Work Of Art: The Unveiling Part 1

Work of Art.

The Unveiling.

by Ruth Clampett.

For my mom...

She married an artist, gave him her heart and stayed by his side as they painted all the colors of their life together.

As I finished this book She joined my dad in the world beyond No doubt their great romance lives on And now the universe is their canvas to paint What they taught me about love is woven through every page of this story.

Chapter One.

Thank G.o.d for Girlfriends.

A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.

~ Paul Cezanne.

I roll the window down and lean my head out into the ocean breeze, taking a deep breath as my hair whips around my face.

"Earth to Ava...what are you thinking about, girl?" Jess glances at me before refocusing on the road.

"That I'm done with crazy artists."

"So you think," she states cryptically.

I shrug. "I mean it."

"Well, let's find him first, and then you can decide."

Jess's phone chirps. "It's a text from Laura. Can you read it?"

I grab her phone from the car console. "She's already at the cafe and has a table."

Jess's grip on the steering wheel loosens as she takes a deep breath. "Okay, good."

We're silent the rest of the drive down PCH. The beautiful weather belies our somber moods, but I'm hopeful we'll figure out what we can do about Max's disappearance.

There's nothing countryish about Malibu Country Mart, with its collection of chic boutiques that surround a lush lawn and little playground in Malibu.

Luckily, Jess and Laura know the matre d` at the Italian cafe, so Laura gets us a choice table outside, facing the playground.

After we settle into our seats, my gaze wanders. There are certainly interesting people here to watch. Nannies gently push babies on the bucket swings, while the beautiful mothers chat and text on their phones from nearby benches.

I imagine the cool dads with their worn designer jeans and aviator sungla.s.ses are talking about their cars and the price of private schools. Small children in whimsical designer clothes chase each other around the playground. It's another world in Malibu. Despite all the money and hipness, it's more relaxed here than the vibe in West Hollywood or Beverly Hills.

Must be the sea air, I conclude.

It feels ridiculous, being here when we're all sick with worry over Max. The panoramic view of the beautiful people versus our dark, worried moods is a lot to take. I've never felt so out of place, and I can't tell if Jess and Laura are feeling the same, or just too sh.e.l.l-shocked to know how they feel.

After glancing at the menu, I wrap my arms around my waist and curl forward. "I don't know if I can eat."

Laura sets her menu on the table. "I know, me too."

Jess gives Laura a stern look. "We've got to eat, baby. You don't want your blood sugar to crash again. Get some protein, or you'll just feel worse."

Laura sighs and opens her menu again.

Jess picks up the wine list. "Wine anyone? I know I could use some."

"Sounds good. I could use some brain numbing about now," I say.

The waiter brings us a basket of freshly-baked bread with a little dish of chopped olives and garlic in olive oil for dipping. I take a piece and pull off a bit to chew on.

Jess slaps her hands on the table. "So, about Max..."

"Did he really trash his house?" Laura asks.

Jess sighs. "He sure did."

I tip my head to the side. "I'm trying to understand this obsessive side of Max that lead to his meltdowns. You mentioned his old college girlfriend had a big impact on that side of his personality."

Jess gets a sour look on her face. "Yeah, that b.i.t.c.h, Chloe."

"What happened?"

She gives me a dubious look. "I don't know. You really want to hear the story about Max and his first love?"

I rest my cheek in my hand as I lean into the table. "Maybe we'll get some clues about why he did this and where he is."

Laura turns to Jess. "You know, I think I want to hear it too. I've only heard bits and pieces."

Jess waits for the waiter to finish pouring our wine. "I guess it started our first week at Pratt. She was one of those girls-you know the sparkly blonde everyone was drawn to. And d.a.m.n, she knew how to work it. She had her pick of men. And, of course, there was Max, gorgeous and so talented-the best in our cla.s.s by far."

"The thing is, Max had an odd personality, very antisocial. We were roommates our first year, but we didn't even talk that much. I was always out with friends, and he preferred to be alone. I think Chloe saw him as a challenge-she did whatever it took to get under his skin."

My fingers tighten over my napkin. Is it possible to genuinely dislike someone you've never met?

"It was such a gradual progression. Most of us didn't realize until the second year how much he'd changed. It was around this time that we were working on a big project together. By that time, he was comfortable around me. He told me s.h.i.+t-how wild he was about her, and sometimes it was too much. I kept telling him to give her some s.p.a.ce, not be so obsessive and smothering."

The edges of Jess's mouth turn down. "The hardest part was that I knew she didn't feel the same. By the end of the first year, she was f.u.c.king around with other guys. I have no idea how she hid it from him. Maybe he was in denial and believed anything she told him."

I simmer inwardly. How could she do that to Max?

"As she started to pull away, he realized what was happening and panicked. Holding onto her took over his life, and everything else suffered: his work, his health, and his mind. It was painful to watch. He'd never been in love before, so he couldn't imagine how to go on without her if she left him.

"Then, one evening, almost halfway through our second year, he came back from a long day in the studio, and all that was left was a note. She'd cleared her stuff out of their place. Just like that...done. He managed to call me that night before he went over the edge, and I rushed over. G.o.d, that was a scary time...he was so far gone."

I press my hands to my face, hurting for Max. There's so much about him I don't know, and what I'm learning changes every thought I've ever had about him.

