“Not loved, past tense. Love. Full, complete, and hopeless. I’ll never stop thinking about her and what a mess I made of everything.” Max ran his hands over the legs of the statue. “She’s an amazing artist and an incredible woman. She sure as hell deserves better than me. We were smart to sign her off before everything went to shit.”
“That was your idea. I just signed the papers.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“Oh, speaking of shit, this may put the smile back on your face, if only for a minute.” Dante pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “I caught this online. There’s actual video. Evidently, it’s going viral.” He handed Max the page. “Our favorite agent, the Lavender lizard ran a press conference for her dearest four-legged client. Seems Babu isn’t a fan of the media either. They scared the crap out of him. Literally. Beverly was doing her best to keep things upbeat and went to hug the beast, but he shifted and knocked her back. First, she stepped in a steaming pile of elephant dung in those four-inch heels of hers, then she slipped and landed flat on her back in the muck. You have to see the video. It’s priceless. From what I hear, she wrenched her back pretty bad and is now in traction.”
“And she was worried about getting my shit on her.”
“Karma’s a bitch.”
Max gave a bitter laugh. “Tell me about it.”
Another six weeks passed. Scraping together his last few dollars, Max secured a small gallery space on the north side of Boston. It wasn’t Copley Place, but it was close enough to potentially draw some wealthier art clients, if he could get the word out. It was to be his comeback show. Maximo Vega was gone, but Max was back.
This was it for him. Do or die. The money was gone. If he didn’t make sales, or take in a commission or two, he was done. He’d have to admit defeat to himself and to his family. If he failed this time, it was back to Cleveland to breathe dry cleaning fumes for the rest of his life.
He’d worked day and night, using whatever supplies he had left. He’d given the gallery’s cinderblock walls a fresh coat of white paint for a break in the rent, moved in his own lighting, and pasted fliers up all over town announcing his show.
Max stopped at a coffee shop, midtown, to ask if they’d post his flier when he noticed another sat in their front window advertising a Fall Fresh Faces artist’s show. He recognized the name Margo Abbot, but what caught his eye first was a photograph of Emily. The poster showed vignettes of each artist. Emily was standing next to the wonderful ribboned piece from her semester exhibit. It reminded him of the night the two of them worked on the piece together, clayed hands on each other’s body. Making love to her right there in the studio and carrying her up to his shower. He wouldn’t forget that night as long as he lived.
Seeing her name, seeing her face with her beautiful smile, remembering their night together encircled him in an ache that banded his chest like the figure in her sculpture. It wrapped around him as tight as any chain and squeezed the air from his lungs. God help him, his love for her had only gotten stronger as her distance from him stretched past any hope of their reconciliation.
There had been nothing. No communication. Silence. Max had forced himself to stay away from Stoddard. She’d left town for the summer, but she’d be returning soon. His guess was she’d come back after the show. School resumed classes before Labor Day. If she decided to come back. Max wasn’t sure she would.
The information printed across the bottom of the poster told him the show ran the same week as his, the last week in August. That was good news. If their shows overlapped, he wouldn’t have to battle the urge to go see her. Although, to be honest, the urge to see her was getting easier to fight these last few weeks as he struggled to keep going. He didn’t want her to see him like this, at his lowest. If and when he went to her, he needed to be back on his feet. He needed to be his own man again. To be a success once more. There was a lot riding on his show.
****
The artwork was set, the signs posted, and the time had come to open the doors. Max was dressed in casual jeans and his lucky shirt. It was the blue button down Emily wore the night he fixed her dinner. He couldn’t wear it without picturing her in it, and he wanted her with him tonight, even if it was only in his memory.
He was exhausted. It had taken days to load and place all the larger pieces by himself. But he was happy with the result. It looked professional and his work looked great. He’d even splurged on champagne and some snacks for opening night. He popped a few corks in anticipation.
