Work of Art ~ the Collection (75 page)

“Ava! Isn’t this exciting? We brought some wonderful choices, yes?” He points to the rack, where several beautiful dresses have been unwrapped.

“Yes, I’m very excited! Thank you for doing this.”

“Antonio,
yo quiero este
!” Paloma purrs, holding up a low-cut fitted floral gown.

“I’ll take care of you later, my love. This is Ava’s moment.”

“Well, try that one on first. I think it’s gorgeous.” She nods to me.

I look around. Are they expecting me to disrobe in front of everyone?

Paloma says, “Here, let’s go into the bedroom for privacy. I’ll help you.” She busies herself unzipping the gown while I disrobe. I lift up my arms to slide the dress over my head, but she shakes her head.

“No bra.”

Okay then.
This is awkward, but it isn’t the time to be modest, so I take off my bra and lift my arms up. Her eyes linger on my breasts a little long for my taste.
What is it with women always checking each other out?
I wonder about Max’s comment regarding Paloma paying me too much attention last night.

Yes, they’re real, Ms. Paloma.

I shimmy the dress down my sides and she carefully zips it up. The floral design has a soft feel of colors blending . . . almost like an O’Keeffe painting.

I turn to the mirror. The dress fits like a second skin, and my breasts are just barely covered. I’m not comfortable with it, nor will Max appreciate me sharing my
assets
so blatantly. The dress’s narrow bottom makes it hard to walk as we return to the sitting room.

“Guapa, Ole!
. . . Gorgeous!” exclaims Antonio. “Your body is so beautiful, perfect for this dress. He turns me around. “And your ass . . .
Lindo!
. . . Every man will want you!” I look in the mirror above the couch. My ass
does
look pretty great.

Paloma nods as I turn. “What do you think, Ava?”

“I love this dress! It’s amazing, but I’m worried it’s a bit sexy for me. I’m not used to showing off my breasts this much.”

“You
should
show those off,” she says with an arched brow.

Antonio waves his hand, walks to the rack, and pulls out dress number two. “I want to see this one on you.” He caresses it lovingly.

We head back to the bedroom to try it on. As Paloma undoes the second dress, she looks up at me. “I got a call this morning from
Senor
Travis.” She purses her lips as she fiddles with the zipper.

“ArtOneWorld Travis?” I ask.

She nods. “He had so many questions about the events . . . such a curious man.”

“Really?”
Mr. Thorough strikes again.

She arches an eyebrow. “And even more questions about you.”

Perhaps it’s time for a “What’s really going on here?” talk with the curious Senor Travis.

I’m deep in thought until she opens the dress for me to step into.

“He even asked how you and Max were together.”

“Hmm, what did you tell him?”

“The truth—that you are very professional.”

I smile inwardly. If she only knew how not professional we are behind closed doors.

“You know,
Senor
Travis has a handsome voice—so sexy. Is he a beautiful man?” she asks.

I shrug as I pull the bodice of the dress up my waist. “I don’t know. I don’t look much at beautiful men.” . . .
And I haven’t since I fell in love with Max,
I think to myself with a smile.

Paloma has a big grin, but before we can talk more, Antonio calls for us. We walk into the living room so I can model the dress.

This one is fascinating in that it’s a tight-fitting short sheath, but attached to it is a long flowing skirt of floral chiffon cascading from the waist. The material is sheer, so you can see my legs through the fabric. A floral shawl of the same pattern drapes low over my shoulder and is sewn to the bodice.

When I near Antonio, his face lights up. “Ahh . . . I love it!”

I twirl around dramatically. “I love it too.”

“Yes, let me see. Come here, beautiful.” He slowly turns me, checking the fit. “Even the length is perfect!”

“It’s just a bit tight here.” I run my fingers along the top of the bodice, where my breasts are threatening to spill out.

“Yes, we can let that out a bit.” He waves for the assistant and shows her where to alter it.

“We’re doing hair and makeup at five. Will it be done by then?” Paloma asks.

He waves his hand again. “No problem. Five it is.”

As soon as everyone leaves, I go to my real room. Max is lying across the bed, fully dressed, and to my great surprise, he’s watching a Spanish soap opera. He’s abandoned his drawing supplies and sketchpad on the table.

I join him on the bed and curl up under his arm.

“Don’t feel like drawing, handsome?”

“No, I wasn’t feeling inspired. I’m a little tired.” He points to the TV. “But this shit is great. You’ve got to watch this. I mean, I can’t follow most of the dialogue, but the emotion, the passion, the crying—it’s so entertaining.”

I chuckle and watch.

“What are the guy and the blonde fighting about?”

“Hell if I know. She keeps trying to seduce him, but he’s not into it. That’s why half of her clothes are off.”

“Well, it looks like she may have convinced him.” He has her up against the couch with her skirt pulled up.

The scene cuts to a brunette who has her arms full, and she’s fumbling with the door handle.

I nudge Max’s shoulder. “Uh oh, here comes the other woman!”

“Don’t do it; don’t go in!” Max yells.

But this is a soap opera, so of course the woman goes in, and when she sees her man with the blonde, the stuff falls out of her arms. The man sees her just before she cries and bolts out the door.

Suddenly, we both tense up as it hits us that we have lived this moment. Our life as a Spanish soap opera.

How lovely.

Max turns off the TV.

We lie there another moment in silence. Finally, I find my voice.

“Just for the record, I’m much better looking than that broad.”

Max lets out a long sigh. He strokes my arm gently and cups my face with his hand.

“Well, we may have been a soap opera, but now I’d like to think we’re more like a fairy tale.”

“Does that mean we’ll have a happily ever after?”

“That’s my plan. I hope so. I want to,” he whispers before pulling me into a kiss.

