Della

by Julie Michele Gettys

Determined to finish off the day high and happy, she drew in a deep breath, rummaged through the linen closet for towels, and grumbled aloud, “One damn day at a time, sweetie.”

  Up on the roof of her condominium, Della squeezed Steven’s hand. The glass wall surrounding the roof garden protected them from the cold breeze rushing in from the ocean. An absolutely perfect evening for sitting in the spa.

  High-pitched voices, girlish laughter, and mock squeals reached her ears. To her dismay, three young girls were already in the spa. She walked beside Steven down the stairs, across the redwood decking and up another set of stairs to the spa mounted in the corner overlooking the sprawling beach community below.

  “Hi, everybody,” Della said. “We only brought two glasses, but if you have your own, we'd be glad to share.” She wanted to be alone. Sharing the amenities was always a hazard when one lived in a building this size.

  As she sank into the warm bubbling water, she noticed the three twits were no more than nineteen or twenty. Steven slid in between her and the girls. She wished he had chosen the other side.

  “I'm Steven, this is Della.”

  The pretty blonde next to Steven shouted through the steam, “I'm Pat.” She turned to her right. “This is Gloria and Tracy.”

  The others said “hi” in the same twittering voice. They were all too beautiful. By rights, they should all have their heads chopped off.

  “Here.” Della grabbed the champagne and handed it to Steven. He popped the cork with his thumb, showing off for them, she was sure. He filled Della’s glass. The girls giggled and shook their heads when he offered them a drink. They probably hadn't been weaned off milk yet. Della lifted the glass to her lips, knowing she’d be looking for a refill as soon as she guzzled this one. A terrible, familiar feeling overtook her. Her ability to control her emotions seemed beyond her reach.

  Almost shouting over the roar of the spa, Steven said, “Do you all live together?”

  Pat, the pretty blonde with extra large water-wings floating next to Steven, said, “I live across the hall from her.” She nodded toward Della. “Gloria and Tracy are friends spending the weekend.”

  Funny, Della hadn't noticed her before. Something else she’d have to worry about. She hated feeling these pangs of jealousy. If she could have slapped herself, she would have. It had to be the booze and her frame of mind, she rationalized.

  “I haven't seen you before,” Steven said.

  He still hadn't taken his gaze from them.

  “I've seen you,” Pat warbled.

  “I'll bet you have, honey,” Della mumbled below the roar of the spa. The bitch sat there flirting with her man right in front of her. If she hadn’t been so mad, she would have cried. If ever she wanted to scratch someone's eyes out, it was now. Her jealousy went from simmer to boil. She grabbed the bottle of champagne and refilled her glass. Normally, Steven would have insisted on refilling it, but he was still looking at little strumpet sitting next to him. She edged her toes next to his, moving in for the kill.

  The way Della saw it, he was practically philandering right in front of her. She couldn't say a word, just kept refilling her glass and downing more champagne. What would she do when she emptied the bottle and her security blanket evaporated? She felt trapped on the outside, forced to watch this nauseating scene, unable to speak.

  Steven finally turned to her and smiled proudly. “Della is a Vice President at Gates International. The top female employee in the company.”

  Relief swept through her, and she settled back against the side.

  Then he turned back to Pat. “What do you do?”

  “I'm a model and an actor.”

  “Have you done anything I might have seen?” Steven said with too much interest.

  “Probably not. I've only had bit parts so far. But I’ll be on the cover of Cosmo Girl in two months.”

  Hustler would be more appropriate. Then she saw it. The girl actually rested her ankle over Steven’s, and the son of a bitch didn't move.

  Della leaped out of the spa, knocking the glass and bottle over as she reached for her towel. Without looking back, she walked past the pool, up the stairs, and into the building, sobbing all the way. The champagne had caused her to lose control of her emotions. She dripped water on the building’s new maroon carpeting, and she didn't give a damn. Her heart pounded. Steven wasn't following. Why should he? He had more than even he could handle. She just wanted to get back to the refuge of her apartment.

