Suddenly, she looked at me thoughtfully, as if an idea had formed in her mind. She commented on how much she enjoyed being a fashion consultant. If she wants to be a fashion designer, she needs to begin advising her fellow residents how to dress appropriately. Hence, to say that she would help me change my style was a logical step for her. I rolled my eyes. What I had done in another life to attract so much futility? First Charity, now Delilah.
If nothing else, when she realized I was not carrying any makeup with me, she had to “bombard” me with a political speech on the need to look good in modern society. Well, if she could see the box of super expensive makeup that I’d left in the hospital room, she probably would have had a heart attack.
“Oh, before I forget...I have something for you,” she said, stopping her emptying of my old suitcase.
From the back pocket of her black pants, beneath flowing veils, she pulled out a booklet with a picture of a flower on the cover. On it was written the word “Manual.”
“I’m loaning it to you, right? I want this back!” she warned, very serious.
I looked stunned when I saw the cover of the booklet that she was handing me. I was even more confused when I started leafing through it. What the hell would I do with a manual on gardening? Noticing my confusion, she sat on the trunk and stared at me.
“Your life depends on this manual, she said.
How so?
“You may have noticed that all the bedrooms have longitudinal flower pots filled with pansies. Well, each student has an obligation to look after his or her pansies. They should always be well-maintained...otherwise the consequences can be catastrophic. She significantly lifted her painted eyebrows. Keyra loves her plants. She’s even won some awards with them.”
“It’s a house rule?”
“That’s right.”
“And when the bedroom is unoccupied?” I looked out and beheld the pansies that overflowed from window sill. They were lilacs. “Who took care of them before me?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. We just arrived, but when students occupy a bedroom, they take on that responsibility. You got it? This assumes that you have to learn how to do the pruning, dealing with the fertilizer, irrigation, and so forth.”
Just me? I never even had a vase of violets in my life!
“Take this reading seriously. If you neglect them, believe me, you will not like to see Keyra furious.”
“Okay,” I stammered.
Was McPherson House hiding an insane asylum?
16
BLUE BLOOD
Delilah chattered incessantly while I put away the rest of my belongings. She made me so crazy, I couldn’t get myself organized, nor decide where to put the things. Anyway, I ended up hastily putting everything away without paying attention to where things went. The expression “running on auto-pilot” had never been more appropriate for me, but I knew that sooner or later I would have to arrange them again.
Patience is a virtue, so goes the old saying. Well, I had to look at the positive side—it left me no time to think about Adrian and his intemperate departure. I wanted to forget that whole episode and the Category 5 hurricane named Delilah helped me do that.
“Oh! You brought only a few things? Where’s the rest of your luggage?” she asked somewhat dramatically.
I shrugged, ignoring her surprised look. She’ll understand what she wants...and that’s exactly what she did. “Well, when the rest gets here let me know. I’ll come back and help you put it away.”
Her offer seemed genuine. I hadn’t won the lottery, nor did I have important connections in the fashion world, so maybe—maybe—she really wanted to be my friend. It was possible, wasn’t it? There was no reason to not be sociable. She seemed nice, although she seemed like Charity—a fanatic about fashion.
Suddenly Delilah grabbed my PDA and ran her fingers over the engraved initials. “What’s this?” she asked, puzzled.
“A sort of electronic organizer,” I responded carefully.
“Oh...” Obviously my answer did not satisfy her.
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask me any more questions, but she has a bad habit of jumping to her own conclusions about things, which she confirmed for the second time.
“What’s your relationship with Adrian Cahill?” she asked me point blank.
It was not mere curiosity that I detected in her voice. She knew more than she was letting on and I was sure that she was determined to get details. I had to think about what I should say considering that neither Adrian nor I thought we were engaged in any sort of relationship. Okay, I will admit that our cinematographic kiss changed everything, but Adrian’s attitude immediately thereafter made me feel unsure about the ground on which I was treading.
“We’re friends,” I responded, deciding that the best option was a half-truth. “He helped me while I was recovering from the accident that occurred on the Mountain of the Polish Man.”
She sat unceremoniously on the lid of the trunk at the foot of my bed. “I know that, but...you already knew each other from somewhere else, right?”
I knew that if I said yes I’d have to explain and I’d end up caught in a web of lies which I couldn’t sustain for long.
“No,” I said. Given the tone of my voice, doesn’t she realize that it’s time to end this conversation?
“Of course...” No, she didn’t realize! “You know he’s going steady with Asia Chadwick of the “blue blood” Chadwicks, don’t you?”
It felt as if the ground beneath my feet was shaking, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. In my heart, I knew that something had happened—or was still happening between them. The scene in the cafeteria popped into my head. Asia looked at him in a way that seemed far too possessive for two people who were “just friends” or colleagues. It was the look of someone who had previously experienced the intimacy of a romantic involvement. I lost count of the times that I’d seen that same look on the faces of girls in school after they’d had sex with their boyfriends.
I found myself transported back to that moment in the cafeteria, re-living it with startling clarity—a 3D movie shot in slow motion: Asia taking her eyes off Adrian only to face me head on while he talked with the angel-face jokester. If looks could kill, I would have been dead in a heartbeat.
