by Cindy Bokma
When we reached the beach, we found a spot on the sand and spread out the thin towels I brought from the hotel. I liberally applied sunscreen to Will, then let him run off toward the ocean. He loved digging his hands into the wet sand and could spend hours building a single sandcastle, his face serious while he worked.
He didn’t like going too far out into the water and played around the edge where the waves broke on the shore. I sat close and kept my eyes on him. Though there were only a handful of people on the beach, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching. When I turned, I expected to see Leo. I shivered despite the heat.
I pulled a paperback novel from my bag, but when I tried to read, the words blurred on the page. After reading the same paragraph three times, I gave up and put the book in my tote. Instead of reading, I watched Will carefully create piles of sand in varying sizes. His face was knit in concentration, eyebrows narrowed, and lips puckered.
Last night I tried to get comfortable in bed, unable to relax. Every noise from outside set my body on edge. A car door slamming, voices in the hallway, the distant ringing of a phone, it all tensed my bones and kept me from falling asleep. I pushed a chair in front of the door then sat in bed with my eyes glued to it. I imagined the door exploding into pieces, Leo on the other side, his face a twisted expression of fury. From my spot on the bed, I watched Will sleep. I noticed the rise and fall of his back with each breath, his sleeping body illuminated by the shaft of moonlight from a gap in the curtains that refused to close.
My eyes began to grow heavy and my head tilted toward my chest. Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep, I repeated it like a manta, but exhaustion settled deep in my bones and I couldn’t fight it.
The sharp bark of a dog made my eyes snap open, how long had I been sleeping? My heart stopped beating, where was Will? I jumped up, breath caught in my throat. He wasn’t sitting there playing in the sand. Where was he?
“Will?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Will?”
“I’m here!” his little voice came from next to me where he sat; happily chewing on the sandwich I had packed for him.
I wrapped my arms around his sandy little body nearly smothering him. I breathed in the sunscreen scent on his warm skin.
“Will, don’t ever leave me okay? You have to wake me up if I fall asleep, do you understand me? Don’t let me sleep!” Oh my gosh, how could I have been so irresponsible? Maybe Leo was right all of those times he told me I was a terrible mother. Tears flooded my eyes. All the things that could have happened to my son went through my mind like a movie montage. Kidnapping, drowning, he could have run into the street and gotten hit by a car, he could have been attacked by a stray dog...
He wiggled from my grasp. “Mom, I was right here.”
I nodded. Relief swept through my body.
“Do you want to build a sandcastle?” he asked, squinting up at me. “I found a bucket.” He pointed to a pink bucket with a broken handle sitting a few feet from us.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sure. Let’s build something.” Though my lips quivered, I offered him a smile, attempting to cover up the panic that settled in my veins. We would never be safe.
Chapter 12
Past
For the first day of my new job, which Leo had secured for me, I dressed in a cream suit with matching cinnamon colored alligator pumps. I pulled my unruly hair back into a low ponytail, attempting to appear professional. When I looked in the mirror, my reflection confirmed I’d never be a model; I would never be as tall as and skinny as sapling or find my face on the cover of People Magazine’s most beautiful edition.
Living in Los Angeles, which was full of beautiful women, had given me a tough lesson in body acceptance but since meeting Leo, my confidence soared. He sprinkled compliments like confetti and whenever I was with him, my self-esteem rose.
I glanced at my digital watch, and then ran through the apartment grabbing a juice box and a banana before heading out the door. I had two minutes to get to the bus stop on the corner. The Jeep was still in the shop, and I was waiting for the call that it was ready to be picked up. Leo offered to pay for the work, but once again I refused. I wanted to do everything myself.
I reluctantly accepted the job only because it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with the three I was trying to juggle. Frequently I found myself run down, with a sore throat and sniffles; I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor because I didn’t have health insurance. I could barely afford Nyquil.
As I power walked to the bus stop, I noticed the sun rising into the clouds, burning off the gray smog. The air smelled dewy, humid. My heels clip-clopped on the sidewalk as I reached my stop. A glance at my watch told me I had less than a minute to spare before the bus pulled up. There was a fluttery feeling in my stomach, the first day at a new job was always nerve wracking.
The sharp noise of a car horn almost scared me out of my shoes and when I turned around, there was Leo in an apple green Volkswagen Beetle, followed by the city bus, which rolled to a stop.
I glanced from the bus to the car back to the bus. The door swung open and I took a step toward it.
I pointed to the bus. “I have to go!”
“No”—he waved his hand—“I’ll drive you.”
I’m not sure what the expression on my face was in that moment, probably confusion. I stepped toward the car and Leo got out, sweeping his hand through the air. He didn’t seem to mind that we were causing a bit of traffic, a few drivers honked their horns and someone yelled.
“Hello, my sweet girl.” He grinned. “Like the car?”
“Yeah, it’s very cute. Ummm, you know I have to get to work right now. Are you giving me a lift?”
“Go ahead, get in!” he motioned for me to get into the driver’s side, which I did, sliding into the leather seats.
