Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  "That's very violent, Max. Do you understand how violent that is?"

  "Of course, but that's how I felt. It doesn't mean I would do it. I mean, I didn't do it, don't I get points for that?"

  "Do you see a scoreboard here in my office?" She waves her hands towards the wall. "We aren't keeping score, Max."

  "Well, we should because I would’ve won the fucking game that night. I was restraining myself all the fuck over the place. Remember when Ava and I first got together and I went nuts when she met with that editor that wasn't even hitting on her?"

  "Yes, I remember that vividly."

  "Well, compared to that I showed a Grand Canyon full of restraint that night. She had men all over her, and I didn't go after even one of them."

  "Tell me more," Cara prompts.

  "See, Ava doesn't understand, which of course is part of her allure, that she’s the most beautiful, desirable woman in the world. She walks into a room with her cream-dipped skin and maraschino cherry lips parted just so and men fall over themselves. It's all they can do not to bend her over the dessert table and take her immediately while the fruit tarts cascade to the floor."

  "Men?"

  "Yes, all men."

  "Can you consider, Max, that when you talk about bending her over the desert table you’re really taking about the beast within yourself?"

  "Well, that's a given Cara, but I'm talking about the rest of the men too."

  "Does it occur to you that everyone may not think the way you do?"

  "Well, I sure as hell hope that not everyone thinks like I do or this would be an even crazier, fucked-up world. But these men made their intentions quite clear."

  She taps her pen on the edge of her pad. "Give me an example."

  "Sure, let's take Prince Fuckwad. He sat next to my baby, and I could see the heat rise off of him every time he looked at her."

  "You could see the heat?"

  "Yes, it was curling swirls of red. I do believe that only I see these things at times, but the swirls were perfectly defined to me. I sat across the way so I had a perfect vantage point to see it.”

  "Was Ava showing any interest in this Prince that would cause you to feel insecure?"

  "No, she was just being polite. Which certainly helped me restrain myself. I knew she’d be furious at me if I caused a scene."

  "I'm sure you're right."

  "The thing is, my girl is so damn smart. She's so much smarter than me, and she knows how to be professional in the most trying of circumstances."

  "So, do you see that she sets a good example for you?"

  "Yes, but the Prince was just the beginning. Meanwhile, the museum's curator, Diego the Dick, suddenly becomes touchy feely Octopus man. Every chance he got he was stroking Ava's arm or resting his hand on her shoulder."

  "How did that make you feel?"

  "I know you’re asking if I felt threatened because he was invading her space and trying to stake a claim. But let me be a bit more caveman clear about this—I wanted to pull his fingers off, one by one."

  "I find all of these violent thoughts fascinating, Max, because you don't have a history of violent acts."

  "Cara, if I acted out half of the shit that goes on in my head I'd be locked up by now. Instead I sit in here and tell you about it." I give her a big smile.

  "Anything else?"

  "Well, the icing on the cake was when I find our P.R. lady, Paloma, giving Ava a rubdown and asking if she can come with her to her room. Even though we didn't get the full-on lusting lesbian confirmation until the next night, it was clear to me that Paloma was hitting on Ava too."

  "You’re making it sound like Ava got more attention than you did. Considering that it was your show, did that bother you?"

  "I was too busy freaking out to let that bother me. But I can tell you that when Paloma put Ava in that car back to the hotel, I jumped in with her. I was so mad I couldn't even talk for several blocks."

  "Why were you mad at Ava if she didn't do anything to encourage this behavior?"

  "I know, I know, but I'd lost it at that point." I sigh, remembering what happened next. "So you know what my girl does? She makes it a game, and asks me if I'm planning on having angry sex with her?"

  "Interesting. What did you think of that?"

  "Are you kidding? I was so aroused that I considering taking her in the back of the car."

  "Ava is getting very adept at using distraction as a technique for handling your elevated episodes."

  "Well, I was distracted all right. We could barely get upstairs fast enough. I had to peel her off me in the elevator."

