My father seems pleased with my evident dismay. I guess this is the effect he wanted. The lesson must be coming soon. It better be a good one.
"Okay, Max." He reaches over and gently holds my shoulder, steadying me. "Now imagine your easel—your studio set up right here, and you're painting."
I look to the open space full of light where he's pointed. He's suggesting that I paint here? What does that mean? I look at him, trying to figure out where he’s heading with this.
"And?" I ask.
"And Ava is still in the cab, but in a minute she will get out, enter the building, and step into the elevator."
I can picture it perfectly, and my heart's pounding so hard I can barely breathe.
"And you know what? She's heading up this elevator because she's coming home to you."
"She's coming home to me? What are you saying, Dad?"
As soon as the word slips out of my mouth, I see his face brighten. I don't even remember the last time I called him dad. His expression softens as he looks me in the eyes.
"You can do this, Son. You can come with Ava to New York and live here with her. I know you can. I believe in you, and I believe in you and Ava together."
I can see by the look in his eyes that he means every word. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, offering it to me. I hold open my hand and he drops two keys into my palm.
"I want you two to stay here, to live here while Ava does her year in New York."
"Are you serious?" I ask, completely overwhelmed by the gesture. I scan the apartment and see it in a new context. I can imagine Ava curled up on the couch, the morning light falling over her as she smiles at me. We could be happy here. I know we could.
I look back at him, stunned. "But don't you need it for when you stay in New York?"
"I haven't been coming as often lately. Besides, I love the Plaza. I can stay there if I need to during the year. What a sacrifice that would be, to have to slum it at the Plaza," he jokes.
"Are you sure?" I ask, amazed. This is, by far, the nicest thing he’s ever done for me. It's not just the place, it's the way he’s shown me the answer and put his faith in me.
"I'm very serious," he acknowledges. "Believe me, I wouldn't joke about this. I want to help you, Son. I want you to be happy."
I look at him and smile, realizing what he’s given me. Everything about this trip has been so calculated and clever. He's fucking unbelievable.
The keys are warming up in my hands. Instead of the questions that have eaten away at me since the news of Ava's move, these two fragments of pressed metal, hold all the answers. I was blinded by fear, and my dad has given me sight. I have the keys to my future with Ava.
Suddenly, and most spectacularly, I have everything.
Cas
Did you hear that Liz? He called me Dad.
I never thought I would hear that word out of his mouth again. Seeing him so happy and hopeful, makes me want to do more . . . crazy gestures that would be overdone. I have no restraint.
I remember the look on your face, Liz, when I brought home the go-cart for our boy. We’d been getting along for a few weeks and I wanted to reward him. You always told me that I spoiled him too much and that all Max needed was to spend time with me, not a bunch of stuff. As it was, Max liked the go-cart but he drove it too fast and crashed it his third time out. I thought you’d never forgive me. I had to arrange the best plastic surgeon in LA. to work on him, minimizing the scar on his handsome forehead.
I look over at him as his eyes wander across the apartment. I can see that he’s imaging his life with Ava here. If he's anything like his dad I can imagine what he'll do with his beautiful Ava all over this apartment. I'm sure I'll have to get all the upholstery thoroughly cleaned when they're done with this place. But even I know that what will matter most is the simple fact that they’re with each other, their lives growing together instead of apart. It hits me how much Liz would approve of this plan, and a warmth spreads through me.
Oh Liz, you would love Ava . . . you really would. She's strong, smart, kind and beautiful . . . so much like you. As for Max, I'm finally taking care of our boy, Liz baby. And this time, I think I'm finally doing it right.
Max
The afternoon blurs into evening. Dad takes me to dinner at Le Cirque where we have huge steaks. It's the first time I've been really hungry in days. Over a fine bottle of wine plans are made, ideas are formed. Now that my decision to move is made he wants to help me in every way and it's overwhelming. I finally have to slow him down when he insists on my arranging rose pedals to be scattered over our suite in Paris.
"Women love that shit, believe me, Son."
"That is so corny," I tease him. "I'm not doing that. I want to meet Ava outside. We'll be in Paris for God's sakes . . . the most romantic city in the world. I can think of so many better places than a hotel room strewn with flower fragments."
"Why in the hell would you want to meet her outside? Don't you want her on your bed and in your arms, when you tell her that you're moving to be with her? You know you're going to end up in bed anyway as soon as she hears the news."
"Well, even if that's true, it'll just make the build-up that much sweeter when we finally get there."
"Man, I'd love to see her face when you tell her."
"You're not coming to Paris, Dad."
"I know, I know," he laughs.
As the evening goes on I ask about what it was like when he first fell in love with Mom . . . how he knew she was the one. His eyes get soft as he describes her and their early days together. From his descriptions, they were incredibly happy.
But what surprises me are his recollections about how thrilled he was when she was pregnant with me, that the experience brought them even closer together. I didn't realize that he was present at my birth. It just seemed so far from the type of man he is. Maybe there’s a side to him I've just never looked close enough to see.
