The Truth About Delilah Blue (20 page)

She did what he said without comment.

When she’d offered to pose, she hadn’t anticipated feeling quite this nervous, or this exhilarated. It was one thing stripping down in class where things were official and she received a paycheck. Stripping down for Adam at eleven-thirty at night in his studio-cum-bedroom was something very different.

He walked over to his easel and picked up a brush. “Anytime you’re ready, Miss Delilah Blue.”

She started to unbutton her jean skirt, then stopped. “Can we lose the lights?”

He flipped a switch and the room went black, save for the glow of the moon filtered through the trees.

Emboldened only slightly by the velvety darkness, fully aware of his eyes following her every move, Lila regretted not bringing her robe. Dropping the robe would have made things more workmanlike. Peeling off her clothing made it sexual. She debated asking him to step out of the room but decided against it on the grounds that it would call unnecessary attention to the charged atmosphere.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

And then there was silence. Too much silence, soft and loaded. She should have thought to suggest music, if only to cover the sounds of her undressing.

Her fingers moved along her waistband and found the buttons. She shimmied out of her skirt and kicked it away. Then, standing in a shaft of filtered light, she turned away from him, took hold of the hem of her sweater and paused for a few moments before pulling it over her head. It landed on the floor with a delicate thud.

Her hands moved up to cover her breasts.

After a quick glance back to assure herself Adam was still parked at the easel, she stepped out of her panties, one arm still shielding her chest.

She should turn around.

If she were in class, she would spin around now. Drop her hands and move into a pose. Any pose. Tonight it felt impossible. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t turn and face Adam. Staring into the backyard, she said, her voice shrill in the quiet room, “I was thinking I’d lie down on the floor. With my back to you.”

“Okay.”

She squatted, lowered herself down, and settled on her side, propped up on one elbow, the other arm resting on her waist. “Like this?”

He waited, then cleared his throat. “Almost.”

She listened to him shuffle around a bit, then pad across the tarp. Looking up, she found him standing over her in his boxers, jeans in one hand. Her heart started to thump, with fear and excitement. Was this it? Did he want to make love? More important, did she?

He bent down, but instead of leaning over to kiss her, touch her, or make any sort of romantic gesture, he carefully draped his jeans over her lower hip, arranged the denim into pleasing folds, and walked back to his canvas. “Now tilt your face up. That’s right. And turn your head slightly toward me. Just a bit.” When she did, he said, “Good. Let your hair fall down your back a bit.”

She leaned back slightly and shook her head. “Okay?”

“Perfect. You’re perfect.” His husky voice trailed off, replaced with the sound of bristles stroking taut canvas.

It was the last Friday in October and Victor felt like a boy again. He hadn’t woken up this way. He’d opened his eyes groggy from a heavy sleep. In fact, from the way his left arm had gone numb and rubbery, he might not have rolled over the whole night through. As he’d lain there, trying to work feeling back into his deadened limb, he’d been vaguely aware of something exciting he had planned.

Then it came to him and he smiled.

Marching along Sunset, he ignored all the commuters honking, the shopkeepers polishing windows, the waitresses setting up tables. He strolled through herds of oncoming joggers and young mothers in high-heeled sandals pushing toddlers in strollers built for off-road adventure. Victor, after all, had just as real a destination for his morning as anyone else.

The day had come. He was going buy himself a dog. No longer would he be alone. For all that had fallen apart in his life, he would have just one tiny being who believed him to be without flaw.

Not half a block down, he came upon the pet shop. The very one where he’d been denied his multicolored puppy with the spotted tail and the alpha attitude. And the tongue that lapped against Victor’s bearded chin.

It was Friday. Manager’s day off. That male clerk’s day off too; he’d double-checked by phone yesterday.

There was the window. The pen. For a moment, he became anxious the pups might have been sold. His little friend might be gone. But as he drew near, he smiled. The fluffy, multicolored pups were right there—fewer, though; there were only three left—napping in a pile in the corner, his alpha pup on top.

Victor peered through the open doorway to see no sign of the young fellow who’d destroyed his previous attempt. The store was empty but for a meek-looking college-aged girl who stood on a stepstool and sprinkled brownish flakes into an aquarium. A parrot screeched from beside the counter, and one side of the room hummed with filters.

This time Victor was prepared. He cleared his throat. “The puppies that are in the window. What breed are they?”

She snapped her tin of fish food closed and stepped down onto the floor, smiling. Her nametag read
DIANE
.

“They’re Maltipoos.”

Victor nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Are you looking for a puppy?”

“I am.” He wandered over to the pen in the window. As if sensing Victor’s presence, his pup looked up and yawned,
curling his tiny tongue. Once he saw Victor, he clambered over his siblings and stumbled to the side, wagging his tail and asking to be lifted up.

Victor reached down and brought the dog to his face, thrilled when the tongue lapped against his neck. The pup had grown to almost twice its former size and was a good deal heavier. “You’re very careful about who you sell these pups to, I presume?”

