Brian jumps in with big ideas. “Just think, you can develop your own website, put out a book, develop a program with schools . . .”
My heart sinks when he mentions schools because it makes me think about Max and his work at the high school.
“Well, I haven’t even gotten the contract yet, so let’s not make me Princess of the Art World just yet,” I tease.
Before we end our meeting and get back to work, we agree that I won’t tell the rest of the team until the contract is at least close to being signed. Adam also agrees to give me continued flexibility with my schedule. As it is, the lawyer Max’s dad recommended has an opening today at three, so instead of taking a lunch, I’ll meet with him then.
Now that I’ve shared the news with Adam and Brian, it feels like life has accelerated to an even crazier speed. But no matter how fast I go, their support and encouragement gives me a boost. Maybe I won’t just survive this transition, but thrive in it, once I convince Max to support me.
In the afternoon, I head over to Beverly Hills to meet the man who I hope will be my lawyer. Jackson Carter works at a boutique law firm that specializes in entertainment. From the valet parking to the chic contemporary design of the offices, I feel out of my league, but I take deep breaths as I wait in the reception area. I may need to sell myself to Mr. Carter, so that he’ll want to take me on as a client.
“Mr. Carter.” The receptionist nods towards the opening door.
I look up just as a stunning African-American man glides toward me. He has the most engaging smile as he extends his hand.
“You must be Ava.”
I rise and shake his hand. “Hi, Jackson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Max’s dad wasn’t kidding. The man is charming all right.
I follow him through the doors, noting the cut of his Italian suit. He’s tall and commanding, but younger than I would’ve expected. I surmise that he’s probably in his late thirties. He leads me to the sitting area in his office.
His assistant, a leggy redhead, appears. “Can I get you a refreshment? Sparkling water or perhaps a cappuccino?”
“Some water would be great, thanks.”
Jackson settles into the chair facing me and crosses his legs. There’s a smooth sophistication in the way he moves.
“I have to tell you, Ava, Caswell spoke so highly of you that I was intrigued. He’s normally not so effusive. I told him that my client load is currently full, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s quite taken with you.”
I laugh softly. “Yes, well, he’s very kind. But it isn’t what you may think. Actually, I’m involved with his son.”
“Hmm . . . yes, the artist. Max Jr. right?”
“Yes. Anyway, I really appreciate you seeing me on such short notice. The network wants to make this thing happen yesterday.”
“Typical. But we need to make sure you’re taken care of.” The way he says it makes me feel protected and less terrified.
“How fast can this happen?”
“Very fast. I know the contract is forthcoming, so if we decide we’re a good fit together, you could be signed as a TV host within a week. I’ve already researched ArtOneWorld’s parent company, and they have a good reputation for being fair with their talent. Being that you’re brand new to the medium, they will lowball you, but I’m sure there’s room to move.”
“I don’t care so much about the money.”
“Oh, but you must. In this business, it determines your worth. They go hand in hand. So, you can leave that to me. That’s the easy part. What’s more complicated is the rest of the package—collateral: book deals, appearances, publicity, spin-offs . . . that type of thing.”
I thought Brian was just being overexcited—apparently not.
“Is that typical for a non-mainstream cable show?”
“You can’t think of it that way. Everything has changed in television. Shows that no one would have considered very mainstream are now big hits with international exposure. Martine Moreau from the cooking channel is one of my clients, and she has a huge following. As a matter of fact, you remind me of her in a lot of ways. Actually, though, your footage out of the gate is much better than hers was. She was so awkward on camera initially, but like you, she had that charisma, that spark, and you both are very beautiful women.”
I smile broadly, appreciating that his tone is professional and not flirtatious. It gives the idea more weight in my mind. “Thank you. That’s such a compliment. I can’t believe you work with Martine. I’m a huge fan of hers, and I hardly ever cook!”
“My point exactly.”
“Wait a second, you watched my tapes?”
“Of course. I know more about you, Ava, than you realize. I wouldn’t be meeting with you now if I hadn’t done my research to see your possibilities.”
Once again, I’m surprised. So this is how the world spins at the elite levels. It’s intimidating, yet exciting, to be dealing with people at the top of their game.
We talk for a while more, mainly with Jackson asking me what I’d like my future to look like and what my concerns are about doing the show. I explain that I don’t want to be away from L.A. for more than a year, so that would have to be worked into the contract if the show is picked up for another season. I also tell him that whatever free days can be negotiated so that I have time in L.A. with Max is very important to me too.
