Chasing Stanley (14 page)

“Seven?” Jason asked.

“Seven's fine.” Delilah bent over and kissed the top of Stanley's head. “See you Thursday night, big boy.”

“Don't I get a kiss, too?”

Was he kidding? Delilah checked his expression. No, he wasn't. He looked like a guy who really wanted to be kissed. At least, she thought he did. Not that she was at all certain what guys looked like when they wanted to be kissed. Though if she
was
certain, she was pretty sure they'd look like Jason.
Oh, for pity's sake, just do it!

Delilah leaned in, planting a chaste but lingering kiss on his lips. She liked the way he smelled. Maybe they could talk about that over coffee. “I like your cologne,” she'd say, sipping demurely. “Oh, thank you,” he'd reply huskily. “I put it on just for you.” Then—

“Delilah?”

Delilah blinked. “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about all the stuff I have to do today.”

“You and me both.” Jason fastened Stan's leash to his collar and opened the door. “So, I'll see you Thursday around seven.”

“Yup,” Delilah chirped.

The minute she closed the door behind them, her heart began to pound.

“He likes me!” she announced giddily to the snoring dogs. Little Belle opened her good eye and looked at her a moment, then yawned before returning to sleep. Pretty boring news for a dog. But to Delilah, it was the most exciting thing in the world.

Delilah pasted the best smile she could onto her face as she made her way to her father's table at Ming Dynasty, his favorite restaurant. She'd been looking forward to seeing him, though the reason for their dinner date was less appealing: she was there to meet her father's new fiancée, Brandi.

At least it's not Junie,
Delilah thought to herself as her father rose to kiss her cheek. After vociferously defending him against her mother's charge of infidelity with his secretary, the last thing she wanted was to be wrong. Her mother would never let her live it down.

“Look at you.” No sooner had her father kissed her than his face contorted with consternation. “You're thin as a rail! Let's sit down and get some egg drop soup into you.”

Delilah complied, sitting to her father's left. In her mother's eyes, she always weighed too much. In her father's, too little. She wondered if she really was thin, or if her father was just saying so out of force of habit. Even when she was younger, she'd never been entirely sure if he meant it, or if it was just a way to oppose and aggravate her mother.

“Where's Brandi?” she asked.

“Powdering her nose. She's so excited to meet you, you don't know.”

Delilah manufactured another smile. “Powdering her nose” . . . what an antiquated expression. Then again, some people would say her father was antiquated, despite being robust for his sixty-seven years. Always concerned about him, Delilah discreetly looked him over. He appeared happy and healthy, his glowing complexion enhanced by the perpetual tan he maintained courtesy of TanFastic, a tanning salon he was half owner of. Delilah had been warning him for years about the dangers of skin cancer, but her father refused to listen. Eventually, Delilah gave up. There was no convincing Sy Gould he was mortal.

Delilah's father eyed his Rolex. “What the hell's taking her so long?” he grumbled.

“There's no hurry, Dad,” Delilah assured him, glancing around the restaurant. The decor hadn't changed in decades: same black lacquer tables, same sad paper lanterns. When Delilah was small, she loved coming here with her parents, eagerly anticipating cracking open her fortune cookie after dinner. By the time she was in her early teens, she dreaded it: her mother would always send something back, claiming it was too hot, too cold, too spicy, or not spicy enough. Her father would get annoyed, and the bickering would begin.

“Here she comes,” Delilah's father announced.

Delilah turned in the direction of the ladies' room, unprepared for the sight of the
very
young,
very
buxom, and
very
blonde woman wiggling her way toward the table. She was twenty if she was a day, with blinding white teeth and a tan as natural as her father's.

“Leelee,” he said to Delilah proudly, “I want you to meet my soul mate, Brandi.”

“Hello.” Delilah extended her hand, shocked when Brandi enfolded her in an embrace.

