Livvy

  “Hi, Matty. Having a good week?”

  “Sure. What do you think about this weather?” I can hear the sarcasm in Matty’s voice. He smiles, rolls his eyes quickly, and shuts his door before getting an answer.

  “No small talk,” I say, walking toward Jon.

  “Hey,” he says. “Trust and loyalty, thousands of miles apart,” he says softly. “We’ve already got that figured out... and we did that when we were broken up.”

  “I love you,” I tell him, kissing him deeply, and then pulling him inside the loft. “Thank you for being open-minded about Brazil.”

  “Thank you for being open-minded about what I’d like to do tonight.”

  I slap his arm playfully, and he laughs at my response.

  “I promise, it will all fall within the principles of metaphysical sexual optimism.”

  “With love,” I add, making sure of his suggestion.

  “Always. First and foremost.”

  “Okay.” We kiss again. “What did you have in mind?”

  “You know, Olivia,” he says slowly. He doesn’t call me that very often anymore, but when he does, millions of butterflies are unleashed. I think I like that hearing it is a rarity. It’s special.

  “Yes?”

  “I have this fantasy...”

  “Okay...”

  “...where we take a long bubble bath together.”

  “That’s your ‘open-minded’ suggestion? I’m in! I love a bubble bath.”

  “It’s step one,” he warns.

  “Go run the water.”

  “Do you have any candles?”

  “There are two on the night stand, remember?”

  “Yeah,” he calls from the bathroom

  “I’ll be right back!” Before he can ask where I’m going, I head over to Matty’s, knocking once again. It takes him longer to answer this time.

  A hand pokes out through his barely-opened door. He’s holding out a strand of condoms. “No, Matty!” I yell, pushing his hand into the apartment and leaning into the door to open it further. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Oh. Then what?”

  “Is, um... is the bar open for business?”

  He glares at me. “No. No it’s not. Never. I will not condone this.” I stare at him, mouth agape, wondering why he won’t help. He starts to walk over to the bar, though, throwing a dishtowel over his shoulder once he gets behind the cabinet. “Why are you home, Liv?”

  “I had to talk to Jon about–”

  “Brazil?”

  “I see Dad talked to you.”

  “So you’re getting him liquored up to sweet talk him?”

  “No, Matty. I already told him. He’s being... open-minded,” I tell him, holding back a smile. “We were going to celebrate with a toast.”

  “A toast... you know, Liv? Most kids remember the alcohol and forget the condoms.”

  “We aren’t like most kids.”

  “Mmhmm. Right. Sparkling wine?” he asks.

  “Just one glass each,” I plead. “I don’t even want the bottle.”

  “Are you driving back tonight?”

  “Absolutely not. My eight o’clock class was cancelled.”

  He rubs his bare chin with his thumb and forefinger, teasing me. “I don’t know, Little Liv. Champagne leads to smoking, then to cocaine, then to meth... are you cooking meth over there?”

  “Stop it!” I say, laughing. “He’s going to wonder where I am.”

  Matty nods, opening a new bottle from his refrigerator. He pours two glasses, then takes a drink straight from the bottle. He clicks his tongue, as if tasting it. “This’ll do. Cheers to your opportunity,” he says, handing me the two flutes and winking.

  “Thanks, Matty.”

  “No tip?”

  “I, uh...”

  “Go, Little Liv.” He walks over to the door to let me out since my hands are full. Jon’s waiting for me in the hall.

  “I wasn’t sure if you went there or upstairs.”

  “I’m thirsty,” I tell him. “And I thought a bubbly drink would go well with candles and a bubble bath.”

  I settle into the large garden tub, pulling the bubbles toward me to cover myself up. I look away as Jon undresses, even though I can’t make out many details in the darkened room. He starts some music from my phone, then climbs in, sitting across from me. He picks up both of the glasses, handing me one.

  “To us?” I ask.

  “To love, trust, loyalty and fidelity,” he says, “thousands of miles away.” We tap glasses.

  “And in the same bathtub,” I add before I take a sip. He laughs lightly as he drinks.

  “Livvy, please know that I have never underestimated you.”

  “What?”

  “You said I underestimate you tonight, and I want you to know that I regard you in the highest esteem possible. There’s honestly nothing I think you can’t do.”

  “I was just kidding,” I tell him apologetically.

  “But I want you to know... I realize the depth of your talents and intelligence. There are just some things I’d never expect another human to know about... like this tortoise story. You don’t expect someone to whip that out in everyday conversation. In my class, sure, but–”

  “Jon, I wasn’t offended. I want to surprise you every once in awhile. Is that wrong?”

  “Never. And never hold back, Liv. I love it when you remind me how amazing you are. Not that there’s a threat of me forgetting. I have years of experiences to build upon, you know?”

  “Me, too.”

  We both take another sip before setting the glasses on the thick rim of the tub.

  “Are you going to stay over there all evening?” he asks.

  “Where would you like me?”

  “Here.” He leans back against the sloped side of the tub and moves his legs to accommodate me in between them. “I promise I’ll behave,” he says, but I don’t need any convincing. I nuzzle into his body, my back against his wet chest, and pull his hands into mine to wrap his arms around me.

