Livvy

by Lori L. Otto

  “You’re a smart man.”

  “It beats Manhattan!” Jon says. “No threat of freezing temperatures for a week. I heard it was going to snow!”

  “That’s true,” Mom concedes, turning the car vents off of her.

  “Well, I guess this is the place,” Dad says, turning into a gated lot. He rolls down the windows, informing the man at the entrance that we’re here to meet Ariana. The man guides us into the lot and directs us to a parking spot close to the building. While Jon and I are unpacking our bags from the trunk, a beautiful woman with long, dark red hair and a flowing blue dress approaches the car.

  “Livvy Holland,” she says with no hint of an accent. She is American, but I assumed she would talk differently. “It is such an honor to finally meet you in person!” She walks right up to me and embraces me warmly. “And this must be Jon. Livvy has told me the sacrifice you would make to let her spend the summer here, and I want to thank you for considering the opportunity.”

  “It’s her decision,” Jon says. “I’m anxious to learn about it, though. Mainly because I’m jealous of the exposure,” he laughs.

  “Livvy says you are interested in art and architecture, is that right?”

  “Yes,” he admits.

  “Well I think you will love the surroundings here. Styles are so varied–modern, traditional colonial, art deco... there’s something for everyone.”

  “See ya,” Jon teases me, walking away with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

  “There will be plenty of time for that this week,” Ariana says warmly. After a visible sigh, she holds her arms out to my parents. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Holland. It is such a pleasure to meet both of you. Mr. Holland–”

  “Please call me Jack,” he corrects her.

  “Yes, Jack, let me just say that I have been an admirer of what you and your wife have done for the city for quite some time. I have tried to model myself after you since I moved here ten years ago. My husband and I are very involved in the community. I’d love to open an art school, but I just don’t have the time for it now. Maybe when I’m older... or maybe when I can pass off some projects to a young protégé,” she hints, putting her arm across my shoulder.

  “It’s very rewarding,” my mother responds. “It’s probably our greatest achievement,” she says.

  “Aside from our children, of course,” Dad says.

  “Livvy is such a poised and talented young woman.”

  “I don’t know about poised,” I tell her with a blush.

  “Nonsense,” she disagrees. “The paparazzi deserve to be flipped off every once in awhile.” We all laugh at her justification. “Let’s get you two settled in the apartment,” she says to me and Jon, “and then Raphael should be finished preparing a traditional Brazilian feast in an hour or so. We can go downstairs for a drink before we eat.”

  “Oh, I hope you haven’t gone to too much trouble for us,” Mom says.

  “Of course I have, Mrs. Holland. I’m trying to convince your daughter to leave her city and her boyfriend and her generous parents for three months. I think she deserves a little fanfare.”

  “Well, thank you, Ariana. And it’s Emi.”

  Dad carries my bags for me, following our host up the outdoor stairs to a second floor apartment. “This reminds me of the gallery,” I say, already feeling at home before I even step foot into the living accommodations.

  “My nephew had been living here,” she explains as she opens the door, “but he got married last summer and moved out. Now we only use this if we have visitors.”

  The loft is cozy and very white. The bathroom is the only enclosed room, near the small kitchen with a two burner stove. Across from it is a queen-sized bed, with a sofa farther down the wall that looks like it pulls out into another bed. Good. Maybe Dad can fool himself into thinking we’ll sleep in separate beds. I glance at him, seeing him turn away from the lush bed. It’s probably best, since I’m sure my face is bright red.

  There’s a large sliding glass door that opens to a balcony that overlooks a large, well-manicured lawn. “The backyard is a shared space, between us and our neighbors that live in the red house across the way. They’re artists as well, so of course we get along brilliantly.”

  “This is really cute.”

  “I imagine it’s much smaller than the living spaces you’re used to.”

  “It’s at least three times bigger than my dorm room,” I assure her, “and I have to share that with two other girls.”

  “I tried to stick with neutral colors. White is very traditional here, but I thought you might want to dress it up with your own decorations. You’ll have full access to the studio downstairs to work, any time of the day. Or you’re welcome to work in here, if you’d like. Maybe do a mural or something,” she hints, pointing to the wall with the bed on it. “When the sun sets, it casts such a lovely glow on that side of the room.”

  “I’ve never actually done a full mural,” I tell her honestly, hoping she won’t be disappointed by my admission since that’s what she wants me to paint here. “I’ve done individual paintings that take up an entire wall, but never one piece.”

  “Well, if you agree to do this, that will all change very soon. Sometimes changing the scale of a piece is good; other times, you may combine multiple individual pieces to create one work. It really depends on the space,” she explains. I nod in understanding. “And in case the inspiration strikes, there are paints and brushes and drop cloths in that cabinet over there.

  “And before you try to be bashful and nervous that I won’t like what you do, just remember that I brought you down here because I think your work is phenomenal.”

  “Okay,” I agree, my mind already starting to throw together ideas for something Jon and I could paint together this week. The prospect of a joint project really has me excited to get started.

  “Jack and Emi, why don’t you join me in the main house for some cocktails and appetizers. Let the kids get settled.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. I could use a drink,” my dad says, giving me a weak smile as Mom pats him on the back comfortingly.

