“What happened today?”
I show Mrs. Heart the picture of myself on the blog I’d found. “Sorry for the profanity,” I tell her, slightly embarrassed to show her the image. She seems like a very conservative, proper woman. “Emmanuel, well. He’s the TA in my photography class, and he took this of me during class yesterday. I think he sold it to some blogs and tabloids, and my father is livid.”
“Did you know he was taking the picture?”
“Not really,” I tell her. I explain how he was yelling at me, and how I had snapped a picture of him while he was making an offensive gesture of his own. I hadn’t brought my camera, so I have to explain what he had done to me. I’m even more embarrassed by telling her this, and use the most polite words I can think of to help me along.
I have to give her more of the backstory at this point, after she asks me why he was yelling in the first place.
“So, in summary,” she starts, “he liked you and asked you out on a date. You went out with him once. You went home that weekend and got back together with your former boyfriend and your relationship with Emmanuel went no further than that. He apparently came to your apartment for a party and offended your family and was asked to leave. On Thursday, he arranged for you to be partnered with him in class, showing you preferential treatment, so he could get some time with you. After you explained you weren’t interested in him romantically, he became agitated and made a crude gesture, of which you took a picture–”
“It was my assignment,” I explain. “I was supposed to take a candid photo of my partner, and that’s what I did.”
“What did you intend to do with the picture?”
“After I’d cooled off, nothing. I wasn’t going to do anything with it. I actually told my professor that my camera messed it up.”
“Okay, so then you walked away, and turned around to flip him off.”
“He called me a...” My cheeks heat up. “He called me a name.” She raises her eyebrows. “He called me a bitch,” I say, lowering my voice at the end of my sentence.
“Did you provoke him?”
“I turned him down,” I tell her. “I took that picture. I made him mad.”
“And then did anything happen after that?”
“He tried to take my camera, but I stopped him. He came by my dorm after class, but my roommate didn’t let him in, and she told him I wasn’t there.”
“He went by your dorm?”
“Yes. I mean, he knew where I lived from our date...”
“First of all, Miss Holland, let me explain Yale’s policy. It’s not appropriate for a TA to date his students,” she says. “Although it’s not spelled out anywhere, in their orientation, they are strongly discouraged from engaging in such activity.”
“Mrs. Heart, like I said, Emmanuel and I knew each other before he became an assistant–”
“Livvy–may I call you that?”
“Of course.”
“Livvy, this rule was created not to punish him, but rather to protect you. We understand that TAs are students, as well, and some may even be your age or in your year, but in the school’s eyes, the positions they hold are positions of authority over other students, and for that, we can’t ignore what has happened. Clearly he has abused his position. And if what you say is true–if he did pass this photo of you from class along to media outlets without your permission–then he’s also broken strict ethical guidelines that all students and teachers at Yale are asked to abide by.”
“Please understand, Mrs. Heart, because my father is such a public figure, I’m photographed all the time.”
“I do understand that. But Yale is supposed to be a safe place for all students, not just for those who grew up out of the public eye. We want you to have that opportunity, too, and in fact, we make that promise to parents like yours.”
“So what happens?”
“He is removed from the TA program. We can take it a step further and ask him to refrain from visiting your dorm anymore, if you’d like. We will investigate the situation with the photograph, and if he was in fact paid for that, the university will consider a suspension.”
Feeling that removal from the program and the threat of a suspension is fair punishment, I decide to keep quiet about my neck. I feel like I provoked him, or pushed him a little too far. “As far as my dorm room goes, we’ll be fine. I don’t think he’ll be aggressive or anything.”
“We will at least need to tell your resident advisor about the situation. That’s Tim, is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You did the right thing by coming to us,” she says.
“If I hadn’t done it, you’d be dealing with my father. As protective as he is, I’d be afraid Emmanuel would end up in jail,” I joke with her.
“Well, what he’s done seems in particularly poor taste, since your parents paid for his schooling all those years.”
“I know.”
“I believe I will have them ask for an official apology to you and your parents.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not, but I think it’s appropriate.”
After my conversation, I go to both of my classes, but find it difficult to concentrate. ‘Manny,’ the guy I met last year, would never have acted this way. I don’t understand how someone could change so much in a year. A part of me worries about how Emmanuel will handle the news of the loss of his TA position. It doesn’t seem like a job he’s passionate about. It doesn’t even seem to be in his character to take such a job. He probably took it as a way to meet women for his photography.
“Olivia?” I’m startled when someone touches my waist, and turn around with my arm poised to slap him. Jon takes a step back. “Did I scare you?”
“Well, you surprised me!” Jon’s roommate, Frederick, stands behind him and waves at me. I hug Jon tightly. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my arms unwilling to let him go.
Frederick holds up a copy of one of the tabloid magazines. “We need to take care of some business,” Jon says. We finally let go of one another.
“What business?”
“This jerk, Liv.”
“Jon, I told you it was fine. You and Dad need to coordinate with one another. He called me first thing this morning and told me I needed to report him or he would.”
