Livy by Bill Tope

Livy by Bill Tope

Livy came awake with a start. Her fists were tightly clutching the linens atop the mattress. She glanced at the ceiling, the walls, didn’t recognize it as her bedroom. That’s troubling, she thought. After last night, she might have ended up anywhere. Was she alone? No one in bed with her. Good.

“Damn,” she muttered. She had a splitting headache. She massaged her temples. What time was it anyway? She glanced at a digital clock radio: two minutes of three. The room was dark. What the hell had happened? She felt the sudden dread of loneliness.

Then the smell hit her. Someone had taken a dump in the room. She looked down at her naked self, saw no signs of an accident. Her head felt so heavy on her shoulders, then she felt dizzy. She held onto the sheets tighter, afraid she would fall out of bed. Pushing up on one elbow, she gazed about, saw men’s clothing lying at the foot of the bed and on the dresser. Uh oh. She wasn’t alone. Well, that made sense; someone had to live here.

She forced herself to lean over the side of the bed and look at the space between the bed and the window. She gasped! A man’s body. His back was to her and fecal discharge was on the floor. A person only spontaneously had a bowel movement when they died. She knew this because she was an ER nurse and had witnessed the phenomanon many times.

Who the hell was it and what happened? The man was dressed only in a skin tight tee-shirt. Livy pushed her legs over the side of the bed and a wave of white hot pain hit her full force. She instantly vomited. Wiping he lips on a pillow case, she kneft and touched the man on the shoulder, then placed her fingers on his carotid. No pulse.

She sat back down, thinking.

& & &

The tavern glittered like a Christmas tree. In fact, a Christmas tree, its branches draped in glistening tinsel and ornaments, was part of the holiday decor. It was, after all, only 4 days before Christmas. Livy sat on a barstool, enjoying the live band. They were playing vintage tunes: Traffic’s The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, which had been popular 10 years ago. It was still one of Livy’s favorites. She swiveled back to the bar, sipped her margarita, extra salt, just the way she liked them.

Fahey, the bartender, had refused to tell he where it had come from.

“It’s from a secret admirer,” he’d teased.

Shrugging, she took another sip. No one made margaritas liked Fahey. She wasn’t certain how she’d gotten here, didn’t remember stepping out of her house this evening. Just the completely lucid sensation she’d had when she walked through the door.

A tall figure eased up next to livy at the bar. “I see you liked the drink I bought,” he said by way of introduction.

“So I have you to thank for this?” she asked. “Thank you.” She smiled up into his unfamiliar but handsome face.

“This doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything,” he said lightly and grinned.

“Then I’ll withdraw my bridal registry from Macy’s,” she replied.

“I’m Eliot,” said the stranger.

“Livy,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, Eliot,” remarked Livy.

“I work for Boeing,” said Eliot. “Just got transferred to Seattle from L.A.”

“How do you like our fair city?”

“So far, so good,” Eliot replied, running his eyes over Livy appreciatively.

Livy blushed.

“Hey,” he said, “you want to dance?”

Livy slid off the barstool, took Eliot’s hand then they proceeded to the dance floor, where the band was doing a respectable rendition of How Deep is You Love, a Bee Gees hit released only the year before.

After they’d danced three consecutive dances, and felt winded and sweaty, Eliot whispered to Livy, “Come join us at our table.” The couple proceeded to a large round table in the corner of the tavern, where a half dozen other people sat, drinking beer. Eliot introduced Livy to his friends, then said, “Be right back,” and disappeared in the direction of the bar. Moments later, he returned with another margarita for Livy, a green-tinted bottle of imported beer for himself and a pitcher of beer for his friends. Livy felt oddly at peace with herself and engaged in getting-to-know you talk with the others.

Later, when Eliot excused himself to get fresh drinks, Livy talked with Phoebe, a striking woman with a cap of short black hair.

“So you’re Eliot’s latest, huh?” Phoebe asked dryly.

“We only met tonight,” replied Livy. “I don’t even know his last name.”

“Safer that way,” said Phoebe cryptically.

“I beg your pardon?”