That idea is confirmed when he tells me that as a toddler I would have these fits, and the only thing that would calm me down is when he played piano for me. Mom would put me in my high chair next to his bench and I would quiet down and listen to every note.
"I can't imagine what kind of father I’ll be," I lament after hearing his stories.
"I think you'll make a good father," he says reassuringly. "You’re so much more sensitive than I ever was. If you learn from everything I did wrong, and take from everything your mom did right, I think you'll be fine."
I nod, my mind imagining being a father. I picture Ava pregnant with our baby and I can't imagine anything more beautiful.
"And don't wait too long, okay? I'm not getting any younger and I've got all kinds of plans for how I'm going to spoil my granddaughter."
Cas
I open my eyes to the early morning light and wonder why I'm awake so early. I could really use more sleep but it's no use . . . once I'm awake there’s no going back. I rub my eyes and drag myself out of bed. One thing about getting older, it takes a lot more effort to get going in the morning.
I decide on a hot shower, but as I finish I hear something in my bedroom. I quickly wrap a towel around my waist and ease the door open. I’m relieved to confirm that no one is there, but then I realize that my partially unpacked luggage looks askew.
I step closer to the sitting chair where my carry-on is perched, and notice a faint glow rising out of one of the side pockets . . . Max's cell phone. That's exactly where I’d secretly stashed it.
I lift it up, and check the screen to see if Max just called Ava. His call record shows that he hasn't made a call since before I got him in Ojai. I check his texts next . . . bingo. My son finally pulled it off, and sent a text to his girl. Feeling guilty, but also insanely curious, I open the message, only to find three stark yet powerful words glowing off the screen.
Believe in me.
I'm so overwhelmed that I drop to the edge of the bed to sit and gather myself. I take several deep breaths as I sort
through this surge of emotion. Isn't this all Max ever needed, from Ava, from me, from those he cares about in this world? My son may have a tough shell, he may be very difficult at times but in the end he just wants us to know that he can be a good man . . . someone deserving of our love.
There’s no doubt how much Ava believes in him. I know with all my heart that she’ll be overjoyed with his decision to come with her. All I can hope is that these few days together have shown him how much I believe in him too.
Max
While Dad finishes his shower, I take my coffee to the balcony and enjoy the Sunday morning quiet of New York. The streets below are fairly empty and subdued with the lavender gray light that settles between the tall buildings. A few delivery guys unload their goods, while an occasional person walks down the street at a leisurely Sunday morning pace.
I realize I like it. I like the feeling in this apartment high above the madness, and it's inspiring me. Vivid images form in my mind that I will soon rough out in my sketchbook.
I decide that when the weather permits, Ava and I will sit out here and gaze at the view while we have Sunday morning coffee, or an evening glass of wine. I smile widely as I imagine her out here with me.
Back in L.A. I'm sure Ava is still asleep and hasn't gotten my text, but before long she will be up, and hopefully heading to JFK. It's been so painful not to talk to her, but I have to admit it helped me immerse myself in the experience of being here with Dad. I've been able to take a step back from the jigsaw puzzle of my life and look at everything a different way.
I close my eyes and imagine seeing Ava, holding and kissing her. And then it hits me where I will meet her in Paris. It's absolutely perfect. I get up to find Dad and share my idea.
Cas
"I like it," I admit, even though it wasn't my suggestion. "It's very cinematic. So you will approach her from a distance? Will you charge forward and lift her up into your arms?"
"No, I think I'll be a bit more low key than that." He laughs.
"Too bad, nothing like a little drama in your romance."
"Oh, we've had a lifetime's worth of drama. I think it's about time we toned down the drama."
We spend the rest of the day finishing up plans. I email Louis at the Plaza with my message for Ava. Max decides that he wants to keep his studio set up in Malibu in case they travel back and forth, so we head back to the art supply store to get him an easel and enough supplies to get started. Luckily he knows some artists in New York that can hook him up with the right people for his canvases. So other than books and clothes and such, we decide that the apartment has everything else they need. It's more than move-in ready.
Early evening when he rolls his suitcase to the front hall, I feel a heavy melancholy settle over me. Just as I'm getting my groove at being a good dad to my son, our time is up. I can't help but wonder if the progress we've made will stick once he leaves this intense experience behind him.
We get the call that the car is waiting downstairs. I hand him his phone. "It's all in your hands now."
He smiles as he turns it on. "Look, there's a text from my girl."
"What does it say?" I ask.
"I do," he says with a happy sigh. “Ava believes in me."
"Yes, she does." I nod, remembering the message he was so determined to get to her.
He opens his leather messenger bag and puts his phone away, then rechecks for his passport and boarding printout. He pulls it out and looks at it.
"Everything all right?" I ask.
"Couldn't be better because in three hours my plane is taking off, six hours past that I'll be in Paris, and around three hours after that Ava will be in my arms." He grins widely.
"And it’ll be a new beginning," I affirm.
He looks back at his ticket and raises his eyebrows. "Hey, this is First Class. I only booked business."
"Nothing but the best for you two," I say with a wink.
"Dad . . . you've done so much, I don't even know what to say." He shuffles his feet and looks down.
