manipulation than I’m capable of. Yet the next words come out of my mouth so smoothly, I surprise even myself.
“Actually, I spent time with Max in New York last week and we went to MOMA to see the
Bauhaus
exhibit. He told me it was his life’s dream to have one of his paintings exhibited there.”
I’m on a roll. I take a deep breath. “I believe Jess told me about that incident your husband overheard. Max had a crisis that day, along with a series of events that led to those comments that actually had nothing to do with MOMA, but he didn’t know it at the time. I only wish there was a way for him to explain it to your husband.”
She holds her focus on Jess’s painting for several moments. “Well, you believe in Caswell. Am I correct?”
“Yes, I do, Mrs. Matthews. He’s unbelievably talented, he lives for his art and he highly values his place in the art community.”
“Well, let me talk to Stephan and see if he’s willing to speak with Maxfield. If so, I’ll text you with a time to call.”
I thank her repeatedly as I write my number down. I desperately hope I’ve done the right thing.
On the way out the door, I tell Francisco and Henry that I’ll meet them back at the gallery. From the side of the road, I dial Max’s cell phone. When he doesn’t pick up, I leave him a message.
“Hey Max, it’s Ava. I have something important to talk with you about as soon as possible, so please call me back as soon as you can. Thanks.”
I hang up, disappointed he didn’t answer.
I have a lot to do when I return to the gallery, but when an hour passes without a call back from Max, I get nervous. I call again and leave another message.
A few minutes later, I receive a text message, and I slide my finger across my phone’s screen.
Hello Ava, Stephan has agreed to talk to Max.
We have a dinner event, so Max needs to call this number exactly at ten tonight.
Best, Stella
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. I text back,
Mrs. Matthews, I will let him know. Thank you so much for your help.
Regards, Ava
After I hit send, I look through my phone contacts for Max’s home number I entered before we drove out to Malibu. When I get his answering machine, I break out into a cold sweat. What if he’s on a plane, or in a double feature movie with his phone turned off or somewhere else unreachable? It’s already five.
I call Dylan and when he picks up, I pray my luck’s changed.
“Hi, Dylan. It’s Ava, Riley’s friend.”
“Hey, Ava. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I really need to get ahold of Max right away, but he’s not answering his cell or home phone. Is he with you, by chance?” I cross my fingers and hold my breath.
“Nope, he’s not with me. Is this something I can help you with?”
Even though Dylan is Max’s manager and I should probably let him know about this situation, I’m not sure I can handle it if he gets mad at me for sticking my nose in their business. “No, but thanks. I really need to talk to him.”
“Well, when I spoke with him this morning he said he planned to paint all day. When he works, he doesn’t like to be disturbed, so he doesn’t answer the phone. He’ll take a break eventually and I’m sure he’ll get your messages.”
I thank him and hang up, not feeling very reassured. I decide to text Max using shouty caps.
MAX PLEASE CALL ME ASAP-VERY IMPORTANT!
By the time I pull out of the parking lot to head home, I’m a nervous wreck, and I almost run into a cyclist, despite the fact that he’s wearing a neon yellow jersey. He yells at me, waving his fist and I sink down into my seat.
When I get home, I pace the living room for about fifteen minutes before I call him again. As the phone rings I chant in my head,
Answer, answer, answer, damn it! Why did I do this? If I’d just kept my damn mouth shut, I could be sitting on the patio right now enjoying a glass of Pinot Noir.
I get his machine again.
Feeling out of options, I get back in my car and
“Actually, I spent time with Max in New York last week and we went to MOMA to see the
Bauhaus
exhibit. He told me it was his life’s dream to have one of his paintings exhibited there.”
I’m on a roll. I take a deep breath. “I believe Jess told me about that incident your husband overheard. Max had a crisis that day, along with a series of events that led to those comments that actually had nothing to do with MOMA, but he didn’t know it at the time. I only wish there was a way for him to explain it to your husband.”
She holds her focus on Jess’s painting for several moments. “Well, you believe in Caswell. Am I correct?”
“Yes, I do, Mrs. Matthews. He’s unbelievably talented, he lives for his art and he highly values his place in the art community.”
“Well, let me talk to Stephan and see if he’s willing to speak with Maxfield. If so, I’ll text you with a time to call.”
I thank her repeatedly as I write my number down. I desperately hope I’ve done the right thing.
On the way out the door, I tell Francisco and Henry that I’ll meet them back at the gallery. From the side of the road, I dial Max’s cell phone. When he doesn’t pick up, I leave him a message.
“Hey Max, it’s Ava. I have something important to talk with you about as soon as possible, so please call me back as soon as you can. Thanks.”
I hang up, disappointed he didn’t answer.
I have a lot to do when I return to the gallery, but when an hour passes without a call back from Max, I get nervous. I call again and leave another message.
A few minutes later, I receive a text message, and I slide my finger across my phone’s screen.
Hello Ava, Stephan has agreed to talk to Max.
We have a dinner event, so Max needs to call this number exactly at ten tonight.
Best, Stella
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. I text back,
Mrs. Matthews, I will let him know. Thank you so much for your help.
Regards, Ava
After I hit send, I look through my phone contacts for Max’s home number I entered before we drove out to Malibu. When I get his answering machine, I break out into a cold sweat. What if he’s on a plane, or in a double feature movie with his phone turned off or somewhere else unreachable? It’s already five.
I call Dylan and when he picks up, I pray my luck’s changed.
“Hi, Dylan. It’s Ava, Riley’s friend.”
“Hey, Ava. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I really need to get ahold of Max right away, but he’s not answering his cell or home phone. Is he with you, by chance?” I cross my fingers and hold my breath.
“Nope, he’s not with me. Is this something I can help you with?”
Even though Dylan is Max’s manager and I should probably let him know about this situation, I’m not sure I can handle it if he gets mad at me for sticking my nose in their business. “No, but thanks. I really need to talk to him.”
“Well, when I spoke with him this morning he said he planned to paint all day. When he works, he doesn’t like to be disturbed, so he doesn’t answer the phone. He’ll take a break eventually and I’m sure he’ll get your messages.”
I thank him and hang up, not feeling very reassured. I decide to text Max using shouty caps.
MAX PLEASE CALL ME ASAP-VERY IMPORTANT!
By the time I pull out of the parking lot to head home, I’m a nervous wreck, and I almost run into a cyclist, despite the fact that he’s wearing a neon yellow jersey. He yells at me, waving his fist and I sink down into my seat.
When I get home, I pace the living room for about fifteen minutes before I call him again. As the phone rings I chant in my head,
Answer, answer, answer, damn it! Why did I do this? If I’d just kept my damn mouth shut, I could be sitting on the patio right now enjoying a glass of Pinot Noir.
I get his machine again.
Feeling out of options, I get back in my car and
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