“Oh, yes. But this area is filled with dog lovers, so we usually don’t have too many problems.”

“This one’s my favorite.”

“He’s a real imp, that one. I call him Frankie. I’ve been threatening to buy that one myself if he doesn’t sell. I’d buy him today if I had the cash.”

Frankie. The dog stopped licking for a moment and stared into Victor’s eyes, smiling and panting, wiggling and wagging.

“If you’d like to get to know him a bit, there’s a playroom at the back of the store where you can set him down.”

He stared through a window at the play area, and a distressing thought hit him like a basketball to the chest. Buying a dog right now was short-sighted. Not only that, but incredibly selfish. How had he missed this? Had he become that lonely since Elisabeth and the past had entered their lives? That desperate?

Buying a puppy ran contra to his plan. He chided himself for his lack of focus.

Victor allowed the dog to nuzzle into his collar a moment, then rubbed him behind his tiny ears and handed him over to Diane. “No thank you. I just came to say good-bye.”

She looked surprised. “Okay. No problem. Did you want to see another dog?”

“No thank you.” Victor made his way toward the door and stopped, turned around. “You’ll take extra good care of Frankie will you?”

She nodded. “You bet. And if you check back in a few weeks, we may have a line on another Maltipoo litter.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Victor stepped outside again, his ears stopped up with the roar of traffic, eyes pained from the brilliance of the morning. That was that. Good. Now he could forget about the pup—Frankie—and move on.

There was a coffee shop on the corner, one with a fenced-off courtyard that ambled along the side street. He’d been stopping by for a coffee and bagel several times each week since he was fired. Place was fairly typical, packed with office workers on their lunch breaks, young mothers with infants, people out walking their dogs. Today, other than the table in the far corner, where two suited men shared a scone and argued over a stack of papers in the sun, the rest of the patio was nicely sheltered by green umbrellas and nicely devoid of people. He walked inside to pick up his coffee and bagel—poppy seed, lightly toasted—asked for a side packet of cream cheese, and carried his treat back outside where he set it all on the table farthest from the two men as possible.

There was a scuffle in the doorway. Raised voices while three young ladies—dressed, in Victor’s opinion, in not nearly enough clothing—argued with someone inside, someone who was insisting they vacate. One of the girls, the tall one with blond hair tied up in a messy ponytail, had a dog in her arms. A curly-tailed, taupe-and-black dog with a mashed-in face and eyes bulging on the sides of its head. A pug, if Victor could trust his fair-weather memory.

A employee emerged and moved toward the patio,
pointing to Victor’s right, where a stainless-steel bowl filled with water was chained to the iron fence. “See? Just tie her right here.”

“You expect me to just leave her outside by herself?”

Victor didn’t look up. Just sipped his coffee, nibbled on his bagel.

The employee shrugged her apology. “Café rules. Sorry. But we’ll serve you quick and you can eat out here with your dog.”

“It’s cold out. I want to sit inside. With my dog.”

“So sorry.”

The girl sniffed. “Starbucks wouldn’t do this to me. The manager there even keeps dog cookies for me behind the counter.”

“I know. The rule sucks. But there’s nothing I can do.”

As the girl’s friends examined the doggy area, Victor chewed and watched a small bird hop along the black iron fence that surrounded the patio. The two men from the back table got up to leave, sidling between Victor and the girls before heading off toward a parked SUV. The pug had been placed on the ground and appeared worried, what with her panting and pacing. The bug eyes took in the surrounding scene and finally settled on Victor and his toasted bagel. Ah. Here was something that caught the beast’s attention. She licked her lips, then packed her tongue away as she moved closer to Victor.

It pleased him, this being wanted. Even by a creature that looked as if her eyes were sliding down the sides of her face. Victor patted his mouth with a napkin before he spoke. “I’ll watch your dog.”

The girl turned around, noticing Victor for the first time. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’ll watch your dog.” He motioned toward his breakfast. “She can keep me company while I finish my coffee.”

She sighed and glanced at her friends, who nodded and started inside the coffee shop.

“You don’t mind?”

“Not a bit.”

Victor watched as she wound the fancy green leash through the dirty rungs of the iron fence, then blew the pug a kiss before disappearing inside. The dog had lost interest in Victor now that her owner had vanished, and took to investigating the shiny water dish.

Victor drained his coffee cup, folded what remained of his bagel into his mouth, and stood up. After a good stretch and a satisfied smack to his belly, he walked over to the black iron trash receptacle and pushed his paper plate through the flap. He turned to find the pug looking up at him, pig tail wagging excitedly, little raisin face opening into a smile. When Victor didn’t react, the dog wandered close, raised herself up on tiny drumsticks, and rested one paw on his pant leg.

H
E STARED UP
at the sky and tried to determine whether the tree that shaded the dog pen would keep the shade for the rest of the day. The ancient oak hung over the trampled grass like a great prehistoric creature, and Victor determined the sun wouldn’t bake the ground directly beneath until long after four o’clock. Besides, the day seemed in no danger of heating up too much. He tested out the corner posts by giving each a good shove and, satisfied the enclosure was sturdy, he stared down inside it and smiled at the
mashed-up face that looked back at him. The pug spun in a circle and yipped her reproach.