The new car smell was potent; the air conditioning from the vent was frigid. I had never driven a new car before; even when my parents were alive they drove used cars. Cars with dents and scratches, with wood paneling on the sides, cars I was embarrassed to be seen getting into.
Leo sat in the passenger side. “Put your blinker on and pull out,” he directed. “Come on, let’s go. Go now, Delia!”
I eased into the flow of traffic, my hands sweaty on the steering wheel. Nerves made my arms quiver, what if I crashed this car? Traffic in Los Angeles was notorious; I was shocked there weren’t more accidents. Though I drove this route before, it seemed by my shaking hands and rapid heartbeat, as if I were driving it for the first time. I suddenly noticed the convenience store, the yoga studio, the new Indian restaurant. The shop on the corner had wood over their windows. When did that happen?
“What’s going on?”
“Darling, this car, it’s for you.” He smiled his movie star smile and patted my hand. He leaned close, the spicy scent of his cologne made my knees week. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, he smoothed his hair back with one hand and lifted his chin.
“Why? My Jeep will be out of the shop by the end of the week. What is this? What do you mean, it’s for me?” I eased the car to a stop as the traffic light turned from green to yellow.
“You could have made that,” Leo muttered. Then he pulled me close and kissed my cheek. “Delia, I told the mechanic to scrap that piece of junk you were driving. I bought this for you, something reliable. Something appropriate.” he paused. “German cars are the best, you know.”
The light turned green and I stepped on the gas, lurching forward and almost into the bumper of the Cadillac in front of me. It would take a while to get used to this faster, newer vehicle. My face reddened. Leo cleared his throat.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“When people get gifts, they usually say thank you.” his voice lacked the warmth of earlier.
“You’re right. I’m sorry; I’m not used to extravagant gifts like this. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
My heart beat wildly under my silk camisole. I w
as breathless and didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. Such a large gift surely came with strings attached and the thought of owing someone filled me with angst.
“I’m Veronica,” she said blandly. The woman in front of me was my age, with severe jet-black hair, a color not found in nature, but in a box that came with a pair of gloves and warnings. She had a pasty white complexion and inky liquid liner around her small eyes. Veronica was dressed head to toe in black, a pair of black boots with a chunky heel on her feet. Her nails were painted a violent red. I licked my lips and tried to offer a smile but the corner of her lips turned down like a marionettes.
She turned to the only other person in the office, a young man sitting at a cluttered desk. “Randall works here, too.” He held his hand out and shook mine politely, avoiding eye contact. I got the distinct feeling that neither of them was warm to the idea of me being there.
We were on the lot of a movie studio, but hidden in the back. The bungalow was surrounded by palm trees, a small detached building sitting alone. I immediately liked the privacy.
My area of responsibility was to match up paid and unpaid invoices and do a little data entry. The work didn’t seem difficult or demanding. I had my own small desk with three drawers and a computer with a screen saver of a punk rock star wearing white contact lenses. I figured that was left by the person before me, or perhaps Veronica had arranged to have the creepy face greet me when I first sat down. She reminded me of the Goth girls back in high school.
There was a set of gray metal filing cabinets against the wall, a water cooler and coffee maker in the back room, which was no bigger than a closet.
“You can go to the main building up the hill for the cafeteria and a soda machine. Oh and there’s a kitchen up there, too.” Veronica’s voice was low and monotone; I had to lean forward and strain to hear her.
She informed me the main building was a complicated series of hallways with doors marked “DO NOT INTERRUPT” in bold letters. There was a sound studio where voice-overs were done and under no circumstances was I to ever open the doors.
“You will see movie stars and celebrities around here, but you are not to make eye contact or speak unless someone talks directly to you.” She pointed at me with her long skinny finger. “Got it?”
I nodded. She handed me a thick file and quickly showed me how to get into the computer system for invoicing. I tried to take notes so I remembered what to do the next day but her directions were confusing and I didn’t understand. I got the distinct feeling she wasn’t open to questions. When she was done directing me how to enter information, she plopped down in her chair and cracked open a can of diet Coke and sighed. I picked at my nails as I wondered if I should ask her to repeat everything or try to figure it out on my own. What if this job didn’t work out? Leo would be embarrassed. I couldn’t risk it. Maybe the system was obvious and I could teach myself. I bit my lip and rubbed the back of my neck.
I kept trying to catch Randall’s eye, I hoped he was kinder than Veronica. His eyes did not move from his computer screen and his hands flew across the keyboard. It was as if he was in his own universe.
When he finally pushed his chair out from his desk and stood, announcing the need for coffee, I gave him a once over. He reminded me of a noodle, tall and skinny. His brown hair and brown eyes were as unremarkable as mine but there was something boyish and cute about him. A piece of hair fell into his eyes and he made no effort to fix it. I was so busy looking at the crease in Randall’s pants and noting how his shirt was ironed perfectly that I didn’t realize Veronica was speaking.
“. . . Kaitlyn used to work here, until she got fired. And now you’re taking her place.” Veronica said smugly, her arms tightly folded across her chest.
