Olivia

by Lori L. Otto

  “Baby, of course I did. It was an incredible night. Thinking about it makes me smile constantly… and it makes me a little… concupiscent.” I blush at saying the word aloud. I’ve always hated the word horny, and my sponge-of-a-brain had latched on to this formal replacement the moment I learned it. I’ve said it to myself a million times, thinking about Olivia, but I never thought I’d say it aloud. I can’t tell her I’m horny.

  “Does that mean you want me, too?”

  “That’s exactly what that means. How do you feel about it?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, suddenly shy. I don’t expect her to be detailed in her opinions of that night. Everything is new to her, and even though she let go in some moments, I knew she was unsure of certain things and embarrassed by others.

  “Was I gentle enough?” I ask her. I was as restrained as I possibly could have been that night, but there were times when I thought I was going too fast, or too deep.

  Concupiscent. I have work to do, I don’t have time for this. If she was here right now, though, I’d forego Dick’s challenge in a heartbeat.

  “You were perfect,” she says. “I felt loved.”

  “You are loved, Olivia. Above any feelings of lust I have for you – right this very moment, in fact – I love you more.”

  “I like that you lust me, too,” she says with a slight giggle.

  “If we keep talking like this, I’ll have to go find a woman who’s not boarded up in her brownstone with ten family members and make mad, passionate lust to her–”

  “Don’t you dare,” she laughs.

  “I could only love you,” I assure her. “And you’re the only one I could lust after, too, Liv. Trust me. But this is the last time you’re going to call me in the middle of the night and get me all worked up while I have drawings to do. If you do it again, you better be able and willing to do something about it.”

  “I like it when you’re demanding.”

  “I like it when you want me. No, I love it when you want me. We just have to figure out how we’re going to make it happen again.”

  “I know,” she says. “But I just want you to know I do want it again. I hadn’t really told you that, and I thought you might like to know.”

  “It’s made my night… or morning. Hell, it’s made my week, Olivia. And making love to you last weekend made my lifetime.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “I love you, baby. I’ll call you tomorrow after I get some sleep. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she says. “I love you, too. Get lots done, and be careful going home.”

  “I will. Good night.”

  “Night,” she whispers before hanging up.

  By six-thirty, both sketches are complete. On the revised elevation I drew, I sign my name to the art in the corner of the page as I was instructed to do on my second day here. On the original one, I simply put a smiley-face in the corner. I roll them up and place each one in its own tube, and personally hand deliver both to Wallace. He puts the caller he was speaking to on hold to address me.

  “Have you been here all night?” he asks as I sling my bag over my shoulder.

  “I have. I was presented with a challenge, and I like a challenge.”

  “And that’s why you’re giving me two drawings?”

  “Yes, sir. I would be happy to discuss the second one with you when I come in this afternoon.”

  “I’m intrigued,” he says through a growing smile. “I look forward to that.”

  Confident in my work, I leave the building. Even if this doesn’t follow protocol, and even if I was never asked to present original ideas, I know that what I’ve given them will make them reconsider Dick’s original plans. At least it will make them think twice about the construction.

  At best, it will make a lasting impression.

  EMI

  “It’s nine in the morning, Mom,” Livvy says as she steps into the kitchen. “Why are you eating key lime pie?”

  “I think it’s the perfect time to eat pie,” I respond. “Plus, I thought I was alone for a bit. Jacks and Matty took everyone out for the day. I think the whole family’s getting stir crazy. And you, missy, I heard you up at three. I figured you’d sleep in much later.”

  “You heard me?” she asks. She looks like she was caught doing something wrong.

  “I was doing some laundry downstairs,” I admit, looking at her sideways. “Were you doing something you shouldn’t have been doing?”

  “I had a bad dream, so I called Jon.”

  “You shouldn’t be calling him that late, Livvy. He has a job now, doesn’t he?”

  She looks at the pie longingly, and I get up to serve her a piece. She smiles, pulling up a seat next to me at the kitchen island.

  “He was at work,” she informs me. “He pulled an all-nighter.”

  “He’s too young to be putting in those hours. Why was he doing that?”

  “He said it was a long story. I’m sure something inspired him.”

  “I’m sure,” I agree.

  “What was so urgent about the laundry, Mom? Huh?”

  “I had a bad dream, too, and I didn’t want to keep your father awake. Plus, with all the extra people here, there seems to be a constant stream of laundry.”

  “I can help with that today. I don’t have anything else to do since I can’t see Jon.”

  “Jon is only one element in your life. There are about a million other things you can be doing.”

  “I don’t want to do anything else.” Her choice of words twists in my mind, but I pretend like I don’t notice the entendre, and hope she didn’t intend for one.

  “I see. Well, dinner was a hit last night. I know Jacks had fun teaching you. Maybe you could do that again tonight.”

  “I know he was just doing it to try to get me to talk. I know what you put him up to, Mom. I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were.”

  We both eat our slices of pie in silence. When she’s finished, she takes both of our plates and rinses them in the sink.

