Work of Art ~ the Collection (71 page)

“Oh, he said all kinds of things. He tried to get me to spill about you and Max, but I told him he should talk to you.” He hands me a Post-it Note. “Here’s his number, in case you didn’t save it. He hasn’t changed a bit.” He shakes his head, smiling.

This time I only have to wait a moment until he picks up the line.

“Is this the beautiful Ava?” Is his phone voice always this loud and confident?

“Mr. Caswell, I hear you’re looking for me.”

“You admitted you were pretty last time, my dear, but you didn’t tell me you’re gorgeous!”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw your video . . . the one where you’re interviewing my son. One of my guys did postproduction on it, and when he realized who the subject was, he brought it to me.”

“I see. Well, what’d you think of it?”

“You’re a looker. My son always did have good taste in women. We do have a few things in common, you know.”

I smile to myself.
This guy has a one-track mind.
“No, I mean what did you think of the interview?”

“You’re a natural . . . but I assumed you were a lady of many talents. As for Max, you made him look really good. I hope he appreciates you.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Max does appreciate me.”

“Well, he’s obviously in love with you. But I want to know if you’re in love with him.”

“A good player doesn’t show all her cards at once . . . does she, Mr. Caswell?”

He whistles low into the receiver.

“If that’s how we’re going to roll, then let the games begin. I’ll be expecting you and Max for lunch Saturday at the Polo Lounge. My girl Sarina will call you with the details. I think it’s time my son and I call a truce, and I think you’ve got the skills to facilitate that.”

“Considering that you haven’t met me, you certainly have a lot of blind faith in my abilities.”

“Following my gut about people and their talents is how I became who I am in this business, Miss Ava. And you, my dear, seem to be the Henry Kissinger of the heart. I’m sure of it. Last time we talked, the asshole had gone off the deep end and run away. From the way he looked on the video, he’d pulled himself together very nicely. I sense you had a big hand in that.”

“Well, thank you. Honestly, I’d like to see the two of you be closer.”

“Hell, I know I have been a disappointment to him . . . He has a long list of reasons why he doesn’t want a relationship with me, but I’m not getting any younger, and what’s the point of keeping this up? I think we should both man up and let go of the past. Look, if anyone can get my son and me talking again, it’s you.”

“Well, I can try,” I agree nervously. “My first suggestion is that you not call him asshole.”

“See, what’d I tell you!”

To say that Max doesn’t take the news well would be an understatement.

“No fucking way.”

“But Max—”

“No fucking way, Ava.”

He jumps out of bed and pulls on his jeans. “I’m going to the studio.”

I listen to his stomping all the way downstairs.

I fall back against the pillows and run my hand through my hair. His strong reaction surprises me, considering I just completed what, in my opinion, was a spectacular late afternoon blowjob. Just a moment ago, he was moaning how I was
the best
as he ran his fingers through my hair and watched my every move, and now he’s being his hotheaded temperamental artist self. Again.

I probably shouldn’t care so much if he mends fences with his dad, but I can’t shake the feeling of what I wouldn’t give to be able to have either of my parents back in my life. I roll onto my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows as I look at the view. My curiosity is piqued to meet the man who fathered Max.

I’m not giving up this easily. I take my time getting dressed and strategize what I’ll say to him. At least, by the time I amble down to his sanctuary, he’ll have had time to calm down. I make a pit stop in the kitchen for two bottles of beer before I slowly cross the front garden.

The energy of the studio reminds me of my first dramatic visit there, and the memory makes me nervous. The music is pounding against the walls. As I step to the open doorway, I can see him furiously working. When he violently drags the brush across the white surface, the muscles flex angrily across his naked back. I’m not sure if he’s painting the canvas or trying to cover up his demons with the dark streaks. Perhaps both.

The light skims over the fine film of sweat across his back. Despite his obvious tension, he moves with a grace edged with fury. Even when he’s living up to his father’s nickname for him,
asshole,
he’s so damn hot.

I experiment. I take several steps inside, so I’m within his peripheral vision. I wait silently, knowing he can see me, and his next stroke across the canvas is slower, less brutal. He pauses, and, with a sigh, puts the brush in the water jar and picks up the remote to turn the music down until it’s a whisper in the background.

I walk over and hand him the beer. We both take a swig, and he looks at me carefully with narrowed eyes.

“The last girl I took to lunch with my dad, he ended up marrying.”

My mouth falls open. None of my strategies anticipated
that
scenario.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it happened so fast my head’s still spinning. I would’ve never taken her along, but he insisted I bring a girl. She was one of the better-looking art groupies. It’s not that I was heartbroken or anything . . . It was the damn principal of the matter, Ava.”

“That’s so horrible.”

“Yeah, their marriage lasted less than a year. She ran off with her personal trainer and still ended up with a million-dollar settlement. And I haven’t talked to the fucker since.”

“Where is she now?”

“I couldn’t give a flying fuck, but if you think I’m taking you to meet him, you have another thing coming.”

I feel a flush of rage move up my neck. “What? Do I get no credit here? I’m suddenly in the same league as one of your vapid art sluts?”

“Did he try to charm you on the phone? Did he call you beautiful and ask if you had a boyfriend?”

“Yes, so?”

