Run Delia Run

by Cindy Bokma

  As I chewed on my pinkie nail, I mulled over the fact Leo liked having control over everything, including me. He knew better, of course. I was young and inexperienced, as he often reminded me. His way of protecting me was to make decisions and worry about the details. That was it. He was a perfectionist. What was I thinking? Of course he knew better than I did. He asked so little of me, all he wanted to do was make life perfect for us.

  I needed to stop being so sensitive about things. I busied myself for the rest of the afternoon washing our clothes and folding them, placing the clean laundry in the cabinets and drawers the way he liked with the arms of his shirts a certain way, his socks folded in half, the towels in thirds.

  Later that night, over a dinner of pasta and garlic bread at a chic Italian eatery on Melrose, Leo bit his bread with gusto and asked, “Did you really mention to Kressley that you wanted to add blue to my all white interior? And oh, red? I don’t go for the Americana palette of the mid-west.”

  A small candle flickered on the table and created a dark shadow on his face. Low murmurs and clanking silverware filled the space between us. Somewhere an Italian opera played in low tones. When I spoke, my voice came out too loud and my face reddened.

  “I was hoping to add punches of color. To be honest, I don’t really like all of that white. Like I mentioned, it feels so clinical.”

  He held up a hand and smirked. “Seriously. I bought the house; I think I should be the one who decides what it’s going to look like.” He sighed and took a sip of wine. “Don’t you know by now to trust me?”

  I half heartedly gave a nod.

  As I chewed my dinner without tasting it, my mind backtracked to our wedding night. How we both collapsed on the bed from sheer exhaustion. The sliding glass door was open; the ocean breeze blew the curtains around like ghosts. It was quiet with the exception of the waves. The room was dark but a little moonlight hit Leo’s face as we lay side by side in bed.

  “I love you so much,” he said, tracing my face lightly with his index finger. “You make me so happy,” he whispered.

  I didn’t say a word but was overcome with emotion in that moment. He looked so vulnerable, laying in the moonlight, his lips curled into a grin.

  The ocean sounds from outside lulled us both to sleep. Leo possessed the ability to be sweet, loving, and kind. I wished he showed that side more often. I reminded myself that in time, he would change.

  Now at the restaurant, my plate of food in front of me, I was no longer hungry. I opened my mouth to answer but he continued, “How about I make the decisions and you go along with it? Things are much easier when I’m in charge. It’s how I’m successful as a director, as you know. Or as you should know by now.”

  The image of Leo in bed, in our room in Hawaii faded like an old photograph.

  “I value your opinions but when it comes to design, that’s kind of my specialty. So”—he shrugged—“I’ll ask when I need your help, okay?”

  “I only want to—”

  He reached across the table and grabbed my wrist, a vice like clasp on my bones. “Don’t go behind my back and try to change things,” he hissed, his stormy eyes sharp and hostile.

  When we returned home, I didn’t follow him up the stairs as I usually did. Instead, I sat on the couch, angry, upset and confused, my body exhausted as if I had run a marathon. I don’t know how long I sat there by myself but eventually I fell asleep, still in my clothes and makeup. When I woke up, I noticed Leo had covered me with a blanket and propped a pillow under my head. Later, an exotic purple orchid was delivered to the house with a card from Leo apologizing for our fight.

  The next several months were a series of highs and lows and I learned how to walk on eggshells around my husband. One moment, he was loving and calm, generous and a joy to be around. Many times it seemed like I was living in a fairy tale. I kept a framed photo of myself and my parents in my office, a room he allowed me to decorate however I wanted. A white desk and matching chair faced the window; from the ceiling I hung plants. The photo was a constant reminder of my past and I liked to imagine my parents were still alive. I talked to them when Leo wasn’t around.

  “Can you believe this?” I said, staring outside to the white luxury car Leo bought me. It was parked in the circular driveway, sitting like a photo in a magazine spread.