I ask him questions as well, finding out that he’s originally from DC, where his mom is a lobbyist and his dad a law professor at Georgetown. He moved to L.A. to go to USC Law School, since he’d always been intrigued with the entertainment business. He’s beyond impressive.
“Jackson, I’m embarrassed to ask this, but how will I be able to afford you?” I look around the elegant office, only imagining what his rate is.
“First of all, Ava, don’t ever be embarrassed to ask me anything. Our relationship has to be open and based on mutual trust. You don’t have to worry about paying me anything right now. I’ll take a percentage of your deal. It’ll automatically be deducted from your check. Normally, there would’ve been a retainer that you pay in advance, but you’re bringing a live deal to us, so we’ll waive it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and we agree to talk tomorrow. I’ll direct ArtOneWorld to forward him the contract. Before we part, he gives me a big smile as he shakes my hand.
“This is such an exciting time, Ava. I’m really looking forward to working together and making magic. We’re going to make a great team.”
Talk about charisma. Jackson’s energy and desire to work with me has me buzzing all the way back to the gallery. It’s a relief to actually have a moment of pure excitement about what’s happening. The resulting feeling gives me the determination to do what Riley suggested and show up at Max’s with dinner, pretending as if our world isn’t upside down. I have to turn this around, and I’ll do whatever it takes.
The entire drive to Malibu, I distract myself and think about all the things I need to take care of. As it is, I already have a physical booked tomorrow with a doctor approved by the insurance group of the production company. Before they sign on with me, they want to make sure I’m not about to keel over with some mysterious life-threatening illness. When I think of the money at stake taping a show, I can understand.
I’ve also been warned that it’s difficult and expensive to find housing in New York, so they’re going to put me into temporary housing for two months, giving me time to find a place. But knowing the schedule, how much time will I have to look?
My mind reels until I realize I’ve arrived in Malibu, so I stop at one of Max’s favorites, Nobu, where I’ve arranged for takeout sushi.
Dylan’s car is there when I pull up to the house, and I hesitate, trying to decide if that’s good or bad. Deciding not to delay the inevitable, I get out of the car and head to the garden. The first thing that hits me is the sound of angry voices coming from the studio. I inch closer, my brea
th shallow . . . each movement hesitant.
“You’re such an asshole! Do you have any idea how big of an asshole you are?” Dylan is yelling, and I’ve never heard him raise his voice before. It’s rather shocking.
“Fuck you, Dylan! You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not, but I do know that she’s crazy in love with you, dude. Don’t push her away. She already thinks you don’t want her. You keep this bullshit up and it’ll seal the deal.”
My heart’s pounding frantically. I’m numb as I move closer.
“A year will go quickly. It isn’t the end of the world. You can go see her, she can come out here, and before you know it, the year is over.”
“That’s easy for you to say. What is the longest Riley’s been away from you? For me, just the idea of a week without her is too fucking much. And what about my crazy jealous imagination? I’m already going nuts imagining every artist and production person hitting on her while I’m a million miles away.”
I wrap my arms tightly around my waist. He’s right about his jealous nature with me across the country.
“You know what it is, Dylan? I feel like she captured my heart, reeled me in, and now she’s leaving me high and dry. I don’t remember how to get by without her, and I don’t have any choice in the matter . . . I just get to fucking take it or leave it.”
“So, you’re leaving it? That’s what you’re telling me? So, you’re choosing to go back to how your life used to be, back to the art sluts and vapid life . . . back to the meaningless misery?”
I hold my breath and every molecule in my body freezes, waiting.
“Maybe I am. ’cause you know what? During that whole fucking time, all those years, I never felt pain like I’m feeling right now. There’ve been moments since she told me that I thought I was losing my mind . . . I don’t know; maybe I am. But, at this point, I’d rather be numb than have another minute of feeling like I’m being ripped in two.”
The Nobu bag slips from my hands and lands on the grass. I curl forward.
“I know, dude, I know,” Dylan says in a fatherly voice.” But I can tell you, if you give this up, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”
I hear the sad intonation in Dylan’s voice. I hear something else too, but I can’t tell if it is real concern or just frustration.
“I didn’t give this up!” Max suddenly roars. “She did, and I’m not even sure I can survive it. So stop trying to make me think everything is my fucking fault!”
The tears are streaming down my face as I take several steps backward.
“You’re being too damn dramatic, Max. You’ve got to talk to her.”