Phoebe only shook her head, took out a cigarette and lit it.

Eliot soon returned with Livy’s fifth margarita and another green beer for himself.

Livy turned to him and asked, “What’s your last name, Eliot?”

“Smith,” he replied without missing a beat.

Phoebe snorted.

Livy looked at Phoebe and then back at Eliot. “No, I’m serious,” she said. “Who are you?”

Twisting his lips wryly, Eliot reached into his back pocket, turned up a calfskin wallet, pulled out a California driver’s license and held it out.

“Eliot Duane Smith,” Livy read aloud.

“Duane?” repeated Phoebe, and then laughed. “I didn’t even know that. I never would’ve guessed.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and replaced his wallet. “Now,” he said, “you know everything.”

At 2am, when the tavern closed, Livy, Eliot, Phoebe and two of the others at the table staggered to their vehicles and then reconnoitered at an all-night diner, where they satisfied their hunger. Livy, thinking herself too tipsy to drive, rode with Eliot.

“Nothing like a good meal after you get drunk on your ass,” said Eliot.

“You should stitch that onto a sampler,” suggested Phoebe.

“I just might,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, coming to his feet. The others followed suit. Eliot tossed a $100 bill onto the table, for a $35 tab, and led the others out.

When they hit the sidewalk outside the diner, the December breeze chilled Livy to the bone. She grabbed Eliot’s arm and snuggled close.

Phoebe stared archly at the pair, but said nothing.

By mutual consent, Livy, Eliot, Phoebe and Matt, one of the other two men, went to Eliot’s apartment. The other man said good night and drifted off. The four sat on a huge, buttery leather sofa, sharing a joint.

“I don’t usually smoke dope anymore,” said Livy, to account for the fit of coughing which accompanied her first toke.

“What do you do for a living, Livy?” asked Phoebe. “Do you work?”

“Yes. Of course. I teach math at the high school. Trig, mostly, to juniors.”

“How did you end up there?” asked Phoebe.

“I’ve always had a talent for math,” Livy explained. “I wanted to do something with it.”

“How about you, Phoebe?”

“I work at Boeing too,” she replied.

“Oh, are you an engineer like Eliot and Matt?” asked Livy.

Phoebe snorted. “The firm doesn’t hire female engineers, unless they’re ten times better than the men they do hire. I got a degree in math as well, but there just weren’t any jobs.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem very fair,” said Livy.

“Yeah, well, I guess the corporate boardroom isn’t very evolved yet,” she said pointedly.

“Well, what do you do?” Livy asked.

“I’m an executive sexretary.”

“A what?” asked Livy, perplexed. “It sounded like you said…”

“You heard me right,” said Livy dully. “My job description is listed under ‘other duties as assigned.’ And that includes blowjobs.”

“C’mon, Phoeb,” said Eliot.

“You know it’s true, Eliot,” snapped Phoebe. “You’d never do it to me, but the other executroids have no compunction…”

“I don’t want you to get fired,” said Eliot, trying to stem the flow.

Matt, Phoebe’s date for the evening, spoke up at last. “You could always file a lawsuit charging sexual harassment, Phoebe.”

“Where would I get a lawyer to take on the brass at a Fortune 500 company, Matt? And how would I pay him? The fix is in. They would only say that I wanted it, that I was trying to get ahead by using my body. They’d talk about how I dress and say I was flaunting myself. Anyway, I don’t have to do it. I’d be fired, of course, and then be out on my ass and…” She grew quiet, tears swimming in her eyes.

“How long have you worked there, Phoebe?” asked Livy softly.

Phoebe took a deep, steadying breath and replied, “5 years. I joined the company on my 25th birthday. I thought it was a terrific step up, a birthday present to myself, but…I’ve had two abortions.”

“Maybe we should call it a night,” suggested Matt gently. Climbing to his feet, he collected his jacket and slipped it on, then draped Phoebe’s wrap around her shoulders. As he led her to the door, Matt said, “Nice to meet you, Livy; hope to see you again. See you Monday, Eliot.” They left.