“You settle down now. Might not be as fancy a home as you’re used to, but you’re not in any danger.”

He looked around, proud of himself. Stealing a dog had been a brilliant move on his part. A few people might get ruffled in the short-term, but no one winds up hurt in the end.

Victor realized he was hungry again. It had been a long walk home. He spun around to find his daughter staring at him, open-mouthed.

“What are you doing?”

“I know. It’s a huge responsibility and I should have discussed this with you first. But an opportunity came up and—well, you see that squishy little raisin face. How was I supposed to resist? Happy early birthday, Mouse.”

“You bought me a dog?”

“Isn’t she a cute one?”

“Dad, I’m not a little kid you can distract with puppies or candy.”

“Not meant to be a distraction. Just a small household change that should bring us both a bit of joy.”

“There’s no way we can handle a dog right now.”

“I’ll do the dirty work, I don’t mind a bit.”

“You can’t handle it either. The walking, the feeding, the training. Keeping it out of reach of coyotes. It’s a nice gesture, Dad, but we have to return it.”

He glanced down at the pug, who grinned and panted and looked up at them both as if they were the most beautiful creatures on earth. Leaning over the pen, Victor waggled his fingers and allowed the dog to lick them. “We can’t.”

“Please. Just call the place where you got the dog and tell them I’ll drop it off in the morning.”

He searched his mind. The dog, here, now, was a good thing. That much he knew. And he was the reason the dog was here. Yet, how it had happened had vanished. The pet store flashed in his consciousness, but he’d left there without a dog. “I don’t know, Mouse. I can’t think where she came from…” He fiddled with his tie, loosened it. Undid the top buttons of his shirt. Damn this sticky mind. “It’ll come to me. It will. It’s this sludge; it fills my head. This stinking, reeking like mother-fucking shitface sludge.”

“Dad, we have to do something. You’re scaring me.”

“I have my own plan.”

“Plan? Your mind isn’t functioning all that well. If there’s a plan, I think I should be involved.”

“I can’t think of it right now, Mouse, but I have a feeling the plan is all about you. All about my girl.”

S
EPTEMBER
20, 1996

Delilah was standing at the counter, spreading peanut butter onto a slice of Wonder bread when her mother slammed down the phone. Elisabeth ran her hands through her hair. “Dratted sitter,” she said. “Canceled again.”

Delilah walked her sandwich and glass of milk over to the table and sat down.

“I’ll fail my midterm if I miss another art class.” Elisabeth lit a cigarette and crossed the room to the window, tugging it open and perching herself, barefoot in paint-spattered leggings and undershirt, on the ledge. She stared outside and, with a barely perceptible wobble of her head, exhaled. “I don’t know
what I was thinking, enrolling in night school as a single parent. Thirty-one years old and still working on my BFA. Remember this, Delilah. Marry someone with money. Don’t get all starry-eyed over someone having a good year in sales. Those bonus checks aren’t a sure thing. If you want an easy life, marry a man who comes from money. One who has a nice fat bank account.”

Delilah wasn’t too sure what was desirable about a fat bank account and wasn’t interested enough to inquire. “Okay.”

“They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but let me tell you, it buys you nice things. You want to marry smart. A husband with money means you’ll never have to go out and work. You can, but you don’t have to. See the difference?”

Delilah nodded.

“That was my mistake. I didn’t marry smart.”

“If you didn’t marry Daddy, you wouldn’t have had me,” Delilah pointed out, her cheeks smeared with peanut butter.

Elisabeth smiled. “You’d still have found your way to me. You might not have looked exactly the same. You might have been shorter or taller, or a boy, but you were definitely meant for me.”

Delilah thought about the possibility of being born a boy. “Disgusting.”

“But you’d have had a father who was able to support his family properly.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Delilah asked. “I can go stay at his house.”

“Friday’s not his night. You go to his house Saturdays, sleep over until Sunday.”

“I want to go today. Dad builds a tent in his living room for me to camp.” Right away she regretted the confession. Hearing that Victor was exciting enough to build indoor tents could backfire. “No booze, I promise.”

“What kind of life is this?” Elisabeth said, stabbing out her
cigarette. She picked up the phone and started to dial. “Victor? It’s Elisabeth. I need a favor…”

Delilah listened while her mother ranted again about the sitter and the situation Victor left her in, before announcing she needed child care. “Delilah is to be home no later than ten tomorrow morning,” she warned. “One minute, one
half
minute later, and the judge will hear about it on Tuesday.”

She hung up the phone and looked at her conniving daughter. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go get packed for your father’s.”

“Should I bring my bath toys?” Delilah asked.

“Don’t bother, baby.” Elisabeth gathered her daughter’s silky hair into a loose ponytail. “It’s just one night.”