  “I noticed you put your paint supplies away yesterday.” It’s not a subtle way to bring it up, but as she stated, she’s not stupid. There’s no point in beating around the bush with her.

  “So?”

  “So… I haven’t seen your room that clean since… well, before you lived in it.”

  “Most mothers would be grateful.”

  “Most mothers don’t have extremely dedicated, talented artists for daughters, either. But I’m special, because you are.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.”

  “Livvy, honey, why aren’t you painting?”

  “I can’t concentrate on it.”

  “Well, why not? What’s on your mind?”

  “Mom,” she whines.

  “I could make assumptions, if you’d like. I presume there’s a part of you that’s upset about Granna. I presume there’s a part of you that is anxious for life to get back to normal again. I presume there’s a part of you that’s preoccupied with Jon… and with…“

  I don’t know if I should say any more about my suspicions.

  “With what?” she asks.

  “With whatever happened in Greece.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tells me without looking me in the eye. “We had dinner, like I promised him we would, and then we went our separate ways for the night. It’s like no one trusts us,” she pouts, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  I don’t believe her, and I don’t want to let this moment pass us by. “Livvy, you can tell me anything, okay?”

  “There’s nothing to tell!”

  “Okay, okay,” I concede. “So nothing happened, but if it did – or if something does happen in the near future – I want you to know you can come to me with questions or concerns. I’m your mother, and I want to be here for you, okay?”

  “That’s fine,” she says with a crimson blush.

  “You wouldn’t be in trouble. And it could stay bet
ween us.”

  “I thought you weren’t keeping secrets from Dad anymore.”

  I remember our conversation from Valentine’s Day, the day she and Jon snuck into the loft for the afternoon. I discovered them, but didn’t tell Jack. I do believe that nothing happened that day, but something’s different about Livvy’s denial this time. She was believable before, but she’s not now. I can’t put my finger on why… and maybe this is still just my own guilt, eating away at me. I let her go. I left her in the care of an uncle who would look the other way. I let Jon and Livvy’s love story carry me away.

  “I regret sending you with Matty, Liv,” I say, choked up. “I’m so sorry if I put you in a place where you had to make decisions you weren’t ready to make. You’re too young, sweetie. I forget that you’re only sixteen sometimes–”

  “Mom!” she says, stopping me. “Nothing bad happened, okay?” She added a word. Bad. She meant to. She looks at me directly. “Any decisions I made… I was ready to make.”

  I search her eyes in an attempt to better understand her. Is she admitting it? Did they? I feel a tear stream down my cheek, and wipe it away quickly, but she already saw it. Livvy’s eyes water in response. “Nothing happened,” she says softly. “I’m fine. I’m still regular old Livvy.”

  “There’s nothing regular about you,” I correct her with a smile, appreciating her desire to change the mood.

  “I’m special,” Livvy says with her trademark eye-roll, going back to my earlier compliment of her.

  “You are,” I affirm. “But you’re not old yet, either. I think you’re too young. Do you understand that?”

  “I understand that you think I’m too young, Mom, yes. I hear that loud and clear.” I know from her demeanor, though, that she doesn’t agree. There’s no point in arguing. I remember being 16, too.

  I remember being 16, and I remember having curious thoughts about sex. My friends were doing it. They turned out fine. I think it all depends on the relationship, on the two people involved. This is where my judgment gets clouded. It’s because I love and respect my daughter, but I also truly admire the boy she’s chosen to be with.

  MATTY

  “Jesus! These people are vultures!” I exclaim once corralling the entire family into Jack’s home. Glancing out the window, I see people are still poised with cameras pointed in our direction. Jack had been calm. Everyone else had been silent. I can’t stand it anymore.

  I swing the door back open and stand on the front porch, blinking away the constant stream of flashes. “We have asked for privacy!” I yell at them.

  “Where is Livvy?” someone asks above the noise of the rest of them.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “ManhattanNOW,” he responds.

  “Your site’s shit,” I inform him, happy to have the chance to give a little critique. “For one thing, your equipment must suck because I’ve never seen a clear picture on your site. Or perhaps it’s just your poor photography skills… secondly, your news always comes a day late. Timeliness is certainly not your forte, which is sort of a contradiction to your name, ManhattanNOW, isn’t it? Why not Manhattan-yesterday or Manhattan-some-time-after-the-other-tabloid-sites-break-the-story?”

  “Don’t encourage them,” I hear Jack say from inside the house. I glance back, but he’s not anywhere to be seen.

  “If we can get a picture of Livvy Holland, we’ll go,” someone else calls out to me.

  “You want a picture of my niece?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if I give you one, you’ll leave?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Give me a few minutes,” I say, going back inside and walking with purpose past my brother.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.

  “They want a picture of Livvy. I’m gonna give them a picture of Livvy.”

  “Like hell you are. Don’t play into their demands. We don’t barter with them. We ignore them. Once we do that, and stand firm on not doing anything that’s remotely newsworthy, they leave.”

  “They’ll leave when they have a picture of Livvy!” He follows me to his office, where I try to guess the password on his computer. “Emi. Nope. Livvy. Nope. Sexytime-with-Emi. Nope. My-favorite-tie-is-blue. Nope.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What’s your password, Jacks?”

