Contessa

by Lori L. Otto

  “Have you ever picked up a musical instrument?”

  “Picked up? Sure. Will plays the tuba.”

  I start giggling. “That’s going to be a lovely song.”

  “The best tuba love song you ever heard.”

  “The only one–”

  “And wouldn’t that be special?” He jokes with me.

  “Yes, of course, dear.” I stand up and playfully tap the top of his head with the sketch book, walking past him. He follows me into the main room.

  “So I’m taking the SAT next month.”

  “Really?” he asks as we both take a seat.

  “Yeah. My parents want to see where I stand so we can take a look at college options.”

  “I thought you were set on Parsons.”

  “I think I am. They’re not. They want Ivy League.”

  “It’s your decision.”

  “I’m just humoring them. But you know, it wouldn’t be too bad to go to Columbia with you.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, but you should choose the school that suits you best for what they offer. Don’t just go for me.”

  “It’s just something I started thinking about. But with the SATs, I’m really just curious how I’ll do.”

  “I’m curious, as well. Your PSAT scores were ridiculously high–”

  “I test well when I know the material.”

  “I know. And if you want help with some prep work, we can start working on that on Tuesdays. Not today, though.”

  “Definitely not today. And actually, I’m working with one of my teachers over my study hall period to prep. I’ve been doing it since the beginning of the year.”

  “Look at you. You’re phasing me out,” he teases. “Is he cute?”

  “Shut up.” I push against his chest. “But, yeah, me and the other four girls in my class do think he’s pretty hot.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I’m feeling a little jealous,” he says. “Tell me about him.”

  “He’s twenty-five–”

  “Way too old.”

  “By whose standards?” I smile at him innocently.

  “What else?”

  “Well, he’s obviously really smart. He wears these cute, nerdy glasses–”

  “Oh, one of those guys.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m just messing with you, Olivia. I’m not threatened. You’re wearing my ring, not his.” He wraps his arms around me and leans me back into the couch.

  “That’s right.” I give him a peck on the cheek.

  “So you brought your paints?” I nod to answer his question. “Let’s set up by the window. That view is amazing. Let’s see your interpretation of this great city of ours.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Sketch.” He leans back, releasing me and pushing up his sleeves.

  “The skyline?”

  “You,” he says with a smile. “An artist at work. I’ve been wanting to do this since the Art Room days, but back then, it was a little difficult, sharing a workspace with you.”

  “Liar,” I joke with him as I get up and cross the room to get my materials.

  “I’m not lying,” he states, “not at all.” I turn around and smile at him.

  “Need some pencils?”

  “And a sketch pad,” he says. “Got an extra one?”

  “Of course.” I take the supplies he’s requested first, then return for the drop cloth. He carries my desktop easel to the table by the window and sets it up for me. I rearrange it once I find the angle I want to paint from.

  My palms on the windowsill, I lean into the window. Jon’s right. It is a beautiful view, but I can’t wait to see what it looks like in spring, when the flowers and trees are in bloom. I focus on the reservoir, deciding I want that to be the background for my painting. The day is calm, the water still and perfectly reflecting the beautiful blue sky.

  When I return to my easel, the windows on my left, I glance to my right to see my boyfriend. Jon rearranges the pillows on the bed and kicks his shoes off, sitting with his legs crossed and leaning against the padded headboard. That image, in itself, is worth painting: the stark contrast of his jeans, and dark shirts against the pristine white bed linens. I almost change my mind and begin painting him, but realize I can paint him any time. I may not get to see this view of the city again for awhile. I take my phone out of my back pocket and snap a quick picture of him while he’s not looking.

  I pull the smock out of my bag, and then my mom’s black dress. Putting the garments on ritualistically, I wonder if it was in this very room that Mom wore the dress when Nate said he loved her. He had been painting. Could he have been standing right in this very spot? I wrap my arms around myself, taking a moment to revel in the moment.

  “You still wear that?” he asks.

