Livvy

by Lori L. Otto

“You’re fine,” I tell him. “Always.”

  “Thanks. Do I have time to wrap things up? I just need to put away the watercolors.”

  “Of course. Can I help? Can I see where you work?” He walks over to the guard and requests a visitor’s badge. After he pins it on my jacket, he takes my hand in his as we walk to the elevator. Once the large metal doors close us in, he presses the button for the 67th floor and backs me up against the wall.

  “Are you just here for dinner?” he asks me, then kisses me fully. I make a noise, trying to say no to him, and eventually thinking he understands as his hands cradle me in closer. He moans a little before he releases me for air just before the elevator reaches its destination. “The loft?”

  “Of course,” I answer him weakly, in need of breath and feeling my cheeks turn red.

  “Do we have to go to dinner then?” he asks, putting his arm across my shoulders and directing me down a long hallway. He kisses my cheek as he badges in to the office. “We can pick something up...”

  “No, we have to,” I respond. “You’ll thank me for it, I promise.”

  “Can I show you off for a second?”

  “I guess.” He pulls me into an office where a woman is staring at two large computer screens.

  “Maya,” Jon says, startling her. She turns to look at us, and her face lights up when she sees me. She immediately stands up, straightening the skirt of her long, cotton dress. “This is Livvy Holland.”

  “I know who it is,” she says. “Livvy, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

  “Maya works in accounting, and she has always had a crush on your father–”

  “Jon!” she shrieks, then laughs nervously. “I mean, yes, he’s handsome–”

  “It’s okay,” I cut her off. “You’re not the first.” I smile assuringly, reaching to shake her hand.

  “I can’t believe you told her that,” she says as an aside to Jon.

  “Sorry,” he says, but he’s not. “I’m just going to close up, and then we’ll be leaving. Have a great night. Tell Kenny I said hello... and that he will use algebra someday.”

  “I will. Good night, Jon. Nice to meet you, Livvy.”

  “You, too.”

  Jon walks confidently further into the office to a back corner that looks like anything but your stereotypical corner office. Two drafting tables sit in the middle of the tiny room, the stools positioned so that Jon would be confronted with the other artist in the room at all times. I move to stand in front of one of two thin windows that run from the floor to the ceiling, barely wider than my small frame. Blinds are pulled all the way up to reveal a view of the building next door. I can even see inside some of the offices across the way.

  Jon’s left arm snakes around me as he points with his right hand to a brightly-lit window a few floors below ours. “Some unseemly stuff happens in that one,” he says. “Late at night.”

  “You watch?”

  “No, I don’t watch,” he clarifies. “I’ve seen it, but I don’t watch.”

  “Then you’ve watched,” I taunt him playfully.

  He turns me around to face him and kisses me.

  “I don’t want people to see us,” I tell him quietly, pushing him away. He looks down at me, nodding in acceptance.

  “Let me straighten up.”

  He takes some brushes with him across the hall to a men’s bathroom. I look at his work, impressed with what I see. It’s a mid-sized multi-story home overlooking mountains and an ocean. “Who designed this?” I ask when he returns.

  “I did,” he says plainly, putting away some books.

  “I thought you were here to re-draw things... you know, perfect them in a rendering.”

  “For the most part, I am. This isn’t for work. We don’t design houses. We design commercial structures and public spaces.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I tell him. “Is this for school?”

  “Nope. Just something I’ve been thinking about.” He stands slightly behind me, putting one hand on my hip and the other on the table.

  “Is this your dream home?” When he doesn’t answer, I look back to see him with a faint smile and a faraway look. “I love it.”

  “Yeah?” he asks.

  I nod. “Where is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” he answers. “I don’t think I’ve been there before.”

  “Hmmm...”

  “Will you live there with me, Livvy?” he asks softly, pressing his lips lightly against my ear. I back into him, nestling into his chest. He wraps me in his arms, holding me steady as my stomach does little flips. I love that he’s thinking about a future. I hope he still feels that way in a few hours.

