Olivia (17 page)

“
Yeah, I’ll come pick you up after
Mom and I are finished at the loft. Around five?”

“
Perfect. I can’t wait.” He
squeezes my hand and looks at me, leaning in for a kiss. I take a
deep breath and reposition myself in my seat, putting my hands on
his face and bringing his lips to mine. Our kiss is long, the
passion between us obvious, ending with the unmistakeable sign that
I’d created for him.

Not only is he breathless, he’s speechless when he
gets out of the car. I laugh lightly to myself as I climb over the
console into the driver’s seat. He knocks on my window after
shutting my door. I roll it down and kiss him once more.

“
Some Saturday night, when we’re on
our normal date, we’ll find somewhere to be alone. I know the loft
is off-limits when your parents are in town. We’ll get a hotel
room–”

“
For a few
hours
?” My apprehension toward his suggestion is
obvious.

“
I’ll think of something,” he
assures me. “Can we try again soon?” He looks so desperate and
sweet.

“
Think of something good,” I agree
with a nod.

Dad meets me at the door to the garage, holding the
door open for me.

“
What’s up?” I ask him, setting my
keys by the back door and joining him in the kitchen. He’s making
hot chocolate–two cups. Since my brother’s in bed, and my mom won’t
drink the sweet beverage, I know he’s prepared it for
me.

“
Have a seat.” Getting settled at
the kitchen island, I pick a few marshmallows out of the bag and
put them in the drink he sets before me. He leans over the counter,
addressing me at eye-level. “What are you working on these days?”
he asks.

It’s the first time he’s asked me such a question,
and I’d decided that although I’d begged my mom to lie for me, I
wasn’t going to. I know I need help getting back on track.
“Nothing,” I tell him.

“
Honey, you used to paint every
day,” he says. “What’s happened?”

“
I just can’t do it anymore, Dad.
Everything’s changed so much. I just don’t feel the same
anymore.”

“
Well, have you tried?”

“
I try every week.”

“
Mom says you won’t even go into
the studio you set up, Tessa. And the workspace in your bedroom is
gathering dust. That doesn’t sound like you’re trying. She says
you’re just going for walks on Saturdays.”

“
I’m trying to get inspired,” I
tell him. Granted, I’m trying to avoid the painting, too, but if I
could find inspiration, I’d take it.

“
Are you meeting up with
him?”

“
Who?”

“
Jon.”

“
On my walks?”

“
Yes.”

“
No, Dad! I see him Saturday
nights. I don’t see him during the day.”

He looks at me hard, and I can tell he doesn’t
believe me. “I think you’re spending too much time with him. I
think he’s becoming more of a hinderance than a helper.”

“
No, he’s not, Dad. He got me back
to the Art Room. That’s a start.”

“
Would you have gone if he wasn’t
there?”

“
No,” I tell him honestly. “I feel
stronger with him, Dad.”

“
Then why can’t you
paint?”

“
Because I just don’t feel like
it!” I say, raising my voice in frustration. “I’m not a machine,
Dad! I can’t just crank it out. It doesn’t work like
that.”

“
Well, excuse me for expecting
that, Livvy. That’s how you’ve been working for the last five years
of your life. Until we went to England. And since then, nothing. I
don’t know what happened in Greece–”

“
Nothing happened in Greece, Dad.”
My cheeks burn red, though, and I take a sip of my drink with both
hands on the big mug, hoping they hide the reaction my body has to
my lie.

“
Well, whatever happened... Liv,
you and Jon have been seeing too much of one another. I thought
when school started, we’d see a change, but there hasn’t been
one.”

“
Dad, trust me, this has nothing to
do with him.”

“
That would imply that you know
what the problem is.”

“
I do. And all I can say, Dad, is
it’s not him.”

We stare at one another, both challenging the other.
“Are you going to paint again?”

“
Of course I am, Dad. But don’t try
to force me to. I’ve tried that, and it doesn’t make me able to do
it. I’ll paint when I feel like I can paint again. You just have to
trust that.”

“
What does Abram say?”

“
I don’t let him say much,” I
admit. “I’m the client, right?”

“
He should be encouraging you. If
Jon’s not, someone should.”

“
Again, Dad, Jon has nothing to do
with this.”

“
I can see that. And I wish he’d
get more involved with this and less involved with whatever you two
are doing on your dates.” His voice wavers a little as he says
this, and he pours out a nearly-f cup of cocoa into the sink. He
doesn’t look at me on his way out. “Get some sleep,
Contessa.”

“
I love you, Dad,” I say
tentatively, not wanting him to be angry with me. This stops him in
his tracks, and he turns back around, returning to the kitchen. He
hugs me and kisses me on the head before telling me he loves me
too.

Three weeks later, my dad laughs as we get out of
the car in front of the studio. “I don’t know why you’re wearing
those, Contessa. You’re with me. People will know who you are, you
know?”

I adjust the sunglasses Jon gave me and shrug.
“They’re my favorite birthday gift,” I tell him honestly, even
though that’s not the entire reason I’m wearing them. “Plus, they
make me feel sophisticated,” I add as I stick my nose into the air,
joking with him. He smiles at me as we walk up to the building.
“Honestly, Dad, I’m scared someone will say something awful about
one of the paintings, and I might get upset.”

“
Awww, Tessa,” he says putting his
arm around me. “Don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you
tonight.”

“
Thanks, Dad,” I say as he holds
the studio door open for me. The event had been going on for an
hour already, but I still didn’t expect to see the crowd
congregating in the room. After all, it’s my first professional
showing, and no one knows who Olivia Choisie is. Abram greets us,
handing my dad a glass of champagne and me a soda in a martini
glass. I am the only one with such a drink, and I know my agent has
prepared that especially for me.