The doors were unlocked at eight sharp. Max hadn’t expected a line waiting to get in, but when he swung open the doors to find no one, his heart sank. Giving himself a pep talk, he tried to brush his anxiety away. No one was on time to these things. Fashionably late was the way to go. Don’t panic.
He poured himself a glass of champagne and strolled through the space and waited. Ten minutes eked past. He had to stop watching the clock. It was maddening.
At twenty after eight, he went outside. The streets were busy, but no one seemed to be heading in his direction. Max breathed in the warmth of the August evening and let it out in a slow, prolonged breath.
Back inside, he paced some more and paused before his crowning piece, Implorare. He had both pieces displayed tonight; the bisque-fired bozzetto and the finished statue in marble. He studied the expression he’d captured on Emily’s beautiful face and felt her pleading reach more than ever. It was eight-thirty, and he was coming to know that feeling of despair he portrayed so well. No one was coming. All the time and effort had been for nothing. It was over. He was over, and he doubted imploring to the heavens would help him tonight.
His failure hit him square in the chest. All these months, all the loss, he had clung to a sliver of hope. Hoping the caliber of his work would see him through the scandal. Hoping his supporters would rally behind him. But no. No one was there. It was 8:45.
For Max, fear and desperation quickly gave way to anger. He poured himself another glass of champagne and toasted himself. His voice echoed off the newly painted walls. “Here’s to the art world’s former favorite son. Such talent. Too bad he was such an idiot. He might have been someone. Does anyone recall his name? No?”
He picked up a small bust of a woman. It had been the first commission cancelled after the news broke. “Can you remember his name? No? You either?” He stared at where he had signed the piece’s base. “There it is, right there. Maximo. Maximo fucking Vega!”
Max hurled the bust toward the nearest wall. It shattered against the concrete.
“If you tell Crystal LeMar I broke that, I’ll deny it.”
Max spun around. “Emily?”
“Thank goodness you didn’t break one of me.” She studied the destroyed piece. She was wearing a stunning black dress with thin straps. The soft fabric skimmed every beautiful inch of her. She was sun-kissed and glowing.
“What are you doing here?” Max was afraid to blink. He’d imagined this scene in his head so many times, he was certain his mind was playing with him.
“Trixie told me you were having a show, so…” She held her hands out to her side and shrugged. “Here I am.”
“But your show is opening tonight too. Why aren’t you there?”
“I was. It started at seven. It was hard to get away. That’s why I’m a little late.”
Every cell in his body wanted to grab her and wrap her in his arms, but he’d crawled to her before. He might not have anything left, but dammit, he still had his pride. “Have you come to gloat?”
She frowned. “No. I’m here to see the work of an amazing artist.”
“Even if he was a fraud and a colossal failure?”
Emily shook her head. “You couldn’t possibly be a failure.”
“Look around you.” He gave a bitter laugh.
She scanned the room. “I am—your pieces are breathtaking.”
“It’s no use.” He threw up a hand. “No one is coming. I blew it. I had it, and I lost
it all.”
“Not all.” Emily was intently studying one of his smaller sculptures. “I’m here.” She said the words so quietly, he almost missed them. She still hadn’t looked at him.
“And I’m standing here like an idiot trying to figure out why.”
She lifted her eyes to his and the jolt of that connection hit him all the way to the soles of his feet. “Because tonight is a very special night for the man I love and it’s only right I spend it telling him how wonderful he is. But maybe he needs to hear how I’ve spent months cloistered away in the woods loving him more and more as each day passed. Perhaps he needs to know I believed him when he told me he tried to be honest with me, and it was the shock that made me walk away from the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Emily closed the distance between them. “I’m here because I need to tell you I wear lilac perfume. I’m here because I’m in love with you, and I’ve never stopped. I believe in you and I’m hoping you’ll forgive me.”
“Me forgive you?”