  She’d ask Steven to leave. For good. That would take care of one problem once and for all. Only moments ago, he’d been asking her to move in, sweet-talking her, saying he wanted to take care of her. What a line of crap. He was no different than any of the other men in her life.

  He would be the last man who made her feel like this. Hadn’t she said that before? She wondered if she’d lost all of her self-respect.

  In a state of near hysteria, she pushed wildly at the unresponsive elevator button. She ran for the stairs. Only three flights and she’d be back in her apartment.

  Inside her own space, the door closed behind her, she headed straight for the bathroom and turned on the hot water, leaned over the edge of the raised marble tub and sobbing while the water streamed down. How could she have acted so foolishly? What made her think Steven was any different from all the rest of the men walking around with a prayer on the end of their dicks?

  She poured an entire box of Calgon bubble bath into the tub, almost asphyxiating herself with the powdery soap flying up into her nostrils. She choked and coughed. Her tears turned to spasms of laughter when she imagined the headlines in the Times:

  VICE PRESIDENT OF GATES INTERNATIONAL ASPHYXIATED ON BUBBLE BATH.

  She turned off the water, sat on the floor laughing hysterically, then pulled herself up and staggered to the kitchen. The rest of this horrid evening needed drowning in a large snifter of Courvoisier.

  Fumbling to open the seal on the brandy, she heard Steven’s key in the door. She stiffened, preparing herself to act cool, oblivious to his rotten behavior. At least she’d found out now, before she invested too much time in him.

  He entered the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and plastered to his head. “What was that all about?”

  After popping off a false nail, she managed to break the seal and poured enough booze to put down an elephant.

  He methodically took the bottle and her glass, and emptied them in the sink.

  “You bastard!” she shouted. She lunged for the stairs that led up to a spare bedroom on the second floor.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Upstairs, until you get dressed and get out of here.”

  Halfway up the stairs, he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled himself up until he pinned her down.

  “Let me go!” she screamed against his chest.

  “Listen to me. I know what upset you, but you're wrong. If you hadn't drunk so much, been so uptight about being older than me, you'd never have reacted to such trivial crap.”

  She stilled, but he gripped her with so much pressure she couldn't move. “I was just being friendly. You didn't even talk civilly to those girls, one of whom is your neighbor.”

  “So, I need that for a neighbor?” She turned her head to the side so she could breathe. “I didn’t appreciate your encouraging that flirtatious little bimbo. If you're so damned smart, why didn't you see what I was going through and support me? Especially when we’re with women who are more your type than I could ever be.”

  “There you go, thinking for me. How do you know who I should be with? Do you think everyone has to be Ken and Barbie to love each other?” He cupped the back of her head with his hand. “I'm with you because I love you. I wouldn't walk across the street for any of those girls in the spa.”

  “Steven, I’m sorry, this isn’t going to work. I thought you were different, that I was different. I’m not. I’m the same old Della, picking on the same kind of guy. I haven’t learned a thi
ng.” She paused, the lump in her throat was giving her a headache–or was it too much booze, or Steven still lying on top of her, holding her down? “Anyway, it’s over.”

  He rolled off her and sat on the step below, his face buried in his palms, his voice muffled. “Jesus, Della, don't you know how much I care for you? From the moment I met you, it’s been only you. For weeks, I've been trying to get up the courage to ask you if we could live together. Haven’t you figured out I want to be with you always? I was afraid of rejection. What would an intelligent, gorgeous woman like you want with me? I don’t even want the kind of success you want. You should be with someone like my dad.” He laughed. “Younger, though.”

  “What are you saying?” Was he asking her to marry him? She couldn't believe her ears. Only moments ago, she thought he was making time with another woman, and now he was proposing. “Why did you let that girl rub her foot on yours if you think so much of me?”