“And did you?”
I nod my head, and recount to him my conversation with Mrs. Heart from this morning. “You two really need to trust that I can take care of myself. I can’t deal with you both worrying about me non-stop. And I love that you came up here, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“Well, if you don’t need my help, can you at least show us around? We’ve got a few hours to kill before heading back down to Philadelphia.”
“This was quite the detour,” I tell them both.
“I got a new car,” Fred says, “so it was actually my idea to come up here. I wanted to get her out... see what she could do.”
“Well, then I don’t feel so bad.” I take them both around the campus, showing them the art building where I work and the architecture building that I thought Jon would appreciate. We swing by my dorm before heading to lunch for a quick bite.
“Livvy!” Tim calls after me when I pass his room.
“Yeah?” When I turn around, he’s standing at his door.
“Who are your visitors?” he asks.
“Did they already call you about Emmanuel?”
“Yeah. I feel ill-equipped. I’m not sure which one he is.”
“Which one?” Jon repeats.
“Tim, this is my boyfriend, Jon, and his roommate, Fred. They just came up for the afternoon. We’re going to lunch. Oh, this is my RA, Tim,” I explain. “Emmanuel’s the one with the mohawk.”
“Got it,” he says. “Carry on. Nice to meet you.” He waves politely before returning to his room.
“Which one?” Jon says again. “Have you had that many guys over?”
“No,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “Kee
p in mind, I live with two other girls who have social lives as well.” I open the door, hoping to find one of my friends, but the dorm is empty and quiet. “This is where I stay.” I set my bag down on the bed, opening it up to get my wallet.
“It’s not bad,” Fred comments. “Better than our dorm. You have your own bathroom?”
“Well, the three of us do.”
“So this is how you live outside of your parents’ home?” Jon asks. “Your side’s a little messy.” I slap him playfully.
“I got up at the crack of dawn when Dad called. I didn’t want to wake my roommates. I make my bed most days,” I lie, turning around and straightening my sheets and comforter. Some days I wish my side looked neater, but I like the freedom of not having to do chores. Rachelle’s the same way. Katrina is the only one that takes the time to put everything in its right place every evening before bed and every day before class.
My door closes softly, and I turn around to find me and Jon alone. “Where’d Fred go?”
“I asked for a minute alone with you,” Jon says as he walks toward me.
“Why?” I ask him as I feel my pulse quicken.
“When I saw that picture this morning, I made a much bigger deal out of it than I should have,” he explains. “It was a good excuse to get Fred to bring me up here.”
“You manipulated him?”
“Maybe a little,” he says. “But if he hadn’t brought me, I’m not sure how much I’d be able to concentrate on anything over the next week.”
“Why?”
“Because after months of abstinence, I need more.” Before I have a chance to ask him what he needs, he puts one hand on the small of my back and the other behind my neck. His thumb strokes my short hair at the nape.
“Just a kiss?” I ask him.
“I want more than a kiss, but for now, it will have to suffice.”
He walks me backwards to my bed, helping to settle me against the strewn pillows. He kneels over me, kissing me, running his hand down my body from my neck to my thigh, touching–teasing–all the wanting places in between.
“How long did you ask Fred to wait?”
“A minute,” he says with a slight laugh. “And although I have no doubt we could have a lot of fun in that minute, I want to devote hours to you the next time we’re able to be together like that.”
“I want you, Jon,” I plead.
“I want you, too,” he says after another kiss. He looks at me directly and smiles sweetly. “Can we stay at the loft next weekend?”
“Of course,” I answer. “All weekend, if you want.”
“I was just hoping for the nights,” he explains. “I have something to do on Saturday, but I’d love it if you and your family would come.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, as long as I can spend time with you.” Something on my desk catches Jon’s eyes, and he stands abruptly to move toward it. Did I leave the ring out? I roll over on my stomach and watch him reach for whatever he’s discovered.
“You’re reading Dostoevsky?” he asks, picking up the fragile book.
“Not quite,” I admit.
“Which of your roommates has an interest in my favorite author then?”
“Neither. If that were ours, I promise it would be required reading. I got it for you,” I tell him.
His eyebrows raise as he carefully opens the book. “It’s a first edition? Signed? My god, Liv, it’s incredible.”
“You like it?”
“I love it,” he says with an appreciative grin as he flips through some of the pages. He stops on a page, picking up the receipt I hadn’t taken out yet. He studies it for a few seconds.
“It was worth it,” I tell him before he has a chance to object.
“I knew it was expensive when I saw it, Olivia. It’s not the cost that surprised me. You bought it a week and a half ago.”
“Yeah.”
“We hadn’t spoken in months and you bought it for me?”
“I knew you’d like it. It’s quite possible I was going to use it as leverage. You know, to get you to talk to me again.”
He sets the book back down and returns to my bed. I sit beside him and lean against him when he puts his arm around me. “Livvy, I don’t feel like I sufficiently apologized to you.”