  Cara shifts in her chair. "So what happened upstairs?"

  I pause. This is crossing the line for me. I don't talk about Ava and my sex life in therapy or anywhere. It's too sacred to me. Making love to Ava is my religion . . . our bed is my altar.

  "You don't have to get graphic, Max, Just tell me if you were comfortable with what happened between you two."

  I close my eyes and remember the feelings: anger and fierce desire wound together so tight that I could barely breathe. My slacks were straining; I wanted to yank them open and pull her onto my lap . . . but instead she stands before me, her hand on her hip, taunting me.

  "So why are you mad at me, Max?"

  "Because you clearly were not dissuading the people that wanted to fuck you."

  "So you think I wanted them?" She bites her bottom lip as I watch her with fury in my eyes.

  She’s playing with fire. "Are you sure about this, Ava?"

  I look up to see Cara watching me curiously.

  "You look unsettled. Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Well, it's unsettling when your woman taunts you to punish her. I could’ve never imagined purposely spanking the woman I adore and then realizing that she likes it. The idea of possibly hurting her, even if she asks for it, even if I don't intend to . . . is beyond reprehension."

  "I see."

  "After the second smack, she begged me to do it harder."

  "Did you?"

  "Only a bit, but I talked harder. I went all master on her, dominating . . . a caveman."

  "And how did that make you feel?"

  I feel the embarrassment burn across my face as I look up at Cara.

  "How did I feel? Primitive, like a man . . . like I owned her and I liked it. I can sit here now and say that is fucked up and wrong, but in that moment it felt right."

  "Well, it is important to acknowledge those feelings, Max."

  And I acknowledge them all right. Because Ava then demanded to be spanked more, and when I hesitated, she told me that the Prince wouldn't have turned her down."

  I don't like the look on Cara's face. We both know how wrong it was for Ava to say that even if she was just trying to provoke me.

  "You should have stopped it then," Cara advises.

  Cara makes notes on her pad. I can only imagine what those notes say as I remember the look in Ava’s eyes and the fury burning under my skin.

  "Who do you belong to?"

  "You," she whispers.

  "Do you want those other men? Do you think anyone could fuck you like I can?"

  "No, no one could ever do to me what you do, Max," she whispers, trying not to smile.

  "Ask me for it," I demand.

  "Please," she moans.

  "Please what, Ava?"

  "Please, please fuck me."

  As I take her the sensation is so overwhelming that I’m high way beyond what any drug could do to me. We are heat and passion, darkness and light. I can tell I'm not going for the long haul. I'm too aroused, and I know that a climax is the only thing that will pull this fury out of me. "Touch yourself," I demand.

  Her hand slips between her legs, and it doesn't take long before I can feel her coming undone as her ass grinds into me. The vision of watching her get herself off is beyond words. In that moment I realize the truth—she is my lioness, fierce and proud. As soon as she starts to come I go over the edge. My release is mi
nd-bending, as I take her with everything I have.

  I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, trying to regain focus and slow my breathing. My heart is pounding. I can only imagine what Cara thinks.

  "How were things when you were . . . done?" Cara asks, looking down at her notes.

  "How were things?" I ask, tipping my head. Is she asking about the weather or how hard I came?

  "How did you feel? How did she feel?"

  "Satisfied," I whispered. "Very satisfied."

  Cara looks over at the clock. She looks flustered. "Well, I see our time is up, Max. Are we meeting Thursday at the same time? We can discuss this more then."

  I nod and wait until she gets up and turns her back, before I stand up and adjust myself. I pull out my phone before I'm even out the door. Luckily I get phone reception in the elevator and even in the parking garage.

  "Ava," I sigh a breath of relief.

  She lets out a contented sigh. "How was your session?"

  "It was intense. Remember the night on our trip that I got jealous and how we had wild, angry sex when we got back to the hotel?"

  "Mmm, wild passionate sex. Of course, I'll never forget that."