“Sorry about that, Livy,” said Eliot.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” said Livy. “That poor girl. Isn’t there anything that can be done for Phoebe?”

Eliot shrugged and shook his head.

“She’s trapped,” said Livy. “She needs a way out.”

“She has a way out,” said Eliot. “It’s called the door.”

“No!” said Livy scornfully. “Why should she have to make a choice between being a sex slave or being unemployed? it’s insidious. It’s unthinkable!” She felt super-energized all of a sudden, and clear-thinking.

“So let’s not think about it, then,” said Eliot, moving closer to Livy on the sofa. He kissed her ear.

“Um,” said Livy, instantly forgetting about the other woman’s plight. “I like that,” she murmured.

Eliot traced kisses down her neck. Livy began to breathe heavily. Eliot ran his fingers along the inside of Livy’s thigh. She touched his hard cock.

“Why don’t you show me the bedroom?” she suggested coyly.

They rose from the sofa and with a hand resting comfortably on her hip, Eliot led the way to the bedroom.

& & &

Livy shivered. It was frigid in the bedroom. Why would the A/C be on in December? His name was Eliot, she now remembered. He’d picked her up at the tavern and brought her here, with two other people named Phoebe and Matt. She recalled step by step what had transpired just hours ago. She picked her watch from the bedside table where she’d laid it before…before she’d had sex with Eliot. The dead man, Eliot.

& & &

“Move your ass, Bitch,” he snarled, riding her hard.

“Hey!” she retorted, but her objection was met instantly with a loud ringing in her ears. He’d slapped her! Livy tried to sit up, but her arms were pinned to the mattress, by the man who’d been transformed from lover into assailant. Her mind swam. After a seeming eternity, Eliot came, withdrawing at the last moment and ejaculating on her belly. Livy winced with revulsion.

Without a word, the rapist climbed off the bed and staggered from the room, returning moments later bearing another green-hued bottle of beer. He took a loud slurp and belched, regarding Livy dispassionately. “You still here?” he quipped straightfaced.

Livy found her voice. “How would I go anywhere?” she asked. “You brought me here,”

“Oh, you mean you came with me?’ asked Eliot. “Funny, I didn’t feel it.”

Livy narrowed her eyes at him, but he wasn’t smiling. “Get dressed and beat it,” Eliot said.

“Where the hell am I?” asked Livy a little desperately. “I don’t have cab fare or anything.”

Wordlessly, Eliot grabbed his trousers from the bureau where he’d flung them, dug out his wallet and extracted another C-note. He tossed it onto the mattress. Did this guy print them up in his basement? she wondered wildly. “Now, get out,” he said.

Seizing the bill, Livy crawled off the bed and began dressing. If she felt awkward, she needn’t, for Eliot took no further interest in her. Sitting back down on the mattress, he slipped a pair of expensive-looking headphones over his ears and began rocking out. Livy couldn’t tell what he was listening to, nor where the music emanated from. Feeling used and dirty, he donned her clothing and turned to leave. She turned to her erstwhile lover, but Eliot was paying her no mind.

& & &

The events of the evening began to crystallize in retrospect, but Livy didn’t know when or how she’d gotten back to Eliot’s apartment, but here she was. She was naked again. She looked around for her clothes, but there was no sign of them. The stark reality of being back at Eliot’s, where she had been seduced and then raped and left and then returned somehow, set in. She looked over at her assailant, lying deceased on the floor in his own excrement. He wasn’t there! Someone had moved the body, or…Eliot wasn’t really dead. She needed to call the authorites; she reached for the telephone, but then retracted her hand.

What would she tell them? Livy asked herself. She knew from her work in the ER how the police worked. With no other handy perpetrator, they would lock in on the first available suspect–her! But what would they charge her with, with no body? She had to get out before Eliot–or his ghost–returned. First thing she had to do was to find her clothes. She drifted through the apartment in search of her apparel. She found it in the living room, arranged in a neat little pile on the sofa, where Livy and Phoebe and Matt and Eliot–the dead man!–had gotten high, sometime around 3am. She glanced again at her watch.

