Work of Art ~ the Collection (82 page)

~David Gray

I
push my key into the lock, but it doesn’t slide in smoothly. Instead, it sticks, and even though I wiggle it firmly, it doesn’t turn. I pull it out and try a few more times before giving up. I ring the doorbell again and again. Damn it all. Why isn’t Max here? He was going to meet me here and help me get my stuff inside.

Leaving my suitcases by the front door, I walk along the side of the house, which is overgrown like a jungle. Once I’m at the back patio, I find the French doors wide open, the sheer curtains rustling in the breeze.

I slowly walk through the house, noticing subtle differences. One painting has been replaced with another I’ve never seen. The couch is a different color, and the entryway is now painted a dark gray. I call out Max’s name and there’s a soft echo of my voice. After I get the security locks figured out, I pull open the front door and drag my suitcases upstairs, one at a time. They’re overstuffed and heavy, so this task requires considerable exertion. I’m frustrated Max isn’t here to help.

Finally upstairs, I flip open the first suitcase and pull out a long white slip dress before opening the closet to get a hanger. What I see stops me in my tracks, and the dress slips through my fingers and puddles on the floor.

Not only are all the open spaces Max made for me in his closet now filled, but the closet is so completely overstuffed with miscellaneous junk, you can’t even walk inside. Startled, I lean in and attempt to lift some shirts off the wardrobe pole to make room, but they’re stuck and no matter how hard I pull, they don’t move. I try to push some pants over on one of the shelves, and the same thing happens . . . they won’t shift an inch.

I sit up in bed with a panicked start. My body is covered with fine layer of sweat as a shiver moves through me.
Bad dream, just a bad dream
, I say over and over to myself. But no matter how many times I remind myself, the feeling behind the nightmare still haunts me well into the morning.

Work’s boring today, which is good and bad. Good in that it gets me even more geared up for my new job, bad because the day drags painfully slowly and gives me extra time to worry about Max. At least my doctor’s appointment will break up the long afternoon. I tell Sean there’s a problem with my car, and he insists on loaning me his truck to get to the Century City Medical Tower.

My physical is thorough, everything from an EKG to urine and blood samples. They even wire me up and have me do a treadmill stress test. If there were a way to test my emotional stress, I would fail miserably and not be hired. But the most powerful intangible is the very thing that can’t be measured on their charts. I’m relieved when it’s over, and I scurry to the elevator to start my journey back to the gallery.

In the silent hallway, I press the elevator button, becoming impatient when it takes several minutes to arrive. Stepping into the car, I lean against the back wall, hoping we don’t have too many stops on the way down. I groan when we stop at the thirty-second floor.
Damn, could this thing go any slower?
I’m anxious to get back to work.

When the door opens and the new passenger steps inside, I look down to avoid eye contact and notice he has very nice shoes. Suddenly, I realize that there’s a strange tension in the air.

“Ava.” My name is half whispered, and there’s pain and hope mixed into the tenor of the voice.

Oh no, I know that voice.

I slowly lift my eyes to find none other than Jonathan Alistair in living Technicolor. We haven’t seen each other since our farewell conversation in Santa Fe. I’m momentarily speechless. We’re trapped, descending in an elevator for thirty-two floors. Life is unbelievably cruel. I mean, really . . . What are the odds?

“Jonathan.” I don’t know what to say beyond that. I desperately want to punch the button for the floor we are about to descend to and get the hell off. But if I do that, it makes it seem like I am really affected by seeing him, and I can’t have that.

“How are you, Ava? Are you well?”

I realize that he may be wondering since I’m in the medical tower. Of course, I can wonder the same thing about him.

“Yes, I’m fine. I was actually here to get a physical for my new job.”

“Yes, I heard. Congratulations. This is such a fantastic opportunity for you, and I know you’re going to be amazing.”

“Thank you.” I’m curious. Does he have eyes and ears for every little thing that happens in the art world? I mean, how does he know about my job when I’ve barely told anyone?

I study him for a moment. He looks much better than last time I saw him. He even has a tan.

“So, why are you here?” The words escape my mouth before I’ve realized how inappropriate a question that is.

“My psychiatrist’s office is here. I just had a session.”

“Oh.”

“He’s helping me get through my divorce.”

“Oh.”
Too much information, thank you. That’s what you get for asking, idiot.
Maybe I should get off now. I can say I need to use a bathroom.

He squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “I’ve made a lot of progress.”

He’s trying to provoke me, and it isn’t going to work. It’s selfish, but I don’t want to know he’s getting his personal life together while mine is falling apart. It’s small of me, but I can’t help it.

“That’s good.” I look up at the light panel. We’re only at twenty-one. I can feel an edge of panic in my chest, and I remind myself to take a deep breath. I look down at my shoes, suppressing a groan when the car stops at twenty. An old woman in a wheelchair is backed in to the elevator by a caregiver. The large man in a medical-aid uniform pushes the button for the sixth floor.

Instead of quieting Jonathan, the inclusion of other people near us spurs him on. He’s never been one to miss an opportunity. He takes a sharp breath, steps toward me and says softly, “I miss you, Ava, terribly.”

I look at him, dumbfounded, as I press my back tightly against the elevator wall.
Eighteen, seventeen . . . deep breath . . .