No! No! No! Adrian assured me that wasn’t dating! But if he lied to me, then the hypothesis is confirmed that I’m just the newest toy to spice up his boring life.
I froze. A sense of frigid cold seized my soul. Suddenly, his last words echoed in my mind: Never forget that it’s for your own good. You’ll have to trust me and be patient. But above all, you will have to trust yourself.
Trust. Humpft! How could I trust him after so many unexplained situations? On the other hand, if he asks for my trust, if he asks me to be patient, isn’t it only fair to give him my vote of confidence? Maybe...
“You never heard about the Chadwicks?” Delilah gestured as if that would help me remember people I’d never heard of. “Lord Devlin Chadwick, Marquis of Wentworth was Asia’s most famous ancestor. He’d had a brilliant career in the House of Lords.
Mmmm... so the girl’s English....and she has a pedigree!
Oh, I knew I was being catty, but I couldn’t help it, especially when I visualized what Asia’s “blue blood” family might be like. Having named her daughter after a continent, the mother was probably quite a character. I pictured her as lady dressed in Victorian-style, high-necked gowns decorated with ribbons and ruffles in order to support a heavy bust. Her breasts might serve as a weapon if the noble lady wanted to kill someone by giving them a bear hug. Don’t forget the large wide-brimmed hat trimmed with feathers and bows and, of course, a lacy parasol to avoid the sun causing her patrician porcelain skin to freckle.
Asia’s noble father would also be a sight to behold...according to my caustic and fertile imagination. Perhaps a long-nosed, tall, emaciated-looking gentleman? He would have a mustache as long and convoluted that would make Lassie envious.
He would wear the standard suit and bow tie, and he would peer down at everyone over the top of tiny, round glasses.
Hmmm... He’d be a humpback because he spent his childhood and adolescence cowering in a pathetic attempt to go unnoticed in his tall stature and gangly appearance. Getting in line at the end of recess would have been the greatest torment he ever experienced, something that would have forced him to spend the family fortune for the years he probably spent in therapy.
His nickname at school? Let me think... “Giraffe!” Noble Giraffe or perhaps Blueblood Giraffe! In my mind I laughed. If I could not reach my opponent in real life, at least the imagination created a little revenge quite satisfactory.
Delilah cleared her throat, reminding me that she was still waiting. Damn! I wanted to imagine Asia Chadwick’s life at school. I turned to Delilah, measuring her with my pointed gaze—a good tactic of war of “The Plastics” at school, when they wanted to humiliate a colleague they considered less worthy or less intelligent. In fact, they did that to me all the time! Maybe I could produce the same effect with Delilah. Would worth the attempt?
“Why are you telling me these things?” I decided to go on offense because it’s said that’s the best defense. “I know nothing about them dating!”
If you were fishing, sweetheart, I think your fish just got away!
Delilah peered into my face for a split second and then shrugged. Her disappointed expression kindled faint hope in my heart. The alleged romance between Adrian and Asia might be just a guess by someone who loved to gossip. Asia could have spread the rumor herself behind Adrian’s back.
Obviously, I wasn’t trying to ignore the enormous possibility that they were maintaining a relationship. After all, they belonged to the same social circle, they work and study together...but my heart insisted on considering the remote possibility that Adrian was telling me the truth. What a dilemma! What should I believe?
I came to the conclusion that Delilah’s offer to help me with my stuff was self-serving after all. I hadn’t won the lottery, nor knew any VIP fashion people, but I definitely had something she wanted—information.
Before Delilah could get more ammunition for her indiscreet questions, I tried to push the suitcase under the bed. If she found the caricature of Adrian that I’d done, she’d realize that I hadn’t told her the whole truth about my feelings for him.
“Hey! I haven’t finished....” she protested, staring at the suitcase, now partially hidden by the bedspread.
“Oh, there’s nothing important in there,” I lied, pretending casualness that I was far from feeling.
“You’re hiding something, huh?” She sounded suspicious. “I know what is!”
“Do you know?” I challenged, my eyes widening.
She nodded, suggestively pointing her index finger at me. “Your sex toy,” she whispered, then she leaned toward me. “You still keep your snaps? I kept mine. The yellow and red bring me good memories,” she sighed, gazing at the ceiling.
“I beg your pardon?” My voice rose two octaves.
“There’s no reason to be ashamed,” she responded in a condescending tone. “I have my toy for the lonely hours. His name is Fred. What do you call yours?”
For a long second, I actually believed she was serious. When finally the penny dropped, I rolled my eyes, angry at my own stupidity.
Delilah let out an annoying giggle. “Gotcha!”
I went to the closet and started putting my underwear in a drawer. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming in the hallway caught my attention.
“This place is very noisy. Are all of the rooms are occupied?” I asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject.
Yes, all,” she confirmed. “There are people who were here before you, but couldn’t get a place as nice as yours, she commented sweeping her arms around as if showing my room to a prospective renter. “There are many people here who are content to share a small room with strangers. You know...you’re very lucky to have a room all to yourself,” she added, the resentment evident in her voice.
