Beautiful Liar (7 page)

              “She’s my girlfriend.” Dominic blushed and smiled. “We kissed in the stock closet. We always kiss in the stock closet.”

              “Dominic…”

              “It’s alright, Nola. She likes it.”

              I couldn’t help but to laugh. He was happy, and I loved it. It was the first time I’d seen Dominic infatuated by a girl. Wasn’t too long ago that I wondered if he’d ever experience romantic love like Derrick and I got to. And now, just an hour after the Carmen chaos, and over hoagies and BBQ potato chips, he was dishing details of how he made-out with his co-worker, Angel—a girl who also went to his school.

              “You were supposed be working not sneaking around smooching.”

              Dominic lowered his head, smiled, and fumbled with his name badge which had train strikers all over it. Since I moved back home with my parents, I made it my obligation to stop by Dominic’s job to have lunch with him at the same time every day. He worked at a book store as a stocker in downtown Wilmington, DE.  It was the perfect place for him. It was quiet, and his duties were consistent. What’s even better, is that he got to work with Angel. We learned the hard way that Dominic couldn’t handle working at bigger stores. His first job was at a Target, and that ended in a disaster. 

              He gushed, “She likes learning about my trains, Nola. Her favorite is the diesel locomotives, because diesel locomotives are less likely to start fires. We always talk about trains, and she likes it.”

              I smiled. “Dominic, you smile like I do when I think about my crush.”

              “Good, that your crush makes you smile.” Then, Dominic snarled, “I hope your crush not Travis. I hate Travis.”

              From the moment I told my younger brother absolutely everything that went down between Trav and me, the thought of him infuriated Dominic. He was super protective of his big sis, and I loved that about him. I popped a chip in my mouth. “Don’t say hate. And don’t be pissed about it. I’m over it. On to the next...”

              “Who’s next?”

              “Marley’s father.”

              Dominic stared at me blankly, probably waiting for me to say that it was a joke. When he realized there wasn’t a punchline, he shook his head.

              I giggled, devilishly.

              Dominic said, “No.”

              “But, he makes me smile,” I defended.

              Dominic looked as if he paused to think, and then he sighed, “Marley will be mad with you, Nola. Marley wouldn’t visit no more.”

              I doubted Marley would even notice. She would be too preoccupied planning her 1-2-3 step, thrown together wedding to be worried about me pursing her father.

              Our lunch was cut short when a customer started rapidly pressing the bell at the register. Dominic and I poked our heads from the office and saw that the sales rep wasn’t out there. She was a 70-year-old retiree who only worked to stay busy. She must have taken a lunch break herself and forgot to lock the door. The customer flagged his newspaper when he spotted us.

              “Helllllooo. Can I get some assistance? Please!” He was a tall muscular guy with olive-colored skin. His pant suit was so tight that it looked like all he needed was to sneeze and he’d bust right through it. “Doesn’t either one of you work here? I need this rung-up. I’ll miss my train!”

              Dominic made his way to the front. “I work here!”

              I followed behind, “Dominic, you sure you can work the register?”

              “I’m gonna help this man get the train, Nola.”

              The customer slapped a five dollar bill on the counter. Dominic pressed the correct button to get the drawer to pop open, but he didn’t know how to ring up the amounts or receipt. He simply picked up the $5 bill, placed it in the drawer, closed it, and then he grinned.

              “Thank you for shopping at Market Street Book Store!”

              The pissed man grunted and held out his hand, “I want my change!”

              Dominic was confused and frowned. I stepped up. “I’m sorry about that sir.”

              The man turned red and raised his voice. “It’s just a $5 bill! How do you screw up five dollars?” Then, he looked me up and down. “Do you even work here? Who wears an outfit like that to run a book store?”

              I blew air from my cheeks and covered my peeking abdomen with my arm. His attitude reminded me of why I could never keep a job in retail when I was a teenager.

              “Sir,” I said calmly. “Can you tell me how much the newspaper is? I’ll just ring it up for you so you can get your change.”

              The customer huffed, “He should have already known! It’s not rocket science! What kind of idiots do they have working here?”

              It was all I needed to hear for time to suddenly pause, for the heat to suddenly rise, and for my hand to suddenly fall upon a hardback book to sling it. The spine of it clocked the customer between his eyes. While he screamed in agony, I grabbed Dominic’s hand and walked into the office. I locked the door behind us and dialed 9-1-1.

              See, the thing is, when you’re the daughter to one of Delaware’s top three and most famous criminal defense attorneys, you get away with assault. So much so, that the person you assaulted
always
ends up apologizing to you.
Always
. Most of the police officers in Wilmington, especially the crooked ones who don’t even deserve a badge, are sitting by the phone waiting for the opportunity to personally repay
thee
Walter Victor for the mess that he has dug them out off. Mess that money, although we’re grateful, could never buy.

              As expected, this little incident was swept under the rug. No police reports, no witnesses, the man got a couple dollars and a ride to wherever he needed to go, the old store owner lady was briefed on how the
customer
attacked us, and my father didn’t even have to be notified.