  Three weeks later, Dr. Emory makes the drive to Manhattan one Saturday afternoon. Dad picks me up at the loft, and we go to one of his favorite Italian restaurants in Queens.

  “Pai, por favor tenha a mente aberta,” I say as we get out of the car.

  “You’re really testing my memory, here, Liv. It’s been years since I’ve had reason to speak that language. Please be something minded... simple minded?” he asks.

  “Open-minded, Dad. Please be open-minded.”

  He sighs, following me into the restaurant. “Of course, Tessa.”

  My professor must be running late, so Dad and I decide to be seated. The waitstaff doesn’t even have to ask what we want to drink. Within two minutes, they’ve delivered a scotch, a soda and an order of bruschetta to our table.

  “Obrigada,” I say, taking a piece of bread. The waiter looks at me, confused.

  “Grazie,” Dad tacks on. “She means grazie mille.”

  “Exatamente,” I add, nodding my head. Dad laughs at me, taking a sip of his drink. I see Dr. Emory as soon as he walks in the front door. “That’s him,” I say, getting up and crossing the restaurant to meet him and show him to our table. Dad stands up, his hand outstretched to shake my professor’s.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Doctor,” Dad says.

  “It’s Kenneth,” he says, “and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holland.”

  “Please, call me Jack.”

  “Of course.” We all sit back down, and a waitress takes Dr. Emory’s drink order.

  “You’ve sold Livvy on this Brazil thing,” Dad says. “It’s all she’s talked about to me for the last few weeks. And her mother is starting to suspect we’re keeping something from her.”

  “Which we are,” I explain.

  “My half-sister, Ariana Cardoso, is a well-known street artist in Florianópolis,” he begins. “It’s a beautiful city in Santa Catarina in Brazil, right on the Atlantic Ocean. She was with m
e last summer in Manhattan as I was looking through some of the smaller galleries. I’m an art dealer in my free time, so I’m always looking for the next big thing.

  “Ariana and I don’t agree on much, but we were both captivated by one of Olivia Choisie’s paintings. I immediately started calling other galleries and dealers in town, and we were able to see a few more of them before she had to return home to Brazil.

  “The demand for street art is huge in Brazil, specifically in Florianópolis and its neighboring cities, and my sister is probably the most prolific artist there. More people want her work than she is able to take on, and she hates telling people no.

  “About two weeks after she got home, she asked me to do my best to find this Olivia Choisie person, but I couldn’t find anything. Everywhere I looked was a dead end. And then when I was prepping for the spring semester, I stumbled across some paintings in one of the studios that looked very similar in style to the artist I was looking for.”

  “And you got some people involved and realized it’s my daughter,” Dad says, trying to get to the point. “Why did your sister want you to find her?”

  “She wants an apprentice for the summer. She wants someone who can do some of the smaller projects, and she wants the opportunity to teach Livvy the business of street art and revitalizing public spaces.”

  “I see,” says Dad.

  “I was afraid it would be a hard sell, but then Livvy was in my class this semester, and seems to have a genuine interest in this practice in visual arts.”

  “She might be an easy sell, but I need details. And her mother will need even more answers before we think it’s a good idea. Livvy’s never been anywhere alone–”

  “I’m at Yale–”

  “That’s not the real world, Tessa, and you know it. She’s never been on her own anywhere, and to be thrust in another country, another culture, not knowing anyone... I’m not too sure about it.”

  “Ariana has an extra apartment above her studio. Livvy would have her privacy, but my sister and her husband would be living next door. And Ariana has such a good heart. She’s active in children’s charities there, and is very well known in the community. Your daughter will have opportunities to meet people and experience life in a vibrant community. I think Livvy is perfectly suited for such an opportunity, Jack. She’s focused, driven, and a bit of a free spirit.”

  “I know my daughter,” Dad says. Interrupted by the waitress, we all place our orders before he continues. “But I’ve never even been to Brazil. How can I send my daughter some place I have no experience with?”

  “Dad,” I speak up, annoyed, “you can’t have all of my life experiences before I do. I don’t need anyone doing test runs for me. There are things in this world that I want to do that you have no interest in.”

  “If you’re doing something, I’m interested, Liv. Trust me.”

  “Jack,” Dr. Emory says, holding up his hand to stop my argument. “You should come visit the city. You and your wife and son should accompany Livvy over spring break and take in the beautiful Florianópolis. My sister would show you everything there is to see, and hopefully eliminate some of your concerns.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose–”

  “She’s already extended the invitation. She just wanted me to meet you first. She would love to welcome your family and Jon into her home, or you may want to stay in one of the resorts nearby for a true vacation.”

  Dad immediately turns his head to me, his eyes suspicious.

  “We can talk about Jon later,” I say softly to him.

  “You bet we can,” he answers, and after one heavy sigh, seems to relax a little. “Contessa, this is really something you’d like to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to waste Mrs. Cardoso’s time if you’re not pretty certain–”

  “Ariana wouldn’t consider it a waste of her time, and she expects no commitment from Livvy if she gets down there and realizes it’s not for her. But trust me, my sister will find other ways to work with you. She thinks you can be a major influence in the street art movement, maybe someday here in the States.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Absolutely.”