I turned on my heels to face her. I was surprised by the revelation and a little puzzled by her aggressive tone. Hmmm, my theory that Delilah wanted to make friends with me was becoming increasingly implausible. So far, it was nothing new. Nobody ever wanted to be my friend. It hurt my feelings, but it was a fact. It was obvious that she’d approached me in order to find out something about my relationship with Adrian, but for what purpose? Why would my life interest her—unless she was doing it for someone else...Asia Chadwick, for example?
On second thought, Delilah didn’t seem very comfortable with me—not like she is with her roommate, Abby Haines, or with the others. I now realized that her irreverence was sounding somewhat forced. I should have known. Throughout my life I saw this kind of thing happen, so why should it be any different now?
When I started school, I learned that when people would initially get to know each other, they’d be searching for something that they could exploit for their own benefit. To do this, they became friendly, often helpful, until they got what they wanted. If they didn’t get what they wanted, they simply departed without concern about the broken hearts they left behind. I saw this happen with the athlete in the class, flattered by his success in sports; I saw it happen with the prom queen because of her beauty and popularity; somehow, even the nerds and geeks fell for it, perhaps because of the small services they rendered to their lazy and less intelligent colleagues. In a way, this happened to me too; I just never had anything to offer. I thought about how life is a succession of tradeoffs, so it appeared that I had no social life...until now, apparently.
The school of hard knocks is the stage of life where we rehearse our character, who or what we will be for the rest of our life. But life is a great teacher too. In adolescence, we consider ourselves “king or queen of the mountain” or the lowliest of geeks—nothing in between. It’s very easy to become a tormentor or a victim. When our teen fantasies end, it’s also hard having to deal with the real world. I learned that lesson more than any “science” conveyed by the school.
I had to wonder: Was what Delilah wanted within my reach? Getting into the good graces of Asia Chadwick? Knowing things about the Cahills that supposedly no one else knew?
“Hey, what’s that?” she asked, interrupting my reverie.
I turned my head, following with my eyes to where she was pointing. Yikes! In the corner there was a portable drawing board and beside it, a large drawing board bag with handle and adjustable shoulder strap, used for the transporting of paintings and drawings. Both were still packed and partially hidden by the curtain.
The drawing board model was expensive, had the dual function of desk and drawing board. How many times did I coveted models like it in web ads? Now it was in front of me. Incredible!
Before the impact of surprise passed, I knew who had given the gift to me. I also knew that I needed a good excuse or something to distract Delilah, but my brain refused to work. It was like a blank sheet...
“Look, there’s a card.” Before I could pull it out of her little Madonna hands, Delilah was already reading the content aloud:
Gone are the days when artists had to juggle to immortalize big egos. Few could afford to portray their own dreams. And in the end, they were forced to carry their precious scrolls under the arm.
On hot days, we agree, this could be disastrous!
Don’t you feel happy to live in this century?
Adrian
She stared at me with bright eyes, a mixture of triumph and confusion. After all, I was confronted with my obvious lie. Nobody gives gifts like these, even as a good Samaritan. A plate of food, a bus ticket maybe, but things like this...never!
However, the Cahill’s family generosity comes in absurd doses, commensurate with their immense fortune. Someone “less rich” wouldn’t understand this. How do I explain that the gift was only the reflection of a lifestyle? Even if you could explain, that wouldn’t change the fact that
I’d been caught in the lie.
“What’s this conversation of scrolls and disasters? Is he talking in code?” she asked, frowning.
Maybe he is... I thought, amused. But if so, I wouldn’t begin to know the translation.
“So Adrian Cahill only helped you in a difficult moment, huh?” She sat on the bed and crossed her legs. “I can’t say I’m surprised because I already knew.”
“You knew what?”
“Nothing at all.” She reached over and pulled my new drawing board bag to closer to her, absentmindedly stroking its surface like one who is checking its quality.
“Hey girls! Do you know who’s celebrating a birthday today?” David Martin had abruptly appeared in the doorway.
Bless you, David!
“Huh?” Delilah grimaced. She was really lost in thought, stroking my new folder, wasn’t she? For a moment I wondered if she wouldn’t ask her parents to give her an equally expensive folder.
“There’s a fantastic birthday cake on the kitchen table,” he said, scratching his head. “If the owner doesn’t claim it soon, the scavengers around here will eat it.”
“Oh...” My penny had dropped. I didn’t know how or when, but Adrian had brought the remains of my “late birthday” cake. Yet another example of his generosity which I wouldn’t be able to explain to Delilah. She would understand everything wrong.
“Guilty!” I said, raising my hands.
The two stared at me, surprised.
“It’s my... actually, it was my birthday.
“Congratulations!” they said almost simultaneously.
“It’s just passed, guys!” I said, realizing too late that I should have just been grateful for the greetings and remained silent. So, now I found myself in delicate situation, feeling obligated to explain tortuously. “A friend decided to have a delayed celebration since I was just discharged from the hospital today.”
I turned sharply back to my task of putting things away in the closet, praying that they didn’t ask any more questions. In my peripheral vision, I noticed that David and Delilah exchanged a brief look, but didn’t make any comments.
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