  Glancing down at the diamond eternity band on my finger, I was reminded by his generosity.

  He lavished gifts on me, which I told him repeatedly weren’t necessary. All I wanted was a good novel and a stack of crossword puzzles and I was content. I didn’t want clothes and shoes and handbags that cost more than most people earned in a month. I didn’t want flowers that I couldn’t keep alive for more than a few days. When I told him what I truly wanted, he went out and bought me stacks of the New York Times bestsellers and crossword puzzles. He couldn’t resist in buying me a dictionary for the words he thought I wouldn’t know.

  We went to swanky dinner parties hosted by the hot shots in Hollywood. I was always uncomfortable at these events with no one to talk to and nothing in common with the other wives. Mostly, I stood in a corner with a goblet of wine, observing the two-faced behavior that occurred at these things. I played my own little game of “Who Had Plastic Surgery?” Sometimes Leo and I recapped the evening at home and he laughed when I pointed out the various work his friends had done. My imitations of people were spot-on. It was rare and fun to cuddle on the couch and giggle together.

  Things will be okay, I told myself during these moments. I just needed to avoid making him angry.

  Since we didn’t have children and I wasn’t involved in any non-profit organizations or groups, there wasn’t much for me to contribute to the conversations at parties and events. Instead, I observed.

  Each month we went to an awards show or industry function. Leo looked movie star handsome in his dark suits, custom made to fit his well-built physique. He instructed a stylist to help me find gowns in rich colors like midnight blue and jade, crimson and black. I never got used to the flashbulbs in my face and seeing photographs of myself online. Leo loved it; he thrived on the publicity. He was always charming and amiable with reporters, grinning and coming up with clever things to say. I stood next to him fidgeting with my handbag.

  He took my hand and paraded me around, introducing me to everyone from Emmy winners to those who won awards for their writing. “Did you meet my wife?” he would ask, pushing me forward.

  In a short time, I knew all the head honchos at the movie studios, I was on a first name basis with actors and actresses, and occasionally I came face to face with the casting directors who snubbed me when I first arrived in Hollywood. In public, Leo was charming and fun to be around. I tried not to take offense to the subtle put downs he sometimes let slip. Figuring it was just that—a slip—I ignored it. He would repeat to others comments I made or questions I asked, making it seem like I was completely ignorant. After a while, I started making up excuses why I couldn’t go out with him. Why subject myself to his putdowns and insults? Did he realize how often he dismissed my intelligence? I’d rather be home reading a book where I didn’t have to endure his behavior.

  When he came home from work, after a long day of appointments and phone calls, I never knew what to expect. I tried to guess if he was going to blow up at me or not. I dared not to speak most of the time unless he initiated conversations. He got mad over small things like a light being left on or a meal that I cooked for him.

  “Why are you cooking? You know by now I like to order out, choose what I want,” he exclaimed one night after getting home from work. He removed his laptop, cell phone, and a well-worn script from his brown leather briefcase and tossed his spare change on the counter. “I don’t always feel like what you cook. I wanted to order sushi. Next time don’t bother,” he remarked blandly. “If you make pasta and I want Indian, how is that going to work? If you make stir-fry and don’t cook the vegetables properly, do you think I’m going to like it?” He shook his
head. His eyes were as gray as storm clouds.

  “I wanted to make a nice meal. It’s my pleasure to cook for you.” I bit my lip until it throbbed. “I want to take care of you.”

  “That’s why we have take-out available.” Leo glanced at me, lips curled in what I assumed was disgust. My shoulders slumped forward and I avoided his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “How about we hire a professional chef to come in and cook?”

  I shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

  He nodded. “I do. I want a natural foods chef that can prepare healthy meals. I’ll leave it up to you to find someone, can you handle that task?”

  I found someone, but he didn’t like him. I hired another chef and he didn’t like the way she cooked pasta. Another cook only made vegetarian meals. “I want red meat, I want my steak,” he said. “Find someone else.”

