The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [77]
It was then that the first news crew arrived. It was followed shortly by others in the early dawn light, until the front lawn was littered with vans and takeaway coffee cups and boxes of doughnuts. Apparently the local press wasn’t above covering sensationalist publicity stunts. Fallon brushed her hands down her blazer and prepared for her close-up.
Fallon spotted Max when he arrived in a cab around ten o’clock, hours after the story broke. He disembarked with the cold ennui of a rock star arriving at a club opening. He tipped the brim of his tweed fedora to the cameras as he made a beeline for Fallon, toward the small clusterfuck of microphones and reporters gathered around her. She’d underestimated his infamy—clearly the press had taken the time to Google M.L. Emery and decided the arrival of a controversial artist was worth waiting around to document. A couple crews from Manhattan had even turned up.
He slipped in beside her and pulled her smoothly into double cheek kisses before addressing the press. His statement was short, his answers to follow-up questions even shorter. He was gracious in a distinctly rude kind of way, seeming immune to the camera flashes and the endless shouts of the journalists.
“I think the person who deserves the greatest share of the credit for both funding and conceiving this extraordinary project,” he said dryly, “is Donald Forrester. A true patron of the arts and protector of the family if ever there was one. That is the end of my statement.” He smiled and fought his way out from the noise and the crowd. Fallon managed to follow as the crews disbursed. Many moved on to harass Forrester, who stood stiff and silent on the sidelines. Fallon heard his lawyer say, “No comment,” for the thousandth time that morning.
Max distanced himself from the madness, saying, “Go away, please,” to the reporters who tried to wrangle more sound bites from him. Fallon trailed him and eventually they made it to the outskirts of the action.
He turned to her and smiled. “I want to kiss you, but I think we’ve caused enough of a stir already.”
She nodded. They stared back at the crowd, at the gigantic statue, the television cameras panning the scene. Surreal.
“Look at it.” Max pointed to the statue, shaking his head. “This will be my legacy, now. With all due respect to your foster mother, it’s tacky as hell.”
“I think it’s beautiful. Just a bit…you know. Huge, I guess.”
He nodded. “It goes against everything I value, creatively.” He turned to look her in the eyes. “And it’s the greatest thing I think I’ve ever done.”
Fallon pondered it all for a minute…this enormous angel, this outlandish public memorial. So similar and yet so different than that first winged statue of his own mother, the intimate tribute that had changed the trajectory of his life so radically. “This is all very strange and wonderful. And terrifying.”
“Like love,” Max said.
She looked him over, dressed to kill. Dressed to sacrifice his ideals for her. She ran her fingers over the lapels of his smart designer suit jacket, the hood and frayed cuffs of his soccer zip-up showing behind it, sucking all the formality from the outfit. Jeans and dusty black shoes. His bumblebee scarf. So very Max. So very right.
“Are you going back to Nova Scotia now?” The words caught in her throat.
He nodded. “I have to go back to my home. I’m like you,” he added with a weak smile. “I went a long time not belonging anywhere and now I need to stay still for a while. Maybe when you decide what you want and where you belong, I’ll see you again.”
She nodded, unsure of what to say.
He continued, looking shy. “Maybe you will decide you belong in Nova Scotia, someday, with all the water and the quiet. I’m sure someone will pollute or overfish it soon and the strait will need you,” he added mischievously.
“Maybe.”
“And so maybe we will be neighbors. Maybe you will make a home there, too, and invite me to live with you when the sun goes down, away from all my dust and windows. Maybe one day I will finally complete that statue of you… Maybe one day