She nodded. “I was hurt and I lashed out. I wanted you to hurt as much as I did. All I succeeded in doing was causing us both more pain. You don’t do that if you truly love someone. And I truly love you.”
“I thought I destroyed all that.”
“I thought you did too.” She played with the button on his shirt. “But love isn’t plaster. Love is stone. Rock solid. Granite. If it’s real and true, it’s strong enough to weather any storm. It lasts a lifetime.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Sometimes it lasts forever.”
When her lips met his, the dark shadow of the last three months lifted from his soul. Opening his lips, he groaned as her tongue slipped into his mouth. He crushed her in his arms, grabbing fistfuls of her dress, and pressed her body to his as he returned the passion of her kiss. He swallowed her gasp as he ravished her mouth.
She’d come back. She loved him and she was here. Nothing else mattered. Not the show, not the last few hellish months, nothing. He had everything he’d ever wanted here in his arms.
“So you forgive me?” She held his face. Tears welled in her eyes.
“You did nothing to forgive. I’m the one—”
She stopped him with another kiss. “I understand why. I forgive you. I love you.”
His heart soared. “I love you. Not for one second did I stop thinking of you and loving you, and praying someday…”
“Today is someday.”
“Hey,” a gruff voice called to them from the door. “If you two are done, can we come in now? The natives are getting restless out here.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Dante?”
Emily broke away from Max and smoothed her dress. “Yes. Come on in.”
Max stood there in amazement as a crowd of more than fifty people poured through the doors into the gallery with Dante leading the pack. The man crushed him in an embrace. Men and women began shaking his hand and thumping him on his back, congratulating him on his comeback, complimenting his work. Emily hugging them each in turn, thanking them for coming, and apologized for making them wait.
“You brought them here?”
“Invited. They wanted to come.”
Another man pumped Max’s hand and expressed his appreciation for his work when Emily grabbed at his elbow. “Oh, there’s someone you have to meet.”
She dragged him toward a towering man wearing a very expensive suit. When he saw them approaching, he gave Max an appraising look and Emily a courteous nod.
She shook his hand. “Mr. Bruce, I can’t thank you enough for coming.”
“Mr. Bruce?” Max stared at her in surprise.
The man before him held out his hand. “Mr. Vega, I’m Daniel Bruce of the Bruce Gallery.”
“I know who you are.” Max shook the man’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I have to tell you, I’m more than a little surprised to see you here.”
“I’m more than a little surprised to be standing here myself, but this young woman can be very persuasive when she puts her mind to it. Relentless might be a better word. There’s an old saying about a dog with a bone.” He shook his head and glanced around. “You really threw yourself in front of a train by hiding behind that ridiculous persona you created, Mr. Vega. What the hell were you thinking?”
Max shook his head. “I don’t think I was.”
“That’s obvious. I have to ask, are you done with all the grandstanding and ready to get back to the important things, namely your work and promoting your career?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“Good. Know this, Mr. Vega, I never give second chances. They have a habit of biting me in the ass.” He stared down his nose at Max. “But, I have been enamored with your work since I first laid eyes on it, and I was devastated when the scandal ruined my chance to showcase you. Furious, but devastated none the less.” His eyes roamed down the length of the gallery. “Then I got a call from my good friend, Madeline Sullivan from Stoddard, and she threw me into the ring with Ms. Baskins here.”
Max frowned at her. What had she done?
“Emily reminded me your work was still your work. She refused to take no for an answer and asked me to reconsider your tour. You have quite the champion.” He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket. “Now, I’d be an absolute fool to reinstate a three-city tour to someone as risky as you, but a little bit of scandal might work to our advantage. I’m thinking we start with one. San Francisco doesn’t mind the odd scandal and they love an underdog. They just may embrace you wholeheartedly. We can start there, see how the numbers run, and who knows.”
Max took the card and looked at it like it might be made of flash paper and disappear in a puff of smoke. “You mean it?”
Daniel Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like a man who jokes?”