“What?” The face of the watch was now digital and read just quarter of three! How could that be? It had to be hours later. Feeling a sudden chill, Livy shuddered and climbed back into her clothes–her all purpose, little black dress and short heals and nylon stockings…”What the hell?” she said aloud.

Livy had been attired in washed out jeans and flannel top and hiking boots when she’d first met Eliot and the others. When had she had time to go home and change? And where was she, anyway? Like the time before, she still hadn’t a clue. She wasn’t even sure what day it was. She thought hard, remembered it was nickel-beer night at the tavern, though as a margarita afficionado, the promo had not served her well. No matter, a girl didn’t buy her own drinks at a meat market, provided that she dressed for success. Hence, the dress. And where was Eliot–or his body? It was gone! Her face felt flushed.

Her car was…where? The first time she’d visited Eliot’s apartment, she had left her ride at the tavern. When she finally got home, had she driven back here? She didn’t remember. Must be, she thought. Finding her purse, lying beneath her clothes, she opened it and looked for her keys. She found them, and something else besides: at least a dozen crisp $100 bills. Her mouth fell open in surprise. Well, she thought, nothing would surprise her now. She opened the apartment door, then wondered at the fingerprints and other remnants of her presence there. She looked furtively back at the apartment, but shrugged. There was nothing she could do now. Besides, no matter how she scrubbed the rooms, there would be DNA traces left behind. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. DNA? she wondered. That was a term from her high school biology class; what had it to do with evidence of a crime? Shaking her head, she quitted the apartment. She was quite shocked to feel the muggy air of a dead summer morning blanket her. It was so humid. Glancing at an electrical sign appended to a bank across from the apartment building, she saw that temperature was a balmly 82 degrees Fahrenhit. Shaking her head again, she searched for her car, but could turn up no trace. She owned a  new ’78 Vega, but none of the vehicles present in the lot seemed even vaguely familiar.

& & &

Livy walked briskly through the downtown area, looking desperately for a cab. A foreign-looking man in a small, unusually configured vehicle stuck his head out the window and said, “Ma’am, you wanta’ Uber?”

Livy didn’t understand what he meant. “I’m looking for a taxi,” she said.

“You got it,” he said, and exited the vehicle and opened the rear door. Livy slid across the cushions. “Where you goin’, Ms.?”

Mizz? she wondered. Maybe he was from the Deep South. She gave him her address.

“Debit or credit?” he asked, starting the motor.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How you want to pay?” he said. “Do you have a debit card or a credit card?”

“Oh,” said Livy. “Neither.”

The driver turned off the car. “Then how you wanna’ pay?” he asked, more propreitarily now? He looked at Livy lasciviously in the rearview mirror.

“I’ll pay cash,” she said, reaching into her purse.

“It gonna’ be $50,” he warned.

Livy proferred a $100 bill, but the driver almost seemed allergic to it. “I ain’t got no change for a century note,” he bawled.

“Keep the change,” she said, handing over the bill.

Satisfied now, the driver restarted his car and they sped away. Exhausted, Livy leaned back against the seat and was soon fast asleep.

& & &

“Wake up, Sugar,” coaxed a baritone voice. Livy’s nose wrinkled. The coffee smelled divine. And was that bacon and buttered, freshly toasted bread? With a smile, she rose to one elbow and stared into the pleasantly ugly face–of Matt! She started, nearly upsetting the mug he held cradled in his hands.

“Whoa,” he purred, setting the cup aside. “I thought you spent all your energy last night, or this morning. He grinned and, thinking of nothing better to do, Livy grinned herself. He gave her a gentle buss on the lips and then conveyed the mug of coffee back to her. “Got hold of it?” he asked.

Livy nodded. “Yes,” she said, “thanks.”

“Where were you just now?” asked Matt, sitting next to her on the mattress.

Livy shook her head. “Bad dream, I guess.”

Matt nodded. “That happened to me too, my first week at Boeing.”

Livy stared at him.

“Don’t feel self-conscious, Livy,” he went on. “You got your bona fides. The Firm only hires the top 1% of aeronautical engineers, so you know, and they know, that you’re the best.”