  “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “The main door is near your parking spot,” she tells me. “Come down when you’re ready.”

  “What’s your gut instinct telling you?” Jon asks when the door is closed. He leans up against it and casually shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “My first impression? I love it. And I love her.”

  “She seems like a good fit for you. And I know this apartment seems small, but I just think it’s laid out inefficiently. I have some ideas to make it seem more organized. We could give it a little structure, like your loft has with the half-walls.”

  “I don’t think we need to start a reconstruction project quite yet,” I tease him, walking over to the refrigerator. “Hmmm... water, Coke, or um... Gauraná Antarctica?”

  “What’s that?”

  “It looks like a Brazilian soda...”

  “While in Brazil...” Jon says, walking over to me and taking the bottle I offer him. “I’m guessing there’s guarana in this? And wow, a healthy dose of it,” he says after glimpsing at the label. He finally takes a drink, and only after he doesn’t spit it out do I decide to taste my own.

  “Kind of apple-y.”

  “I don’t know,” he says, making noises with his tongue as he continues to taste it. “I think there’s a berry flavor, maybe.”

  “Maybe,” I agree.

  “Well, whatever, we should be awake and alert for awhile after one of these,” he laughs, continuing to drink. We both start to unpack our things, hanging up some of our clothes in an attempt to get more than twenty hours of wrinkles out of them.

  I take my drink with me when we go downstairs a few minutes later, but Jon’s finished his. He takes another when Ariana offers him one.

  She introduces us to her husband, Raphael, when he comes into the room to bring some hors d’oeuvres. He’s very a
ttractive, but looks a little younger than Ariana, maybe in his late twenties to her mid-thirties. He touches her hand affectionately before he goes back into the kitchen. She smiles instinctively.

  “Take a step into that next room, Contessa,” Dad says, motioning to the room on his left with a glass of scotch in hand. Jon has a seat next to him while I go inside.

  The entire room–from concrete floor to plaster walls to painted-tile ceiling–is a beautiful depiction of an ocean scene. The floor looks like water, with various fish and marine mammals painted to look like they’re swimming beneath me at different depths. The walls continue the theme, with sea gulls and dolphins and a few whales peeking above the blue waterline in front of a softer sky. On one side, the wall is just a simple light blue, but on the other are approaching storm clouds with rain in the distance. When I look up, the weather continues, but even beyond that, toward the sun, I can see faint outlines of what appear to be angels in heaven. I have to squint to see them, but I’m sure they’re there.

  There is no furniture in the room at all.

  “Do you approve?” Ariana says, startling me from the doorway.

  “It’s incredible,” I gush. “You did all of this?”

  “Yes. It was my first attempt at a 360 degree mural.”

  “I feel like I’m in the ocean.”

  “Good. That was the point,” she says with confidence. “I’ve since done seven others in Brazil, and one in the States–at a hotel in Las Vegas, actually.”

  “What do you use this room for?”

  “Mainly entertaining. We have many parties, and we’ll have cocktails in the Quarto Oceano before moving to the main dining room.”

  “This is incredible.”

  “Should you decide to spend your summer here, I intend to host a party welcoming you. I’ll invite lots of young artists in our circle. I think you will fit in and find a lot of support here. I know it will be hard to leave your parents and your handsome boyfriend in New York, but we’ll take good care of you here. Maybe you’ll even come back after college.”

  “I don’t know,” I hedge. “I do love New York. It’s my home.”

  “I love it too. Over the years, Livvy, I’ve realized you can have more than one.” Her smile is assuring.

  After dinner, my parents drive to their hotel nearby. They had agreed to stay a few nights in the hotel that Ariana had booked, but they also made arrangements to stay at a beach resort on the mainland about forty-five minutes away later in the week.

  On our third night, after two full days of touring this city and many surrounding ones, I thought I would sleep soundly, but Jon kept me awake for much of the night–not that I mind. This morning, voices coming from the shared yard rouse me from my sleep.

  I get up to close the window we’d left open, and see our hosts dressed very nicely talking to the neighbors, who are also impeccably dressed. It’s only seven-thirty in the morning, and I remember Ariana had told us about a council meeting they were planning to attend. I watch them all, and listen for cars to start and then drive away before walking back over to the bed, leaving the window open.

  “What are you doing over there?” he asks me, his voice still tired. Hearing him reminds me of last night, when my name was an anthem he repeated over and over again. When he would say it, I didn’t respond with Jon. Instead, I’d reaffirm my feelings for him. The back and forth cries of Olivia and I love you seemed to flow into one continuous thought, or sound; the resonance of the phrase mirroring our own rhythm.

  I pull the sheets off of him, covering his body with mine instead. His eyes still closed, he drags his fingers up the back of my bare legs, stopping at the hem of my shorts.

  “What do you want from me?” he mumbles groggily, finally blinking open his eyes. I kiss him slowly, placing my hands over his ears and rubbing the lobes lightly. His muscles tighten, and his arms find their way behind me, supporting my back as he rolls over to take his place on top of me.

  “This,” I whisper with a smile.

  “Should we close the window?”

