Minutes later, Jonathan closes the last folder with a flourish. “Okay, Ava, here’s what I need you to do. Go through and input all the changes I’ve noted in the document. Triple-check everything and email it to Jacqueline. She’ll forward it per my instructions to Sebastian Stone to proofread. Jacqueline will then forward it to us for another round of reviews.”
He stops to consider something.
“I’m going to be in San Francisco for the next three days. As a matter of fact, I’m going to have to leave for the airport soon, but why don’t we plan to meet Thursday evening when you get off work? Hopefully, it’ll all be tied up and we can celebrate. If not, I’m afraid we’ll have to roll up our sleeves again.”
I feel a brief moment of excitement to realize how close we are to completing this project that’s been the source of so much anxiety and drama. What will I do with my free time now? Will the completion of this job mean the end of my relationships with Jonathan and Max? I close down my laptop and slip it into my messenger bag, while trying to get a handle on my emotions.
Jonathan puts his things in his laptop bag, unrolls his shirtsleeves and slips on his jacket.
I approach the front of his desk. “Jonathan, you told me you normally don’t get so hands-on with projects . . . Well, that was before this drama. You’ve had to give up an entire day and put up with undo stress.” I clear my throat and my voice wavers. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. You’ve been amazing and I won’t ever forget it.”
He looks almost surprised and then gives me a warm smile, brimming with affection.
“Believe me, Ava, I’d only do this for you. But you have to know . . . you’re absolutely worth it.”
Jacqueline buzzes his phone and announces that his car’s waiting, so he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks around the desk. He looks me in the eyes with a blinding intensity and cups my chin.
“Until Thursday.” He kisses me softly on both cheeks, lingering on the second cheek with his lips barely grazing my skin. If he kissed me now, I’m certain I’d kiss him back.
There’s a soft knock on the door.
“Yes, I’m coming,” he says, before pulling back. He looks down at my lips, sighs, and strides out of the office.
Before I gather up the folders, I pause for a moment and admire his spectacular view of the city. I try on his words again to see if they fit.
You’re absolutely worth it.
The idea he’s presented becomes a question, a challenge . . . a signpost marking my path of ambition and muddled intentions.
Do I believe him? Have those feelings shaped my experiences, not just with Jonathan, but with Max too?
I say it to myself, “I’m absolutely worth it.”
I gaze one more time at the view and remind myself what my grandma Oly used to tell me—the world’s full of wonderful experiences if our hearts and minds are open. With all the possibilities my future holds, I excitedly wrap that thought around me and into my heart as I head out the door.
Chapter Nineteen / Fireworks and Earthquakes
I shut my eyes in order to see.
~Paul Gauguin
When I walk into the gallery in the morning, Adam pulls me aside and suggests a walk down to Starbucks. I’m immediately suspicious, but put on a good face.
The entire way there, he tells me about the plans Katherine and he are making to vacation in Greece, but soon enough we’re in line, waiting to place our order.
“So, Sean keeps asking everyone if you’re involved with Max.”
“Why doesn’t he ask me? Not that it’s any of his business. What difference does it make?”
“You know Sean. When it comes to the choices his friends make, he always thinks he knows best. When it comes to Max, maybe he’s justified.”
“You can tell him not to worry. I’m not involved with Max like that.”
The irony does not escape me as we talk that Adam is interested in my complicated relationship with Max too, with no idea that the only real action I’ve had is with Jonathan, who isn’t even on his radar screen.
We get up to the front of the line and place our orders.
“Anyway, I want to talk about how things are going to go today.”
“Well, barring floods, earthquakes, typhoons or some other natural disaster . . . I think it’ll be fine.” I laugh a little uncomfortably.
“Ava, I’m serious. It’s important that things go smoothly today. Dylan thinks Max is volatile.”
“What do you mean ‘volatile’?”
He motions to a table and we sit. “Dylan’s concerned that Max is a little, well, for lack of a better word . . . obsessed with you.” Adam’s face is somber as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“Obsessed . . . with me? Oh, I don’t think so. He’s just one super-intense guy. Granted, we’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few weeks because of the book, but that’ll be coming to an end in a week or two. Things will level off after that.”
My heart races. Obsessed with me? That idea could mean a lot of different things.
Adam raises his eyebrows.
“Did Dylan say what he meant by obsessed?”
“He told me that Max’s been very distracted with his work, which is unheard of for him. He was supposed to have three more paintings ready for the shipment to Barcelona, but he still hasn’t finished them. They’re now going to have to pay to expedite them.”
“Why would he assume it’s because of me? Maybe he has artist’s block?”
“He told me this has never been a problem for him in the past. But he said every time he talks to Max, you come up constantly in the conversation.”
Really? I’m surprised to hear that. “It’s probably about the book.” But as I say it, I wonder just a little bit.
Adam opens his mouth and then closes it.
“What?” I ask.
“Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but the other day Dylan saw Max’s sketchbook open, and he’s almost certain he saw a drawing of you.”