“I think you have,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to keep feeling like that.”
“But I am still so sorry. I’m sorry I kept you waiting and wondering. It was juvenile, the way I reacted.”
I shrug away from him and take his hand in mine. “Just don’t do it again,” I joke with him.
“I won’t,” he says seriously. “I promise you, I won’t. And your dad has made it clear that he won’t forgive me if I ever do it again. I promised him I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t care what he thinks–”
“Of course you do.”
“Okay, I do, but I don’t want you to have to make promises to both of us. This is just me and you, right? I’ll hold you accountable, and I’ll deal with my father’s disapproval.”
“It will never come to that again, Olivia. I promise.” He puts his finger beneath my chin and angles my head toward his. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” I tell him, blushing.
“Do you forgive me?”
“Of course.”
“Do you love me?”
My posture falters, and I’m sad that he asked me the question. “I love you more than anything, Jon. More than anyone.”
“I love you, too.” He leans in to kiss me again. It’s romantic and assuring. Someone knocks on the door. “I forgot about Fred,” he laughs.
We both stand up, and he grabs the book again on the way to the door. With his hand on the knob, he looks back at me. “It’s different this time, Livvy.” I nod my head, understanding. “This is it.”
“This is it,” I repeat, knowing what he’s saying. He opens the door, and I follow the guys down the hallway to Fred’s car for a late lunch.
After we eat, Jon gives me a tube from the trunk, telling me it’s a belated birthday gift. Fred stays in the car while Jon kisses me one last time before they leave for Philadelphia.
I open the tube and pull out a poster when I get back into my room. A bold line drawing of a woman is printed on thick paper, and the poster numbered and signed by the artist. There is some text on it in French. I’m not sure if it’s an ad or art, but it’s striking. He doesn’t answer when I call to thank him, but I make sure he knows how grateful I am in my message. He knows me well. I hang the poster over my desk, hoping my roommates don’t mind the new addition to our wall.
CHAPTER 11
I take a deep breath before calling my parents a week later on Friday evening.
“Is everything okay, Livvy?” my mother asks without saying hello.
“Everything’s fine, Mom,” I tell her softly.
“Have you left Grandma and Grandpa Holland’s yet?”
“No, Mom, I had to stay at school to work on a project. I just finished it up and got back to my dorm, so I’m going to stay in New Haven tonight. I let Grandma know.”
“What about Jon’s event tomorrow?”
“I’ll be home bright and early,” I tell her. “I’m exhausted, and was going to go to bed soon, anyway. I’ll probably leave around six and just go straight to Central Park when I get to Manhattan. He wanted some help setting up.”
“Well, I’m sad we won’t see you tonight, but we’re all looking forward to watching the rocket launches tomorrow. If the two of you don’t have plans, maybe we can all have dinner together.”
“That sounds great. I guess I will see you guys in the morning.”
“We’ll be there at nine on the button,” she says. “Call us if you have any problems.”
“I will, Mom.” After we tell each other goodbye, I set my phone into Jon’s awaiting palm. We both look out the wall of windows, watching a soft rain fall over the park.
“You can’t keep this up, silly,” Jon says to me. “E
specially with Matty living next door. He’ll hear us, you know?”
“He’s not home yet... and when he gets home, I’ll go over there and ask him to cover for us. He’ll do it.”
“And Francisco?”
“I told him he never saw me when I came in. He told me I was his tenant now... that he was loyal to me, and understood my need for privacy.”
“Now if I could just convince you that it’s okay to have your privacy.”
“It’s just weird,” I tell him. “I either lie to them and tell them I’m not here, or we both lie to them and tell them you’re staying at your dorm.”
“I don’t think they’d ask, first of all... because I don’t think they want to know the answer. And secondly, Liv, I think they know the answer. You’re an adult. We’re back together. You have your own place to live, that–oh, by the way–your parents fixed up for you.”
“They would never have let me stay here if it wasn’t stated in Granna’s will, and you know it. Even with Matty as my neighbor, they would never permit... this.” I blush as I acknowledge the two of us alone in the loft.
“I just thought we were past the lying bit,” he says, finally setting my phone aside on the window ledge and taking my hands into his. “And honestly, Liv, ever since the pictures were printed of me, I can’t go very many places in Manhattan unnoticed anymore.”
“What pictures?” I ask him.
“The ones of me and Jack walking back to campus together after your birthday dinner. You didn’t see them?”
“No,” I laugh, somewhat amused.
“And I’m not certain, but I had a feeling I was being followed when I came here tonight.”
“Wait,” I say, realizing the implications. “You have paparazzi, too?” I feel the need to apologize.
“I don’t care, baby. It’s the price I pay... I don’t mind giving up that privacy if it means I get to be with you... but eventually your parents are going to find out about this secret arrangement we have. If we don’t tell them, they’ll read it online.”
“Just tonight,” I plead with him. “Let’s just go with it tonight, and... I don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. Maybe you will be banished to your dorm,” I tease him.