  When they bring our food, Dad changes the subject, talking about Yale first, and then about Dr. Emory’s other business of art dealing. Dad eventually asks if he knows any female agents that would consider representing me. They exchange business cards before we leave.

  “So, Jon,” my dad starts as we head back to Manhattan.

  “What about him?”

  “What does he think?”

  “He thinks it’s amazing... even if it means we’re not together for a few months.”

  Dad sighs. “Contessa, short of threatening his life, I made Jon promise I would never have to see you hurt like that by something that he did, ever again. With you continually bringing that boy around,” he says, “I couldn’t help but grow fond of him. You can’t hurt him, either.”

  “I won’t. Does that mean I can go?”

  “If you intend to make this work with him,” he says, “you have to come to an agreement together. Just some friendly relationship advice, if you’re expecting you and Jon to last. He deserves to be a part of your decision.”

  “Well, of course I’m going to discuss all the details with him.”

  “Good.”

  “Does that mean I can go?”

  “Your mother is still in the dark, remember? We need to fill her in, too. I don’t see any reason why we can’t make the trip to Florianópolis over Spring Break, though. I’ve always wanted to go to Brazil.”

  “Jon, too?”

  He’s quiet for a few seconds. I stare at him, expecting an argument. “If it will help sell him on the idea of you going, then yes, Jon, too.”

  “Thank you, Dad!”

  “He will not be staying with you, though. Is that understood?”

  “You’re being old-fashioned, Dad. We’re both adults.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Liv.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. That’s my job.”

  Dad pulls up to the loft, putting the car in park but leaving it idle in the drive. He puts his hand on mine. “I’ll handle your mother,” he tells me. “I take it Jon’s here?”

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “We’ll regroup tomorrow and make arrangements, if they’re needed.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Francisco’s lingering at the door, waiting for me to enter the building. “Good evening, Miss Holland. Perfect timing. Mr. Scott just got in.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Work,” he answers, accompanying me in the elevator to my apartment.

  “Can you get another key made?” I ask him. “You shouldn’t have to let one of us up all the time.”

  “It’s no burden, but I will talk to the super and get one to you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Francisco.”

  “You’re welcome, Livvy. Have a good evening.”

  “Thanks,” I answer, shuffling my take-out bag and my purse so I can knock on the door. He answers after a few seconds, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. “You had to work?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, the delivery guy lost some sketches of mine.” I know how intricate his work is, and wonder if he’ll have to go back tomorrow to finish redrawing them.

  “You have to redo them?”

  “God, no,” he laughs. “They were only copies, but I didn’t have any extras, so I had to make more from the originals. No one ever goes into my workspace, though, so no one could find where I keep them.”

  “Was it messy?” I ask.

  “Of course not. It’s organized to my strict specifications. I guess no one understands the method to my madness.”

  “Go get comfortable,” I suggest. “I brought biscotti and cannoli from La Guli.” Jon grabs his lounge pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt, going into the guest bathroom to change. I find a pair of pajamas, changin
g in the main bathroom and washing the makeup from my face. When I get out, he’s warming up water for lattes.

  “You don’t have to buy my love,” he says as he takes the desserts from the bag, “but I do love you a little more every time you bring me something from La Guli’s. How did I grow up without this?” he jokes. I do know the cannoli are his favorite treats, though.

  “We were just down the street at Trattoria L’incontro. I couldn’t not stop by.”

  “How was your dinner?” he asks.

  “Great. Oh, have you eaten?”

  “I just met Fred and Yasmin for a sandwich. They say hello.”

  “Cool.”

  “Come here,” he says as he takes my hand and pulls me into him. He kisses me sweetly. “I missed you.”

  “I love you,” I tell him, giving him another peck on the lips.

  “So... how did it go?”

  “I think we’re going to Florianópolis this year for spring break,” I explain. “And you’re invited.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “How many glasses of scotch did it take to get your dad to agree to that?” I smirk at him, picking up the cannoli from his plate and feeding a bite to him. When he’s finished chewing that bite, I kiss a little cream from his top lip.

  “Will you come?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” he says cautiously. “Your dad’s really okay with this?”

  “He wants you to feel good about this decision.”

  “That’s considerate.” We both sit quietly for a minute.

  “What if I like the city, and the opportunity? What if my parents are okay with me being there?” I ask apprehensively.

  “I’d never stand in your way. And three months really isn’t that long. Last summer flew by.”

  “Not for me,” I tell him, remembering how it seemed the pain would never end.

  “And I did that,” he says. “I ruined last summer for you. You’ve earned the right to do whatever you want this summer.”

  “This isn’t about getting even, Jon. This is purely about doing something that I’ve always wanted to do. This is taking advantage of a phenomenal opportunity. This is something that could benefit us both in the long run. I’ll be working with communities, which is something you like to do, and I’ll be earning money that I can put aside for our future. All my bills will be paid for there.”