Olivia (10 page)

“
You won’t be. And I’ll help Dad
cook. I’ve been wanting to learn anyway, so it’s a
win-win.”

“
Ask him first, then let me
know.”

I roll my eyes at him as I try to get up. He grips
my forearm and pulls me back down.

“
Please?” He jabs his fingers into
my side, tickling me.

“
Okay, okay!” I laugh.

“
One more kiss before
Saturday?”

This time,
I
make it count.
He has a hard time catching his breath when I pull away. “My
parents are leaving around noon. What time should I come get
you?”

“
I’ve got a study group until
three,” he tells me, eliciting a frown from both of us. “I’ll be
ready at three-thirty.”

“
I’m ready now,” I taunt him. He
groans at me, standing up and helping me to my feet. “There’s the
bus,” I nod. He grabs his bag and kisses the top of my head before
jogging down the street to catch his ride to Harlem. “Love
you!”

He stops and turns around, a move which could cause
him to miss his transportation to his mother’s apartment. “I love
you, Olivia.” He puts his hand over his heart and looks at me
sweetly.

“
It’s gonna leave!” I yell to him.
Taking off in a sprint, he catches the attention of a woman getting
on the bus, making sure he has time to get on board.

On Saturday, as my dad and brother pack for their
weekend getaway, I escape to the back patio. On the steps with a
small jar of red polish, I start to paint my toenails. It had been
months since I did this myself. When I take off the cap, I stare
long and hard at the tiny brush. Even
it
seems to taunt me, and my normally steady hand shakes as I try to
apply the polish.

By the third toe, I’m pissed off. I put the top back
on the jar and tighten it before hurling it into the middle of our
backyard.

“
What did that nail polish ever do
to you?” my dad says with a quiet laugh, and I wonder how long he’s
been standing there. I don’t turn around to look at him, instead
focusing on the mess I’ve made of my feet and picking at the skin
around my nails. “Livvy, honey?” His dress shoes clack on the wood
patio as he approaches. I feel the palm of his hand on my head.
After spending so much time on my hair this morning, I start to
shirk away, but I’m comforted by him, and sit still as his fingers
massage my scalp lightly. “Are you okay?”

I start to tell him I can’t paint–that even this
task of putting polish on my toenails is impossible to me–but I
don’t want to have that talk with him today.

“
We can stay,” he offers. “When I
planned this weekend, I didn’t remember it was Donna’s birthday
today. If you don’t want to be alone–”

“
Dad, I’m fine,” I tell him,
looking up at him with an assuring smile. I’d known what today was
from our first discussion of his initial plans. I’d recognized that
I would need a distraction. Jon is providing the perfect one
tonight. Just keeping my nerves in tact is going to take most of my
energy today. Lying to my dad about it will take the rest of it.
“I’m spending the afternoon touring Columbia, meeting Abram for
dinner and then going to Camille’s. I’ve got plenty to do
today.”

“
I want details on Columbia. Many,
many details.”

He hadn’t voiced his concern about me spending the
afternoon on campus with Jon, but I knew he was worried. “Yes,
Dad.”

“
And if you
really
want to go there, I want a concrete reason for
that. And it needs to be longer than a three-letter
word.”

I look at him, confused.
Does he
know I’m planning on having
sex
with
Jon–
“Oh, Jon?”

He stares at me, unblinking, finally nodding.

“
Of course,” I tell him, looking
down at my feet to hide my guilt.

“
You’re not going to miss painting
at the loft today?”

I look back down when I answer him. “I mean... it’s
fine. There’s always next week.”

“’
Do you have enough to show Abram
tonight?” I nod, wondering what Abram will say to the fact that I
still have nothing new to show him. All we’ve done is re-take
photos of my current work with the camera I’d received for
Christmas last year. Maybe things will
look
new to him. My agent had never made any demands
of me, but I’d been lying to him, too. Now that he is ready to have
a gallery event, I worry that the truth will only hurt his efforts.
I’m afraid he’ll then tell my father what I’m sure he already
knows. I can worry about that tomorrow.

A heavy force rams against my back, and two small
arms wrap tightly around my neck. “Trey,” I choke out, “not so
tight!”

He giggles and lets go, then walks around me and
plops into my lap, barely missing my wet toenails.

“
You’ll be good for Mommy and Daddy
this weekend, right?”

“
Yep!” he says, excited.

“
Have you been to the bathroom?
Daddy doesn’t like to stop.”

“
Yep!” he answers once
more.

“
Is Charlie packed?”

“
Oh, Charlie!” he exclaims, getting
up abruptly and running back into the house.

“
Thank God you thought of the
robot,” my dad says. “I can’t keep up with everything on my own.
I’ve always counted on your mom to pack his things. We’ve got to
find her some help.”

“
I know,” I tell him as he sits
down in a chair nearby. “She’ll be so happy you’re doing this,
though.”

“
I hope,” he answers. I try to
smile. “I still don’t know that you should take Jon to dinner with
Abram.”

“
Why not?
You’ve
gone to every meeting I’ve had with
him.”

“
Yes, but it’s a business meeting,
and I consider myself an investor in your work. Plus, I always
pay
for dinner for us. I seriously doubt
your agent’s expecting a sixteen-year-old girl to pay for dinner at
La Créme. He shouldn’t have to pick up the tab for your boyfriend,
though.”

“
I’ll
pay
for Jon,” I sigh, exasperated. “I’ll put it on my card.”

“
That’s not an endless supply of
funds, you know,” he says. He’d said it before, but I used it when
I wanted and was never reprimanded for my spending. The money was
always there, regardless of what he said. My dad’s a billionaire,
and although I had learned at a young age to not want a ton of
material things, I was rarely denied things I did, in fact, want.
It was even easier since they gave me my own check card over the
summer.