Jess grimaces as she continues. "The b.i.t.c.h had run off to Florida with one of her teachers. He had some project in Miami, and he took her with him. When Max found out, he didn't eat or speak for three days. I finally called his mom. It was either that or have him committed, and I couldn't do that. That would've killed him."

"He's talked about his mom with great reverence," I say.

"His mom...G.o.d, I loved that woman. She stayed by his side, hoping he'd get a grip. But it soon became apparent he needed more time. She formally pulled him out of school and took him home for the rest of spring semester and the following summer.

"He never told me exactly what he did during that time, but I know his mom got him a lot of help. I emailed him almost every day, and he would send me little drawings. I've often thought that his art was all he had left, so he poured himself into his work two-hundred-percent."

Laura gazes at her lover with a soft expression. "That was so sweet that you checked on him every day."

Jess leans toward us. "I was really worried about him. That fall, he returned to school, and the day he moved back, I went over to make sure he was okay. I thought it would be a rough transition, but man, was I wrong. He was a completely different person: confident and c.o.c.ky, aggressive and flirtatious. I was shocked."

"Within weeks, he'd f.u.c.ked half the girls in our cla.s.s, and then most of the women in the art department, with little regard to preference or decorum. Whatever point he was trying to make, I thought it was gross."

"But sometimes, I'd see the old Max, like when we hung out with Joe and some of the other guys. Otherwise, I just stayed out of the drama, and believe me, there was lots of drama. He never cared about the women he slept with and always left a path of destruction in his wake."

The birth of Max the womanizer makes me shudder. "So, he never came close to falling in love with someone else?"

"Oh, no. He made sure that would never happen again. Once Chloe burned him, he wasn't going to go there again."

"Did Chloe ever come back? Did she contact him again?"

"Nope. One time, when we were drunk, Max said his new persona was all for Chloe. I still don't know exactly what he meant, but I have my theories. She didn't want him the way he used to be. So he turned himself into someone almost the complete opposite of who he was."

Laura shakes her head. "That's so awful...and sad for Max."

"I know, baby," Jess says, as she squeezes Laura's hand. "That's probably why he pushed himself so hard with his work. Maybe he thought that if he became successful, she'd want him again. But the more successful he became, the more troubled he seemed to be."

Max expressed something very similar once about himself. This paints Max in a different light and shows how much chasing Chloe's ghost has influenced his life.

"A few years ago, I ran into one of our old cla.s.smates who had stayed in contact with Chloe. Evidently, she and the art teacher had a kid. Now she's a part-time tour guide in Florida for some kind of hokey 'art experience.' That loser b.i.t.c.h-all high and mighty that she was going to turn the art world upside down-is riding around in a bus and lecturing fat tourists in their Bermuda shorts. f.u.c.k her. The b.i.t.c.h got what she deserved."

"Does Max know?" Inwardly, I enjoy the image of her on the tour bus a little too much.

"No, I didn't tell him. I thought I'd only make him feel worse, knowing she dumped him for that kind of life."

She's right. That news would be like salt in his wound.

"I wish his mom were here, especially during times like this. He adored her and would do anything to make her proud. And she just wanted him to be happy. He needs that kind of support. He can depend on his small circle of old friends, but it just isn't the same."

I sigh, knowing all too well what she means.

"But still, guys, Max has us, and we have to make a plan," Laura says.

Jess nods. "Yeah, a plan."

I finger the stem of my wine gla.s.s. "So, what about Max's family? Is there anyone who can help us find him?"

"I don't know. Max and his dad are estranged. The only other person I can think of is Ann, his aunt. I met her a couple of times; the last time was at Elizabeth's funeral. The two sisters were very close, but I believe she lives in New York."

"Do you think that's where he went?" I look up as the busboy fills my water gla.s.s.

"It's possible, but I have no idea how to find her. I don't even know her last name." Jess rests her chin in her hand.

"Can he be tracked from his cell phone?" Laura asks.

"No. We found his cell phone and laptop in the house. So, wherever he went, he can't be easily reached. We tried to get on his computer to find clues, but we didn't have his pa.s.sword, and his phone is locked."

A wave of frustration rolls through me, but I'm determined not to give up. Max has become a real-life Where's Waldo? puzzle. L.A. is one of the biggest cities in the world. It's not like you can go door-to-door asking about a thirty-year-old runaway. Perhaps Adam and Katherine can help me find Max's aunt.

We polish off most of the wine and rehash all the possible places Max might be when Jess's phone rings. She looks at her screen and immediately takes the call.

"Dylan, what's up?" Her eyes widen.

"You got an email? When did he send it?"

"So, tell me again exactly what it said."

Laura takes Jess's hand.

"He didn't indicate when he was coming back or how we could reach him?"

Laura bites her lip as she watches Jess. Between the three of us, the tension is palpable.

"Yeah, he must have borrowed someone's computer or smart phone and knew you wouldn't be able to trace an email like you can a phone call. He doesn't want us to find him. Our boy is clever all right."

When Jess hangs up, she leans on the table and cradles her head in her hands. Relief emanates from her. She straightens up, eyes rimmed with tears.

I place my hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, I was so worried. Thank G.o.d he's alive," she says with a gasp.

"What did Dylan say?" Laura asks.

"Max must've finally calmed down enough to realize how worried we'd be. He sent Dylan an email a few minutes ago."

"So, we still don't know where he is?" I ask.

Jess taps her fingers on the table. "No, but he did say he's trying to get his s.h.i.+t together."