I’ve always loved art books, and as I turn each page, I vividly remember the moment I first fell in love with contemporary art. My fifth grade class went on a field trip to a local museum featuring a traveling modern art show from New York. I’d never seen anything like the Rothko, Pollock, and Kandinsky paintings on display. Wide-eyed, I was overcome by the emotions the paintings evoked in me. It made all the other landscapes and portraits I’d seen framed as art look so boring in comparison.
The docent who was walking us through the exhibit must have seen the spark in my eyes, because she focused her lecture on me as we both tried to ignore the stupid comments of classmates. If I had to hear Billy Woodruff pronounce loudly “I could do that” one more time, I thought I’d have to deck him.
I look back down at the Unspoken Truths galley and pick it up, hugging it tightly to my chest. Who would have thought that the young girl who shyly asked the docent that day how she could learn more about the art and the artists would one day end up holding a book she wrote? And to top it off, a book about an artist who loves her.
I carefully position the book next to my angel painting on the mantle and step back for another moment to take it in before letting out a happy sigh.
“Okay, did you get everything?” he asks, as he loads our bags into the Porsche.
“I think so: swimsuit, nicer outfit, clothes for tomorrow, toiletries, and PJs.”
“Who said anything about PJs? I want you naked in my bed.”
“I know. I was just testing you.”
He swats my butt lightly and then opens the door. I don’t stop my skirt from hiking all the way up as I slide into the car, and he watches with an arched brow and cocky grin.
“So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Less than thirty minutes later, he turns off Sunset Boulevard and winds through a wooded area before finally turning into the driveway for the Hotel Bel-Air.
“We’re staying here?” I’m so surprised my mouth falls open.
“Yeah, I wanted to take you away for the weekend, but when I found out I had to do that interview tomorrow, this seemed like the next best idea.”
“Next best?” I ask, laughing. “Hardly . . . I’ve always wanted to stay here. It’s so beautiful.”
The valet takes our car, and we walk over a bridge with a stream trickling below. Just beyond is a little lake with a bevy of swans. It’s hard to believe this fairytale land is in L.A.
After we check in, we’re led to our gorgeous room, which has a large sitting area. Max looks at his watch after he sets the bags down.
“Are you hungry? We have reservations in a few minutes. I can’t believe it’s almost two o’clock.”
“Well, you kept distracting me this morning,” I say with a playful huff.
“Why do I always get blamed for the sex? You wanted to be distracted.”
“That I did.”
“Well, hang up your things, beautiful, and we’ll go eat.”
As I take out my clothes, he removes a gift bag and card from his satchel before taking my hand and leading me out to the dining patio.
“Caswell,” he says to the maître d’. “Two for tea.”
“Are we having high tea?”
He smiles and nods.
We slide into a booth cocooned in an alcove that looks out on the lake with the swans. The patio is draped with fuchsia bougainvillea, and the tender petals drop around us like summer snow. The seating is layered with richly upholstered down pillows, and I fight the urge to lie across them. This is decadence defined.
We’re served champagne as we look at the tea menu and make our choices. The waiter takes our order and brings over the tiered tray of sandwiches, petit fours and scones. I think back to our fancy high tea at the St. Regis in New York, right after we first met. This tea is the equivalent in terms of opulence, but California style.
“Do you remember when you first knew you loved me?” Our hands are wound together.
“The moment we met.” He grins mischievously.
“Not lust, love.”
He thinks about it for a minute. “It’s not going to be what you expect.”
“And what do you think I expect?”
“When you jumped into my arms when we were bowling, or the day at Huntington Gardens.”
“Well, for your information, I would’ve never guessed something that early in our complicated relationship. I was thinking after you read the book in Ojai that night on Ann’s couch.”
“Ojai? You are way off. You’re so wrong,” he says, teasing me. “I fell in love with you way before that. It was that night you showed up at my studio, unannounced, and yelled at me for being such an asshole.”
