Work Of Art: The Unveiling Part 9

"I'll pick you up in thirty minutes. I have a plan."

A plan? I'm excited. A few minutes later, I grab my purse and hurry to the bathroom to brush my hair and touch up my lipstick.

When I pa.s.s Brian, he gives me a crooked grin as I slip my phone in my purse.

"What?" I ask.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"Max." I can feel my cheeks turning red.

"I thought so."

Max is in a great mood when he picks me up. He hands me his notebook and encourages me to look at the drawings inside. They're the studies he's making for his new series, and his ideas incorporate the paintings we bought from the thrift stores. I love seeing his ideas materialize.

As he drives, he asks about the gallery. I skip my Monday screw-up stories and tell him about the public relations I've been doing for the upcoming show instead. He hangs on my every word, just as interested in what I'm doing as I am to hear about him.

I'm so engrossed in our conversation that I don't notice he's pulled into the LA County Museum of Art parking structure until he takes the ticket from the machine and parks.

"We're going to the museum for lunch?"

He nods and grins before we take off for the ticket booth.

Tickets in hand, he leads me into the Broad Building to see the Renoir in the 20th Century exhibit.

"We're having lunch with Renoir?" I tease.

"Amazing, right?" he says as he approaches one of the paintings with a dreamy look in his eyes.

The exhibition is full of fleshy women stretched out languidly.

He reaches out for my hand and pulls me closer. "Look, Ava," he whispers.

I step close enough to see the threads of every color within each of Renoir's brushstrokes. "His art is so sensuous."

Max sighs. "I love how he paints women. I have trouble not touching the canvases. I was here yesterday and was so engrossed, they had to throw me out at closing time. I knew I wanted to come back with you."

I look over, surprised. "I'm glad you did."

He doesn't let go of my hand as we move from painting to painting, and I can feel his energy flow through me. It's inspiring-every pa.s.sing moment is threaded with color and joy, much like Renoir's brushstrokes.

When we get to the landscapes, he glances down at his watch. "We better eat. I don't want to get you in trouble at work."

He retrieves his backpack from the coat check and leads me outside to a bench under a tree on the edge of the sweeping lawn. He pulls sandwiches and cans of fancy soda out of his bag. He grins widely at my reaction to the spread. "Do you want turkey or roast beef? And I have brownies for dessert."

Max has put so much thought into our lunch date that I'm overwhelmed by this sweet side of him. It's almost more than I can handle. How can I keep the promise I made to myself to take things slow when he treats me like this?

When we're done with lunch, we run to the car and laugh the whole way back to the gallery, taking turns making up outlandish stories as to why I'm late getting back. When he zooms up to the front door, I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Best lunch date ever!" I say before I jump out of the car. I look back before I step inside, and I don't think I've ever seen him look so happy.

That night, Riley reminds me about the fundraiser at the home of Dylan's parents on Sat.u.r.day. I realize that I'd better figure out what I'm going to wear, since this event is formal. As we brainstorm, I remember a vintage Valentino dress Katherine loaned me for a similar event with Brian several years ago. I decide to ask her if I may borrow it again. Riley spent the weekend shopping and has something on hold at Barney's while she figures out how she's going to pay for it.

At our team meeting the following morning, Adam gives Sean and me a revised deadline to get Max's prints done. Afterward, we decide to run five colors a day to finish on time. I promise Sean that I'll give him all the time he needs in the studio.

Later that morning, Dylan calls me.

"Hey, Dylan. How are you doing?"

"Pretty d.a.m.n good, thanks to you."

I hope he isn't being sarcastic. "Why's that?"

"It's Max. I don't know what magic spell you cast over him, but I've never seen him this motivated and happy. It's just fantastic. I'll be honest. I didn't know how he'd be after his breakdown, but he's like a new man."

"Well, don't give me the credit. You can thank Ann. She took care of him and got him back on his feet...but Max should get most of the credit. I think he's really motivated to make his life better."

"And you had nothing to do with it?"

"I don't think so." I'm not sure if I'm denying my effect on Max for Dylan's benefit or not. I just want Max to own this.

"Uh-huh, sure. If that's how you want to play it, but I still want to thank you, at the very least, for bringing him home. I feel like we can put all the dark c.r.a.p behind us and the future looks bright."

"Well, I'll agree with you there."

"I'll see you Sat.u.r.day, Ava. You're our extra special guest, after all."

"Are you impressed?" Max's voice sounds bright, even over the phone.

"You always impress me, Max. Now tell me what I'm impressed with this time."

"I waited almost two whole days to call you. My shrink has me working on some behavioral therapy."

"Well, then I'm impressed, I guess. You're kidding, right?"

"Sort of. Anyway, how are things?"

"I spent the whole day working on your print with Sean. It's really looking good. And I talked to Dylan yesterday. He waxed poetic about you."

"Yeah, he loves me again."

"Well, considering he's your manager, that's probably a good thing."

"I keep meaning to ask you...are you guys going to Art Santa Fe next month?"

