Olivia (19 page)

“
Do they have a
gallery?”

“
Oh, yeah. Different ones,
actually.”

“
Do you have anything in
them?”

“
Not yet,” he says. “They’re for
senior projects and people in the master’s program. I have a
portfolio, though. And a small studio space.”

“
You have a studio?”

“
Everyone does.”

“
Can I see? Your work, I mean, not
your studio.”

“
Ummm...” he hedges. “Well, hell,
you’re an artist. Sure! Come with me.” He takes me past the art
building to a smaller building. “The studios are in this other
building. That’s where all of my work is.”

“
This campus is really pretty. And
quiet,” I tell him.

“
Definitely a change from
Manhattan. I never realized how noisy the city was until I came
here. It’s nice.”

As we walk down the hall, Manny starts rubbing his
hands together nervously. “I have to warn you, about my
photography...”

“
It can’t be bad,” I quip
quickly.

“
That’s a very subjective
adjective. Some people might consider it bad. I predominately shoot
nudes,” he explains.

“
Oh,” I tell him, surprised.
“Okay.”

“
They’re very tasteful, I think.
I’m focusing on high-key photography right now. Lots of light. I
just feel like it’s the best way to shoot the human body to truly
capture its subtle beauty.”

“
Let’s see it,” I encourage
him.

“
You’ve sketched nudes, right?” I
shake my head.

“
I just turned seventeen,” I
explain. “I’m not sure that’s entirely legal.”

“
Nah, it’s art,” Manny says.
“You’ll draw them here. So, you just turned seventeen?”

“
Last month. I skipped my sophomore
year.”

“
Wow, creative
and
smart.”

“
You have to be, to come here!” I
argue with him. “You’re going to tell me you’re not both of those
things?”

“
No, I am,” he says cockily,
rounding a corner into a room that’s divided into smaller cubes.
“Here are the studios,” he says as he puts his hand on my back,
guiding me through a maze of temporary walls. “And here’s
mine.”

“
Wow,” I say, stepping back to take
it all in. His entire workspace is plastered with his photography,
and just like he’d warned me, most of them are pictures of naked
people–naked
women
.

“
Shocked?” he asks.

“
Amazed,” I tell him as I move in
closer to examine his work. The bright lighting obscures many
details of their bodies, bringing out curves and shadows, lines and
subtle tones. Nothing is overtly sexual, but many are definitely
sensual. A few of the models pose with white material: some smooth,
some wrinkled, some sheer. All hide just enough to keep the photos
from being considered obscene. “These are incredible.”

“
Thanks,” he says
confidently.

“
Where do you get people to pose
for these?”

“
All over,” he says. “The school
hires some for classes, but some are just local models.”

“
They’re such beautiful photos. I
bet it takes a long time to stage one.”

“
Surprisingly, no,” he says. “I’ve
been working on high-key lighting for years. I only started
shooting nudes when I came here, but I’ve kind of mastered the
lighting. I can show you.”

“
How?”

“
I could shoot you.”

“
Yeah, right,” I tell him, feeling
the blush form on my cheeks.

“
Not nude, Livvy,” he laughs. “Come
on, my set-up is across the hall. I’ll show you my
process.”

“
I don’t know,” I tell him,
unsure.

“
Oh, you want to,” he tries to urge
me to do it. Laughing, he takes my hand and pulls me out of the
studio space into the hallway. “Let’s take one for your boyfriend,”
he suggests. “You’ve got one of those, right?”

“
I do. He might like that,” I
consider his offer. “You’re not gonna sell the picture, are
you?”

“
That hadn’t even occurred to me...
but no. It’ll be beautiful. I promise. He’ll
more
than like it. He’ll love it.” He opens the door
into a separate room with controlled lighting. Another student is
shooting photos of some ornate glass vases in a corner. Manny takes
me to a space with a white backdrop and three large lamps looming
overhead. He flicks each one on and adjusts some filters around
them, bouncing light off of them strategically. “Sit on that
bench,” he instructs me.

I do as I’m told, crossing my legs and putting my
hands in my lap. My eyes wander around the room as he continues to
set up. After choosing his lens and loading the camera with film,
he focuses on me from a tripod.

“
Just look straight ahead at me,”
he says. “You can smile, it’s okay.”

I laugh nervously, feeling a little silly. He snaps
a few pictures and shakes his head, stepping back first, then
taking more steps toward me, trying to frame a shot. He grabs the
camera from the tripod and carries it toward me, standing just a
few feet in front of me. He looks through the viewfinder, making
more adjustments. He peeks up at me and reaches his hand out,
stopping just before he touches my shoulder. “May I?” he asks.

“
May you what?”

“
Just pull it down, over your
shoulder... just a little.”

“
Oh, sure.” I adjust my sweater for
him, moving my bra strap down, too.

“
Angle your body that way, but keep
your head looking at me, just over your shoulder. No,” he says,
shaking his head. “Don’t smile in this one. No, if you want to
drive him really crazy,” he suggests, “just open your mouth just a
tad, tilt your head down. Make your eyes a little wider. That’s
perfect, Livvy. Hold that pose.”

He takes about ten pictures, then pulls the camera
down, staring at me. My face heats up once more as he moves toward
me. “Beautiful, Livvy.” He touches my chin briefly with his thumb,
then pulls my sweater sleeve back up onto my shoulder. “See, that
was quick, right?”

“
How do you know you got the shot
you want?”

“
I’m really good at this, Livvy,”
he says.

“
Can we see them?”

“
Are you asking to go to the dark
room with me?”

“
Well,” I tell him, realizing I
don’t really want to do that, “I don’t think I’d be of any
assistance in there. I’m sure I’d get in the way.”