“Look, for whatever reason, we were meant to run into each other like this . . . it gives me a chance to tell you how I feel. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but—”

I cut him off. “Then please don’t.” The caregiver cocks his head toward us.

“But, I really miss your company. Can we at least be friends?”

“I don’t think so, Jonathan. It’s not that simple. Besides, I’m moving to New York.”

His expression gets dark and unreadable. “What does Max think about that?”

“I’m not talking to you about Max.” I fold my arms over my chest.

He exhales and lightens his tone. “You know, I’m in New York at least a week every month. There’s an amazing John Currin show opening in October at the Whitney. Why don’t you let me take you to the pre-opening private party?”

The door opens and the caregiver gives me a wide-eyed, knowing look before he pushes his client out of the elevator.

I shake my head firmly. “That’s not a good idea.”

His face falls. “Okay, maybe not.” We remain quiet for the rest of the descent.

Thankfully, the door opens and lets us off in the parking garage. We both walk toward the valet. When he speaks up again, his voice is more neutral.

“Have you enjoyed working with Nick?”

I stop in my tracks and turn around to him. “I never got a chance to thank you for that. I appreciate that you recommended me to him. It’s been a great experience.”

His expression lightens. “I’m so glad it worked out. He’s very impressed with you, but I knew he would be. Has he been too tough on you?”

“Well, not too tough. I’ve learned a lot from him, as I did from you.” I smile, remembering the way Jonathan gently guided me through our project.

“Don’t be afraid to stand up to him. He has a lot of bravado, but he can be open-minded too.”

“Okay, thanks for the advice. I hope to still be able to work with him, even though I’ll be busy on the show.”

Jonathan turns and faces me. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’m so proud of you, Ava. You have risen to all the potential I saw within you from the beginning.” He pauses as if he wants to say something, but stops himself.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He sighs and continues. “I hope you know that I wish you all the best.” He squeezes my hand, and it feels really weird, but I’m grateful he didn’t try to hug me.

I give him a soft smile before I hand my ticket to the valet.

He pulls out his valet ticket. “Well, please let me know if I can be of any help. I know all kinds of real estate people in New York. It can be brutal finding a place if you don’t use the right people. You know, come to think of it, a one bedroom just opened up in my building. I could put in a good word at the co-op board.”

“Jonathan . . .” I moan.

“Okay, okay,” he insists, smiling sheepishly as he pushes his sleeves up. “But you have my cell number. Please call me if you need anything at all.”

Sean’s truck pulls up, providing my escape. “Thanks, again.” I pause and look at him, and in that moment, what I remember is how he always took the time to look out for me and make me feel special. There was a side to Jonathan that was pretty wonderful, and it is nice to remember that after all the fury. “Take care, all right?”

He gives me a warm smile before I pull away.

“How many floors?”

“Thirty-two. I wanted to die when I realized it was him.”

“Oh, wow, how awkward,” Riley commiserates.

We’re on our way to Malibu because, clearly, my life doesn’t have enough drama.

“He even asked if we could be friends.”

Riley huffs. “You mean friends with kinky benefits. Like that guy could actually last through one evening without trying to get in your pants.”

“I’m sure you’re right . . . and I’m not going to give him the chance to find out.”

We lapse into silence while I imagine what Max would think if he knew I’d been trapped in an elevator with Jonathan. I realize we’re already on PCH.

“Thanks for driving me all the way out here, Riley.”

“No worries . . . you’d do it for me. That’s what friends are for.”

“Is Dylan sure he isn’t going to be there?”

“Yeah, when he called Max last night to tell him why your car was there, he warned him not to talk to you until he got a grip. I think he had a double session booked with his shrink today, and then he’s supposed to attend some type of function this evening at one of the galleries in Bergamont Station.”

A sharp pain shoots through me. Our lives have never felt so separate. I look out the window and watch the waves roll toward the shore. A couple walks hand and hand across the sand, and I turn away.

As Riley drives her car down the private road off the highway, I note that Max’s house looks dark. She pulls up next to my car, and I feel a wave of panic. Somehow, knowing that my car was here left a warped connection to Max. When I pull out of his driveway, it’ll be one more way that we’re no longer together. I grit my teeth and fight back my tears as I step out of the car.

“Are you okay?”

I try to reassure her. “Yeah, I’m tough. Thanks, Riley.”

“Okay, I’m off to Dylan’s, but if you need anything at all, to talk or whatever, just call me.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile, and once I’m in the seat of my car and fire the engine, she backs up and heads up the road. I’m about to follow her when a movement catches my eye. My eyes scan the scene before me to no avail, but then when my vision lifts higher, I see something. I squint. The darkness is falling, and I can’t be sure, but I could swear that I see Max in the upstairs bedroom window watching me. It’s so dark that I would have missed him if it weren’t for a dim light behind him, rendering his silhouette.

“Max,” I whisper, as I turn off my ignition.

I sit for a moment, silently watching him, but he doesn’t move an inch. He’s frozen in place, and if I didn’t see the glint of his eyes blinking, I’d think he were a statue.

My heart thunders in my chest, but my instincts can’t be denied. I get out of my car and, with each step through the garden, my resolve strengthens. I’m going to find him, and when I do, I won’t leave until he gives me something to hope for when all hope seems lost.