  “They went out,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure we’re all alone here. We have a few hours until my parents will be here.”

  “A few hours? Is that enough time?” he asks with a sexy grin.

  “At the pace you’re going, no,” I answer him impatiently. He kneels up to take off his shirt, and I follow suit, also positioning myself on my knees. He removes my camisole, moving his lips immediately to my breasts. I slip out of my shorts and panties, feeling the aching need to be with him–to be with him now. As he continues to kiss my body, I nudge him and start to pull at the waistband of his boxers. Moving his lips to mine, he strains to stay with me as he stands on the bed and lets me take his underwear off. I touch him gently before he returns, kneeling in front of me once more.

  Drawn to him, I wrap my arms around him, pulling myself closer; closer, still. I feel his hand on the small of my back, helping me along as I position myself on top of him. We stop kissing for a brief moment, looking at one another as we settle into each other. He’s the first one to breathe, and at the slight movement, I press my lips to his hungrily. The rhythm comes naturally to us, the intimacy so intense as we both catch glimpses of one another in the height of pleasure.

  “Is there anything better than this?” Jon asks, a light sheen of sweat still covering his body as we lie in bed. I push myself up, just high enough to kiss him.

  “No,” I whisper in his ear, moving my lips to his neck.

  “I want this everyday, Liv. Every morning.” He takes a deep breath. “I could get used to this.”

  I could, too. Waking up with him the past few mornings has felt so right. I can’t stop thinking that this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. Our time together has drawn us closer, and I don’t want it any other way.

  I frown, but obscure my face so he can’t see it, and climb off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, grabbing for my hand.

  “I was going to turn the fan on,” I tell him, pulling free of his grasp. “It’s just so humid.”

  “Come back,” he urges me. “I like when you stick to me.”

  “Want anything while I’m up?” I ask, standing on my tiptoes to reach the chain hanging from the ceiling fan. I’m a few inches too short.

  Jon pulls on his shorts and meets me in the center of the room, easily turning on the fan. “I don’t want you to be up,” he counters. “Now come back.” He smiles, giving me a quick peck. His fingers trail down my arm until they reach mine, and we link them together as we walk back to the bed.

  I put my camisole back on before I lie down again.

  “Do you need that?” Jon asks.

  I lift the sheet and climb beneath it, snuggling up in his arm. I pull his other hand across his body and place it under my shirt. “Okay?”

  He simply moans, running the backs of his nails up my stomach until his hand reaches my breast. I close my eyes, melting into his caresses.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks me.

  “That this is one of my favorite places for you to touch me,” I say softly.

  “I like it, too, baby,” he says, moving to his side and leaning over me. He lifts my shirt, placing soft kisses all over my torso. I scratch his scalp and curl my toes in unison. “What are you thinking about this opportunity?” He covers my body with the sheet and props his head in his hand, looking down at me.

  I whimper quietly, wanting him to continue. “Don’t stop.”

  “You’re insatiable,” he says, looking surprised.

  “Please?”

  “Anything you want.” He moves on top of me and slides his body against mine slowly.

  “I want this, Jon. I want this everyday, too.”

  “Yeah,” he breathes, kissing my ear.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Absolutely.” His mouth covers mine, and we kiss deeply. I start to try to undress him.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, a
nd he stops. “Wait, no,” I laugh. “No, this...” I put my hands on his rear and pull him closer. “This is a good idea.”

  “Oh, thank God,” he says, relieved. “Then what isn’t?” he asks.

  “This,” I say vaguely. He stops again, this time pulling away to look at me suspiciously, his eyes narrowed.

  I grin coyly, and he tickles me behind my knee. “Stop playing games with me, Olivia,” he says sternly with enunciated syllables, angling his body away from the oncoming reflexive kick.

  “Okay.” I bite my lip, trying to hide my smile. The corners of his mouth raise, and he looks so happy and peaceful and settled. “Coming back here for the summer,” I say to him.

  “What about it?” He lifts my shirt and kisses my stomach.

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  Once more, he pauses. I giggle at his reaction. “Not this, Jon! Keep going.” I run my fingers up his back and shoulders, trying to encourage him.

  “Wait a minute, Liv.” He puts my clothes back in place and pushes his body off of mine. “What are you saying?”

  “I just keep thinking that there will be other opportunities that may be better timed than this one.” I shrug, looking beyond him because I’m afraid to see his response.

  “Last night, you were committed to this thing,” he says.

  “That was before I woke up with you this morning... and realized that I want this more than a summer away from you.”

  “No no no no no,” he says quickly. “That’s not what I was hinting at, Liv. You should definitely do this.”

  “And I want to,” I tell him, “but I want to share this experience with you. I just don’t think it will be as fulfilling without you, and–”

  “Olivia, wait. Listen,” he starts. “You have thrived without me before, need I remind you? You don’t need me to be with you when you create. You absolutely can do this without me.”

  “I don’t want to, though, Jon. I am better with you.”

  “Livvy, you have created some of the most incredible pieces of artwork this world has ever seen... in my absence.”

  “That right there,” I say, “that makes me nervous. The thought of being better without you. I don’t ever want that to be the truth.”