How on earth have we landed on this subject, and what can I do to get off it?I would rather have poked a fork in my eye than keep this sextalk up. “I’m ... not sure,” I said. Of course I wanted to have sex. I fantasized about it all the time. But staying out of hell seemed like the better choice.
Livy sat up straight, with a serious tone to her voice. “I don’t think the church, or the state, has the right to tell a woman what she can or can’t do with her own body. The pill gives us the freedom to have sex without worrying about pregnancy. Even that liar President Johnson gave the pill the thumbs-up before he left office. You heard about that, didn’t you?”
“I think I heard it somewhere.” Another fib. I hadn’t heard.
“Can you believe the pill didn’t exist ten years ago?”
“Not really.” Truthfully, I couldn’t have cared less.
“Free love is beautiful, man.”
My mind swirled with questions. When did Livy adopt this free-thinking mindset? Going all the way with John Dearing our junior year was a wild thing to do, but nothing to this degree. She talked like she had sexoften. “When did you ... get like this?” I flat out asked her.
“When did I become a freak?”
“You’re not a freak, Livy. I’m asking when you turned into such a free love person?”
“Hey, I’m proud to be a freak. It’s not a bad thing. But to answer your question, I guess going to Radcliffe has helped me see things differently.” She narrowed her eyes. “Dammit. It’s the fuzz.”
The blinking blue lights at the roadblock ahead, with policemen positioned outside their cars, sent a stress signal to my heart too. I leaned into the dash. “Wonder what’s going on?”
Quite honestly, danger or not, I was thankful for the distraction. All the sex talk had me unnerved.
“Probably looking for drugs.” She mashed her foot on the brake, stopping behind several others who were waiting to pass through.
I grabbed her arm. “Tell me you don’t have pot in this car.”
“Not where they can find it.”
“Livy!” My body temperature dropped fifteen degrees.
“Chill out. They won’t stop me, man. Hand me my lipstick, please. It’s in my purse.”
Once we got up to the squad car, Pink a Pale Livy confidently poked her head out the window, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “Good morning, officer.”
From the way the cop beamed at her, I knew she was right. Between her scratchy Southern accent and her inordinate beauty, he’d clearly rather search her than the car. Without further ado, he waved us through but stopped the VW bus behind us. I whipped around, and Livy watched through her rearview to see eight longhairs pouring out of the vehicle.
As Pally’s engine roared, picking up speed, Livy gave the fuzz a middle finger salute.
I was beginning to wonder what in the heck I’d gotten myself into. Pied Piper Liv had a way of convincing people to follow her to the ends of the earth. Especially me. She could convince me to do just about anything, even if it meant I’d get in big trouble.
On the Road to Woodstock
Almost to Bethel
Friday, August 15, 1969
11:00 a.m.
You’d think we’d have been tired after all the driving. Nothing could have been further from the truth. We were energized.
As we closed in on Bethel, Livy and I grooved to the music, crooning along with Jim Morrison to “Light My Fire.” I tapped out the beat on the dashboard. She used her steering wheel as a conga drum, her cigarette pinched between two fingers. After listening to the Doors’ self-titled album all the way through, we both agreed Jim Morrison had the sexiest voice on earth.
“He’s the most gorgeous hunk I’ve ever seen,” Livy said. “It’s a crying shame he won’t be at the festival.”
“Wonder why?”
“Probably booked elsewhere. What other reason would they have for not playing?”
