Becoming His Muse, Part Three (23 page)

“I won’t accept it.”

“You have to. You can do what you want with the money. You can
give
it to Ronnie Larkin if you want to.”

“He wouldn’t take it. I know him.”

Dean Ascott gives me a look of genuine concern. “Off the record, won’t you
need
it now? I know your father’s awfully angry about what happened.”

“My father is a bully. He’s bullied you into launching a case against Logan for his manuscript, just to get me back to school.”

Dean Ascott sighs. “I couldn’t care less about that novel but he really did breach our student/teacher policy. He shouldn’t be able to benefit from any work he did here.”

“But that’s
his
work. You know he taught his students well. Ruby and all the writing students benefitted from
that
. And they’ll attest to it. He even taught
me
an incredible amount, albeit with unorthodox breach-of-policy but
consensual
methods.”

“Ava—”

“—You’ve stripped him of his title and put him on a college teaching blacklist so it’s not like he’s going to get a chance to do it again. All he has left is his novel, and his shattered reputation.”

“Which wasn’t great to begin with.” Dean Ascott frowns.

“And you
knew
that going in. We all did.”

“He’s still responsible for his actions. The rules are very clear.”

“With all due respect, Dean Ascott, this isn’t about rules. This is about people. You’re breaking your own rules by making exceptions for me, because of my father’s pressure. I’m now asking you to make an exception for Logan. For my sake. Tell my father you’re going to drop the case so Logan can publish the book he worked so hard to create. And give Ronnie the award and the money that goes with it. He deserves it. I’ll tell my father I withdrew myself from the competition. He’ll be mad at me, not you.”

“But then what will you do, Ava?”

“After I graduate?”

He nods.

“I don’t know.”

I look past his desk, through the sliding glass door onto the balcony. There, on a dark fall night many months ago, I chose to say yes to something I didn’t fully understand, something that has taken me to the edge of myself and back again. It’s over now. I know that. Logan was saying goodbye in his letter. It was an ending. I know that, too.

Beyond the balcony, against the bright backdrop of a blue sky, the spring trees spread and arch, their tips unfurling bright green ribbons of leaves.

I think of Logan looking out a different window, at different trees.

The thing about endings is that they contain beginnings. Like a tree that loses its leaves in the fall, looking lifeless all through the winter, inside each seemingly dead branch lies everything needed for new leaves to form. They’re just waiting for the right conditions to be reborn.

***

I have two exams left to write. Ruby has three. We both write our last one on the same day and then make plans to celebrate at Mick’s.

I smile when Ruby shows up with her arm around Jonathan. My smile is even wider when Owen and Ronnie show up together.

“Well, Girlfriend,” says Owen. “You gave us all quite a shock.” He shakes his head in admirable disbelief. “How did you get away with that?”

I can’t help blushing. “As you are well aware, I
didn’t
get away with it.”

“The world’s full of bad art,” says Jonathan. “It’s best just to ignore it and move on.”

“I agree,” says Ruby giving him a peck on the cheek.

We’ve earned our degrees but the official convocation, with the hats, the gowns, and the walking across the stage formalities, won’t be for a couple more weeks. When the time comes, I will move through that ‘proud moment’ for the sake of my parents. I will take the requisite family photos, and I give my best smile because I know the picture will sit on my parent’s mantel for years to come and I don’t want to look like I have a chip on my shoulder or bear a mean grudge. I know this challenge will pass in time. Part of it already has.

“Owen and I are road-tripping to New Orleans,” says Ronnie, sliding into the booth. “Anyone else want to come?”

Jenny says, “Sounds like fun. Can I bring a friend?” I’m guessing it’s the leading man from one of her plays. I heard from Ruby they’ve gotten hot and heavy.

“Ruby and I are going to check out places to live in Princeton,” says Jonathan. “But I’m not inviting any of you along,” he says, winking. “I get Ruby all to myself. Finally!”