“Oh, when I was warning you about the MOMA thing? You’ve got to be kidding. That’s messed up! You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m completely serious. When you walked out that night after nailing my ass to the wall, I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning. No one had ever cared about me enough to risk everything by standing up to me. I knew you were the girl who would own my heart. I lay awake all night plotting how I could get you to want me too. Unfortunately, all my attempts were misguided, and I only made things worse for myself.”
“Now you’re wrong. Don’t underestimate what the flowers and painting did to me. You are stealthy at the art of romance.”
About an hour and many conversations later, while amped up on tea and the sugary pastries, Max opens the gift bag and removes two long, narrow boxes, one about the size of a woman’s wallet and the other much smaller. He then sets a card in front of me.
“I want to give you your presents now. I can’t wait any longer,” he says quietly with a sweet smile.
I remove the card from the envelope and swoon as I run my finger over the front of the handmade picture. The image was inspired by his crayon drawing of us on the restaurant craft paper in Santa Fe. But this version is intricately hand painted.
“So perfect,” I sigh, as I squeeze his hand and slowly open the card.
My beautiful Ava,
You are my heart, my fire, my best friend, my love . . .
Happy birthday, Angel.
Love,
Max
My eyes fill with tears, and I quickly brush them away. “This is all the gift I need,” I whisper and kiss him softly.
“Ha!” He scoffs and sets the smaller of the two gift boxes in front of me.
I carefully pull on the ends of the satin ribbon. The box is wrapped in a sheet of rice paper with delicate swirls of color. I lift the lid and find a long velvet box inside.
I snap open the lid to discover a delicate silver chain with three charms. I smile and he grins like a kid.
He takes it from me. “Here, let me show you.” He pulls the necklace out of the box and holds it up to the light. “See, this is about us.”
He holds the first charm closer, and I marvel at the silver artist’s palette with a tiny paintbrush lying across its face. Instead of color where the spots of paint should be, there are different colored jewels set into the silver. It’s exquisite.
“I love it!” I say, as I run my fingertip over its surface.
Next he holds up a miniature silver book. I squint and read the tiny title, Unspoken Truths. He snaps the lid open and I gasp. In tiny letters it says by Ava Jacobs.
“Oh, Max, this is unbelievable. Where did you get this made?”
“From the jeweler my dad always uses. He’s amazing.” He turns his focus back to the necklace.
There is one charm left, hanging between the palette and book, and it’s the one he seems most delighted by. He gently holds it between his fingers. “And this is you and me . . . the infinity symbol, because we will go on and on. See our names are engraved here . . . one on each loop. The diamond in the center represents us together because together we are so much more than when we are apart.”
He opens the delicate clasp and wraps the fine chain around my neck until
he catches the loop and closes it.
I run my fingers down the necklace, admiring all the love and effort he put into my special gift. I frame his face with my hands. “This is, by far, the most wonderful and thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me, Max.”
He smiles as I lean in to kiss him. The ferns surrounding our alcove shimmer in the breeze as the dappled light falls over us.
When we finally part, he grins widely. “One more!” He ceremoniously hands me the second gift.
“This is too much,” I say, unconvincingly.
“There’s never too much when it comes to you.”
I sigh and slowly untie the ribbon.
When I lift the lid, there’s a long flat piece of spun cotton, and nestled on top is a single silver charm. I pick it up and my heart skips with the possibilities.
“The Eiffel Tower?” I ask, as I turn it gently between my fingertips.
“There’s more . . . Look under the cotton.”
I lift up the white fluff and underneath is some type of certificate. Upon closer examination, I realize it’s a voucher for two plane tickets to Paris.
“Paris? We’re going to Paris?” I squeal softly, trying to keep my voice down.
He nods. “I thought in the fall. It’s such a nice time to be there. You’ll love it. I can’t wait to show you my favorite places.”
