Chasing Stanley (37 page)

“Pleased to meet you,” said Larry warmly, shaking her hand.

“You, too,” said Delilah. Jason and Larry began speaking, but Delilah wasn't really listening. She had her own monologue going on in her head:
Larry Levin. That means I'm not the only Jew here. Denny O'Malley won't make a scene.
Delilah felt her lungs expand. It was as if she could somehow breathe again. She glanced around at the laughing, chattering couples, at the clusters of young men, all of whom were clearly athletes, their bodies muscled and hard. Maybe the evening wouldn't be so bad after all.

“Larry is great,” said Jason, pouring himself and Delilah each a glass of champagne after Larry left to mingle. “Did you hear? He wants to interview me next week on
Blades Banter
.”

“That's great,” Delilah agreed, accepting the champagne flute from him. She took a small sip. It was good.

Tightly holding Jason's hand, they waded out into the sea of bodies in the living room. Delilah felt Denny's cold gaze zero in on her but refused to let it rattle her. For the next half hour, she was fine. She was holding her own. And then Tully had to go and wreck everything.

“Listen up, all ye lads and lasses.” Tully turned down the sound on the stereo, his face one shade redder than before. “It's time for some fun! Y'all up for a game of charades?”

The room echoed with cheers and whistles.

“Good! Then let's start splitting up into teams.”

Delilah could feel herself beginning to sweat. She dropped Jason's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please don't make me do this.”

Jason looked torn. “Delilah . . .”

“Please,” she begged again. “I came to the party. I've mingled with you.
Please
.”

Jason looked troubled. “What would you do instead?”

“I'll watch you play. Or we can tell Tully I'm not feeling well. Maybe he has a den where I can hang out.”

“Okay,” Jason said uncertainly. “Just hang here a minute?”

Delilah nodded. No way was Tully going to believe she wasn't feeling well. The timing was too suspect. Delilah just prayed he didn't return with Jason, trying cajoling her into playing, with, “Don't be shy! You're among friends!” or “Lighten up! It'll be fun!” Charades was not Delilah's idea of fun. She'd already done enough acting tonight, pretending to be a moderately social being who enjoyed accompanying her gregarious boyfriend to parties. One more false persona, and she would crack.

It felt like forever before Jason reappeared at her side. “Tully says feel free to hang out in the den. It's down the hall to the left. You sure you don't mind me playing?”

“Of course I don't mind. I want you to have fun.”

“Yeah, but I hate the idea of you—”

“I'll be fine,” Delilah assured him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for letting me be me.”

“Me, too.” Jason gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I'll see you in a bit.”

To Delilah's mind,
the word
den
conjured up images of a paneled room dominated by a sectional sofa and a giant TV. At least, that's the way the den of her childhood had looked, until her mother contracted alabaster fever and turned the entire house the color of Minute Rice. But Tully's den was a lot more tasteful. The couch was deep plush leather, the TV hidden away in a tall pine armoire. Shelves of books and trophies lined the room, which was bigger than Delilah's living room and bedroom combined. In fact, the whole house was huge, one of the largest Delilah had ever been in. Hockey had obviously been very good to Tully.

In no hurry to turn on the TV, she circled the room, looking at Tully's trophies, interspersed with family photos. She realized there were no pictures in her apartment of her with either of her parents, or all three of them together. The thought saddened her, especially when she recalled Jason's collection of photos of himself and his brother.

“Thank
God
I'm not the only one who thinks playing charades is
hell
.”

Delilah turned to see a rail-thin, fashionably dressed woman her own age coming toward her, champagne flute in hand.

“I'm Wendy Dalton.” She covered her mouth as she gave a small burp. “My husband, Burke, plays defense on the first line?”

She was looking at Delilah as if this explanation of who her husband was should ring a bell.

“Of course,” Delilah murmured. She had no idea who Burke Dalton was. “I'm Delilah Gould. I'm—Jason Mitchell's girlfriend.”

“The new boy in town,” Wendy purred. “
Très
hot.”