  “What?” I look down at the dress. “I like it.”

  “Why? It hardly does any good, it’s so threadbare.”

  “It inspires me,” I explain. “See this paint here? And this one?” I point to two splotches that I’m pretty sure have been there since I got the dress. He nods. “That’s Nate’s paint. I hand wash it so it won’t go away.”

  “Hmmm,” is his only response, looking at me curiously.

  Nate’s music continues to play in the background, a subtle folk sound, as Jon and I create images to mark what’s shaping up to be a perfect day. I notice a woman in the park with a bright purple coat and a multicolored scarf, and decide she will be the only person represented in the painting. In truth, hundreds of people make their way through the park. Many couples, hand in hand, stroll the sidewalk. But this one woman, alone; I can see her smile from twelve stories up. There’s something remarkable about her, and I want to acknowledge her presence.

  After putting the finishing touches on her long, black hair, I glance over at Jon, who’s staring at me.

  “How’s the drawing coming along?”

  “It’s decent,” he says. “Your expression keeps changing, and I haven’t decided which one I want to capture and immortalize on paper. I love them all.”

  “Ohhh, that’s sweet,” I say, a little taken aback. “You should get me smiling, because I’m so happy.”

  “Yeah?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I lay my brush down and take off my smocks, setting them carefully on the drop cloth. Jon puts his sketchbook and pencils down on the nightstand and holds his arms out to me, inviting me to join him on the bed. I know it’s not a good idea, but I push rational thought aside and decide to go with what I’m feeling. I hear his voice in my head. I came prepared, he had said. He takes my hand in his and pulls my body to him. I settle in his lap, my feet dangling off the side of the bed. With his arms around me, he kisses me slowly.

  “I bet I could make you smile even more,” he says suggestively, his eyes searching mine. He threads his fingers through my long hair, his stare intense and wanting.

  “I don’t know.” I swallow hard, feeling my pulse quicken exponentially by the second.

  “Is that a challenge?” The left side of his lips curls up mischievously.

  “I don’t know,” I answer again, this time with a bashful grin. He kisses my mouth softly, then my cheek, then trails his lips to my neck. I lean my head back, knowing full-well that I’m encouraging him to continue. His hands supporting my weight, he lays me back against the plush bed and leans over me, his lips returning to mine.

  “You’re sure that no one’s going to find out about us being here?” he whispers as he lies down next to me. He drags his fingers from my throat all the way down my torso, stopping at the waistline of my jeans. I shiver at the sensation and feel the blood coursing through my veins. I want him and I want this.

  “I’m pretty sure,” I answer as I put my hand on top of his. He kisses me again, but I can feel his fingers fumbling with the button of my pants. I help him out, anxious for him to touch me. He unzips my jeans, his kisses more passionate, but his hand
slides up the front of my shirt, instead. He caresses my breasts tenderly over my bra. Just as I’m about to lean up and unfasten my undergarment for him, his movements cease. He takes his hand out from beneath my shirt.

  “Pretty sure?” he says, pulling away abruptly. “That answer doesn’t sound as certain as it did when we got here.”

  “I paid off the doorman and valet,” I explain. “I’m sure they won’t tell.” I run my fingers through his hair and try to pull him back to me, but he doesn’t move.

  “But you’re the only one with the key, right?”

  “We can fasten the chain,” I suggest. “That way no one can walk in.”

  “Who has a key, Olivia?”

  “Jon, it’s fine,” I try again.

  “Livvy?” I can tell he’s frustrated with me.

  “Granna,” I tell him. “Just Granna. Please, Jon,” I plead. “I want you.”

  He shakes his head, signaling a no, but his hand travels down my body and rests exactly where I need him most. “How do you want me?” he asks.

  Confused, I just stare into his eyes.

  “How?” he questions me again.

  “I want all of you,” I tell him. “I need you.” He pulls his hand away, and I answer with a whimper.