“Leelee!” Her voice reminded Delilah of Minnie Mouse. The temptation to tell her that only her parents were allowed to call her by her childhood nickname was strong, but Delilah resisted, not wanting to sound peevish. “I'm so glad to finally meet you. Your daddy talks about you all the time!”

Does he talk about the fact I'm probably almost ten years older than you?
Delilah wondered.

“Sit, sit,” her father enjoined. They all sat. Her father's face remained animated as he clasped each of the women's hands. “My two best gals,” he gushed. “Can I tell you how happy this makes me?”

Brandi smiled at Delilah. Delilah smiled back, wondering if it would look suspicious if she excused herself so she could call Marcus to tell him her father was engaged to a Bratz doll.

A waiter appeared at the table to take drink orders. Delilah, who rarely drank, ordered a gin and tonic. Her father and Brandi both ordered extra-dry martinis. Brandi was looking at her expectantly. Delilah took that to mean
she
was supposed to get the ball rolling.

“How did you meet my dad?”

“Well, I went into Mattress Maven because I needed a new mattress—”

“The Syosset store, not the one in Levittown,” her father added as if it made a difference.

“And your dad was there. We got to talking, and both of us could tell there was chemistry there, you know?”

“Especially after I sold her the Sealy Posturepedic Dream, extra firm,” her father chuckled.

“Then,” Brandi continued in her high-pitched voice, “I invited him to come for a free facial at the spalon where I work.”

“Spalon?”

“Oh, it's a combo salon and spa,” Brandi explained helpfully.

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway, Sy went in the sauna, and I gave him his facial, and the rest, as they say, is history.” She beamed adoringly at Delilah's father before reaching across to grasp Delilah's hand, the giant engagement ring on her finger nearly blinding Delilah as it caught the light. “I love your daddy so, so much.”

I bet you love his bank account even more,
Delilah thought angrily. Her heart was racing. She loved her father and hated to see him being taken advantage of by this gold digger with a voice that could drive dogs insane.

Delilah took a sip of her drink, striving for calm.
Don't judge yet,
she admonished.
Maybe Brandi really does love him, despite his tacky TV commercials and old-man boobs and pinky ring. After all, you love him. Yes, but he's my father!
An image forced its way into her mind of a naked Brandi bouncing happily atop her father in bed. Delilah shuddered. It was no big mystery why her father would love Brandi: she allowed him the illusion of eternal youth and virility. She didn't want to think about how much he had to be spending on Viagra.

“Your dad says you own a pet store,” said Brandi with wide-eyed interest.

Delilah shot her father a look that could stop the world on its axis. “I think you might have misunderstood; I own my own dog walking/training business in the city.”

Brandi looked wistful. “I had a dog once: Butchie. He got some kind of disease, and his tail fell off, and he died.”

“My poor baby,” Delilah's father murmured, making kissing noises at Brandi. Delilah crammed a handful of fried noodles in her mouth to keep herself from gagging.

“Leelee's always loved animals, haven't you, honey?” her father asked.

“Always,” Delilah mumbled through the noodles.

“We got her her first puppy when she was five. Of course, I would have preferred we had another child, but her mother—”

“Dad.” Delilah flashed him a warning look. “Let's not talk about Mom, okay?”

“Dat's wight, Sy,” Brandi baby-talked with a pout. “Bwandi doesn't want to hear abwout the big bad bitch tonight.”

“Excuse me?”
Delilah glared.

Brandi looked uneasy. “I didn't mean that
I
thought your mother was a bitch.” Her eyes pleaded for backup from Delilah's father. “It's just that Sy—he—your father—”

“I get the picture,” Delilah snapped.

“Can you excuse me a minute?” Brandi whispered. Eyes filling with tears, she picked up her purse and wiggled her way back to the ladies' room.

“Did you have to upset her that way?” Delilah's father asked.

“Upset
her
? She called my mother a bitch!”

“Your mother is a bitch!”

“That doesn't give
her
the right to say so! She doesn't even know Mom!”