  One evening, I was getting ready for bed having just taken a long hot shower, shaved my legs, and applied body lotion in anticipation of sex with Leo. It was something I didn’t exactly enjoy, but put up with. For the past few months, Leo lacked the passion we had in the beginning of our relationship. Now he was robotic, cold. I was almost always left feeling sad and lonely. There were times when it was pleasant but more often than not I couldn’t wait for him to finish.

  Then there was the night I hated to think about.

  The night where I knew Leo was capable of killing me and I had a hard time looking at him the same way again after it was over.

  We were in the middle of having sex, when Leo got a wild glimmer in his eye and suddenly closed his hands around my neck and squeezed. I gasped, was he trying to kill me? Panic coursed through my body as my heart raced with such ferocity that I thought it was going to jump through my chest. Grabbing his hands I tried to pry them from their grip but he wouldn’t let go. I shook my head no. The more I fought, the harder he pressed his fingers in the tender skin. There was a look in his eye I never saw before. Dizziness overtook me; he grew blurry and I felt like I was falling.

  I wanted him to stop and tried to speak but he kept squeezing until I thought I was going to pass out. When he released his grasp, I broke away from him and quickly got off the bed, stumbling to where my robe hung on a hook. Hands shaking, I tied it around me and held out my arms to keep him away.

  My legs shook. My throat burned. Crying, I whispered hoarsely, “Were you trying to kill me?”

  Leo sat up, the sheet half covering him, his hair a mess. “What? No. I thought...I thought you’d like that.” He genuinely looked confused, his face a mask of bewilderment.

  “Don’t ever do that again.” I placed my finger tips to my bruised throat. What was he trying to do? I was crying harder now. Leo got up and moved toward me but I shook my head.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I said, backing out of the bedroom. I slept in the spare room that night, door locked. I tossed and turned all night, equal parts confused and scared.

  The next day, a giant bouquet of white roses was delivered with a note that read, “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

  He appeared upset and genuine, apologizing every day with tears in his eyes. He brought me gifts, promising it would never happen again. He showered me with attention for the next week even taking me to my favorite restaurant in Malibu and walking with me on the beach, something he typically didn’t enjoy.

  “I would never hurt you,” he whispered into my hair as he held me close. “Love makes people do crazy things.”

  We watched the sun go down and I took pictures of the sunset. It was perfect and romantic but it wasn’t enough to make me forget what he had done.

  I kept thinking things would change, that it was pressure from the studio, his job, being on location, and away from home that put Leo in a bad mood. The truth was that he was up and down; I never knew which Leo was going to walk through the door. I became an expert at avoiding him or making myself scarce when he was in a mood.

  At the office, Veronica and I shared the extra work since Randall quit without a word. Calls to his phone went unanswered. Veronica shrugged when I asked where he went. It was a mystery.

  It was rumored someone new would be starting later in the week. I missed Randall, but pushed any thoughts of him to the back of my mind.

  “I don’t get why you’re still working,” Veronica said sarcastically. “It’s not like you have to. I don’t get that. I’d be home ordering around my housekeeper if I were you.” She slurped up a sip of her Diet Coke through her ever-present bendy straw. Tapping her black nails against the soda can, she eyed me up and down, her glance lingering on my diamond ring.

  “I like to work. I need to keep busy.” I pulled my hand into my lap. “What else would I do?” I wanted to get out of the house. I needed to earn my own money.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Go live in your multimillion-dollar mansion while you polish your diamonds? Go shopping at Fred Segal and spend two thousand dollars on a shirt. Isn’t that what rich people do?” Veronica’s tone was ice cold. She didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day.

  I made the mistake of talking about Randall one morning after I brought in a coffee for her. Trying to be kind, I brought in pastries or coffee to her. I desperately missed skinny, tall, stringy Randall with his creased pants and bobbing Adam’s apple. I missed the hair that fell into his eyes and his shy smile. I missed his kindness. I missed our lunches together.