  He chuckles a little, leaning his body against mine and putting one of his legs between mine. “You told me you weren’t ready for that yet, remember?”

  “I know what I said, but–”

  “But nothing, Olivia. Believe me, it is wonderful to hear you say you want me, and I want to be your first, I do. But I think it’s too risky to do it here, today. Not when Donna has a key, and not when you start the day, clear-headed, telling me no.”

  “So I changed my mind!” I explain, adamant. He drags his leg against my body slowly, and just as I think I’m going to get my way, he shifts away from me and stands up. “Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t answer, just walks toward the door at a determined pace. He fastens the chain and leans his head against the door for a few seconds before turning around and glaring at me, his eyes never leaving mine as he returns to the bed.

  “That’s the expression I’m going to use,” he says as I try to catch my breath. He leans over me, and plants another firm kiss on my lips. I hold him close, not wanting him to leave, ever. “Let me go, and get off the sketch pad,” he laughs.

  “I’m not ready,” I whine as I run my fingers down his naked back. “Hold me some more.”

  “If I hold you some more,” he says as he nudges my hair out of my face with his nose, “I’m going to want to do a lot more.” He looks at me intently, letting me know he’s serious. I look away from him, feeling a little guilty, and blush. “Now move over and show me that sexy, satisfied smile one more time.”

  I shift slightly to the right so he can get the sketchpad that had fallen from the nightstand and shuffled beneath my head while we were making out. He moves it aside, but then positions himself on top of me. His strong arms keep his body hovering above mine, not touching. He glances at my red bra, and then moves his eyes back up to mine. “What do I have to do to get that smile back?”

  I think back to the way he was touching me, and the smile comes naturally.

  “That’s the one.” He stares, as if trying to memorize every nuance of my expression, then moves quickly to grab the pencil and paper. He reclaims his position against the headboard and begins to draw as I lie on the bed, my jeans unfastened and unzipped, but still in place, my sweater in a heap next to me.

  The smile stays with me. He definitely knows how to please me. I stare at the ceiling, still reflecting, not wanting to let go of the moment, but not wanting to draw him in to something more, something I’m not ready to give him. Yet.

  “Have I said thank you yet?” I look in his direction, but his focus is on his drawing.

  “You have,” he mutters with a grin without glancing up.

  “Jon, did it feel good for you, too?” I ask him. I had followed his lead, wanting to do the same for him that he had done for me. Nervous and unsure, I had unzipped his jeans and tucked my hand inside tentatively. He’d moaned in my ear as I explored the completely foreign anatomy that hid beneath his underwear. He encouraged me softly, where to put my hand, my palm, my fingers, how to hold him, how to move against him. I knew it felt good for him, but I didn’t know if he was able to experience a fraction of what I felt. If he was, he hid his emotions well, staying composed and concerned with making me happy.

  He’s silent for a few seconds, maybe a minute, as he continues to draw. Finally, he bites his lip, makes eye contact with me, and moves the paper to the side. “I didn’t thank you, did I?”

  “That’s not why I’m asking,” I explain quickly.

  “It felt amazing, you touching me like that. You should already know that I enjoyed it, Olivia. A man’s body can’t hide its excitement well.” I’m pretty sure his cheeks grow a little pinker. “I just can’t wait for the day when I don’t have to hide how I really feel about you.”

  “I know,” I whisper, understanding him and still feeling a little sad that he wasn’t fully satisfied. “Was there something I could have done to... you know?”

  “We’ll get there, Liv,” he says.

  “I know, I just feel bad–”

  He puts his hands next to my ears and presses his lips firmly on mine. He pulls away for less than a second, just to say one thing to me. “Don’t.” Then we’re kissing again, and he settles his torso against mine. The warmth of his skin is comforting. I feel safe in his arms. He rolls us over, pulling me on top of him. I lean back slightly, my forearms carefully balanced against his chest. My hair cascades in messy tendrils, shielding our view from anything else in the room. It feels like we’re the only two people in the world. “Don’t feel bad, okay? When we’re both ready to take it to the next level, we’ll know it. But now, I like making you feel that way. I like knowing that I do that to you.”