“But—”
“Ava, I know it’s flattering to have someone admire you, even more so when it’s someone as dynamic and good-looking as Max. I’m certainly not surprised to learn Max is intrigued with you. You’re beautiful, smart and so kind . . . any man would be lucky to have you.”
I’m embarrassed by this overstated flattery, and I cast my gaze downward.
“Katherine and I want what’s best for you. At one point, we were, for all intents and purposes, your guardians. No one understands the psyche of an artist better than I do. Let’s face it, Ava, Max always seems to me to be fighting some inner demon. He has more fame than he could’ve hoped to achieve, but he’s more unsettled than ever. He’s searching for something or someone to fix him.”
I inwardly shudder. Max’s words about angels echo in my head.
“Then you fall into his life. And you’re so giving and kind, unlike the women he’s often with.”
“You make the whole thing sound predictable. Like there’s a formulaic reason he would be taken with me.”
“No, it’s not that. I want you to be careful. I don’t want you to get sucked into his darkness. I’ve always had a theory about why so many established artists get involved with young women and shuffle through them like a deck of cards. Artists need constant visual and emotional stimulation. They seem to crave the pursuit with all its passion and drama, thrive on the infatuation, and when the passion cools, as it usually does in any relationship, they move on to their next muse. I’ve never seen Max act in a way that would make me believe he’s different from this stereotype.”
I consider what he’s said as I rest my chin in my hand and lean forward.
“I’ve been around Max now in every type of circumstance, including observing him with women that he was, for lack of a better word, entertaining. We’ve laughed and fought, helped each other out, and worked closely together. With as aggressively as he goes after what he wants, do
n’t you think he would’ve made a pass at me already if that was the kind of relationship he wanted?”
Adam swirls the coffee in his cup as he listens.
“He’s had many chances to make a play for me, and he never did. There’s a reason for that. We’re friends and that works for him.”
Although Adam relaxes, I have no idea if he’s convinced. As we head back to the gallery, we talk business until we step through the door.
“Okay, Ava, I’m counting on you . . . no fireworks today.”
“I’ll do my best.” I smile, secretly hoping it’s true.
Max is scheduled to come at three, so Sean and I set up after lunch. Our intent is to get the run started and work out any technical glitches before Max arrives. We want to be full-on printing when he walks in the door.
Luckily, Sean brought his tunes to work, so there should be plenty of good music to listen to.
As it gets closer to three, I realize I’m nervous to see Max after mulling over Adam’s words. But I do my best to push it out of my head and focus on the job.
Sean and I have a natural rhythm when we work, which helps move things along even when I’m distracted. Sean spent the last week doing the digital work—analyzing the color paths in Max’s original painting and dissecting them to create files for each color. We use these files to burn the screens we print with, one color at a time.
This painting of Max’s has dozens of colors, and we’re creating 120 prints—so we’ll spend a lot of time on the press. Max will only get a taste of the printing experience this afternoon.
Just after three, Max walks into the studio and sets down his bag on the counter under the window. I can tell as he turns around that he’s excited—there’s a bounce in his step and his eyes are lit up. This is the first time he’s attended a serigraph printing of his work.
Trying to maintain a professional air, I smile from my position at the press. He tips his head to the side, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I’m not glamorous today with my hair pulled back and my old ink-stained jeans and tank top. But he still smiles warmly.
Sean introduces himself, projecting a definite alpha vibe, and he shakes Max’s hand. I almost laugh out loud because Max is completely nonplussed by it. As they talk, Sean offers to show Max his computer system in the back studio where he does the color analysis. Max follows him, and I decide to stay up front and continue working.
I’m back in my rhythm when one of my favorite songs comes on the iPod dock, and I start singing and swaying as I print.
After sliding a new sheet of paper under the frame, I pull the ink across the screen with the squeegee. Some strands of hair fall into my eyes, and I push them away, smearing a bit of ink on my forehead.
Humming, I carefully lift the screen and pull out the thick textured paper. I hold it up to admire the perfect impression of ink on paper. As I lay the paper on the wire rack, I stroke the corner and sing softly.
The memories tie us,
They bind us it’s true
Yet despite how I’ve fought it,
It’s always been you
I slip in a new sheet, close my eyes, gently sway my hips to the music and sing the next lines a bit louder.
My heart’s always known
It may break right in two
But there’s no way denying
It’s always been you
I take the wooden stick coated with vermillion and drag it along the screen, watching the soft puddle of color spread. I slide the squeegee up to the top of the screen, then stretch up and pull it back, my arms smoothly gliding as I stroke down, the color moving toward me.
At that very moment, I feel a shift in the room and look up. Sean and Max are in the doorway, silently watching me. And although the expression on each of their faces is completely different, I feel like there’s an intimacy in what they’ve observed. The fire in Max’s eyes takes my breath away.
Finally, Sean breaks the silence. “Hey, nice moves, Ava! Thanks for keeping the run going.”
“No problem,” I practically whisper as a flush of embarrassment fires up my cheeks. I glance at Max, but he’s still standing in the doorway, watching me. I search his eyes and expression as Adam’s words ring in my ears. He’s unreadable to me.
