A Serialized Novel
Beautiful Scarring | chapter 1 [part 1]
Livie
𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍, 𝑰 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆: 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓 & 𝑻𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔
February, 1990 … A Thursday
As the Manhattan-bound “R” train was pulling into the subway station one flight below, Livie LoPresti was dropping her token into the slot of the turnstile. The way a woman runs for a train can tell you a lot about who she is. Livie wasn’t running.
Instead, she slowed down. Livie didn’t commute, didn’t know the drill, wasn’t sure she could make it in time. Or she could miscalculate, clatter down the stairs, just to have the subway doors sliding closed in her face. She’d be left watching windows full of smirking faces, all thinking “amateur”. Nope. Not today.
She pretended to look at the subway map, even tracing a random route with her finger. She turned her back on the people who were as determined as marathon runners with the finish line in sight; soaring down the stairs to catch the train in a way she couldn’t copy. Go, everyone just go … the longer the train stalled, the more uncomfortable her loitering became.
Livie heard the crackle of the motorman as he mumbled through the subway’s PA system Conductor, I get no indication … meaning the train was being held in the station. If she wanted it, she could catch it. She could at least try.
“Luciana take that out of your mouth …” There was a woman with her three children coming up the stairs, blocking the way. The smallest girl, Luciana, was dancing up and down the steps while sucking on the ends of her braids. “Grandma’s house,” Luciana sang, pointing up the stairs and continuing her dance. Five, maybe six years old. “Grandma’s house!” she sang again. Livie was charmed by her. The feeling pulled her down toward the train.
The doors were still open when Livie got to them. She caught the eye of the conductor as he mumbled stand clear of the closing doors. Two quick steps. She could make it if she wanted to.
The conductor held her eye. Livie shook her head, stepped back, and turned her face. She’d wait for the next one. “Get in,” he called and jerked his head toward the open door. Then a wink.
She had permission.
Livie nodded a thank you and stepped into the car. She found a seat, closed her eyes, and let the train rock her toward the lawyer in Brooklyn Heights.
On Court Street, it was easy to find the address she had copied from the phone book. Pushing through the revolving doors, Livie met her reflection and eyed her accessories. Good earrings, check. Gold necklace, yup. And underneath her coat, she was wearing her jury duty outfit — a knock-off Versace she had found at Century 21. Black with robin’s egg blue trim, and shoes to match.
Thirty-six floors up Livie got off the elevator and entered a shabby suite of law offices. No other buildings were around to hold back the blinding winter sunlight coming in through the smudged windows. The view rippled in the waves of heat coming out of the radiators.
No one was at the front desk so Livie pressed her forehead up against the warm glass to look outside. The view was spectacular, with downtown Brooklyn spread out below and the court building directly across the street, bustling with people. Her eyes began to tear from the sunlight. She wished Domenic was here to see this with her, and then chuckled.
Domenic.
She was here to divorce him.
Divorcing Domenic. She was done pretending.
Pretending she couldn’t still smell the other woman’s perfume on him when he crawled into bed with her at dawn.
When he did come home at all.
All those times Livie had adjusted her breathing to sound asleep. Biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from saying anything to him.
Had I really been asleep I would have been awake by now.
Of course, he knew that.
Sometimes he’d whisper “Livie” in a sing-song, and she would stir, or not. When he drifted off to sleep, Livie would often get out of bed, sit by the window, and look out onto the street. Seeing the same sidewalk, the same trees, the same driveways and cars. The same reflection of herself, blurred by the same tears, and the same thought each night … These streets all lead out for everyone but me …
Livie spent her days avoiding eye contact. In the supermarket, the dry cleaner, the video store, she kept her head down. If she looked up, she might be looking straight into the eyes of the woman who had been with her husband last night. It could be anyone.
She’s why he won’t undress in front of me — so I won’t see the marks. She’s why he lies. Why sometimes he doesn’t come home at all.
Livie especially avoided any woman under thirty, because whoever “she” was, Livie knew she was young.
As she stared out the window in the reception area, Livie fiddled with her wedding band. She wore it on her thumb these days. It was huge enough to fit because it was a hand-me-down from her father-in-law. Domenic didn’t bother to wear his — who knows where he had left it — but Livie always wore hers.
He wanted me to know every time I looked down at my hand someone loved me, forever.
She wore that ring, with a ring stabilizer, for almost twenty-one years. During the long nights alone, during the days of crying, during the fights, and the eventual lack of fighting.
Last week she took it off her ring finger, removed the stabilizer, and put it on her thumb.
I wear it to spite him, and to spite myself. mostly to spite him. I won’t take this ring off.
Everything had been fine until last week.
Until she’d found Leda’s diary in her father’s safety deposit box.
When Ennio D’Onofrio had died two months ago there hadn’t been a Will so the red tape Livie had to go through dragged on for weeks. Finally, she was told she could come to clear out his box at the bank. She didn’t even care at that point. Still, she’d put on a nice dress and had taken a cab back to the old neighborhood.
The safety deposit box was big … maybe for show, maybe for contents that no longer existed. It was hardly worth the trip because it was nearly empty. An ancient pocket watch, a swatch of her mother’s hair, a banknote, a wad of twenties adding up to just under seven hundred dollars, a sterling silver teething ring with the initials LD, and a faded, tattered, notebook she gave no thought to as she jammed it into her tote bag with everything else.
Later, at home, she paused in her cleaning routine mid-swipe, the bottle of Fantastik still hovering over the kitchen counter, and remembered where she had seen that notebook.
It was her sister’s diary.
Livie thought her father had burned it after Leda’s death, the way he had burned the dress and the bag and the shoes and every last thing that had Leda’s mark on it. Livie had seen him by the fireplace tossing pictures into the flames like confetti, muttering in Italian, and wiping away angry tears. But no sign of the book. She hadn’t found it in their bedroom, although it was the first thing she’d looked for when she got back.
Now it was just a room away.
She hesitated only long enough to wipe one last coffee mug ring off the counter, put the Fantastik back under the sink, and pour herself a generous glass of Malibu Rum.
She read it in one sitting, checking to make sure nothing had been ripped out … making sure the last page was all there was to read. Because if that was it … if that was all there was … well. She flipped through it a few more times, re-reading the parts that hit her the hardest. Huh.
Satisfied she knew the whole story she called Henry Tacksman, Esq.
Next week? Nothing earlier?
He’s in trial every day till then.
A week to think it over … to maybe change her mind. But no … there was no question.
Six days passed. An eternity for her as she stared in the mirror to find her once black hair was streaked with gray, her once smooth face was lined and worn, her once bright eyes were dull with the disappointment of what she had become in twenty years.
When this morning had come she could barely stomach seeing Domenic’s toothbrush in the holder next to hers. So intimate. She’d wanted to rub it across the floor. But she couldn’t be that nasty.
Now, looking down over the city from far above, all she could see was what she had missed out on. Had she really never bought a hot dog from a cart? Had she never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge? Had she never been up this high? She hated Domenic for what he had done to her. What she had allowed him to do to her.
“Miss? You need help?”
Livie looked back toward the reception area, where a gum-chewing girl was looking at her questioningly.
“Yeah, hi. I’m Olivia LoPresti. I have an appointment with Mr. Tacksman. I’m a little early?”
“No, no, he can see you right now. He just got back from picking a jury over on Livingston. He’s on the phone but you can go in there. It’s okay. Push the door when you hear the buzzer.”
Olivia smiled and once more checked her reflection in the glass of the Matisse print by the door before heading back.
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