“
There are hors d’oeuvres,” he says
to us privately in the front corner, “should you want to nosh on
anything as you count the ‘sold’ signs. But don’t bother. There are
seven, so far.”

“
Seven?” I ask. “That’s good,
right?”

“
That’s wonderful, Miss Holland,”
he says. Dad squeezes me into him, rubbing on my arm. “People love
your work. In fact, a few have made calls to other people, inviting
them to come see. I suspect we’ll sell at least half
tonight.”

“
Tessa, this is great!”

“
Thanks!” I’m bouncing on the balls
of my feet, forgetting any attempt to look sophisticated. “Can we
see which ones sold? Is it weird that I feel a little
sad?”

“
They’re going to a loving home,”
Abram says. “Of that, I’m certain. And we have the lovely pictures
you and Jon have been taking, so you’ll always have a record of
your work.”

We start to wander around the studio, and Dad asks
me what I was feeling at each painting we come to that’s been sold.
It almost feels like I’m memorializing them, but it feels special,
and I find it sweet that he’s asking.

“
Mr. Holland,” a man interrupts us.
He’s wearing a large camera around his neck. “Forgive me for
intruding. I’m Geoff Humbolt from
The
Times
. I was wondering if I might get your picture for the
society pages?”

He glances at me, considering the photographer’s
request. He normally doesn’t like posing for these types of
pictures, but a small smile forms on his face. “One photo, with my
daughter,” he agrees. “And thank you for asking first.”

“
Of course, sir.” I take off my
sunglasses and run my fingers through my hair a few
times.

“
You look beautiful, Contessa,” Dad
assures me.

“
Thanks.” He puts his arm across my
back and I smile–giddily, I’m sure. It’s admittedly
exciting.

“
Send a copy to my office?” Dad
asks Geoff as the photographer makes a note in a small
pad.

“
Yes sir, of course. Thank
you.”

“
We should document this night,” my
dad says, shrugging his shoulders and explaining his decision to
me. “So tell me, Liv, are there any paintings you don’t want to
sell in here? I’m your last hope,” he says. “I’ll buy anything you
want to keep.”

“
Dad,” I laugh. “No. This is fine.
You already have my favorite one, anyway.” He nods, knowing
immediately I’m referring to the painting of me, as a child,
pulling on his necktie the first night we met.

“
Okay,” he answers simply. “Dinner?
We’re all dressed up...”

“
Sure!”

After retrieving the car from the parking garage a
few blocks away, Dad picks me up and takes me to an Italian
restaurant that he likes to go to. He insists they have the best
chocolate tiramisu in the city, but he never has the opportunity to
get it when he goes with my mom.

The waitstaff knows my father, and he requests his
normal table. Within two minutes, they’re ready to seat us.

“
I want to talk to you about
something,” he says. His tone is serious, but upbeat, so I know I’m
not in trouble. Aside from the weekend they went to the lake house,
I’ve been on my best behavior. I do worry he’ll bring up the lapse
in my interest in painting again, so I try to joke with him, to
keep the mood light.

“
Here it comes...” I smile. “What’s
up?”

“
Yale,” he says, catching me off
guard. “I’ve called in some favors–”

“
Dad, I don’t want to go there!” I
interrupt him.

“
Let me finish, Tessa.” He waits
for me to argue, but I bite my tongue, letting him continue. “I’ve
set up a private tour of the campus. I just think we should check
it out, talk to some of the art professors, maybe some students...
look into the living situation. Just to keep our options
open.”

“
My
options,” I state stubbornly, reminding him that it’s ultimately my
decision. He sighs in response, rubbing his chin in moderate
frustration. “You just want me away from Jon.”

“
No, I want to present you with
other options, that’s all. Parsons is great. You’ve seen Columbia,
and yes, it’s a fine school. But the art program at Yale is the
best in the country. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting in,
either.”

“
I know, I know, you keep telling
me that.” I pick at my salad with the fork, letting him
speak.

“
Maybe it will get you back in the
frame of mind–” he suggests softly.

“
Dad...” I say, warning him not to
talk about that anymore.

“
You get to miss a few days of
school,” he says. I look up at him, curious. “I thought it made
more sense to visit the campus when classes are in session, so we
can go up to New Haven the second week of November. We’d go up on a
Monday and come back the following night. It shouldn’t interfere
with your social time,” he says begrudgingly, referring to
Jon.

“
Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,”
I tell him.

“
I thought we’d get Mom to come
with us and let Stevie and Kayd watch Jackson. What do you
think?”

“
Wow, Mom and Dad, all to myself.
Sounds fine, Dad.”

“
If you hate it, you hate it, and I
won’t bring it up anymore. I’ll just switch gears, and focus on
Harvard–”

“
Dad!”

He laughs at his own joke.

The following Monday, I run to my car after a talk
with the guidance counselor. Our conversation lasted much longer
than I’d expected. I feel like my dad’s gotten to her. She kept
talking about Yale. She never once asked about Columbia.

“
I’m on my way,” I tell Abram over
the phone before I leave the parking garage by school. “I had to
stay after to talk about college.”

“
It’s okay, Miss Holland,” he says.
His address is starting to get on my nerves, too. “I’ve got all
afternoon.”

Despite my agent’s empty schedule, I don’t want to
spend the next few hours with him. Finn, Camille and I were
planning to watch the 1962 version of
Lolita
, much to my father’s chagrin. We were
discussing censorship of literature in our AP English class, and
the Nabokov book was offered as one of the novels we could read. I
chose to read the controversial book, Finn had not–nor had he read
any
of the books on the list. He was
convinced watching the movie would provide enough information for
him to get by with our assigned essay.

I have a sneaking suspicion he’s in for a rude
awakening. I’d read that the movie didn’t follow the book that
closely, but Finn is too stubborn to listen to me.