“
I want him to come with me, Dad,”
I plead. “I need some moral support.”

“
I’ll stay.”

“
Mom needs this, Dad. You both
do.”

He considers this for a second. “Fine,” he says,
handing me some cash. “Just offer to cover your part.”

“
Done,” I tell him with a small
smile.

“
And then you’re staying with
Camille tonight?”

“
She’s planned a movie marathon, so
I’ll be entertained, don’t worry.”

“
Don’t be surprised if we call to
check in.”

“
That’s why you got me the phone!”
I remind him, knowing he’s threatening to call Camille’s parents.
I’d reprogrammed their numbers in my parents’ phones so they would
call Camille’s cell phone, just in case.

“
Well, if your plans fall
through–or you just want to spend the weekend with us at the lake
house–call me. I’ll send a driver to pick you up. I don’t want you
making that drive alone.”

“
I’ll–”

“
Yes, you’ll be fine,” he
interrupts me, finishing my sentence. “I know. I’ll stop
worrying.”

“
Thanks, Dad.” He squats down next
to me and gives me a big hug, then kisses me on the
cheek.

“
Wish me luck,” he says as he
stands and walks to the door.

“
You don’t need it. She’ll be happy
to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. It will be
good.”

“
I know. Have a good weekend. We
will be back tomorrow evening–but we’re only a phone call
away.”

“
Love you, Dad.” He tells me he
loves me, too, before shutting the back door. As soon as I hear his
car drive away, I go back into the house and lock the patio door
behind me.

I knew I would be nervous today. I didn’t think I’d
feel actual fear, but I do. When Jon and I were together in
Mykonos, it was so spur of the moment that I had no time to worry
about it. Now, this has been weeks in the making, and we’ve both
built it up in our minds. I hope I live up to his expectations. I
won’t back out, though. I don’t know when we’ll ever get another
opportunity like this. I don’t want to let him down.

I’m sure I’ll be fine.

To kill some time, I call Camille and convince her
to come to the salon with me to get our nails done together. Of
course she’s in on my plans this evening, but I want to make sure
we’ve covered all of our bases.

“
Why’d he come?” I ask my best
friend as Finn stands in front of me.

“
I need a pedicure,” he tells me. I
look down at his feet and cringe at his toes, wiggling through his
flip flops. “Soccer destroys my nails.”

“
Seriously?” I don’t know why this
surprises me, but it does.

“
I like foot massages,” he admits
with a shrug. “She won’t touch my feet.”

“
Camille!” I chastise her. “After
all he does for you, you won’t touch his feet?”

“
Look at them!” she argues.
“They’re disgusting.”

I don’t say it aloud, but his nails
are
pretty gross, uneven and caked with dirt. Having
grown up with him, though, he’s always been pretty carefree about
his hygiene. His lawyer parents were convinced they were given the
wrong child at birth. They were both so put together, and he was
always a mess. Before Camille, I suspect he didn’t shower every
day. He’s gotten much better. He still doesn’t fix his hair, but at
least I know it’s clean.

Finn sits in the chair between me and Camille.
Although I haven’t talked to him directly about the plans I have
tonight with Jon, I know Camille has told him. She swore him to
secrecy, and I trust him.

The people in my salon, though, I don’t trust. The
last time I came here, I’d had an argument with my mother. I don’t
even remember what it was about, but there was a blurb in the
society pages the next day.

While they work on our pedicures, I take out my
phone, watching Finn typing quickly on his. A message comes through
on my phone.

“
Is he pressuring you?”

I look at Finn, surprised and confused. “No,” I
whisper. He nods his head.

“
I just wanted to make sure. You
don’t have to–”

“
Shhh!” I stop him abruptly, waving
my phone at him.

“
Are you
nervous?”
This message is from Camille.

“
Very,”
I
tell her, but not for the reasons she thinks. I’m worried something
bad will happen again.

“
It hurts the
first time,”
she informs me. I
remember
.
“It gets better. Much
better.”

“
She’s telling you how awesome I
am, right?”

I answer Finn out loud. “No. Quite the
opposite.”

“
What the hell, Camille?” he says,
sloshing water on his attendant as he confronts his girlfriend. I
start laughing as they playfully argue. They used to seem so
intense, but over the past few months, they’d become much more
comfortable and casual together. Their friendship is
obvious.

Would people say the same about me
and Jon?
In public, it’s hard for us to even be ourselves.
In private, we have a lot of fun together. I envision a day where
we can both paint and create together. Some of my best memories of
him are of us in Nate’s Art Room when we were younger. I’d help him
with colors, because he always seemed to be in a black and white
rut. He was always open to my suggestions, and then sometimes, I’d
get stuck on an idea. He would walk me through the mental blocks.
This one, though–not being able to create at all–nothing he’s said
has been able to get me into the mindset to paint again. It scares
me. I can tell it worries him, too. I can’t face Granna’s painting,
though, because I can’t finish it. Until I do that, I can’t move
on, either. It feels like leaving her behind.

“
Don’t be
scared,”
a message from Camille says. I notice she’s sent it
to both me and Finn.

“
If you need us
for anything, let us know,”
he adds.

“
I’ll be
fine,”
I assure them both, knowing that Jon will be gentle
and would never push me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I know
this because we’ve already done it before.
They
just don’t know.

No one knows
except me and
Jon. And no one will. I truly believe it was a mistake then, not
because we weren’t ready though. I’d wanted to be with him, more
than anything, but had we not been so wrapped up in one another, I
would have answered that call from Granna. It’s possible she’d be
alive today. I glance up above me, willing the tears to stay put
and not reveal my sadness to everyone in the salon.