Sean decides to take over the screen work for a while as I unload the finished prints from the press and then slide fresh sheets in. Max has a lot of questions while we work. He wants to know what other artists we’ve printed, the average number of colors used and how the edition size is determined. It’s interesting to observe his natural curiosity at work.
Luckily, Sean slowly warms up to Max, and he even asks about progress on the book.
Max and I give each other wary looks.
“What?” Sean asks.
“Well, first the deadline got pushed up by almost two months, and if that wasn’t bad enough, one of Max’s ex-girlfriends tried to sabotage it.”
“She wasn’t a girlfriend,” Max grumbles.
“Sabotage, how?” Sean’s interest is piqued.
“Do you remember me telling you about Jonathan? He’s the publisher of Art+trA, and they’re publishing this book in a joint venture with Taylor and Tiden Press.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard Adam talk about him. He’s the one you keep meeting with.”
Max gives me a stern look.
“What?” I purse my lips together while giving him a pretend stern look. “So anyway, Max’s ex-whatever is an editor that works for Jonathan, and she was assigned to help me finish this project, now that the deadline is impossible. Unbeknownst to me, she and Max didn’t have a happily ever after, so she tried to take him down in literary flames.”
Max makes a face.
“Shit, that really sucks, dude,” says Sean.
“In more ways than one,” Max agrees.
I hold my hands up toward Max. “She’s attractive and smart, so I get why you went out with her, but simmering under all that, she’s full of surprises.”
“And not the good kind,” Sean adds.
“Yeah, well, I found out the hard way, and it was a long time ago,” he states with a tense expression.
“So, what did Jonathan do? Did he defend the ex?” Sean asks with a crooked smile.
Perhaps Sean enjoys the fact that art guy doesn’t have the easiest time with women either.
“No, Jonathan isn’t like that. When I explained the circumstances, he immediately pulled her off the project. As a matter of fact, instead of assigning the primary rewrite to another editor, he’s working directly with me.”
“Really?” asks Sean as he waves the squeegee—reminding me to keep feeding the paper while I’m talking. We have a lot to print.
“What do you mean working directly with you? I thought he already was?” asks Max.
“I was working with him directly, but only from a broad perspective. Yesterday, we went through the text line by line.”
“How long did that take?” Sean asks and then mumbles to himself, “That’s why you took yesterday off.”
“We started at nine and worked straight through until the late afternoon when he had to catch a plane. We’ll go through it again tomorrow night.”
“What do you mean tomorrow fucking night?” Max hisses.
I give him a dirty look and refuse to acknowledge his question.
“What, man?” Sean asks Max.
Are they’re buddies now?
“I’m pretty damn sure Jonathan wants Ava for more than just her writing,” Max snaps.
“Damn it!” Sean yells and jerks his arm mid-pass over the screen. He lifts it up for examination and presses his lips into a hard line when he spots a tear.
He lowers the screen and turns to me. “Is this true, Ava? Is he horn-dogging you? I’ll kick his ass!”
I give Sean a hard look and do the same to Max. “No comment,” I finally say and fold my arms across my chest.
“Isn’t that fucker old enough to be your dad? What the hell!”
Since when is Sean on Team Max?
“Jonathan would never talk to or treat me the way you two are right now. So put that in your pipe and smoke it. This discussion is over.”
I turn around and pick out a song I like on the iPod dock. The tension is thick in the uncomfortable quiet of the studio.
When I turn around, Sean gives me puppy dog eyes. “Sorry, Ava.”
“Me too. I’m sorry. This whole situation has really stressed me out,” Max adds.
“I know it has.” I remember Adam’s mandate and smile at him. It’s time to play nice. “All’s forgiven. Now let’s talk about something happier, okay?”
Sean groans. “Damn. I don’t know about happier . . . but I have to burn a new screen to finish this color, and I put everything away. This is going to take me a while.”
“Well, I can start with the second color on the dry prints if you set up the screen.”
“Okay, that’s good. Max, want to help?”
“Sure,” he agrees.
As Sean leaves to retrieve the screen for the second color, Max steps closer to me. “So do you have dinner plans? We could grab something when we’re done.”
“I’d like that,” I say with a smile, glad things have lightened up. “Ready to work?”
He nods with a huge grin.
Sean returns and hooks up the screen before heading to the back with a groan.
I’d be irritated too, since it’s a long process to remake the damaged one.
I prepare the next ink, a vivid shade of violet.
Max moves closer and observes what I’m doing. His eyes have a pensive look, as if he’s hypnotized by my movements and the swirl of color.
I roll the first drying rack over and show him how to align the prints that already have , printed under the second color screen.
“Are you going to be able to keep up with me?” I tease.
He arches his eyebrow and gives me a smug smile. “I’ll do my best.”
I nod to the reproduction and original work in the viewing booth. “What’s the name of this painting?”
“Tropic of My Imagination.”
“Mmm, I like that.” I smile.
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 21
