Woodstock Day Two
Woodstock
Day Two
Once Johnny, Slim, and Aphrodite had shaken out their nude bodies and she had twisted her ponytail to squeeze out the water, they sat down on the rocky ledge beside us.
Sunbeams streaked through gaps in the clouds.
Without a word, the three of them closed their eyes and stretched out in the warmth to sunbathe.
My heart grew fists. They banged on the inside of my chest.
I tried to let it all go, but the longer I lay there in the sun, the madder I became. Livy knew I had a mountain of a crush on Leon. Why would she do this to me? Free love or not?
I yearned to take Leon’s hand and run. But to where? There was no other choice but to grin and bear it, lest they all think I was a prudish, possessive baby.
Even though my clothes were sopping wet, I stood up and put them back on, hoping Livy would take the hint and do the same.
Maybe body heat would help them dry faster.
I had no idea, nor did I care. The only thing I cared about was Livy lying casually in the nude in front of Leon, as if all was well.
All was not well. She had crushed me to the bone. And betrayed me, yet again.
After a while, my betrayer sat up, gazing at our group with chocolate brown eyes.
“I’ve never felt so free. What about y’all?
” With both hands she finger-brushed her long wet hair from the scalp to the ends.
It cascaded onto her shoulders like a waterfall.
Livy knew she was beautiful. What’s more, she was well aware of the power it gave her.
It made me give serious thought to who she would be if her outer beauty was stripped away.
“Hey, Leon. Are you a Leo?” Livy purred, then shot him one of her sexy, kitty-cat smiles.
“Nope,” he answered. “Aquarius.”
“Really? I could have sworn you’re a Leo. You have all the traits.”
He smiled at her, but his eyes conveyed a different message. I didn’t know what that message meant, but I hoped he was as annoyed by Livy as I was.
“I figured your parents named you Leon because you were born a Leo,” she said.
He shook his head. “I doubt my parents even know the zodiac exists.”
Livy actually batted her eyelashes. “Maybe you should enlighten them.”
Now my blood had reached the boiling point.
She had told me in the car that Leo was her favorite sign.
Watching her sit there like a nude model posing for a French painter, flirting with the boy I liked—make that loved—made me choke with fury.
When I had told her to cut loose, I had never expected this.
Woodstock or not, how was I supposed to be okay with her casual nudity?
And what about her boyfriend? Three hours ago, she’d claimed to be in love with him. If so, why flirt with Leon?
As soon as our eyes met, I shot her a nasty look a hundred times more powerful than an M16 assault rifle. I fingered my top, then my jeans. Even without words, Livy knew what I was saying. Ever since we were little girls, we’d been able to read each other’s hand signals.
It worked. She stood up, strolled over to her clothes, and picked them up off the boulder. She peered at me with a look that said, You are acting ridiculous. But her actual words were “Still not dry.”
“Neither are mine,” I was quick to say, adding a look of my own that said, Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold.
Likely sensing the chill in the air, Leon glanced between us. First at Livy, with her unclothed, erect-nipple breasts. Then at me, my breasts hidden underneath wet clothes. Yet he never uttered a word. Neither did Johnny. Or Slim.
But I did. “Put your clothes on, Livy.” I just said it. If someone could have counted my rapid heartbeats, there’s a good chance I would have been hospitalized. I was that close to a heart attack. When the guys weren’t looking, I shot her yet another fierce hairy eyeball.
Everyone in the group watched as Livy re-dressed, then sat down next to Johnny, snuggling up to him for warmth. He wrapped both arms around her waist.
The disappointment in Slim’s eyes broke my heart.
Not sure why, but I felt sorry for him. His hair may have been greasy, but he sure was sweet.
And generous. He had shared his food and drink with Livy and me.
He was the reason we had snagged an epic piece of territory.
If it weren’t for him, Joan Baez would have been a tiny shell on the seashore, and I would never have seen Melanie’s cool boots.
“I’m gonna head back,” he said. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Aw. Sure you don’t want to stay, man?” Livy asked.
“Dave’s probably having a hard time saving the seats. I better head.”
“We understand. See you soon, man,” she said.
I thanked him for his generosity. I even gave his naked body a hug. There was no way we’d get those seats back. Nor would we ever see him again.
Once Slim had dressed and told us all goodbye, Johnny—the only one still in the buff—moved over to his dry, mud-caked jeans.