“What about you, Ava?” says Owen. “Going to hide out at home until the rest of the drama dies down?”

“My running home for cover days are over I think.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to Logan?” says Ruby. “Why he left so abruptly?”

All my friends wait for an answer. I see real concern and empathy on all their faces.

I nod. “But none of it matters now. It’s over. He’s gone. School’s over. It’s time for a new beginning.” They don’t press me for more information. They know I’ve been through a lot already.

Jonathan holds up his beer. “Here’s to new beginnings!”

As we toast and guzzle, Sheriann walks in, sees us, and heads to our booth. I don’t know who invited her. I send a mock glare Ruby’s way. She shrugs innocently, a ‘wasn’t me’ look on her face.

Sighing heavily, Sheriann plops down on the edge of the booth next to Owen, forcing him to squish even closer to Ronnie.

“I just met with Dean Ascott. He’s marked my exposé paper himself and is giving it an ‘A’ but only if I bury it. He made me sign something. I can’t even
talk
about it.”

I smile to myself, wondering if my father had anything to do with that. For once, I’m grateful for his meddling.

“Oh, well. I’ll find something else to write about.” She takes a swig for Owen’s beer and looks over at Jenny. “I bet
you’ve
got some good stories.”

Jenny laughs and begins to recount one. I slip out of the booth to go to the restroom.

Ronnie follows, catching up to me as I’m passing the bar.

“Listen, Ava, I know what you did for me.”

“I didn’t do anything for you, Ronnie.”

“You won that award fair and square, and then you gave it up for me.”

I sigh and lean against the bar. “I’m beginning to wonder if anything in life is fair and square. I’ll never know if my father being on the board, him being friends with the Dean, and the Dean knowing the judges, had anything to do with the final results.”

“I’m sure it didn’t. Your work is amazing, Ava. All on its own.”

I hold up my hand to stop him. I’m not looking for praise.

“What I do know for sure is that you came in second place fair and square. I didn’t step out just because I think you deserve it more than I do.” He’s gearing up to protest, but I shake my head, because that’s not the point I’m trying to make.

“I’m going to try to make it on my own, Ronnie. As you know, I’ve had a lot handed to me. You haven’t. You really
earned
this award with your hard work and talent. Don’t you dare walk away from it.”

He grins. “Hey, if it’s not going to you, I don’t want it to go to anyone else.” He slides his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, hon. Things have a way of working out better than any of us can imagine.”

He can’t know how much I’m counting on that.

“In fact,” he continues. “I just found out my uncle has a friend who’s got a place in the Bronx and he’ll be away for the summer. If you want, we can share.”

I laugh. “I just might take you up on that.”

“So what
are
you going to do now?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.” There’s no harm in keeping more secret.

The next morning. I leave campus without saying goodbye to anyone.

I have just enough money left in my account to buy a ticket to New York, a few subway tickets, and a couple of meals.

On the train, I tuck my bag and one wrapped painting onto the overhead shelf and then I settle into my seat and pull out the thick envelope I’ve been hauling around. Written on the back of the envelope, in Lowell’s handwriting, is an address in Soho. I’ve already memorized it.

As the train pulls out of the station, I flip through the bound galley pages. A passage catches my eye.

He had never felt this way about anyone before. Not even himself. It was a feeling as raw and brutal and encompassing as the awareness of death, as the bone chilling realization of his own mortality.

I flip a few more pages.

Liam leaned toward Anna. He had only one thing on his mind. “Aren’t you dying to get out of here?”

Immune to Liam’s charm, her gaze flitted about the room.

“
You mean, together?” She laughed, and Liam felt as if the toothpick she was holding has just pierced his heart. He turned away, mortified.

He knew he wasn’t worthy of such a woman, but no one else was supposed to know it. He poured on the slick charm, trying to shock and intimidate, trying to corner her into his seductive trap. The one thing on his mind was overpowering him with a vengeance. He was determined to have her. Even if he had to break her.