We’re hungry, so we grab an early lunch in a nearby café, and since we still have a few free hours, we take a cab to the
Miró
Museum. It’s in a beautiful setting on a hill overlooking the city, and the modern architecture sets off his work. Max’s mood lightens as we move from room to room, taking in all the great paintings and sculptures. Miró’s work always feels happy to me, so I’m glad we chose this as our outing.

We’re almost out the door to return to the hotel when Paloma calls and asks if Max would be willing to do another interview right before the show. It means he would need to leave by five-thirty, which is when I’ll be getting ready. He rolls his eyes, but agrees anyway. Ultimately, we are here to promote his work, and he’s lucky so many people want to talk to him.

We get back to the hotel just in time to secretly kiss good-bye. I take a shower in my pretend suite before the glamour brigade shows up.

“Do you do this for all your museum guests?” I ask Paloma, as the hairdresser flurries around me.

She scoffs. “No! Frankly, artists and their teams usually are not the most attractive people . . . but you and Max are young, fresh, and so beautiful that it becomes another story. It may sound ridiculous, but everyone is even more interested in the art and coming to the museum because you two represent the best of hip American glamour.”

“Really?”

She nods before answering her cell phone.

I have to stay on the makeup artist not to be so heavy handed, but by the time he’s finished and Paloma zips me up in my dress, I feel like a princess on her way to the ball.

We head down to the car and leave only a few minutes later than what we’d intended.

During the drive, Paloma says, “You’ll be asked about the dress. Remember it’s Antonio Avendano.” She looks down and runs her finger along the guest list. “I will introduce you to the most important people throughout the evening.”

She gives me a curious look. “You are flushed. Ava, do you feel okay?”

“Yes, I’m just nervous. This is a big night for Max. I hope it goes well.”

She smiles warmly. “You have nothing to be nervous about. You both charm everyone you meet, and you look gorgeous.”

“Thanks, but I’m not used to this kind of attention.”

“Really? I’m surprised to hear that. I would have imagined you always get a lot of attention.”

I sigh. This woman always knows just what to say.

When we arrive at the museum, my door opens to an explosion of camera flashes. Even though Paloma warned me about the photographers, I’m still stunned. She leads me inside, and when we get to the landing at the top of the stairs looking down over the main gallery, I stop. Paloma is called away, so I have a quiet moment to observe the spectacle.

The gallery is filled to the brim with men in tuxedos and women in colorful evening gowns. I squint and the scene becomes a swirl of color and light, a living abstract painting. Part of me wants to stand back and observe, but a much bigger part of me is anxious to join Max.

Even though we’ve had a glimpse of Max’s popularity in Spain, it is still a sight to behold. I scan the crowd, looking for him. There’s one particularly crowded part of the gallery, and sure enough, he’s right in the middle of the action. Max talks and gestures to a shorter man with a beard, but he lifts his face and our eyes meet, as if there’s a magnet drawing him to me. Without a word, he smiles, ignores the man, and walks my way.

I should meet him at the bottom of the stairs, but the sight of him in a tux, clean-shaven and tan takes my breath away and my knees grow weak. There’s absolutely no doubt he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I gather my nerve, grip the railing, and start my descent.

He reaches the base of the stairs before I do and waits. The spark in his eyes and seductive smile tell me my look for the evening is a success. As I come to the last step, he takes my hand and pulls me to him, kissing me lightly on the cheek.

“You’re a vision,” he says softly, as he takes it all in. “So beautiful.”

“You aren’t half bad yourself.” His tuxedo has a modern narrow cut, and he’s wearing a collarless shirt open at the neck.

“I’ve never seen your hair up . . . It’s glamorous. You look like a movie star.”

There are several photographers that take a number of shots before Max pulls me into the party. As he works his way to Diego and the group, the crowd parts, and it feels as if all eyes are on us.

“You’re staying by my side tonight,” he whispers authoritatively as he leans into me.

I arch my eyebrow, but don’t say a word.

“I’ll stay professional and not give up the game, but I need you with me, Ava.”

I smile, feeling grateful . . . not just because he needs me, but because he’s learned how to simply tell me so.

A waiter brings us tall flutes of champagne, but we don’t drink much. I want to stay alert as we take it all in. People swarm around us, and he handles being the man of the evening well, and graciously accepts congratulations and compliments about his work.

Despite standing side by side, we end up in conversations with other people a number of times. Calculating women wait for those moments, and they almost pounce on Max. The first one, a tall black-haired beauty with too much makeup irritates me greatly as she keeps touching him while she talks to him. At one point, she hands him a slip of paper and he smiles and sticks it in his pocket. I resist the temptation to bitch-slap her. I do have to remind myself that no one knows I’m his woman.

But, after the fifth round of Spanish hotties slipping him business cards and small folded pieces of paper, I lose my cool and glare as he tucks the latest scrap away.

I look at his hand as he pulls it out of his pocket. “Are you starting a collection?”

He lifts an eyebrow and gives me a provocative look. “Jealous?”

“I guess tonight it’s my turn. So, what are you going to do about it?”

He cocks his head to the side, smiles, and points to my beaded clutch. “Open your little handbag.”

I purse my lips and open it.

He pulls the wad of phone numbers from his pocket, shoves it in my bag, and snaps it shut.

I’m bewildered. “Why’d you do that? Do you expect me to start the Max Caswell fan club? ’cause it ain’t gonna happen, buddy.”

“No, not the fan club. Those are for
your
collection. See, when you get bored with me and start to lose interest, you can pull out that pile and be reminded that some people still think I’m
muy caliente
.” He grins mischievously.

For a flash, it reminds me of the way he was. He was such a player, surrounded by beautiful women and art groupies everywhere he went.

“Hmm, well I can safely say that I’ll never need to be reminded how hot you are. But thanks for the thought.”