Drops of Cerulean: A Novel

by Dawn Adams Cole

  Autumn 2004

  DELPHINA MET JANE FOR LUNCH at Neiman’s, Jane’s new position at a prominent law firm allowing her the continued option to take pleasure in such indulgences. As Delphina absentmindedly shuffled through the racks, she came across a beautiful dress, pale yellow with a wide collar that wrapped around the shoulders.

  “Now you would make that dress look exquisite, like it was meant to look.”

  “I do believe the dress is exquisite enough on its own, and at five hundred dollars, it will need to make do without me.”

  “Delphina, you do not realize one of your gifts. You make inexpensive clothes look like designer duds. I, on the other hand, need to spend money on nice clothes, because they wear me and help me look like the highbrows with whom I must consort at work.”

  “That’s even more of a reason for me not to buy it. Other than the fact that I cannot afford it, it certainly doesn’t have a place in a teacher’s closet.”

  Delphina’s fingers caressed the fabric, so delicate and well made. It was the kind of dress her mother would have bought in an instant, whipping out a credit card and taking months to pay it off.

  Later, when they sat down for lunch at Neiman’s, Jane asked about the off-the-menu items, causing the waitress to hold her stare for a second more. The waitress looked at the numerous garment bags, smiled, and then turned to Delphina to detail the daily specials.

  “Thank you for telling me about your fine offerings, but I do think it was my best friend who asked,” she said, gesturing to Jane. “She’s the one who has the money to shop here as a contrast to me, so I do think your attention is best directed to her, as misguided as your attention appears to be.”

  Jane looked at Delphina and winked, but the gesture could not conceal the effort it took to maintain her composure. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it always left Delphina baffled. Jane’s father was a renowned heart surgeon in the medical center; her mother was a professor at the University of Houston. People only saw Jane’s skin color, despite her poise and intellect. Strangers presumed the worst while Delphina’s hue gave her an aura that could not have been further from the truth of her background.

  The friends nibbled over monkey bread, talking about the exciting times ahead for them both, especially since Jane and her husband would soon work on growing their family. Jane spent a shocking sum that afternoon, ready now to stroll into her new office at the Niels Esperson Building. She laughed when she signed the credit card receipt, saying even the building demanded a better wardrobe from her, as elegant and formidable as it was. When Jane excused herself to the ladies room, Delphina was left wondering whether she herself would ever marry. Next week marked her thirty-first birthday, and while she knew women could marry at any age, she also knew the expectations the South placed on having children at an early age.

  “Good Lord, Jane, what more did you buy?” Delphina asked, seeing her friend strolling back to the table with another garment bag in tow.

  “Delphina, this dress belongs to you. Happy birthday!” she cheered, wrapping her arms around her friend.

  THE JITTERS STARTED WHEN IT was time to get ready for her birthday dinner. The warm lavender bath that she often found soothing left her even more anxious, her pounding heart prompting her to lie down on the bed with a towel draped over her body. She considered taking a Xanax, but she knew tonight would be a lively one, with wine and with Cistern’s craft cocktails … Have you had one? Delphina could hear Jane and their college friend, Libby, in her head. Delphina dismissed the thought of taking just a chip of a pill to take the edge off, thinking back to the conversation with her psychiatrist about wanting to get off prescription drugs for good.

  “Deli, your situation is different from that of your students. We are working through your anxiety,” he had stated in a clinical tone.

  “And we aren’t making much progress now, are we?” she had responded in frustration.

  Her jitters tonight felt different than usual, like she was on the precipice of something good, but it still left her unsettled. She made up her eyes with thick black eyeliner, looking like she was from another time. The pale yellow dress fit her perfectly, and although she was too humble to admit it, she carried herself with a regal quality, as if she were a lady of means, like someone from Jane’s family. Perhaps the number of times her momma dragged her from East Houston to the fancy stores had paid off, as if the ether from the stores and its inhabitants rubbed off a bit. She grabbed her clutch and walked from her apartment on Heights Boulevard to Nineteenth Street.

  Jane and Libby had a drink waiting for Delphina when she arrived at the bar, and it even had a sparkler poking up from the lime.