“
You’d be bored,” he adds. “But
I’ll work on this tonight after dinner, and I’ll have the perfect
portrait to give to–what’s his name?”

“
Jon,” I tell him.

“
Okay, Jon. He’ll love it, I
promise.”

“
Awesome. Thank you!”

“
It’s my pleasure. So, you’re not a
photographer. They said you’re a painter, right?”

“
Yes.”

“
Let’s go to some of the galleries,
then. I think you’ll be inspired.” I hope he’s right.

After dinner, my parents go up to our hotel room
while I linger in the lobby so I can have some privacy. I’d had a
great day and really like the campus, but I don’t think Yale can
top seeing Jon every day at Columbia. I temper my enthusiasm to
call him. After four rings, he answers.

“
Hey.” His voice is
strained.

“
You okay?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, his
response doesn’t sound genuine. “Yeah, great.”

“
What’s wrong?”

“
It’s been a bad night,
Liv.”

“
What happened?”

He takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. “I can’t
talk about it right now. I don’t really know what to think about it
all anyway.”

“
You’re sure? Should I be
worried?”

“
No, baby,” he says, and I can hear
his assurance. “We’re fine. It’s family stuff, that’s all. If you
could come over tomorrow night, though, maybe you can help me make
sense of some things.”

“
Is everyone okay?”

“
Everyone’s safe.”

“
Well, sure, yeah. I’ll come. I
have time to talk tonight, if you want.”

“
I don’t have the energy,” he
admits. “Was your day okay?”

“
Yeah,” I tell him simply, hoping
not to let on that I liked Yale–that I had a good day when his was
so bad. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“
Okay. Olivia, I’m gonna try to get
some sleep, if that’s even possible. I’ve got two tests
tomorrow.”

“
Well, good luck. I love you, and I
can’t wait to see you.”

“
I love you, too.”

I’m quiet when I get to the suite. When my parents
ask me what’s wrong, I don’t tell them anything.

My nose has been buried in Yale materials for the
past thirty minutes, and I have to take a break to avoid being
carsick. Staring out the window on the drive back home, I consider
going to Yale for the first time. The campus is beautiful and
vibrant and inspiring, and all of the people I met–most studying
some sort of fine art–were friendly, talented and ambitious. I felt
like I would fit in and be surrounded by people who were a lot like
me. A few of the current students gave me their contact
information, and told me I could call them with questions. It felt
like I had already made some friends.

Seeing the galleries did get my imagination going,
too, and I started to see new paintings developing in my mind. A
part of me couldn’t wait to get home and sketch my ideas. Sketching
is one thing, but I know I still have to face her painting before I
can move on. I can’t simply move past her, as if she doesn’t
deserve my time or attention. After all that she gave me over the
years, she deserves every ounce of energy, sweat and tears that it
will take to finish her portrait.

I sigh, wanting to get my mind off of it. Thinking
about college doesn’t make me feel any better, either. I couldn’t
leave Jon in Manhattan, could I?

“
Do you think I’ll get in, Dad?”
His smile is quick to form as he glances at me briefly over his
shoulder.

“
You’re in, if you want to
go.”

“
What, you’re going to buy my way
in?”

“
It won’t be necessary. I’m sure
you’ll get accepted on your own merit, but I’m sure I could get you
in.”

“
I don’t want you to do that. I
want to do this on my own. Like, if I get in, maybe I’m supposed to
go there.”

“
Whatever you want, Contessa. So
you liked the program?”

“
It was okay, Dad.” It was actually
incredible, but I still think going to school with Jon would be a
million times better for us.

“
Dorm life would be a big change
for you,” my mom adds.

“
It’s going to be that way anywhere
I go, though. It looks like it would be a lot of fun. I like how
they put you into different colleges. It makes it feel less
intimidating–more like a community of friends or
something.”

“
That did look like fun,” she
agrees. “I’d miss you so much!”

“
Poppet, this is a short drive,” my
dad says. “I’m sure we’d see her often. You’d come home on the
weekends, right?”

I start to feel excited, thinking about it. I know
my parents want me to go to Yale. Could I at least consider it? I
wouldn’t really leave him behind. I mean, I’d definitely come home
to see Jon, because he wouldn’t really have a place to stay in New
Haven while I’m living in the dorms. “Sure,” I tell them. “All the
time.” I start to think about future semesters at Yale, when I have
my own apartment and Jon can come stay with me over the weekends.
Or maybe I’ll stay with him in the city, in the apartment Granna
left me. He’d probably have projects to work on after he graduates,
so he likely wouldn’t be able to come to Connecticut all the time.
Maybe he’d be living in the apartment. Maybe we’d even be engaged
by then. My heart dances at the thought.

What if Jon meets someone else when I’m away in New
Haven? My stomach sinks. I’m not sure I can risk that.

“
What was Manny like?” Dad asks,
interrupting the daydream.

“
He was really cool. I saw his
studio and his work. He’s very talented. He introduced me to a ton
of his friends.” I don’t bother to tell them about the liquor they
were passing around; I didn’t have any.

“
Good,” he says. “I’m glad you’re
opening up your options.” I smile at him in response.

“
Do you think you could drop me off
at Jon’s dorm when we get back to the city? Something’s going on
with his family.”

“
Anything serious?” Mom
asks.

“
I thought you said he had class
until six,” Dad adds.

“
He wouldn’t say, Mom, and yes,
Dad, he does. I can find something to do for half an
hour.”

“
How are you going to get
home?”

“
I’ll get a cab. I just want to be
there when he gets back to his dorm room.”

“
Be home at eight, Liv.”