“Let's just drop it,” her father muttered.

“Gladly,” Delilah muttered back. Maybe Brandi would sob her way into a headache and want to leave. Delilah could only hope.

Her father took a long, slow sip of his martini. “How
is
your mother?”

Delilah turned to him with anger. “Do you really care?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Her father shrugged. “Curiosity.”

“Funny, that's the same thing she said when she was trying to pump me about you.”

Her father pricked up his ears. “She asked about me? What did she say?”

“I'm not telling you. Call her yourself if you're so hot to know! Honestly, I don't know why the two of you split up! If you ask me, you both seem waaayy too concerned with what the other is doing.”

“Oh, I know what she's doing, all right,” her father snorted. “Correction: I know
who
she's doing. That
schmegegge
, Bruce Whatsisface, from the temple.”

Delilah was close to exploding. “Dad, we are not having this conversation, okay? It's completely inappropriate.”

Delilah's father sighed. “You're right.” He patted Delilah's hand. “Sorry, doll.”

“It's okay.”

“What do you think of Brandi, eh? Is she an angel or what?”

“She seems very . . . buoyant.”

“Apologize for upsetting her when she gets back, okay?”

“Fine, fine, fine,” her father groused with a frown. “I'll repair the damage later, I guess. Here she comes.”

Delilah tried not to tense as Brandi resumed her place at the table.

“I was afraid you fell in,” her father said to Brandi.

“Delilah,” Brandi began humbly, “I'm really sorry for what I said about your mother. That was wrong.”

This was the last thing Delilah expected to hear. “It's okay. We're all a little nervous tonight. Sometimes when people are nervous they say things they don't mean.”

“That's right.” Brandi seemed relieved. “I was wondering,” she continued. “Are you open to going on a blind date?”

“Why?” Delilah asked.

“My brother, Randi? He's looking for someone nice to date. He's very handsome.”

“An actor,” Delilah's father put in, wiggling his eyebrows with significance.

“Have I seen him in anything?” Delilah asked.

“He just did a movie called
Bareback Mountain
.”

Delilah choked on her drink.
Bareback Mountain
was a gay porn film. She knew because Marcus had just seen it. She looked at Brandi; she was in deadly earnest. That's when it dawned on Delilah: Brandi wasn't an evil gold digger. She was just dumb.

“Thanks for thinking of me, Brandi, but I'm not really interested right now.”

Her father frowned. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn't be home every night. What, you think Mr. Right is going to jump out of your TV set?”

“Actually, I'm seeing someone,” Delilah lied.

“What were you waiting for, a formal invitation?” her father chided. “Tell us!”

Delilah nervously pushed her hair behind her ears. What was it about her parents that made it so easy for her to lie? She hated people who lied! Yet here she was, talking once again about her imaginary boyfriend.

“He's a professional athlete. A hockey player.”

“I hope he has a good dentist,” her father joked, Brandi giggling as if Delilah's father was the soul of wit. Delilah refrained from checking the time. She had no desire to know just how long she'd been in hell.

“Who does he play for?” her father asked.

“The Blades.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Jason Mitchell. And don't even ask the next question.”

“When do I get to meet him?” her father asked. “Why didn't you bring him with you tonight? Then we both could have celebrated being in love!”

Delilah's head was beginning to ache.
Keep it simple,
she reminded herself as her anxiety level began to climb. “He's on the road. An away game. Hockey isn't just played on home ice. They play away.”

“Well, I think I need to meet this boy—”

“Man,” Brandi corrected with a big stage wink to Delilah.

“—as soon as possible.” Her father touched Delilah's cheek. “Does he make you happy?”

“Very happy,” Delilah murmured, amazed at how quickly a lie could
feel
real. Actually, it wasn't really a lie. Right now, thinking about Jason did make her happy, when she wasn't worried about saying something so stupid she made Brandi look like the president of Mensa.