Part 2 (1/2)
The home page features a beautiful black and white photograph of two beach chairs and an overturned umbrella on the sh.o.r.e while the setting sun's light skims over the water. As much as I'd like to go through her portfolio of images, I click on the Contact Me icon. Bingo! There's not only an email link, but also an 800 number. I raise my arms in victory.
Picking up my cell phone, I imagine what I'm going to say to Ms. Emerson. The realization hits me that I probably shouldn't be the one to call. If Max is with her, he's probably told her what happened between us, and she may not talk to me. I feel even worse for a moment, but I decide not to dwell on it, and I move ahead. I call Jess.
”Hey, Ava, what's up?”
”Jess, I have good news. I found a way to contact Max's aunt. I spoke with his dad and got her name, found out she's an established photographer. I found her contact information on her website.”
”Ava the supersleuth! I'm impressed.”
”Yeah, well the problem is, I probably shouldn't be the one to call, since he's upset with me. Do you want to do it?”
”Of course. I'll let you know what she says.”
The next day, Jess calls me before I leave for work.
”Bingo, baby!”
”You heard from Max's aunt?”
”I did. He's with her, thank G.o.d.”
I let out a deep breath. ”From what you said about her, I imagine it's the best place he could be.”
”Yes, and it's a good thing she's on this coast. When he left Friday night, he just walked out of his house and didn't stop walking until he was almost to Oxnard. d.a.m.n, that's almost twenty miles.”
b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, just the idea of zombie Max trudging along the Pacific Coast Highway freaks me out. ”That's crazy.”
”Exactly. It was daybreak when he called Ann from a Denny's payphone. She had him wait in the coffee shop until she could get him. It was almost an hour's drive from Ojai.”
”Oh my G.o.d.” My heart feels heavy in my chest.
”That woman's a saint, I tell you. She remembered me, so she opened up about what a mess he is.”
”How bad?”
”Pretty bad. He's either sleeping or sitting in the backyard for hours at a time. She hasn't been able to get him to talk much yet.”
”Does she know about what happened with Max and me?”
”Some of it. He did tell her about the confrontation at his house.”
”I see,” I say softly. My cheeks burn and I'm horrified, even though I haven't met the woman. It's unsettling to have a stranger know something so personal.
”She said he isn't ready to talk to friends yet. But she's found him a therapist in Santa Monica who's doing daily phone sessions with him. It's someone he can see in person when he finally returns home.”
”Any idea when that will be?”
”Not yet...it's really up to Max, but d.a.m.n, I feel so much better. And it's all thanks to you and your detective work, babe.”
It's great to hear Jess so upbeat, but at the same time, it's somber to think of Max so broken. I have no idea what he's thinking, so I've no idea how or if I can help him. But at least we know he's in good hands.
Dylan's restoration guy was able to repair the paintings, so they're on their way to Barcelona. That's a big relief. Jess decides to put her energy into getting his house in order and hires her friend Jeannette to clean up the mess and repair what she can. She doesn't want Max to return home and suffer a setback when he sees the result of his rage.
It's such a thoughtful idea, but I sadly realize that returning home to a quiet settled house will not guarantee that he will be quiet and settled inside, where it matters most.
Jonathan's made reservations at Pane E Vino, and when I arrive, the hostess leads me to a corner table under a large umbrella on the patio where he waits. He stands as I approach the table and looks delighted to see me. We embrace before settling down in our seats.
”I've missed you, Ava. I'm so glad you could meet me today.”
”It's good to see you too.” It warms my heart that's he's so happy. He's already ordered a bottle of Prosecco, and he fills our gla.s.ses. I take a sip and close my eyes, enjoying the sweet burn sliding down my throat.
When I open my eyes, his gaze is skimming over me. I've worn a fitted top with a lower neckline, and he apparently appreciates my choice of apparel.
He looks handsome as well, his blue eyes bright behind the tortoise-sh.e.l.l gla.s.ses I love so much. His hair's a bit longer, which I find s.e.xy on him. I fight the urge to run my fingers through it, and he squares his shoulders and the edges of his mouth turn up when he notices my rapt attention.
He takes my hand and slowly caresses it. This heavy dose of adoration served up with Italian champagne is intoxicating. I lean into him as we speak.
We share stories. Jonathan tells me about a fight last Friday with an artist that culminated in him setting fire to one of his painting in the building's underground parking garage. The entire building, all forty-six floors, had to be evacuated.”
”Did you pull his story?”
”No, his stunt's probably going to push him to the front cover.”
I laugh. ”Of course it will. The squeaky wheel gets all the attention, right?”
”You know the art world; oftentimes cleverness is more highly regarded than talent. Case in point, the British artist Banksy. I'm still surprised Time Magazine chose him as one of the most influential artists of the year. A gorilla street artist who gets attention with clever graffiti, I find it all rather boring.”
”I've followed him over the last few years. I loved it when he went into major museums and just hung up one of his paintings. Can you imagine? He even did it in MOMA and at the Met.” I shake my head and laugh.
Jonathan rolls his eyes.
”When he did it at the British Museum in London, they took it down and immediately put it in their permanent collection. That was very clever on their part.”
Just as lunch is winding down, Jonathan asks me about my plans for the weekend. ”I was going to check your upcoming schedule so we could plan our Santa Barbara getaway, but I just can't wait another week. I really want to...actually, I really need to spend time alone with you. Will you join me this Sat.u.r.day? We'd be back by Sunday evening.”
He takes my hand and caresses it gently.
The heat runs over me as I look up, his plea running through my head again. I need to spend time alone with you.
His look is so intense. Fl.u.s.tered, I look back down at the table. He means business, and I like it-a man who knows what he wants. I remember my conversation with Jess about Jonathan.
”Yes,” I say softly.
His eyes light up and I can see the delight wash over him as he picks up an unmarked black shopping bag.
”I'd hoped you would say yes, and so I picked this up for you to wear...hopefully, this weekend.” He hands me the bag, and his intense expression as his eyes narrow makes me think he'd like to see me in it now.