  "Well, we started to talk about how that night made me feel. You know, how much the idea of losing you scared me when I was raging about those men."

  "Good God, so you told her about what we did? I'm so embarrassed!"

  "Baby, she's a therapist, I bet that's nothing compared to some of the shit she hears about."

  "Well, that night was unbelievably hot," she says in a low voice.

  I picture her bent over the bed, beckoning me with her gorgeous ass. I shift myself again, struggling to handle the pressure building. I need relief desperately. I need my Ava now.

  "Let's just say that talking about it got me thinking . . . and I was wondering, how soon do you get off work?"

  "I'm almost done for the day. What do you have in mind?"

  Her voice is lower now—almost a whisper, a sultry tease. God, I love this woman.

  "How about if I make love to you for hours and worship you to make up for being too harsh that night? I've got to have you, so can you hurry home? I'll meet you there."

  "And what if I'm naughty and come a bit late?"

  I sigh deeply. This woman is going to be my undoing.

  "Well, then there will be repercussions. You know how worked up I get. So keep that in mind."

  "Oh, I will," she whispers. I can imagine her wicked smile.

  I reach for my keys and turn my wrist sharply, firing up the ignition. I'm a lucky bastard because right now there are only eight miles, a flight of stairs and some clothes between me, and my baby. It will be intense no matter how she wants it . . . if she let's me be sweet to her, or if she wants me raw with passion—worked up to my edge. All that matters is that my love, Ava, will be gloriously naked and in my bed.

  A Valentine for Ava from Max

  Dear Ava,

  When I was young and naive I asked my mother what it felt like to be in love. She told me love was warm and bright, like being filled with sunlight. She said that when my special girl looked at me I would be filled with happiness and everything in my world would look brighter. I realized later that mom was a hopeless romantic but at the time I clung to her every word.

  I was too young to fully imagine these ideas, but I interpreted it with what I loved the most . . . art. I imagined what I would feel like to step inside a painting and my love would be waiting for me. What if the girl with the pearl earring was mine? She would look at me with her knowing eyes and I would see love inside their luminous depth. Then slowly she would unwind her head wrap until her hair cascaded around her shoulders. I would take her hand and draw her out of the canvas and into my world. I’d never be alone again.

  So when I met you Ava, I knew I had to paint you as my angel. I wanted to capture you in a canvas until it was time for me to step inside and pull you into my arms. You are a work of art, my Mona Lisa and my Botticelli Venus all wrapped up into a breathtaking masterpiece. Your beauty, grace and loving heart are the shades and color that render the joy in my life.

  One afternoon we were driving Pacific Coast Highway with the top down and I glanced over to see your hair whipping around as you gazed out at the ocean. You had a serene look on your face. I rested my hand on your thigh and asked you what you were thinking about. You turned to me with tearful eyes and said, “Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re my man.” You squeezed my hand and turned back toward the view.

  You couldn’t have known at that moment what those words did to me.

  It was everything.

  I suddenly felt rooted to the earth in a way I never had been. I glanced down and for a moment the invisible threads that connected our hearts shimmered in the falling sunlight. My eyes glazed as my left hand gripped the steering wheel and I knew that was a moment I’d always remember. I was full of sunlight and everything was brighter, just like mom had told me all those years ago.

  The Valentine paper hearts and colored candies are right . . . I am yours. You are mine.

  This is love and it’s everything.

  I love you, Ava.

  Max

  Work of Art ~ Liz's Boys

  This short story is alternating point of view between Max and his father, Cas, at the end of book three. It starts after Max flees his house to get away from Chloe, and what happens leading up to Ava and Max’s final scenes in Paris.

  Max

  Am I in Ojai? I don't remember getting here, just my car cutting through the gray fog of the coastline, a blanket smothering me until there is no color, only shades of gray that get darker and darker until there is almost no light at all—no light, no air . . . no Ava.