"Just say that you’ll hold your head up, and keep moving forward."
"Just like Mom said," he says softly.
"Take good care of that girl of yours. She's definitely a keeper."
His eyes spark as he looks up at me. "I will. Thanks . . . for everything."
I pull him into my arms and hug him tightly. "Just promise that this is a new beginning for us too, okay?"
He pulls away, looks me in the eyes and nods. "Okay."
I haven't shed a tear since Liz's passing. But when he steps into the hallway and the door closes, I feel tears make their way down my face.
Max
"More champagne?" asks the overly eager flight attendant.
"Sure," I say, handing her my glass. "I'm celebrating."
"Lovely, what's the occasion?"
"I'm head over heels in love, and I'm going to meet my beautiful girl in Paris."
She smiles graciously even though I can tell she's disappointed. "Lucky girl," she says before moving on.
I'm the lucky one, I whisper to myself.
The rest of the flight is one long extended fantasy about all of the ways I'm going to make love to Ava. I’m desperately craving her touch, needing to be inside of her and watching her expression melt when I take her, thrusting deeply as she calls out my name.
I've never been so grateful for those airline blankets. Mine works perfectly to cover the evidence of my searing desire. I don't think a flight has ever felt so long.
Once in our hotel suite I take the greatest pleasure in all of the signs of Ava's presence. There are lingering bubbles in the oversized tub, and her lotions are carefully lined up on the marble counter. I open the closet and am enchanted to see her clothes carefully hung; beautiful, special things she must have picked out just for our trip. I run my fingers across the butter soft silks, polished cottons and cashmere. But my final undoing is when I pull open the dresser drawer and find her lingerie. I lift the most delicate pair of satin and lace panties up and hold them in my hands, imagining them on Ava . . . the pale pink against her creamy soft skin.
Unable to control myself a moment longer I pull off my clothes and move to the shower. As hot water pours over me, I picture her with me, my lips moving from her lips, down her neck and to her breasts, as her hand slowly strokes me.
My hand is foaming with bath gel as my grip tightens.
I imagine pressing her against the wall of the shower, lifting her until her legs are wrapped around me. I thrust into her, pressing her against the marble as she moans and gives me everything.
I grip my hand tighter, imagining it's Ava. She’s wet, hot, keening with sensation and passion . . . begging me for more.
"I need you . . . I love you, Ava," I whisper over and over.
My knees buckle as I climax, flashes of her blinding me with their brilliance.
While I finish getting ready to meet Ava, I’m especially careful as I shave, slowly dragging the razor along my throat. There’s a feeling of ritual, a moment of great significance as I button up my pressed shirt, tuck it into my tailored jeans and pull on my fine wool jacket. I want to be smooth and tailored. I want to look so good that I’m the only person Ava sees. I finish with after shave—an exotic elixir that will pull her toward me until she is tight in my arms.
Oh fuck, I can't take much more of this anticipation.
My hands tremble as I gather my room key, wallet and cell phone. I check my watch for the hundredth time. She's probably still in front of the Monet's wondering how she'll feel when she sees me again. I decide to go slow, ease into my story and all the ways that our lives are about to change. As much as I want to, I won't sprint along the path and sweep her into my arms. I’m going to be calm and thoughtful, so she knows without a doubt, that I’m centered and ready for our lives together to truly begin.
It’s finally time. After the cab drops me off I take a deep breath and move forward. In the grand garden of the Tuileries, the gravel crunch
es under my feet, as a breeze gently pushes me down the path. My first steps are measured. One, two, three paces . . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen . . . an endless number of steps until I reach her. Narrow trees are lined on either side of the path like soldiers, reaching high, meticulously trimmed so that they’re pointing toward the sky. The sun is burning bright, the scattered clouds low enough that if I were still a boy I would try to catch frosty wisps with a net and save them in a jar.
I'm too anxious to look toward the horizon, for if she isn't there, I'm afraid my heart will burst. I love her . . . echoing over and over in my mind. The idea that she loves me too gives me the strength to keep moving ahead.
No matter where on this earth we end up, Ava will be always be mine and I’ll always be hers.
Forty-four, forty-five . . . sixty-one, sixty-two . . . the long shadows fall over me and I step into light, then dark, then light again. What if her heart has shifted, and she’s decided it's time for a new direction. What if her great adventure doesn't have an extra seat for me to come along on the ride?
My hands curl into fists but I consciously relax them and take a deep breath, letting go of the fear. I love her . . . she loves me.
Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one . . . I take an even deeper breath and look up.
Every single question is answered in her soft smile, as her Audrey Hepburn dress flutters in the breeze. She’s standing, patiently waiting. When I step closer I can see that her neck and cheeks are flushed with excitement. Every look and gesture confirms that she wants me too.
I’m tough, and resist the overwhelming urge to fall to my knees as I approach her. Instead I take her hand.
"Hi," I say softly.
She takes a step closer, biting her lip. Oh, I want to kiss her so badly. This kind of restraint is testing me to my very limits.
Work of Art ~ the Collection Page 80