He pulled a bag of pot from his pocket, rolling papers, and a lighter.
But he never put his clothes back on. After sitting down cross-legged, he slid a single paper out of the pack, then emptied a healthy serving of marijuana on top.
As soon as he finished rolling what he called “a fat doobie,” he licked one side of the paper, then twisted an end closed. “Who wants the first toke?” he asked.
The words had barely left his lips when I raised my hand. “Me!” It would be the only way I’d survive Livy.
Johnny passed me the joint. He held his lighter to the tip. I took a hit, then another, hoping it would give me an immediate sense of serenity. Putting Livy’s vanity behind me was critical.
Three rounds later, my brain buzzed. The boulder of anger I’d been carrying went up in smoke. Where it went was anyone’s guess, but I sure felt better. I silently thanked God for putting marijuana on the earth.
The sun, now peeking through the clouds, had obeyed Merlin’s command, so we all lay down on our backs to catch the warm rays.
No telling how much time passed before I caught a glimpse of Johnny.
The sight of him, in his birthday suit while the rest of us were clothed, struck me as the funniest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
My shoulders started shaking. I clutched my stomach and gasped for air.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I tried to make them stop, but every time I did, the sight of Johnny became even funnier.
Pretty soon I was suffocating in soundless laughter, and no one else knew why.
Seconds later, Leon started. As soon as our eyes met, it worsened.
His breaths turned into wheezes. Now neither of us could stop.
I had no idea whether he knew why I was laughing, but it didn’t matter.
Just seeing his face beet red made the whole thing a hundred times funnier. I turned on my side and howled.
When Johnny and Livy joined in, I thought I might need a stomach operation.
Pressing both hands to my middle, I screamed out in pain.
My face hurt so bad I had to squeeze my cheeks shut.
The thought of Handsome Johnny hooting at himself without knowing it was funnier than all the Carol Burnett skits put together.
“What the hell is so funny?” Johnny asked, scrambling to a seated position. He had tears rolling down his cheeks too.
I could hardly spit out the word, but I managed a faint “You.”
“Me? What’s so funny about me?”
With a fist pressed into my mouth, I clamped my lips together, pulling back just enough to say, “Not you. Your willy!” With that I rolled over on my back, kicked my legs in the air, and squealed.
Johnny spread his knees apart and looked down. “What’s so funny about my willy?” He eyeballed Leon, who shook his head, unable to speak. But when Johnny stretched out his legs on the rock, tucking his willy inside, the rest of us nearly fell over the cliff, roaring with laughter.
It was the cure I needed.
5:30 p.m.
After the chilly night we’d had, lying in the sun felt heavenly. None of us said anything for the longest time, at least thirty minutes. I was nearly asleep when I heard Leon say, “Too bad you guys missed Suzie Q this morning. She stole the show.”
Johnny propped up on his elbow. “What show?”
“She sang her heart out on the Hog Farm stage. Got a standing O!” He stood up to clap, all the while beaming down at me. In light of Livy’s physical perfection—dressed or nude—it boosted my confidence.
Johnny sat up straight, peering at me. “Hang on a minute. You’re a singer?”
I shook my head. “I enjoy singing, but I’m not a real singer.”
“She had to give it up a few years ago,” Livy explained, her voice raspier than ever. “I was the one who told her to sing at open mics.”
With a deep furrow between his brows, Leon sat back down next to me. “Why would you ever give up singing?”
I released a slow sigh before answering. “It’s a long story.”
Livy pushed herself up, gathered all her hair to one side, and then raked her fingers through, like she was brushing. “Her dad’s psycho. That’s why.” With a crazed, wild-eyed face, she wriggled her fingers on either side of her head.
Leon stole a quick glance in my direction, as if he was waiting for me to say something.
I was still gathering my thoughts on how to respond when he took it upon himself. “That’s not nice, Livy.”
“I’m not saying anything she wouldn’t say herself. Right, Suzannah?”
It wasn’t the disrespectful gesture that bothered me; I was well on my way to forgetting Dad existed—at least for the weekend.
What riled me up was Livy’s perpetual know-it-all attitude and, yes, her audacity to prance around nude in front of Leon.
As hard as I had tried to put that out of my mind with the pot and the laughter, the anger came roaring back.
I was so mad I couldn’t look at her. “Yep. He’s a psycho,” I said to Leon, not Livy.