  “Idiot,” he mumbles, moving the keyboard toward him and typing something in quickly. “I was close. It started with E-M, didn’t it?”

  “Shut up. Why’d you need my computer?”

  I navigate to the ManhattanNOW website and do a quick search for Livvy. I have several photos to choose from, but I decide on one from her 16th birthday party - a blurry one taken with a telephoto lens through a dirty window. You can barely even tell it’s her. I hit the print button, and wait until the printer’s finished before getting up.

  “You’re funny,” Jacks says with a laugh.

  “Wait, it’s not color?” I ask him, looking at the greyscale photo.

  “That one’s downstairs for the kids to use. It’s wireless, I can redirect–”

  “Nope, this is even better. Thanks.” I walk briskly to the door, passing my father. “Dad?”

  “Yeah, Matty?” he asks from the living room recliner.

  “Come with me.” I wait for him at the front door.

  “What are you getting me in to?” he complains, getting up from his cozy seat. He follows me outside, up to the awaiting crowd of paparazzi.

  “Where’s Livvy?” the guy from earlier asks.

  “You asked for a picture,” I tell him, holding the piece of paper out to him, “so here it is.”

  “You know that’s not what we meant,” a girl next to him says.

  “No, I think we were both pretty clear. Now please leave.”

  “Just have her come out on the porch!” someone else whines.

  “So you can get another blurry picture of her standing around doing nothing? This isn’t news, people.”

  “She’s just a young girl,” my dad chimes in. “Leave her alone. Leave my family alone.”

  “Mr. Holland, can you tell us a story about Livvy? Maybe something about when she was younger?”

  “I can not,” he says simply.

  “I don’t know if you know this, but Dad’s retired FBI, and he knows a lot of people who can make your lives miserable–”

  “Your dad was a traveling salesman,” someone else says from the back.

  “That was his cover. Look at him. He’s still fit and sharp as a tack, so I wouldn’t press your luck. He can make some calls.”

  “That’s bullshit,” the ManhattanNOW guy says.

  “Yeah?” Dad refutes. “Well, I’ve got the captain of the NYPD on speed dial. I bet he’ll vouch for me.”

  “We’re not breaking any laws.”

  “New York Penal Code Section 240.35 - Loitering,” Dad rattles off. “Number five: A person is guilty of loitering when he loiters or remains in or about school grounds.”

  “This is a street of private residences,” someone argues.

  “Turn around,” I say, pointing to a church day school on the opposite corner.

  “I think this is about school grounds,” Dad says. “It’s at least something we’ll take to the courts when we press charges. I don’t know if you know this, but my son, Jacks, has a team of very good lawyers. They’ve never lost a case.”

  A few of the photographers begin to walk away.

  “My granddaughter isn’t coming out today.”

  “But she’ll be at the funeral tomorrow?”

  “That’s a private ceremony, as well,” I tell them. “I’d keep my distance.”

  “Captain Ambrose will be in attendance, in fact,” Dad adds. The only way we actually know him at all is through Donna. She was active in some police charities.

  The rest of the group finally disperses.

  “Hey, Manhattan-yesterday! Didn’t you want your picture of Livvy?”

  “Screw you,
” he says lazily as he walks past.

  “The FBI, Matty?” my father asks as we go back inside.

  “I know your intellectual interest in the Bureau would have made it a perfect job. If they’d have quizzed you, you would have fooled them all.”

  “I feel used,” he jokes.

  “Well, you were my only option. They all know Jacks is a pussycat and wouldn’t hurt a mouse. And Steven’s not around, or else I would have just brought him to be the intimidator.”

  “Matty?”

  “Yeah, Little Liv?”

  “Can you help me with something?” She lingers at the top of the basement stairs.

  “Sure.”

  “In my room?”

  I follow her down the stairs, arriving in the empty basement. It’s the first time all week the television hasn’t been on and blaring some movie I never wanted to see. Trey always gets to choose, and his taste in film isn’t very refined. Yet. I have plans for my nephew.

  “Come on,” Livvy urges me. When I’m inside, she offers me a seat on the bed and shuts the door. “What’s going on?”

  I relax a little. “We were just dealing with some photogs who wanted a little Livvy-time. I took care of them.”

  “Not about that,” she says. “Why is my mom having weird conversations with me?”

  I shrug my shoulders, unsure of these conversations. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is she saying?”

  “Thing like, ‘I never should have sent Matty with you,’ and ‘I’m sorry if I put you in a position to make choices you didn’t want to make.’”

  “Interesting,” I say, shaking my head. “I have no idea. I’ve said nothing to either of your parents. Our secret stays between us.”

  “That’s just it,” she says. “There, like, is no real secret. Yes, Jon and I slept together, but that’s it. We’ve fallen asleep together before, and it wasn’t scandalous, nor did it prompt mom to act all guilty and sad.”

  “You’ve slept together before?” I ask her, shocked. I didn’t know, and the fact that she says it like this makes me think I should have known.