I close the pages, not sure if I’m ready to read this. I watch the scenery roll by. Verdant fields, blossoming shrubs, turned-over earth ready to be planted.

Does his writing matter that much? It does and it doesn’t. It matters because he created it, and it takes effort to create things. I told him that once. Yes, it matters. Not because of what it is but because of where it came from, and how it was created. Inspiration, experience, change. And the courage to create something that didn’t exist before.

I take a deep breath and begin on page one.

***

Hours later, I arrive at Penn Station and take the Subway to Soho. After a few wrong turns, I find the address. I like his building immediately, a narrow reddish brownstone half-covered in ivy.

I buzz the number listed beside the name O’Shane. My heart is ricocheting inside my chest. I have no idea what I’m going to say or do when I see him. I tell myself I’ll
know
what to say or do
when
I see him.

I shift from foot to foot as the ringer repeats tinnily through the intercom. After a dozen rings it stops. I hit the button again. Same thing. He’s not home?

I should have called him to tell him I was coming. I had some romantic notion that I would arrive on his doorstep and he would sweep me into his arms and drown me in relieved kisses. I step back from the intercom and look up at the building. His apartment is on the top floor but I have no idea which one it is.

I pull out my phone and dial his number. It rings and rings with no answer until it switches to voicemail. Is he away?

Feeling dejected I turn away from the building. It’s dusk. Soon it will be dark. What should I do? I don’t have enough money for a hotel. At least it’s a balmy spring evening.

I start walking up 5
^th
Avenue toward the Empire State Building. I can’t think of what else to do. I’ll walk until some inspiration comes to me.

My mind is full of Logan’s story. I’m nowhere near finished— it’s long and dense. But it’s full of details I recognize. There is a kissing scene on a balcony, an art opening in New York, a mother in Florida.

The character of Anna is artistic, serious, and idealistic. Liam is moody, intelligent, and full of secrets. They see something in each other that they can’t find in themselves. I’m struck by how sad and scared Liam is, how terrified he is to share the truth of his soul with Anna. And she’s scared too but she doesn’t know it. She’s buoyed up by waves of youth and promise, her ideals as lofty and taut as balloons at risk of bursting. They are on a journey together and I have no idea how it ends.

When I make it to the Empire State Building, the line’s so long I don’t even consider going up, even though tonight would be a wonderful night to look down on the brightly lit city.
A sea of human-made stars
.

I continue walking, my mind full of lines like that from Logan’s novel.

Soon I find myself approaching the central library. Its imposing pillars and carved lions anchor this stretch of 5
^th
Avenue. It’s closed now, but I hear music coming from somewhere. I think it’s coming from behind the library. I walk west along 40
^th
toward Bryant Park. I definitely hear music. It sounds like “Moon River”.

And then I see a great stream of light and hordes of people on chairs and blankets all looking up at a big screen. Black and white images flit across the screen. Audrey Hepburn, with her bouffant hair, pouts in a taxi while George Peppard gives her a talking to:

“You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself.”

It’s a sign. Wandering around New York I’ve stumbled across an outdoor screening of Breakfast at Tiffany’s? It has to be a sign.

As if to confirm the butterflies in my stomach, my phone buzzes.

I’m convinced it’s going to be Logan, but when I look at my phone the message is from a number I don’t recognize.

Ava. I just wanted to say thank you. The suit’s been dropped. Publication is going ahead. I’m very grateful for your help.

It must be Lowell. I drop my bag on a cement ledge at the edge of the fray of movie goers. I set my wrapped canvas down and type back.

I’m here. In New York. Where’s Logan?

Really? He’s giving a reading.

Lowell includes the address of a bookstore. It’s only a few blocks from where I’m standing.

I smile. Of course it is. I followed my nose, or rather my heart, and I was led almost right to him. The butterflies in my stomach multiply.

Lowell texts again:
Are you coming?

I tuck my phone into my purse without answering, pick up my bag and run-walk the two blocks up and three blocks over.