Delilah felt her cheeks flame, unsure of how to respond. Was she supposed to return the favor and say she thought Burke was hot? What was this woman doing blatantly commenting on Jason's hotness, anyway?

Wendy sighed, turning on the TV. “Do you mind? I just need to, like, zone out. All that noise is giving me a headache.”

“I don't mind.”

Delilah joined her on the sectional sofa, stunned at the speed with which Wendy channel surfed. The sound of the party floated down the hallway, mingling with the rapid-fire bursts of TV patter. Behind the wall of sound, Delilah could have sworn she heard a dog barking. She listened hard.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Wendy.

Wendy had stopped a moment to peruse an old episode of
The Dukes of Hazzard
. “Hear what?”

“A dog.”

Wendy listened. “No.”

Delilah frowned with impatience, listening harder. No doubt about it: she heard a dog. Without thinking twice, she got up and unlocked the sliding glass doors of the den, stepping outside into the chill night air. She held her breath, listening again. There it was: a dog howling as if its heart would break. A dog barking in a desperate bid for attention. As if pulled by an invisible force, Delilah moved in the direction of the sound, her feet nearly going out from under her twice as she tiptoed in her not-so-high heels in the frozen grass. She followed the sound to a basement window, crouching to peer inside. A golden retriever puppy was tied with a leash to a pole.

Delilah stumbled back, breathing hard. She had ceased to feel the cold. She felt only fury, a deep, clenching anger that saw her heading back into the house, searching for the entrance to the basement. She didn't care who saw her. She climbed down the basement steps, tears pricking her eyes as the puppy spotted her and began to go crazy.

“It's okay,” Delilah whispered, coming closer. There was no water bowl in sight. The dog had pooped on the concrete floor. Delilah untied the leash, scooping the puppy up into her arms. The dog yelped happily, licking Delilah's face. Delilah checked her dog tag. Her name was Marnie. “That's a good girl,” Delilah whispered, kissing the top of her small, silky head. “C'mon. Let's take you outside.”

Delilah carried the puppy upstairs and back into den. Wendy Dalton's eyes went wide with surprise.

“What a cutie!” she exclaimed as Delilah hustled toward the sliding glass doors. “How long have you had her?”

“She's not mine,” Delilah said over her shoulder curtly. “Though she should be.”

Outside, the puppy relieved itself in the grass, then tried trotting off, straining at the leash, seeking adventure. Delilah let her explore a bit to work off some of her energy, but it quickly became too cold for Delilah to remain outside without a coat. Delilah scooped the puppy back up and reentered the den. Tully and his wife were standing there, along with Jason.

Jason cleared his throat nervously. “Wendy Dalton said, um, you commandeered a puppy?”

“Commandeered? Saved, is more like it.” Delilah tried to keep her voice from shaking as she approached Tully. “I found your dog in the basement. Tied up. With no water. She was crying her head off. But I guess you couldn't hear it because you were so busy with your paar-tay.”

“Delilah.” Jason started toward her cautiously, as if she were some rabid animal he was fearful might attack. Delilah turned to him angrily.

“I'll be done in just one minute.” She took a step closer to Tully. “How would you like it if someone tied you up with no water? How would you like it if you had to poop on the floor?”

“Delilah,”
Jason hissed.

Delilah ignored him. “Marnie isn't a
toy.
She's a living, breathing creature with feelings and needs and
rights.
If it's too much of a hassle for you to care for her properly, I'll gladly take her off your hands.”

“No!” Tully's wife cried. “We love her!” She turned to her husband accusingly. “I thought you gave her water.” Tully's wife held out her arms, sniffling with tears.

Delilah reluctantly handed over the puppy. Tully's wife disappeared with her down the hall. Delilah blinked, waiting for her anger to abate. It didn't. In fact, if she had to spend one more minute in the house of someone who mistreated their animal, she was going lose her mind.

“I'd like to leave now,” she said to Jason quietly.

Jason looked down at the carpet. “Go ahead. I'll catch a ride back to the city with someone else.”