  “Absolutely.”

  “That’s my goal,” he says in earnest.

  “I’d live with you anywhere, Jon,” I tell him. “Take me anywhere you go.”

  “I will.” He nudges me gently, and I turn toward him to kiss him again.

  “You ready for dinner?”

  “Sure,” he says, flicking off an overhead lamp. “Let’s go.”

  When we exit the cab at One if By Land, Two if By Sea, Jon is smiling from ear to ear. “Feeling nostalgic?” he asks, holding the restaurant door open for me.

  “It was a wonderful first date.”

  “It was... virgin conversation aside,” he says under his breath.

  “Miss Holland,” the hostess says enthusiastically. “Mr. Scott. We have your table waiting.”

  “Thank you,” we say at the same time. Jon looks surprised that they called him by name. I didn’t tell them he’d be with me tonight. The tables are reversed from our first time here.

  “This way,” she says, motioning for us to follow her to a table away from windows, as I’d requested.

  “I feel underdressed,” Jon says as he settles into his seat.

  “You see,” I tell him, “there are times when status works for you... but I honestly think you looking like a model would get you in here without me.”

  “Stop it,” he says, laughing off the compliment.

  “I’m not kidding. You’ll be famous in your own right in no time.”

  “I don’t want to be famous for my looks.”

  “You won’t be famous only for your looks. You will be famous for everything you do.”

  “I’m not sure famous is what I want to be.”

  “Recognizable,” I say, correcting myself. “And admired.”

  “Admiration from you is all I want.”

  “Then I guess you have everything you want.” I smile sweetly as the waiter approaches to take our drink order. After we both request sodas, she tells us the special, and we both decide to have it.

  “So, am I forgetting an anniversary? I’ve been wracking my brain since the security guard called me to inform me of a visitor, and I can’t figure out what’s significant about this day.”

  “Calm down,” I tell him. “No anniversary. I just thought we could go somewhere nice to talk about things.”

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “Is there something specific?” I nod my head and smile, trying to hide my nervous sigh. “What is it?”

  Seeing a waitress approaching with drinks, I wait until she’s gone to start.

  “So, you know, I had my street art class today.”

  “I do know. How was it?”

  “It was great... but my professor knows I’m Olivia Choisie.”

  “You told him?”

  “He researched my paintings and put two and two together.”

  “I guess it was bound to happen, if someone was determined enough and had access to your work... which he obviously does.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he out you?”

  “No, and I don’t think it’s his intention to. He really likes my art, though. His sister’s an artist, too, and she loves my style.”

  “That’s got to make you feel good.”

  “It does.” I take a sip of my drink. “She’s actually a street artist.
”

  “That’s really cool! Have you seen her work?”

  “My professor showed me a few pieces,” I tell him. “And I looked her up online. You’d love her style”

  “Yeah? We can look her up tonight,” he suggests. “But you liked what you saw?”

  “It was incredible,” I gush. “Similar to my style–the colors and imagery–but much... softer, I don’t know. But absolutely beautiful.”

  “It’s the ultimate compliment for a respected artist to like your work,” he says, picking up his glass. “To you, baby.”

  “Actually,” I say, lifting my drink and touching my rim to his with a light clink, “the ultimate compliment is when they say they want to work with you.”

  His eyebrows raised, he looks surprised and interested. “Does she?”

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a gulp of the soda this time. “She’s asked me to be her apprentice.”

  “This is...” He pauses, looking for words. “This is wonderful!” Quick on his feet, he comes to my side of the table. I stand to receive his hug, and a kiss.

  “Yeah,” I agree, feeding into his excitement and hugging him again. He rocks us both from side to side. “And she’s in Brazil.”

  And Jon’s movements stop. I think his heart may have stopped, too. I know mine did. I sigh as we let go at the same time. People are looking at us as we quietly sit back down at our table.