“It’s like throwing a sweet lamb into the hungry lion’s den. The lamb doesn’t stand a chance once she’s under his spell.”

Did the blowjob suck out his brains as well?
I’m so mad, everything has a fiery red glow.

“So, now I’m a stupid lamb? I’m so weak-willed that any good-looking man with money can win me over, no matter that I’m in love with you?”

“Why can’t you just understand my side of this? Why are you being so damn difficult?”

“So, now I’m difficult because I don’t want to be categorized as having the brains and fortitude of an art groupie? Well, this stupid lamb, who I’ll remind you
is
your girlfriend—which makes you a fucked up lion—has had enough of this conversation.”

I walk to the desk and set my beer down.

“I know I said I’d stay for dinner, but I have a to do list at home two pages long, and you need to paint and blow off some steam and come to your senses. I’ll call you in the morning and, hopefully, you’ll remember then who you’re speaking to.”

“Fine!” he barks angrily.

“Yeah, fucking fine.”

I give him a final dirty look and storm out the door. The music blasts from the studio right on my tail. If I’m not mistaken, it’s even louder than before.

Asshole.

After throwing my stuff in the overnight bag, I get to my car in record time. I’ve driven all the way through the canyon and am about to get on the freeway when my phone rings. Of course, it’s him.

“I’m sorry, Ava.”

“You should be.”

“I never want you to think that I compare you in any way to those girls. I was just so pissed off about my dad. He brings out the worst in me.”

“I know that. I was just hoping maybe there could be some type of healing between you two. Would it be that hard to try a little?”

There’s a long pause, and I wonder if we’ve been disconnected. He finally clears his throat.

“Look, as much as I despise the man, I also know I owe him. He’s the one who told you about Aunt Ann, which brought you to Ojai. In a crazy way, he’s responsible for getting us together. For that alone, I should probably tolerate a meeting with him . . . just this once.”

“He knows he’s not been a good dad, Max. He really just wants another chance.”

“But, Ava . . . I’ll go postal if he hits on you.”

“Well, I get that, but I’m in love with you, Max. Madly, rabidly, ferociously in love with you, and no one messes with that. If he tries to, I will set him straight immediately. And if he doesn’t correct himself, we’re out of there. Done.”

He’s silent.

“Do you understand me, Max?”

“Sorry, I got distracted by the ferocious part. That put all kinds of pictures in my head . . . You can imagine. I want you to come back.”

“No, I can’t come back. I have to be to work early tomorrow, and it’ll be easier from my place. We have less than a week until we leave for Barcelona, so I’ve got to stay focused.”

He sighs long and deep. “Okay, okay, but you know you’re the lion in this relationship. Just saying . . .”

When we pull up to the valet at the Beverly Hills Hotel to meet his dad in the Polo Lounge, Max Jr. is benefitting from some extra anti-anxiety medication.

I’m not surprised to see that his father is gorgeous. He’s older and more weathered than Max, but they have the same eyes, height, and wicked smile. Although Max Sr. does initially pull out all the stops and flirt with me shamelessly, I give a little speech about how thrilled I am to meet him, since his son is the love of my life, the man the sun rises and sets on, the cream in my coffee, the fuel for my fire. When we’re settled in our prime booth location, Max Sr. tests the waters with Max.

“So, this art thing seems to be working out for you, son.”

“Art thing? Yes, my
art thing
is working out quite well, thanks for noticing.”

“Well, our girl Ava sent me a copy of the book you did together. I was impressed. You’ve done a lot of work, and you did it between all of your partying.”

I give Senior a harsh look and subtly shake my head. We aren’t going to last much longer if he doesn’t stop provoking him.

“
Our
girl? She’s
my
girl, Dad, and we’re keeping it that way.” Max is fuming.

“And he doesn’t party anymore,” I say for good measure.

“No, I don’t.”

His father lifts one brow and a slow smile pushes the corners of his mouth up. “So,
your Ava
has straightened you out. I’m impressed. You’re damn smarter than me in many ways, Max. You always have been. Looks like you’ve figured out how to keep a good woman. I threw all my charm at your girl before I understood she was yours, and she clearly only has eyes for you.”

“He’s so good to me, Mr. Caswell. You’d be proud if you knew how he takes care of me.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, Ava, because I can see that this is the real deal.”

Max smiles and pulls me close.

“Okay then!” he booms after the waiter presents our drinks. “I’m putting in my request early. I want a granddaughter, my own little princess, and I don’t want to hear a damn thing when I buy her the moon.”

My hand never leaves Max’s, even when the food is served and I have to eat with my left hand. I’m relieved to see the conversation shift when Max Sr. wants to hear all about Max’s work in the Barcelona show and our plans for the trip. He even recommends his favorite restaurant in Barcelona,
Cinc Sentits
, and insists that we go as his guests.

By the time we say our goodbyes, Mr. Caswell, with only the slightest shade of jealousy, actually looks happy for his son. I get into the car knowing that although Max is still extremely wary of his father, a small step has been taken.

What I don’t anticipate is how my show of loyalty and total devotion affects him. When we return to Malibu, he lures me up to the bedroom and makes love to me with a passion like Romeo on his wedding night. The best part is that we don’t have to fear the light of dawn like the star-crossed lovers did. The morning belongs to us too.