***

              Later that evening, I found Walter Victor sitting on the patio smoking a Cuban cigar and sipping on Johnnie Walker Scotch whiskey, not to be disturbed—his little ritual the day before a case. I watched from the kitchen as he ran his fingers through his thick white hair and reclined with his feet up, watching the ducks swim in the pond that glistened across from the backyard. I smirked as I thought about how he probably didn’t have a clue that I liked smoking cigars occasionally, too. If we had that kind of relationship, I would have joined him. Would’ve sat on the chair adjacent to his with my legs curled beneath me, telling him all about the shit that went down in the coffee shop and book store. Then, I’d listen to his unsolicited advice on how I need to stop taking advantage of the law, and how I shouldn’t steal another woman’s man.

              “Nola, these came for you today.” My mother, dressed in her sky blue scrubs, walked in carrying a huge arrangement of orange and pink tiger lilies that were so tall they blocked her face. She sat them on the counter.

              There wasn’t a name on the card. Just a message: NOLA, I NEED TO SEE YOU AGAIN. MEET ME AT LACROIX IN CENTER CITY, PHILADELPHIA. OUR RESERVATIONS ARE AT 7.

              My mom leaned against the counter. “Who are they from?”

              “It doesn’t say, but I have an idea.”

              My mother pulled out one of the lilies and played with the petals. “How’s the job hunt going?”

              “It’s going,”

              “Nola, you always say that.”

              I turned my attention to my father who could be heard coughing a little on smoke. He took another drag and that time puffed successfully.

              “He wants you in your own place,” my mom said, handing me the lily before making her way to the refrigerator.

              “Of course he does. He never wanted me here,” I responded.

              My mom defended my father as usual. “He just wants you to do better… make something of yourself.”

              “I’ll tell you what, when I get a good paying job, I’ll move out and take Dominic with me. That way neither of us will be in your way.”

              My mother spoke from behind the refrigerator door. “It won’t be that simple. Your father thinks that your lifestyle needs to change first.”

              “My father is the one who taught me this lifestyle,” I fired back.

              She closed the refrigerator door and sighed. “You told us your therapist helped you to realize that you can’t blame anyone but yourself.”

              “I haven’t spoken to my therapist in five years” I grew agitated “Why are you bringing her up?”

              “You need to see her again. You haven’t saved a penny since you started staying here. Every day you’re walking in carrying shopping bags.”

              I glanced at the stove’s clock.

              “You can’t let your habits spiral out of control again—“

              “I better get ready.”

              “You don’t have a cushion, Nola… He wants to cut you off on your 30th birthday, so you have until December.”

              My mother pouted her pretty little face and tucked her hair behind her pretty little ears. I stood there with my arms folded. I was disappointed… disappointed by how skillful she was at narrating my father’s thoughts and opinions but never bold enough to speak her own.

              “Mom, why do you act like you don’t understand that I need time?”

              “Derrick hasn’t lived here since he left for college…” she started.

              “You’re a moron,” I interjected.

              “Excuse me?”

              I pointed at her with the lily. “I don’t need to see my therapist,
you do
,” I said. “And, you need to ask her to help you figure out what you did to your spine… Or did
he
knock it out of you?”

***

              I had two hours to meet Ronnie at the restaurant. In that two hours, I was able to wax, shower, try on five different dresses before choosing a Vera LBD, and speed and dodge through traffic. I was only ten minutes behind, which was great timing for a first date. The restaurant was dimly lit, and there was even a live band performing soft music. It was a romantic atmosphere, and I couldn’t wait for the hostess to seat me so that I could tell Ronnie how much I approved.

              Unfortunately, it wasn’t Ronnie waiting for me at the table.

              Trav sat there at the booth slouched, eyes slanted, and grinning. He had two cognac glasses in front of him. Both of them pretty empty with a little bit of ice left. He was predictably dressed in a navy Boggi suit, and he had his grey tie dropped around his neck. He was obviously feeling his drinks heavily, and I remembered how I once upon a time found this sexy. He handed me the drink menu, and without bothering to open it, I ordered a bottle of Riesling and a double shot of Patron.

              Trav bit his bottom lip. “Yeah… drink up, baby girl.”

              I cut my eyes at him. “Why are we here?”

              “To celebrate,” he slurred while raising his empty glass. “You would have been my wife last night.”

              “That was two days ago. Why are we here?”

              Trav slapped the table. “Alright, Alright, Alright. You wanna know why we’re here? I’ll tell you why we’re here.”

              I folded my arms and rolled my eyes. Had I known that it was Trav who had sent the flowers and invited me to dinner, I would have trashed them and left his drunk behind waiting.

              He chuckled and teased.               “You wanna know? You don’t wanna know.”

              The waitress returned with my drinks and after she poured my glass, I threw the shot back and chased it with the Riesling. Trav ordered us both a plate of fried calamari and sent the waitress away.

              I looked him directly in the face and demanded, “You have exactly two seconds to tell me what you need to tell me, or I’m walking up outta here. 1…”

              Trav straightened his body and lifted his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Chill out. Chill out.”

              I grabbed my clutch. “Two.”

              I rose and Trav reached over the table and grabbed my wrist. Then, he quickly released it as if he had a flashback of when I spit in his face a little over a year ago.

              “Nola. Nola, just… just sit down.”

I               snapped, “Why are we here??”

              Trav slammed his elbows onto the table and threw his face into the palms of his hands. He spoke low but coherently, “I saw my doctor today. He told me that I have Gonorrhea. I’m being a man and letting you know that you have to get tested.”

              I sat down slowly, sipped my Riesling, and swirled it in my mouth. He took his hands down and lifted his head as if he was checking for my reaction.