  I fold my hands in my lap, awaiting his disapproval or concern or skeptical questions. “Don’t look so meek,” he says. “Tell me what you know.”

  “It’s not much. He wants to take me and my dad out to dinner to go over the details... it would be for the whole summer, but he wants to fly us down there over Spring Break to check things out.”

  “So we’d be apart for Spring Break and the summer?”

  “Not necessarily. When I’d told my professor I was spending Spring Break with you–and I know I was making an assumption, because maybe you have plans to go to Utah–but when I told him that, he said his sister wanted to invite anyone who may be involved in my decision.”

  He smiles, but slumps slightly. “I can’t go to Brazil.”

  “Were you going to Utah?”

  “No,” he answers. “But I can’t even begin to imagine what a trip like that would cost.”

  “It’s paid for, Jon. Not by me, or my dad, but by Ariana, Dr. Emory’s sister.” Honestly, the only thing I’m sure she’ll pay for is the flight, because that’s all that’s been mentioned, but if I can get him there, I can make sure he doesn’t find out any other expenses came from the Holland family if they, in fact, do.

  “I don’t know, Liv. I need a lot more details.”

  “And I’ll get them for you when we meet him for dinner. Don’t say no just yet, though. Just think about it.”

  “Your dad would never go for this, baby,” he says. The waiter interrupts us to deliver our food, but quickly leaves us to our conversation.

  “It’s not up to him,” I plead.

  “He won’t like it.”

  “He won’t love the idea, you’re right. But he seems more accepting of me making my own decisions these days. And he encouraged me to make sure you were involved in my decision to go for the summer.”

  He takes a tentative bite of steak and chews it thoughtfully. When he’s finished, he cocks his head slightly. “He did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s progress,” he laments.

  “Yeah,” I say, grinning.

  We eat dinner, changing the subject to our food because it’s so good and worth talking about. When we’re finished, though, we order refills of our sodas and continue our previous discussion.

  “So what if I like it? What if I think I need to do it?”

  “Well, Liv... I’m beginning to think we aren’t supposed to spend a summer together. Why is the world working against us?”

  “Is it?” I ask. “We don’t have to look at it that way. We’re separated, yes, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be kept apart. We can talk every day... have video chats–”

  “I’ll miss you so much,” he says, cutting me off.

  “I’ll miss you even more. And if you don’t want me to go, I’ll really consider that. But I don’t want you to think we can’t survive this, because I know we can. I don’t want that to be the reason.”

  “That’s not. I’ll kiss you goodbye at the airport when you leave, and I’ll be the first to greet you when you come back at the end of the summer. I will be faithful... but it will be painful and I will be lonely.”

  “Painful how?”

  “Phantom pain, I don’t know,” he says flippantly. “It’ll be like a part of me is missing.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell him, trying to lighten the mood.

  “My soul will be 5,000 miles away,” he says solemnly.

  “And my heart will be here,” I respond, just as serious.

  We stare at each other for a few seconds. “I want to kiss you, Livvy Holland,” he finally says to break the silence. We both stand up together, meeting at the side of the table for a tender kiss. His hand massages the nape of my neck. My thumbs linger around his ears, rubbing lightly. “All night,” he adds.

  I leave enough money on the table to cover the bill and give the waiter a generous tip before Jon takes me by the hand and leads the way to the door with purpose. He immediately flags down a taxi and tells the driver to take us to the Columbia campus. We kiss the whole way there.

  “Fred!” Jon yells from outside his dorm room, then knocks. “Can I come in?”

  “What?” his roommate asks through a cracked door. “I thought you’d be out until midnight.”

  “Give me two minutes to grab some things, and I’ll be gone all night. How’s that?”

  “Where are you going?” Jon steps aside to reveal me standing behind him.

  “Hi, Frederick.”

  “Livvy, hey! Yeah, just a second.” He shuts the door again.