"Adam's planning on it, but I'm not sure if he's taking me. I should ask him. How about you?"

"Yeah. Dylan and I will be there. Jess and Joe are coming too. It's a really good show, and I love Santa Fe. You should convince Adam to let you come. It's very casual-not a big scene like New York. We'd have so much fun."

The thought of exploring Santa Fe with Max, Jess, and Joe makes me smile. I think about all of us in New York, and it's stunning how much has changed in such a short period of time.

I wind a lock of my hair around my fingers.

"Max...Can I ask you something?"

"Well, go ahead and ask, and we'll see if I want to give you an answer."

"Are you on antidepressants or something now?"

There's a long pause. "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking about something Dylan said-how different you are since you've come back. I don't think there's anything wrong with it if you are."

He pauses. "Yes, I am. It took a while for the effects to kick in though, so I'm just now starting to feel the benefit. They're definitely taking the edge off."

"That's good. I'm glad they're helping."

"You know, I've tried them in the past, and they either didn't help or they made things worse. One round turned me into a zombie. I wasn't acting crazy, but I was completely flattened out...it took away all my creative energy. I couldn't stand it. This time, Ann found a real good psychopharmacist who's worked with my psychiatrist to put me on a lower dose of a new drug that doesn't f.u.c.k with my art. I'll just have to see how it goes, 'cause I don't want to stay on this stuff forever."

I smile, glad he trusts me with such private information. "Sounds like you're in good hands."

"I am. Look, I understand why you're curious, Ava, and for the record, I'd rather have you ask questions than to wonder and never ask. Is there anything else you'd like to know...anything else you've heard?"

I don't want to lie to avoid upsetting him. "I've heard stuff."

He takes a deep breath. "Okay, let's talk about it."

"When you disappeared, I heard about possible disorders, mental stuff..."

"Asperger's? Bi-polar? Manic depressive? All of the above?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"I'm a case. But I don't want a diagnosis in the Asperger's spectrum or anything else to define me. It may make some things harder, and I have my low points, but it's nothing I can't overcome. Do you believe me?"

"I believe in you."

"Good. I want you to know that my being better isn't just the medication. I'm also trying really hard to focus on what I care about now and have a purpose."

"Yes, a purpose." I'm really happy he sounds so positive.

"And I'm working really hard on being happy. It sounds crazy doesn't it-working hard to be happy. I need to stay away from the things that bring me down or get me off track, and spend time with the things and people that mean the most to me. On that note, are you free Sunday?"

My heart sinks, remembering my plans with Jonathan. "Actually, I have plans on Sunday, but let's plan another day."

"Okay, well maybe next weekend." His tone is deflated, and he gets off the phone quickly.

G.o.d, I feel bad about bursting his bubble when he's doing so well. One step forward, two steps back.

Friday morning, Brian calls me into his office. "Ava, you have got to see the pictures from Wednesday night. Thomas and I had such a blast!"

I look at his laptop screen. "Remind me what that was? You go to so many functions, I can hardly keep up."

"I know, I live such a fabulous life!" He laughs while he clicks through the photos. It looks like every model and young actress in Hollywood was there. "It's that new show at MOCA, The Collision of Art and Fashion. It's such a great idea, even if it's probably just a thinly-veiled ruse to up ticket sales in this lagging economy."

I pull up a chair.

"Girlfriend, look at this shot of Thomas with Kate Moss!"

"No way, I love her!" I lean in closer. This is Max's dream event-the type of opening he would attend and be photographed with models or actresses. My heartbeat accelerates.

"So, did you see Max there?" I ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Funny you should mention Max. I knew he was back, and I was sure he'd be there. But I never saw him, not even in the event photos. Let's see if we can find him."

The anxiety as he clicks on each photo is indescribable. I'm convinced as every image pops up on the screen that I'll see him with his arm around some beautiful creature. But by the time we get to the end of the website's post on the event, it's clear he hadn't attended, for he certainly would've been photographed.

Brian clucked. "Well, what do you know? The Romeo of the art world has been put out to pasture."

"One night off does not a retired art-babe pursuer make," I point out, trying not to feel too hopeful.

"I suppose you're right, but if there was ever a party the old Max would've been the life of, this was it. The pretty ladies were drinking and dancing on the tables by the end of the evening. If I were straight and single, I would've had my choice of delicacies...better than a Vegas buffet."

As I walk back to the printing studio, I feel a complicated mixture of emotions. I'm proud Max avoided a party that would've encouraged the wrong behavior. If that was a test, he pa.s.sed with flying colors. Knowing that makes me feel even worse for turning him down for Sunday. I'll think of something special to do next week.

On my way home from work, I notice a striking billboard, and it gives me an idea. I fire up my laptop as soon as I get home.

To: Max Caswell

Re: Question of the Day

Are you a Harry Potter fan?

A few minutes later, I get a response.

From: Max Potter Re: My Occlumency skills must have worked because I blocked your mind from knowing I was captain of the Quidditch team during my brief stint at Hogwarts.