“No, sir.”
Bruce kissed Emily’s cheek and shook Max’s hand again. “Good. Get in touch with me at the beginning of the week and we can put something down on paper.” He started to leave. “Oh, and I have to say, if this whole mess did anything positive for you and your career, it rid you of that odious woman, Beverly Lavender. If I never have to deal with her again, I’ll die a happy man.” He pointed at Max. “Don’t lose my card.”
Max slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I have no intention to.”
“Or that one.” He pointed to Emily and winked at her.
Max slipped an arm around Emily’s slender waist and pulled her tight to his side. “I don’t intend to do that either.”
Daniel Bruce joined the crowd milling through the gallery.
Max leaned toward Emily and kissed her. He whispered against her lips. “What did you do?”
She shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “I made a few phone calls to the man. A few dozen. Madeline helped.”
“Remind me to thank her later, too.”
More people were arriving. The gallery was full of neighborhood people, art people. He caught Emily waving and saw the newlyweds, Jeremy and Cynthia arrive.
“You don’t mind me inviting them, do you? Given your jealous streak where Jeremy is concerned, I hesitated.”
“You love me. I’m not worried.”
“Good.” She patted his chest. “They’re going to have a baby. Jeremy is having sympathy morning sickness and has already gained eight pounds.”
Max laughed when he spotted another group coming through the door. It was a man and a woman he remembered as Trixie, Emily’s mother. Trixie was helping an older woman… “Nonna?” He shot a look at Emily. “You invited my nonna?”
“I invited the whole Vega clan, but they couldn’t leave the shops. Did you know they’re opening a third dry cleaner? Your grandmother insisted on coming, though. Your brother Nick was coming with her, but she said no, she could make it on her own. She flew in just to come tonight.”
“Maximo, il mio Maximo!”
“Nonna!” He hugged the woman as tight as he dared. He hadn’t seen her in a few years. She looked li
ke he remembered her. “How do you stay so young, Nonna?”
She swatted at him. “How do you stay so fresh?” She turned to Emily. “Where are your manners, Maximo? Introduce me to your girl.”
“Nonna, this is my Emily. Emily, this is my grandmother, Michelangela Raffeala Innocenti Vega.”
Emily’s eyes opened wide. “Michelangela?”
Nonna Vega rolled her eyes and raised her hand. “Si, my family, they have one joke.” She poked her index finger into the air.
Emily laughed and hugged her.
Max watched the two most important women in his life embrace for the first time and felt a rush to his heart.
Nonna shook her head. “She’s pretty, si, but too skinny.” She pinched at Emily’s side. “You don’t eat? Don’t you like Italian?”
“No, I love Italian.” Emily’s eyes held his over the silvery head of his grandmother. “But I haven’t had any for months.”
There was no double meaning in her gaze. She loved him, and she missed being with him.
Emily smiled back at Nonna. “Maximo cooked for me, though, a delicious meal. Your recipes.”
Max’s memory flashed back to feeding her honeyed oranges in bed. He caught Emily’s eyes again. Was she remembering the sweet oranges too?
Nonna missed nothing. She caught the exchange between them and nodded. “She is the one.” She elbowed Max. “Si?”
“Yes, she is.”
Trixie and her date had been waiting behind Nonna. Max shook the man’s hand when they exchanged names. Trixie’s welcome wasn’t as warm. “Mrs. Baskins.”
“Mr. Vega.” Ice dripped from every syllable.
“Vega? No, it’s pronounced Bastardo.” He smiled. “Lesson four.”
That earned him a forgiving hug.
Max watched Trixie and Mr. Turner join Nonna in their walk through the gallery. Max wrapped his arms around Emily. “You got my grandmother to come? It’s a miracle. She never leaves home. How did you do all this?”
“I was properly motivated.” She kissed him. “She’s here because she loves you. It’s another thing we have in common.”
Rock Solid Page 22