  “I’ll wait out here,” I tell him. Fred opens up a minute later, instructing Jon to hurry. They leave the door open, but I can’t see much of anything in the dark room from where I stand. I smile as a few guys pass by, but avoid eye contact with the rest of the residents, trying my best to keep a low profile.

  “Okay,” Jon says, meeting me in the hall.

  “Do you have...” I ask, biting my lip and looking at him, hopeful.

  “Of course,” he answers, shutting the door and putting on his oversized backpack. “You were talking about my Greek Philosophers text, weren’t you?”

  “You read my mind,” I tell him, playing along.

  “Good, then maybe you can help me make sense of Achilles and the tortoise.”

  “Easy. Since the tortoise is leading the way, and defining the path, Achilles can never catch up.”

  “Wait, what?” Jon asks, stopping in his tracks. “You know this story?”

  “Sure. It’s one of Zeno’s paradoxes of motion,” I tell him. “Dad has a book in his study.”

  He looks at me like I have something growing out of my eye sockets. “Let’s go get a cab,” I suggest, smiling proudly for impressing him as I walk away from him.

  “Is that really the key?” Jon asks, catching up with me quickly. “I couldn’t comprehend it–”

  “You’re too logical,” I explain. “Anyway. I don’t know if it’s the key, or it’s right, but it’s the most sense I could make out of it,” I tell him. “I think the Dichotomy paradox is better. That’s all about infinity... and it kind of makes sense, in a weird–paradoxical–way.”

  “Taxi!” Jon yells at the curb. He opens the door for me when one pulls over.

  “Thank you. 5th and 88th, please,” I tell the driver, scooting over so Jon can get in. He hands me his backpack, then settles in.

  “I understand the Dichotomy paradox,” Jon says, smiling. “You amaze me, Liv.”

  “You underestimate me, Jon,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders.

  “You never rea
lly needed to be tutored, did you?” he asks.

  “Ummm... I needed you to help me focus. Which you did about half the time.”

  “I am so turned on right now.”

  “Really?” I tease him. “I just want to talk philosophy with you now.”

  He leans over and whispers in my ear. “Ever heard of metaphysical sexual optimism? I bet Jack doesn’t have any books on that in his office.”

  “Was that your attempt at trying to turn me on?” I ask quietly with a giggle. “Fail.”

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned your dad.”

  “Nope.” I watch out the side window as we approach my building. Jon pays the fare as I dig through my purse for my wallet. “Thanks,” I tell him before we exit the car.

  “Miss Holland,” Arthur, the new night attendant says, surprised. “We weren’t expecting you during the week.”

  “You can just pretend you never saw us then,” I tell him as we breeze past him into the elevator. Once the door closes and I insert my special key, I continue, “But I have heard of that theory. Doesn’t that say that sex is simply meant to be a pleasurable act for both people involved? Where procreation isn’t the ultimate goal? Outside the confines of a relationship?”

  “Not necessarily. That it should be pleasurable, but also bring two people closer together, emotionally. To deepen the relationship. Maybe for some, that emotion’s not love, but for us...”

  “It’s love,” I start, giving him a kiss. “It’s pleasure. It’s appreciation.” Another kiss. “It’s admiration, and hope and devotion and loyalty–

  “And this is our stop,” Jon says, holding the door open for me.

  “And trust,” I add, giving Jon the keys to the loft. “Even if one of us is thousands of miles away.”

  “That’s very true for us,” Jon says, opening the door.

  “Hold on.” I knock on my uncle’s door. He answers almost immediately.

  “Little Liv! I thought I heard the elevator. What are you–” He looks at Jon, who’s standing in my doorway. “Ohhh...”

  “We have some things to talk about,” I explain.

  “I don’t want to know. I’ll turn up the music. Lord knows I don’t want to overhear your discussion. Hi, Jon!”

  My cheeks flush hot, and I’m regretting my decision to let him know I’m home, but I decide it’s better he knows now than to come bother us later.