  “I sure as hell didn't feel it. For crying out loud, you can’t feel anything with those jets swirling water around in that damned spa.” He looked up at her. “This is coming from inside you. You see me like the other guys in your life. That was a fantasy you saw up there in that spa. I’m friendly to everybody. Hell, you have luncheons with men, work with men all day. I’m not jealous. I’m proud of you. I trust you. I sure wish you trusted me.” He paused, looked away, then back at her. “I think of you at the office, how strong you are. You don’t seem to be afraid of anybody or anything. Yet here you are, as vulnerable and insecure as a little girl. I didn’t know you’d been so hurt.” He reached up, took her hand and eased her down to him. “You know that’s why you feel this way, don’t you? I’m not like Kent and Rick. You’ve been so badly burned, you’re looking for it, though.”

  She nodded. He took her in his arms. “I love you, baby. If anything breaks us up, it won’t be that I cheated on you.” He ran his tongue over her lips, sending a charge of warmth through her.

  For some unknown reason, she controlled her life at work. By shutting down over the past four years, she had avoided dealing with relationships. All this time, she believed she had a handle on how to deal with men, that she fully understood what love was, and what she was looking for. She hadn’t handled anything. Steven came along and took her by surprise. “I don’t know what to do. I care for you, too, but I’m scared.” She snuggled into his arms. “I'm sorry I acted like such a fool.”

  “Hush,” he whispered with a finger on her lips. “I understand.”

  She smiled up at him.

  “I want to help you through this,” he said quietly. “We’ll take it real slow. I’ll show you that you’ve learned and that you didn’t make another mistake.” He rose, took her hand. “How about that promise you made earlier?” His eyes were dark with yearning.

  He led her upstairs to the spare bedroom, where they fell into each other’s arms on the bed. Take it real slow. She liked that. Maybe she had been wrong about him.

  Maybe her judgment wasn’t all bad.

  Time would tell.

  17

  At six thirty Monday morning, after a sleepless night, Della parked in her private space. With her world in turmoil, she finally admitted to herself she was hopelessly in love with Steven.

  Her heels echoed through the underground garage. With each click, she metronomed, Steven, Lillian, Steven, Lillian. He had insisted if she were to break through her barriers and lead an open life, she must let him meet her mother. Lillian hadn’t met any of Della’s boyfriends or husbands.

  In the elevator, zooming to the eleventh floor, she wasn’t sure about living the truth, or sure Lillian would want Steven for her. Lillian wouldn’t approve of her having an affair with the boss’s young son. Two strikes against them, she’d say. When Lillian said she wanted her to find a man, settle down, have a family, surely Lillian didn’t mean like this.

  Striding down the corridor to Wes’s office, Della thought about Steven not informing his folks of their relationship. As if clearing away one lie made room for another. Living the truth seemed an impossible thing. Their friendship was more a secret than a lie, she rationalized.

  “You look radiant,” Wes remarked when she entered his spacious office. “Is it the job, or are you in love?”

  She felt the color drain from her face. Had Steven told his folks about them?

  “It’s the job, of course.” She smiled sheepishly, sat, placing her briefcase on the floor. She waited for the bomb to drop.

  She glanced out the window at the glorious day. The sky was as blue as a robin’s egg. The soft sun was climbing, casting shadows across Wes’s polished desk. She waited for him to speak.

  He rose, came around, sat next to her, and clasped his hands. “You seem apprehensive.”

  “Friday night I got a phone call from a kook.” She leaned toward him. “At least, I hope it was a kook. The voice was disguised, like one of those computerized things. It told me to quit my job before it blew up in my face, then laughed and hung up.”

  A frown creased Wes’s craggy face. “Was it Jack?”

  “It's almost too obvious. He'd know I'd suspect him first. It’s so beneath him.”

  “What about the police?”

  “I wanted to talk to you first. Think I should call them?”

  “Do you have Caller ID?”

  “No. I just connected my answering machine.”