Because Matt seemed to expect it of her, Livy nodded, though a little uncertainly. “So,” said Livy, “you think I’m a good…engineer?”

Matt guffawed. “Don’t diminish yourself, Livy. You’re so much more than that. Boeing at one time didn’t hire many pure physicists. But, with the progress made on Level 1 and Level 2 parallel universes, and your work on ekpyrotic theory; well, you wrote the book–literally–on that!”

“I did?” she asked in a small voice.

“When I was in college, 20 years ago, we studied the multiverse and cosmic inflation and string theory and ekpyrotic theory and all the rest, but you took it to the next level. Smith couldn’t help but recruit you.”

“Smith?” she asked.

“Eliot,” he said, “the boss.” He peered closely at her. “You really did hit your head last night,” he remarked, touching her brow gently.

“Last night?” she asked.

“At the ice rink, Livy,” said Matt. “Maybe we should get you checked out? Eliot would kill me if I was responsible for scrambling your brains; skating was my idea, remember.”

“I’m feeling better now, Matt,” she assured him and was rewarded instantly with a look of genuine relief. Things were slowly beginning to come back to her. “Matt,” she asked, “how long have we been seeing one another?”

“Seeing one another?” he repeated. “Well, we’ve been married for 5 years. How can you forget? We were wed on your 25th birthday, Sugar.”

Then that came back to Livy as well. Thoughts and memories were returning to her mind, gushing forth like nuts and candies from a  punctured pinata. She saw herself on a hillside, clad in a simple white sheath–and barefooted! She giggled at the memory.

Matt regarded her curiously. When she looked at his face, she saw love in his eyes.

“Matt,” she said tenderly, “would you consider having a child with me?” Where this came from Livy didn’t know; it seemed very important to her in the moment.

“You mean in addition to the two we already have?” he asked whimsically.

She stared at him in surprise. How could she have forgotten that?

“Livy,” Matt told her, “you’re the smartest chick I know, but you ain’t right in the head.”

Finally she asked him, “Matt, do you think I’ll fit in with the folks at Boeing?”

“Well, for you it’ll be a lot like the high school principal talking to a classroom of 2nd graders, but yeah, I think you’ll fit right in.” He smiled.

Arriving at the corporate offices for her first day on the job, Livy was greeted with many a “welcome aboard.” Thankfully, she instantly recognized almost everyone she met. Seated finally at her  desk in the lab, she glanced at the electronic calendar, saw Jan. 1, 2032 and almost lost it. She had been born Oct. 9, 1947! A sudden warm, comfortable feeling replaced the shock, and she looked up to see her lab assistant.

“Hello, Phoebe,” said Livy.

“Oh! You remembered my name! We only met the one time, the day you had your last interview for the job, and I thought, with all the people you met that day, you might forget.” She smoothed down her cap of short dark hair.

“I didn’t forget,” said Livy. “You earned your doctorate in quantum physics from MIT, am I right?”

Phoebe smiled. “Right you are, Dr. Cooper.”

“Livy,” the other woman corrected at once.

“I just hope I can keep up,” said Phoebe self-consciously.

“I think,” said Livy, “that together we’ll do great things. I don’t believe in fate, or preordained destiny,” she added. “And you shouldn’t either.”

Suddenly into the room walked Eliot. Livy held her breath, recalling the Eliot of a different time and place. But pleasant emotions and positive feelings soon displaced the convuluted thoughts she had when he first entered. She recalled embedded memories of dinners at her and Matt’s house, company picnics and the like.

“Hello, Dr. Smith,” Livy greeted him.

“Let’s not stand on ceremony, Livy,” said Eliot. “It’s always been Eliot; that doesn’t change because you work for me now. You’ve always been a part of the family.”

Livy nodded.

Turning to Phoebe, Eliot said, “Are you ready for lunch?”

Phoebe nodded.

“Will you join us, Livy?” asked Eliot, turning to her.

“No, thank you, Eliot,” Livy said, remembering. “Enjoy lunch–with your wife.”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Bill Tope 2025