  I shake my head and try to remember if she’s already left me to move to New York, or not. It was all clear yesterday and now everything is twisted up in my mind.

  When I finally pull up to my aunt’s house, I take out my phone and see that there are seven new messages, and I know crazy Chloe is still after me. I frantically look all directions down the dimly lit street. She's probably tracking me down right now. Everything that matters to me is slipping away.

  Ava isn’t here to ground me, and pull me back to reality. Knowing she’s gone leaves me in my dark place, as if the insulation I’ve been wrapped in is shredding and the world is falling away. A wave of panic unfurls inside my gut. I curl over my steering wheel and feel myself slowly shutting down.

  Suddenly there’s a pounding on the glass of the car door. My body seizes and I can’t breath. Chloe’s found me.

  "Max, Max! Open the door!"

  I turn to press my palms to the glass, willing it to hold and not crumble underneath the pounding. But with the smooth glass cooling my burning hands, I open my eyes and see an older woman. I can’t see clearly. Is it my mother? She's calling my name.

  My fingers fumble along the door until I find the buttons, and I frantically press them over and over until there is a click, and the door pulls open.

  "Max, what's wrong? What happened?" the gentle voice asks. Her strong grasp pulls me from my hiding place.

  "She's after me, you need to hide me." My heart is thundering, my mouth, dry as dust. I feel like I’m a child again . . . a boy who hides in shadows.

  She holds me tightly for a minute, but then she pulls away to examine me. As I squint and take in her features, dimly lit from the distant street light, I realize that it isn't Mom, it's Auntie Ann. The concern in her eyes startles me out of my stupor.

  Damn, is this some type of twisted dream? Of course it's Ann . . . mom's been gone for years. I must be completely losing it.

  She looks up at me, taking my face in her hands.

  "Ann," I whisper, feeling a wave of relief. Ann will take care of me. I take a deep breath . . . my first one in hours.

  "Max, who's after you?"

  "Chloe's after me. She's trying to destroy Ava's faith. She's trying to destroy me."

  "Well, yo
u're safe here.” Her calming words belie the concerned look on her face.

  I look around bewildered. Nothing looks familiar and everything still feels dream-like. "Fuck, where am I?"

  "In front of my house . . . in Ojai. You don't remember driving here?"

  "I spent most of my way here trying to forget everything."

  “Come on. Let’s go in and talk.”

  Once inside her house, I glance around. I try to find comfort in all the black and white photographs I've admired over the years that are lit by the soft lighting from the lamps around the room.

  "Ava's leaving me," I whisper as my fingers dig into the couch cushions.

  "Leaving you, or moving to New York for that new job?" Ann asks carefully.

  "Does it matter which? The result is the same."

  "No Max, it's not the same." She hands me a glass of water and nods for me to drink it. "What did Chloe do that upset you this much? I thought you hadn’t spoke to her since college."

  “I haven’t.” I pull my hands through my hair as I fight to keep the flashing images, like some crazy-ass power point presentation, out of my head. But they break through, and flicker in and out in three second intervals, no accompanying soundtrack other than the hallow sound of my beating heart.

  “It’s a long story,” I say with a sigh.

  “I’ve got time,” she replies.

  “Fucking Dylan—he set up a business meeting, with Chloe and Granville Gallery’s owner, in my studio! I told him no, but he did it anyway and then he didn’t show up for the meeting.”

  “Why didn’t he didn’t show up?” Ann asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  “He claimed some kind of car problem, bullshit. And then of course, Chloe, who now has the code to our private gate, shows up alone looking like a stripper, Granville’s owner no where in sight.”

  “Oh, no,” Ann moans.

  “Oh, yes. I found out before I escaped that it was all a sick set-up. She was very determined and subtle as a freight train. In the short time I was in her presence she asked me to fuck her at least five times while sitting on the worktable with her legs spread open. She even reminded me how good she was at sucking me off. As if I’d let that mouth and her teeth anywhere near my cock . . . crazy bitch!”