Randall cleared his throat. “Well, Kaitlyn was late all the time and she didn’t get her work done. That might have been the reason she left. Didn’t she not show up for work two weeks straight?”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “Delia, tell me one thing.” She leaned across her desk and smirked. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
Her eyes flitted over to Randall then shifted back to me. “That you’re dating Leo Kubias. The only reason you’re here is because he’s friends with Christine in human resources.” She glared at me through blackened eyes.
They watched me as I struggled to come up with an answer. Was I supposed to admit it or deny?
“He helped me find this job,” I said, refusing to embellish. I immediately tried to busy myself, attempting to take a stab at the invoices I need to input into the system.
“Here, let me show you some shortcuts.” Randall pulled over his chair and typed some commands into the computer while I added to my list of notes.
“Don’t let Veronica get to you,” he whispered as soon as she left the office. She was headed up to the main building for something, probably her cauldron to boil a venomous potion in.
“She’s a little uptight. She and Kaitlyn were close, and she’s upset her friend is gone. I think Kaitlyn is working over at the Beverly Center doing makeovers now.”
He pointed and clicked with the mouse, expertly navigating his way through the menu and showing me how to enter invoice numbers and payments. For the next hour Randall worked with me, patiently showing me how to do my new job.
Halfway through the day, my pager went off. Leo gave it to me and instructed me to find a phone and call him immediately when he wanted to get in touch. Thankfully, Randall and Veronica both left for lunch and I was alone.
“Are you making me proud? Working hard?” Leo’s deep voice filled my ear.
“I’m fine, how are you? Yes, working hard.” I paused. "Is there something you need?”
At that moment, Veronica strolled in, pursing her red slashed lips as she saw the phone in my hand.
“You’re being rather curt.”
I turned from Veronica’s eyes though I couldn’t escape her listening to me. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I said, “I’m trying to work.”
“Meet me over at The Ivy. I’ve made a reservation for seven fifteen. You can’t blame your car on not getting there . . .”
“I'm really tired. I was planning on going home, taking a hot shower, and getting into bed early.” I twisted the cord around my finger and unfurled it as I saw Veronica lean over to hear more of my conversation.
“No. We’ll have dinner first.”
I thought about him handsome and confident, and my heart skipped a beat. He told me he loved me. He loved me. I was shocked to realize that it had been over seven years since anyone said those words. I was a teenager the last time. My mother was the one to last say it, and I clearly remember her in the kitchen wearing her button down shirt and loose fitting jeans. It was the morning my parents died. “Have a good day, I love you.”
God, I missed my parents.
How long I had been waiting for someone to love me, to take care of me. I swallowed the lump in my throat. But I couldn’t stammer the words out back. Not yet.
“No calls on company time,” Veronica barked, casting a glance at Randall who was now back from lunch and busy with an adding machine. He cleared his throat and looked from Veronica to me and then back down at the machine, which was coughing out a roll of white tape.
I quickly agreed to meet Leo then hung up the phone. Though I wanted to go home and relax, I couldn’t say no after everything he’d done for me.
Around five, Veronica and Randall began packing up for the day, turning off their computers and washing out their coffee mugs so I did the same. Veronica didn’t acknowledge me as she slammed and locked the door behind us, but Randall gave me a tight lipped smile and a wave.
How was I going to handle working in a hostile environment? The distaste rose from Veronica like heat rising off asphalt. I knew I couldn’t make a single mistake or I’d be fired. She kept watch over me; scrutinizing every move with her black rimmed eyes. I found myself wishing I was back at Dr. Thurman’s office with people
coming through the door and phones ringing all day. I even longed to hear the click of Claire’s heels.
Leo began insisting that I move my things to his place after we had been dating for six months. I kept some clothes at his house, plus my toothbrush and personal items, but I wasn’t completely comfortable staying over more than a night or two. I wasn’t ready to live with him. I went back and forth enjoying his care and attention, then backing away from his intensity.
I wasn’t sure what prevented me from moving out of my crappy apartment and into his house, but something held me back, an invisible force, or maybe intuition. There wasn’t a single valid reason, but a fear that put its hands around my neck and choked me when I imagined living with him.
“Move in,” he said, staring at me with those icicle blue eyes. “I can have your stuff brought over. Give notice to your landlord.”
I shook my head. “I’m not ready.”
We sat out in his backyard; the moon was a sliver in the purple night sky. In the distance, a car door slammed followed by female laughter, the palm trees swayed in the breeze. Somewhere, music played, easy listening tunes from the eighties that reminded me of my parents.
I pulled my cardigan around me; the nights were cold in California, but I liked the feeling of being cozy and drowsy. It had been a pleasant evening and I was happy. Content. Leo cooked dinner and I cleaned up the kitchen.
“You missed a spot.” He pointed to a drop of olive oil on the counter top. I blushed and wiped up the tiny spill.
“You’re so cute when you’re careless.” Though he said it with a wink, I paused. What did he mean? I pushed the comment to the back of my mind. Why bother bringing attention to the silly things he said, it would only escalate his anger, a glimpse of which I had caught a few weeks earlier and was not eager to ignite.