“Fine, then.” Delilah swallowed, holding out a quivering hand. “I need my keys, please.”

Jason pulled the keys out of his front pocket and handed them over to her without a word.

Delilah's fingers closed around them tightly. Here was her escape. Just a few more seconds, and she'd be free. She made herself look at Tully.

“Thank you for inviting us to your party,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah, it's been a blast,” Tully muttered as he turned away.

Delilah nodded mutely, blindly moving through the living room and heading for the front door. It wasn't until she was halfway down the Websters' front walk that she realized she'd been expecting Jason to run after her, apologize, beseech her to stay, anything. He didn't.

Jason spent New
Year's Day nursing a slight hangover, halfheartedly watching a football game on TV and wondering what to do about Delilah.

He couldn't believe she'd morphed into the Canine Crusader at a New Year's Eve party being held by one of his
teammates,
for chrissakes. She'd embarrassed Tully, embarrassed him, and embarrassed herself. Jason couldn't wait for the clock to hit midnight so he could get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, he was at the mercy of the Fontaines, who'd offered to drive him back to the city. They didn't leave the party until three a.m. By that time, Jason's eyes were falling out of his head.

A disturbing thought lodged itself in his brain: he loved Delilah, but right now she felt like a liability. Bad enough he'd whaled on Denny and caused a hairline fracture in team morale, even though Denny had it coming. But this incident could turn Tully against him, and that he didn't need.

Walking into the locker room for the first time since Christmas break, Jason felt a sense of excitement growing within him. The Blades were going into the second half of the season sitting first in their division. If they maintained their level of play, they'd make it into the playoffs without breaking a sweat, and would have home ice advantage for most of the playoffs. Jason pictured himself joyously skating the Cup around the ice at Met Gar.

Standing in front of his locker, he stripped off his clothes and was beginning to suit up, when Burke Dalton passed behind him.

“Woof, woof, woof,” Burke barked loudly. A couple of the guys in the locker room sniggered.

“Bowwow,” someone else growled from the shower area.

“You in the doghouse or what, bro?” Thad Meyers asked, suppressing a smirk.

Jason ignored them and continued dressing. Fucking Tully. He obviously told them everything. Jason knew they were just ribbing him. But that didn't mean it didn't piss him off.

“What'd you do yesterday, Jace?” asked Ulf Torkelson, pulling his sweater over his head. “Watch
101 Dalmations
with your girlfriend?”

Barry Fontaine snorted. “I bet you like to do it doggy style, huh, buddy?”

“Fuck you, you assholes,” Jason muttered, donning his cross.

“Oooowwwwoooohhhh,” howled Denny O'Malley. The rest of the team joined in, baying like a pack of wolves.

Jaw clenched, Jason said nothing as he sat down to lace up his skates. He could feel his blood rising, but was determined not to lash out. Instead, he'd take his desire to pummel them and use it on the ice.

And then he'd go talk to Delilah.

 

 

“ I don't think
we should see each other anymore.”

There, it was done. Delilah had been rehearsing that one simple sentence for two days, practicing different facial expressions and intonations. Sometimes, depending on her mood, the sentence came out angry; other times she'd start getting teary. In the end, she knew the only way she'd get through it was to say it simply. But Delilah being Delilah, it came out as a blurt.

Jason, who'd had the courtesy this time to call ahead rather than just show up at her apartment, stared at her incredulously. “
You're
breaking up with
me
?”

Delilah nodded.

“That's ironic. Because I'm here to break up with
you
.”

“I guess I beat you to the punch.”

Delilah watched him slowly sink down on her couch in disbelief. Despite maintaining her regular routine with Stanley, she hadn't seen Jason since New Year's Eve. She'd wept all the way back to Manhattan, not only for that poor little puppy, but for herself. She wasn't the right girlfriend for Jason. He needed someone outgoing like he was, someone who liked playing charades and going around in a pack. Delilah's definition of “pack” was limited strictly to dogs.