  He reached across his desk, buzzed Iris. “Order Caller ID for Della. Her home phone. Make sure they get it in as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” she said.

  Wes eased back in his seat. “I think we should wait and see if it happens again. Sarah told me about your meeting with Jack, the flowers and all. That doesn't sound like him, either.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should put his account with Joe.”

  “Whatever you think is right, but I don't want any special treatment. If this happened to Joe, would you move the account to me?”

  Wes hesitated. “Probably not.”

  “I’ll ride it out. Maybe it’s nothing.”

  “I like your spunk. But I do worry about you,” he said in gentle, caring tone.

  Why did this man like her so much? Why was he so willing to do anything he could to help her along with her career and personal life? He was an enigma. No one had been so good to her without wanting something in return. Iris had said he just had a lot of respect for her, when Della questioned his generosity. Iris said he envisioned her as someone who might one day take over the top spot.

  Wes poured himself coffee, held his cup up as an offer to her. “Thanks,” she said. “I could use a cup right now.” She tilted her head. “But are you supposed to have one?”

  “Oh, I tell everyone its decaf. That seems to appease my caretakers.” He chuckled. “If I can't have a coffee or two in the morning, I might as well pack it in.”

  He wrapped both hands around his mug as if it contained pure gold. After a long, slow sip, he leaned back. “Steven's staying in L.A. permanently,” Wes said casually.

  She acted surprised. “What made him change his mind?”

  “He says he wants to be close to us, that he can accomplish the same thing here he could have in New York.”

  “Won't he have to take the California bar?”

  “No problem for him. He’ll ace it. He’s moving into his own place. His not wanting a job in the company upsets Carrie, but then anything he does that she hasn’t orchestrated upsets her.”

  “Doesn’t his lack of interest in the company bother you?”

  “I got over that a long time ago. When he was about ten, I knew I was taking this trip alone.”

  She felt a stab of apprehension. Carrie would croak if she knew Steven was staying because of her. She’d probably have to order up a casket for her remains if she knew they were planning to move in together.

  Wes smiled conspiratorially. “I think he's got a girlfriend. Why else would he stay in a town he’s hated since he was this high?” He h
eld his hand three feet above the floor.

  “It's about time he finds a girl, wouldn't you say?” She held her breath.

  “It'll be a cold day in hell before he introduces her to us. Carrie has fussed so much over his previous girlfriends; he'd probably run off and get married before we could put in our two cents’s worth.”

  What a cheery thought. Would he? she wondered.

  Wes returned to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out another of those brown manila envelopes, like the one he had given her before. He handed it to her.

  “Put this in your safe deposit box.”

  She took it from him, tucked it in her briefcase. “Don't you think it's time you tell me what these are all about?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “Insurance.”

  “For whom?”

  “Both of us. Right now, I need you to trust me. Don’t ask any questions. Believe me, this is for your own good; mine, too. I have great plans for you, and I don't want anyone blocking them.”

  “Who would?”

  “How quickly you forget. Wasn't it you who just told me about a threatening phone call?”

  Truly mystified, she conceded, “Okay, if that's what you want, but it seems to me you should be able to trust me enough to tell me why I’m hiding manila envelopes in a safe deposit box that can only be opened when you die. God, what a horrible thought.”

  “I wish I could explain. When the time comes, you'll understand.”

  On the way to the door, she paused. Without looking at him, she said, “You really are wonderful.” Her heart went out to him. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I don’t know why you’re doing it, but I’m grateful. One of these days, I want to sit down with you and have a nice long talk. There are many things you don’t know about me.”

  “Same here, young lady. I’m looking forward to it.”

  She left, feeling as though he knew more about her than he let on.

  In her office, she held the envelope up to the light, shook it around, but could make out nothing. This one was thicker than the last. She picked up the letter opener, inserted the blade into the sealed flap, stopped, sucked in a breath. “No. He trusts me.” She threw the knife aside and praised herself for her restraint.