  “Happy Birthday!” they screamed, after which the other patrons offered a round of applause.

  Delphina made her way to the bar, smiling and nodding thanks to the other guests who offered drunken birthday wishes. After a few sips, she confirmed the cocktail was quite delicious, giggling at how the drink practically vanished. She intercepted Libby’s attempt to refresh her glass, requesting a cabernet instead.

  Her anticipation continued to build, leading her to wonder if the ladies had vetoed her request by arranging a surprise party instead. As she picked up the wine glass, Delphina turned her head to scan the restaurant for others who might be hiding in the corners. The alcohol loosened her arm to extend a bit too far, causing it to bump into a man walking past, the red wine splashing across her new dress.

  Gasping in shock, she looked down at the red splotches covering the once pristine fabric. She glared at the man who ruined her dress, and as their eyes met, she instinctively uttered the words, “Where in the hell have you been?” in an accusatory tone. He grinned and held out his hand, “My name is Victor, and I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  “HE TOOK YOU WHERE?” JANE ASKED IN a shrill voice, knowing full well she had understood her friend correctly the first time.

  “Carter & Cooley, the sandwich shop on Nineteenth,” Delphina snapped, a bit taken aback by her growing loyalty. “Fancy isn’t always better, Jane. We were at Cistern the night before, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Yes, where you met him by happenstance, Deli. He didn’t plan it.”

  “Sometimes you just want to keep it real, you know?”

  The conversation ended abruptly, Delphina sharing that she had to run, which was literally true. She tightened her laces, hit her classic country playlist, and started her run down the Heights Boulevard jogging trail, thankful that she did not share that she had also seen him on Sunday for green tea and veggie flatbread at the bungalow coffee shop on Heights Boulevard. It would not matter that it was three dates in three days. Jane would not be happy with his choice for date locations.

  Victor joined her birthday celebration Friday, leaving his friends to dine on their own. They started as a party of four, with Jane and Libby egging on the duo, but as Victor and Delphina continued talking and Jane and Libby continued drinking, they coupled off, retreating to a quieter table at the corner of the bar.

  Victor Walsh and his two business partners had recently founded their own architectural firm. They leased half a floor in the Niels Esperson Building, partially gutting the space while preserving the aesthetics of the old structure. The final masterpiece was stunning. “You really must come see it at our open house,” he said, a testament that reflected the ingenuity of their work. This ingenuity, however, came with a steep price, and since he did not have a family of his own, he figured he might as well reside in a Heights garage apartment but a few blocks from The Boulevard. His partners urged him to rent a loft downtown, but he refused to leave The Heights, knowing this is where he belonged. “The history, the charm … not a place in Houston like it.”

  The following day at lunch, Delphina rattled on about her love for the area and how she understood his connection, for she felt the same. She knew she could teach anywhere, but she loved Heights High School and the fact that she walked to work e
very day down streets where no two houses looked the same. He asked her how she liked her egg salad, after which she surprised herself, by being so bold as to raise it to his mouth to try a bite. They walked down Nineteenth Street, iced teas in hand, as Victor pointed out various buildings and their histories that he had studied.

  Delphina knew she was in trouble when he shared that he had a flight to Chicago the following evening for a conference and then a visit to an old college buddy, her heart sinking at the thought of not seeing him for the entire week. He must have felt it too, and by the time he had walked her to her apartment, they agreed to meet for lunch the following day. She pressed her palms to the door after he left, resting her forehead on the cool surface and smiling in the realization that she could envision herself marrying him, a desire she had never felt before.

  As she rounded the esplanade to jog back to her apartment, she heard the ringing of her cell phone through Willie Nelson’s oohs and ahhs. Victor’s number flashed across her screen, causing Delphina’s spirits to take a leap as she slowed to a walk.

  “I have a bone to pick with you, Ms. Cizek.”

  She could not believe he would engage her again in a southern witticism challenge considering her victory on Sunday, but she admitted he had an awfully good twang when provoked.

  “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” she exclaimed as she slapped her palm on her thigh, catching the attention of another jogger.

  “Now don’t you go pretendin’ you don’t know what I mean.”