“Oh, my God, Max, this is a dream come true.” I throw my arms around him, and for a blissful moment, I forget the worries of my job and how Adam will take the news of a vacation on top of all the work I’ve missed.
Right now, I can’t care. I just want to soak in the image of Max and me walking along the Seine or sitting in a little outdoor café watching the world go by. I thank him with my kisses over and over until we have to part to breathe again.
With my next thought, though, my eyes darken and Max notices. “What? Is there something wrong?”
I laugh at my problem. “Max, I’ll never be able to keep up when your birthday comes around. This is so over the top.”
“You know I don’t care about stuff, Ava. Just wrap yourself in a big bow. You’re all I want.”
“That can be arranged.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” He kisses me again and then motions to the waiter to bring the check.
“We have to go change now. I booked us massages.”
I look at him with a stunned smile. He really did think of everything.
The spa is just a short stroll down the garden path, so we wear our white terry robes and slippers to our appointment. Max has booked a husband and wife massage team, so I don’t get jealous about some strange woman rubbing hot oil all over his delectable body. I appreciate his gesture more than he knows, as I doubt I’d be able to relax while that was happening.
The next ninety minutes are pure bliss as every part of my body is kneaded and rubbed until I’m a quivering pile of happy.
When we finally leave the spa, I can’t even walk straight as we go back to our room. I’m so happily spent and hope he’s planning on room service, because I doubt I can drum up the motivation to go out. I curl up on the bed as he showers.
When he finishes, he comes into the bedroom to dress. “It took forever to get all that oil off me. I’m just warning you, step into the shower carefully or you’ll find yourself on your ass.” He puts on slacks and a sweater.
“Thanks for the warning.” I laugh. “What time is it anyway?”
“Six thirty. We have dinner reservations at eight. I thought we could have a drink on the patio first.”
He must’ve turned his phone back on because he gets a text. He reads it and replies while I walk to the bathroom.
I get my second wind in the shower and pull myself together. Max smiles when he sees I’m wearing the navy dress I wore on one of our first dinners after returning home from Santa Fe. I remember he liked how it hugged my curves. He helps me put my necklace on again and we head out the door.
When we turn the corner of the patio, I find my final birthday present of the evening. Gathered around a large table are Riley and Dylan, Katherine and Adam, Brian and Thomas, and Jess and Laura. And they all grin expectantly, waiting for my reaction to the surprise. I turn in shock to Max.
“You arranged all this and kept it secret?”
He nods and watches me carefully. His eyebrows are arched and his lips are pressed together, like he’s holding back a grin.
I wrap my arms around him tightly. “Thank you, Max. This is the perfect birthday. You’ve made every part of it special.” I kiss him, and as I pull away his expression lights up the entire patio.
Jess gets up and steps toward us first. “Look at you two! You’re sickeningly sweet.”
“She means that in the best way,” Laura says.
Brian grabs me next and gives me a big hug. “Happy birthday, cutie.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say, as I brush a tear out of my eye.
“I’ve got to hand it to your man. It took a lot of coordinating to get this all figured out, but he was relentless.”
I look at Max and he shrugs with a crooked grin.
Even Adam looks impressed with Max and shakes his hand warmly before kissing me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Ava!”
“You look amazing, sweetheart,” Katherine adds.
I point at Riley as she finally works her way over. “You knew and didn’t leak a word about it! What happened to the girl who could never keep a secret?” I tease.
“And deal with the wrath of Mr. Caswell? No thanks!” She winks at Max as Dylan gives me a hug.
We finally settle down into our seats and I let my gaze take in this group of friends—my true family. As the champagne flows, they toast me with words of love and well wishes, and I know, without a doubt, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
Chapter Four / El Hombre de mis Sueños
There are things known and there are things unknown,
and in between are the doors of perception.
~Aldous Huxley
Guess who’s looking for you?” Adam asks, when Brian and I come back from lunch.
“Who?”
“Max’s father.”
“Really? Did he say what he wanted?”
“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 go
t 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.
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 52