  “You know why he left, don’t you?” Veronica spat out the words. Her thick black eyebrows were narrowed into a V. Outside a lawnmower started up and when I spoke, I raised my voice.

  “I assumed he got a better job somewhere else,” I said.

  “He was in love with you. Come on, Delia. Wake up and smell the coffee, literally. It was so obvious. If you say you didn’t know, you’re either totally naive or a liar.” She glared at me through her heavily lined eyes.

  I turned to the papers and invoices I needed to enter into the computer, hands shaking. In love with me? I didn’t understand. Was he in love with me? I wondered for a moment what I would have done if that were true. If I knew he was in love with me, how would I have reacted? Is that why he didn’t come to the wedding? I took a deep breath. Why didn’t he say anything? Oh, Randall. I closed my eyes.

  As I entered numbers and dates into the computer I thought of Leo. Yes, I did love him. But was I really in love with him? Could I have fallen in love with Randall? Would he have given me the life I desired? My heart sank in my chest as I thought about him. I realized with sudden clarity that if I were being honest, there was some regret in marrying Leo.

  My life was like a climb to the highest mountain with a quick descent. When we went to a Lakers game, Leo bought me popcorn and a soda, not mentioning my weight as I ate almost the entire bucket of popcorn. We spent the night laughing and I enjoyed the easy flow of banter. The thought crossed my mind, not for the first time that it was good for me to have an older, more sophisticated husband to show me things and teach me about life. He was so smart, handsome, and debonair. At that moment, I was happy to be his wife.

  Claire laughed when I told her about Leo’s mood swings. “A small price to pay for the life you get to live, trust me,” she said, slurping a glass of rose. We met at a restaurant in Beverly Hills to “catch up” but I suspected she wanted to hear details about Leo.

  “I don’t know, sometimes he’s a little controlling.” I pushed pieces of lettuce around my plate, thinking back to when we first started dating, how he booked an appointment with Charles, a highly sought after hairdresser in Los Angeles known for wearing a black cashmere beret every day of the year. He tamed my frizzy locks and colored it with an enriching dye that made my hair look glossy and smooth. Light blonde and caramel highlights gave my hair dimension and shine. I was never one to care about my hairstyle, but even I was impressed with the results.

  “You look wonderful. Stunning!” Leo touched my hair and gazed into my eyes, “I’m so relieved that Charles followed my instructions. You look much be
tter now.” Ever since that day, I had a once a month standing appointment with Charles to keep up my style and color.

  Leo wanted me to look a certain way, act like someone else, and keep my mouth closed most of the time. When I relayed this to Claire, she patted my hand. “He’s making improvements, you look fantastic. How can you argue with someone who wants you to look your best? After all, this is Beverly Hills.” She shrugged then started telling me about a dating app she downloaded.

  “I’m looking for someone like Leo Kubias.” She scrolled through the photos on the app, pausing and twisting her lips. “Can’t find anyone who is successful, rich, handsome, and looking for a long-term relationship.”

  “You’re smart and pretty,” I said. “There’s someone out there for you.” I smiled at her and she rolled her eyes, but I knew she liked the compliment. I noticed her bag hanging on the back of the chair, a knockoff Louis Vuitton that was beginning to peel around the handle. There was something about the sight of the bag that endeared her to me.

  “You’ll find the right person,” I murmured. Maybe Claire was right, maybe Leo’s moods were simply a small price to pay for my charmed life.

  When the bill came, Claire pushed it across the table to me. “This one is on you, right?” She winked.

  If she wasn’t my only friend, I wouldn’t have put up with her.

  In between pre and post film production, Leo took me to Coronado Island for a long weekend. Our hotel room featured double doors that opened up to the ocean, giving us a clear view to the Pacific.

  We took long walks, hand in hand as the sun was setting in the sky, turning sherbet shades of pink and orange that took my breath away. It was the perfect ending to a wonderfully dreamy weekend.