“Dramatic? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I’m like a wild animal. What in the hell do you expect from me? I keep wondering if, deep down, I’m really crazy and Ava made me sane . . . then I start worrying that maybe she’s better off without me. And you think I’m just being fucking dramatic? Get the hell out of here, Dylan.”
A moment later, Dylan steps out of the doorway and our eyes connect. From the instant look of concern on his face, I surmise that he knows I’ve heard everything. Before he can say anything, I turn quickly and head toward my car. He moves to catch up, and by the time I reach my car door, he grabs me.
“Ava, stop!”
I crumble against my car, the tears now flowing freely.
“He doesn’t mean half the shit he just said. He just goes over the top when he’s upset. He needs to calm down, and then you’ll be able to talk to him.”
Before he can say another thing, I’m sobbing, and he pulls me into his arms as I try to catch my breath.
“He’s not just upset, Dylan, and you and I both know it. He’s not going to get over it in the morning.” I use my sleeve to wipe my tear-strewn face. “The worst part is that even if I turned down the offer tomorrow, this whole thing has tainted what we had. He’ll never trust me the same way again . . . never love me the same way again.”
“I don’t believe that, Ava, and you shouldn’t either. Remember, I’ve known Max a long time. He just needs some time. He’ll come around.”
I shake my head as I step back. “No, he won’t. I know he won’t.” I look toward the garden gate and realize Max is a matter of steps away. He’s so close, yet he couldn’t be further away. “I need to get out of here,” I whisper aloud.
I fumble my keys, dropping them twice before getting my car door open. Dylan watches me carefully as I slide in my seat and drop the keys again before getting them in the ignition. Frustrated, I let my head fall forward and rest my forehead on the top of the steering wheel.
“Are you okay to drive?”
I can feel my shoulders start to shake. I shouldn’t drive, but I don’t want to admit it. Instead, I remain silent.
He pulls my door open wider. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”
“But my car . . .”
“We’ll get it tomorrow.”
I quietly cry the entire drive home, while Dylan tries to fill the time talking about different artists I may interview and neighborhoods he likes in New York. His parents maintain an apartment there that he and Riley can use when they visit me. I know he’s trying to be helpful, but the last thing I want to discuss is New York.
At one point, he calls Riley from his headset and warns her in the most abbreviated words possible what’s happened and that he’s bringing me home.
As we pull up to my building, Riley comes downstairs and waits for me to get out of the car. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and leads me upstairs with Dylan right behind us. After they get me settled on the couch with a glass of wine, Dylan says his goodbyes and leaves.
Minutes later, Riley puts a big pillow on her lap and has me curl up against her so she can run her fingers through my hair. I finally calm enough to quit crying.
“He hates me, Riley. He’s going to pretend I never existed.”
“Ava . . . you know he doesn’t hate you, and he could never pretend such a thing. Please stop saying that. He’s just hurting right now.”
“What should I do?”
“I still believe what I said earlier. Just downplay the drama. Act like you guys will get through this and even have some fun along the way.”
“Fun?” She’s got to be kidding.
“Yes, if you’re creative, you can have lots of fun. In college, I had a long distance relationship, and I think we fried some phone lines with our heavy-duty phone sex. I had sexy photos shot and sent them to him in little care packages. I also made sure the times we did get together were extra special. One time, I showed up in his office late Friday with only a trench coat and spike-heeled boots on. Damn, we had a good time.”
Her words give me a spark of hope. “Oh, I forgot you had a long distance relationship. I can’t remember, did it outlast the separation for long?”
She looks down. “No. But we weren’t meant to be together like you and Max are.”
I shut my eyes tightly. I keep grasping at straws for a way to believe this can work, and I keep coming up empty handed.
Riley lets out a long sigh. “Ava, I know you may think I’m crazy and just saying this to make you feel better . . . but I have a powerful gut feeling about you and Max.”
“A good gut feeling?” I ask, not much louder than a whisper.
“Well, I’m not sure how, but I just know this is going to work out. I have the strongest feeling you two will be together in the future. So, I’m just asking you to have faith, to not give up. Can you do that?”
My heart lifts to think there’s a chance, even if it comes from a source as intangible as this.
“I’ll try, Riley. I promise, I will try.”
Chapter Ten / The Push and Pull
We’re going to rise from these ashes like a bird aflame, take my hand . . . we’re going to go where we can shine.
~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.
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 60
