way in front of all of us,” she says, provocatively.

“Oh, girlfriend, you’re so kinky and have an overactive imagination to boot. If any vibe like that was going on, it was only because he was drunk and, in his stupor, confused me for one of his art groupies.”

She rolls her eyes.

I didn’t convince her.
Did I convince myself?

“Really, the only wild passion I witnessed tonight was between you and Dylan. I saw those provocative looks he gave you all night. I promise you, Max isn’t interested in me in that way, so stop trying to get rid of your roommate.”

“Well, that’s a relief, but it doesn’t change what’s as clear as day.” Riley gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Mind my prediction, Ava, you’ll be in Max’s bed much sooner than you think.”

Chapter Ten / Down Dog

If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.

~Edward Hopper

N
ewly inspired, I wake up extra early to get some writing time in before work. I finish the outline for Max’s book and write almost a page of text before I leave the apartment. On the way in, I call Jonathan’ office and arrange to come by during my lunch break to go over the procedures and paperwork. Jonathan has generously offered to bring lunch in, since he knows my time is limited.

Art+trA’s
West Coast offices are on the twenty-fifth floor in a sleek glass tower on Wilshire Boulevard. While I wait in the reception area, I marvel at the views of the city below. I can’t imagine what it must be like to work in a place like this every day.

Jonathan’s assistant leads me down a long corridor to Jonathan’s office suite. She motions to a leather couch on the far side of his office and tells me he’ll be with me momentarily. I study the various black and white framed prints around his office: Vasily Kandinsky, Kiki Smith, Louise Bourgeois, Paul Klee and Kara Walker. There’s also a beautiful Robert Graham nude bronze on a pedestal by the window. Although I’m pleased with myself for being able to identify all the artists, I’m fighting panic out of sheer intimidation. I’m not even a published writer; I’m just pretending to be one. I’m really out of my league.

Moments later, Jonathan sweeps in, looking polished in pressed jeans, a white button down shirt and navy wool blazer. His tortoise-shell glasses still make me swoon.

“Ava,” he says smoothly. He moves toward me as I rise off the couch, and he lightly kisses me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come by today.”

“Yes. I really appreciate your working me in on short notice.”

“My pleasure.” He places his hand on my lower back to guide me forward. “Let’s move to the table so we can get started.” I find his alpha presence appealing. He’s so calm and sure of himself.

“So Ava, have you met with Max yet? I do hope he’s cooperating since he was so insistent on bringing you on board for this project.”

“Yes, we’ve met a couple of times, and we’ll meet again this week to go over things. I’ve brought a copy of my outline, and I’m making progress with the text.”

“Very good, I’ll look at that in a minute. But first I want to make sure he’s being a gentleman. I hope you don’t mind my being frank with you, but I’m most concerned with that aspect of this collaboration. For some reason, you bring out the protective side of me.”

As he studies me, I can almost feel his protectiveness like a shield around me. It’s surprisingly comforting. This man, who appears to be in control of his career and his life, has taken a special interest in me. Affection swirls up in my emotions as I imagine what it would be like to be cared for by someone like Jonathan. He already makes me feel special and appreciated, and I’m happy I’ve earned such distinction by someone so notable.

“Well, I appreciate your looking out for me, Jonathan, but so far he’s been a perfect gentleman.” The scene where he held me tightly in front of the restaurant last night flashes in my mind, but I quickly refocus. “I don’t think I’m his type anyway, if you know what I mean.”

He laughs softly. “Yes, sadly Max has a propensity for women whose physical allure outweighs depth or intelligence. But don’t sell your enormous attraction short, Ava. He just knows you’re not an easy target. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planning his strategy while he lurks, and he’ll pounce when you least expect it.”

Okay, that was over the top.

“Well, I’m not interested.” I hope I’ve convinced him. Do I hear a touch of competitiveness in his tone?

“Yes, and for a man like Max there’s nothing more alluring than a beautiful woman who isn’t interested. She’s a desired prize to be won.”

Convinced he’s being overdramatic, I open my folder to refocus the conversation. After a longer stretch of work, I look at my watch. I’m going to have to leave to make it back to the gallery on time.

I assure Jonathan that I’ll alert him if anything changes with Max and agree to meet him for drinks Thursday after work to go over the outline. As I ride the elevator down, I realize I’m already excited to see him again.

That afternoon, Everett’s assistant delivers four new paintings, and I catalogue and price them. There are already several clients lined up to come in and see them.

Jess calls right before six to check in. She’s on some type of health kick, so we’re going to a yoga class. “Are you ready to go?”

“I just wrapped up, but I still have to change. I brought my stuff here so it’ll just take a minute.”

“Okay, but hurry. We have to get there early, baby. Those fierce yoga bitches will take you down if you’re late and try to squeeze your mat in next to theirs.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay! Be there in fifteen!”

I grab my yoga bag and slip into the bathroom, then quickly change into my yoga pants, tank top and flip-flops. When I step out, Brian and Sean are talking a few feet away in the hall. They both stop and check me out.

“What, you’ve never seen yoga gear before?” I challenge, blushing furiously.

Sean smiles. “Is that what that is? Nice.”

“Yeah, those stretchy yoga pants make your ass look great,” Brian adds.

“Gee thanks, guys. I’ll remember that when my great looking ass is up in the air and I’m twisted like a pretzel.” I charge out of the gallery, the fear of Jess’s wrath fueling my fire.

I score a parking spot right in front of the Sun Moon Yoga Studio, dash inside, and find Jess. She’s already rolled out her mat near the front of the large studio, and I flop my mat down next to hers.

Even though class hasn’t started, she still whispers, “This class is a blend of restorative and hatha yoga, and it’s taught by the studio’s owner, Cheri. It’s the most popular class they offer. I’ve seen the class so full they’ve had to turn people away, and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.” She shakes her head, remembering.

Anyway, it’s supposed to be really good for de-stressing. I thought it’d be good for you right now.”

“You got that right,” I whisper with a smile.

The room has filled up with stressed-out women in stretchy clothes sitting on purple or blue foam mats. A beautiful, serene woman with long flowing dark hair glides to the front of the room and starts the class. As hypnotic Indian music plays, she talks in a sweet voice and guides us into different positions we hold and hold and hold. She encourages us to breathe into our tension and release it. She also walks around and helps people get into position.

When every pose makes me think of Max or Jonathan, and not in a
PG
kind of way, I realize how messed up I am. There’s the down dog, where I image Max behind me—no further explanation needed there. All that holding and deep breathing gives me lots of time to imagine things.

We move into the dolphin pose with our asses all the way up in the air. Next comes the bridge and open plow poses, which give new meaning to flexibility while spreading ones legs. But the last straw for me is the bound angle pose, which just sounds nasty as the ethereal Cheri explains how it opens the groin and hips. At this point, I’m a quivering mess on my little sheet of foam. Jess looks over and rolls her eyes.