  “Will you tell me when you want more?” I ask him.

  “Maybe,” he answers. “When I think you’re ready, maybe.”

  “Do you sometimes wish I wasn’t a virgin?”

  He laughs at my question, his eyebrows raised high. “No, Olivia. Never. I kind of like this prolonged anticipation. The longer I wait, the stronger I feel about you. The more sure I am about you.”

  “I love you,” I tell him as I slide off of him and nestle into his side, my head resting on his chest.

  “I love you, too,” he says, kissing the top of my head and pulling the end of the comforter off the edge of the bed to cover us up. “Don’t get me wrong though,” he adds. I lift my head up to look at him. “I also can’t wait until you’re not a virgin anymore.” He positions his fingers beneath my chin and angles my head for a kiss. “Provided I’m the one that makes you that way, of course.”

  “Of course,” I reiterate. “I don’t want it to be anyone else, Jon. I trust you. I don’t think I could ever trust someone else like this. I feel like I’ve always known you and like you’ve always cared about me.”

  “I have.” He strokes my hair as I begin to doze off, wrapped in his arms, in the comforter; completely wrapped up in him.

  “Olivia?” I hear him whisper, drawing me out of my sleep.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did I wear you out?” he laughs softly, moving to grab my leg by the back of the knee to pull it across his body. His hand continues to explore my leg and backside.

  “What time is it?” I ask, opening my eyes to see the sun blazing into them through the windows. “Wow, that’s bright.”

  “That’s the sun setting,” he says. “It’s five.”

  “Five? Already?” I’m mildly alerted by the quick passage of time, but not enough to move.

  “Yeah. I just heard your phone ring. It might be your parents, so I thought maybe you should check.”

  “Oh, god, yeah.” That gets me moving. I hop off the bed and grab my sweater, pulling it over my head hurriedly.

&n
bsp; “Slow down, it’s not like they’re here.”

  I stop and take a few deep breaths, finally waking up. “Right.” I smile at him and fasten my jeans.

  He stands up to zip and button his pants, too, then begins walking closer to me. Wrapping his arms around me, he leans in as if he’s going to kiss my cheek or take my earlobe into his mouth. I close my eyes in anticipation. “Your sweater’s on backwards,” he says in my ear. His arms move, and I feel his fingers grasp the bottom hem of my garment. I raise my hands up, allowing him to undress me for the second time today. “You don’t really need this to call them, do you?”

  “I don’t guess so,” I answer.

  “Good,” he says, balling it up and tossing it far across the room.

  “Wait, do you think people can see in these windows?” I ask in a panic.

  “No, the windows are reflective. I noticed when we came in.” I sigh in relief as he walks over to my tote bag and finds my phone. After inspecting it, he hands it to me. “Yep. Your dad.”

  “He just called once?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  “What are we studying?” Jon quizzes me.

  “SAT prep?”

  “Nice. And what’s for dinner?”

  “Sandwiches at a deli. A new place you’re dragging me to.”

  “Excellent.” As I start to dial, he takes the phone once more. “Now, I’m not encouraging you to lie, you understand that, right?”

  “Yes, you are,” I laugh, grabbing the phone back. “But I don’t mind.”

  “I’m just asking you to protect what we have going here,” he states. “I can’t risk another grounding.”

  “I know,” I tell him as I start to run my fingers down his torso. He shudders at the ticklish sensation, and wraps his fingers around mine. I release his hands so I can dial my father.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I say when he answers. I walk toward the window so I can focus on what I’m going to say. “How’s your day?”

  “Fine, Livvy, how’s yours?” he asks. Already, he sounds suspicious.

  “You know, the same old thing. School, studying... same thing that happens every Tuesday.”

  “Are you with Jon?”