  “What in tarnation? Okay, lay it on me,” Delphina replied, curiosity piqued.

  “I’m smitten, Ms. Cizek,” Victor replied in a tone and accent more his own. “Can’t get you off my mind.”

  “Well, now, that sounds pretty nice to me, especially considering I share your sentiment,” Delphina replied, matching his more genteel disposition.

  “Yes, I agree it is mighty nice, but not so much so when you are a thousand miles away. Which is why I am making plans for Saturday night.”

  “Saturday? I thought you were coming in on Sunday?” Delphina asked.

  “Yes, well, I’ve decided to come home early. I still have Friday night to catch up with George.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow? Now c’mon! You can’t let me down with a response like that!”

  “Mr. Walsh, you have made me blush, and this conversation is just between me, you, and the fencepost. Imagine what will happen when people see us together.”

  “And, yes, they will see us dance at the SPJST Lodge.” Victor said.

  “Dancing?”

  “Yes, my grandparents danced there for many years, and I would very much like to twirl you around to the sounds of Texas Tea, one of my favorite bands.”

  Delphina’s mind took her on a moment’s journey to the Texas countryside, memories of her own grandparents two-stepping and waltzing at the Veteran’s of Foreign War Hall, home to Vizcek weddings, family reunions, and funerals. Her momma had always looked forward to the visits home. She was all smiles in her new dresses from Joske’s.

  She remembered the family reunion when Patricia was giddy to meet her three-month old great niece. She practically skipped into the hall, a Kaplan’s bag dangling from her wrist, a bag, her niece soon would learn, that contained a delicate sterling silver rattle, an expensive gift that left her family in wonder over its purpose. Her momma carried a three-layer coconut cake, her contribution to the potluck and an accidental match to her layered, white dress. It was a grand entrance for the Cizek family, one that elicited endless bless your hearts throughout the afternoon.

  She remembered her daddy stationing himself in the VFW bar, where he had remained for most of the afternoon, the smell of booze and cigarette smoke peeling back the layers of distance and time so that all that remained was a group of good ole boys who forgave the one who had left for the big city. Delphina waltzed in the bar just once, her daddy seated in front of a bowl of fake red flowers. She jumped up to snatch one and placed it in her hair before tangoing across the bar with a ghost. It was the one time she made her daddy angry. He jumped off the stool and dragged her by the arm to the far corner.

  “Delphina Ann Cizek, you listen here! This ain’t no joke!” he reprimanded, yanking the poppy from the top of her ear. “This here was made by a GI, just like your Uncle Louis and Edward and your Cousin Joe. It’s meant to be respected. Wear it with pride and not like a fool!”

  That had been the last time she entered a VFW bar.

  “I’ll need to dust off my dancin’ shoes, but I think that sounds quite nice,” she responded in a way that conveyed the smile that spread across her face.

  “There’s a dress code, you know. You can wear that beautiful yellow dress.”

  “The one with the wine stains or the one without?”

  “Pick you up at seven o’clock?”

  “Yes, but that depends on your time with George on Friday, right? You certainly can’t pick up your darlin’ when you’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

  VICTOR ARRIVED AT HER APARTMENT, beaming in an expensive navy suit with a box of flowers in hand. Delphina had only heard of such a delivery from her reading and vintage films. She accepted the long, white box with the satin ribbon, opening the lid slowly as the white petals peeked out from beneath the tissue. The early return to Houston, the flowers, the suit: While these things were impressive in their own right, what captured her attention was the enthusiasm in his eyes. She had never met someone who wanted to please her as much as he did.

  He wrapped his arm around her as they made their way in the SPJST Lodge. Beckoned by the old country love songs, she broke away to the dance hall entrance as he paid for the tickets at the door. Twinkles of light bounced from the ceiling to the jewels, joining the momentum of a hundred souls two-stepping and twirling. The energy drew her into the scene like a magnet. She was part of the ether rather than a person standing in the doorway. It was her first time there, but it was a place she knew, a place that welcomed the Vizceks, Cizeks, Jilufkas and Havliks—with an affinity bound by laughter and a fair share of tears, one steeped in coffee and lime sherbet punch.

  “Let’s have a drink in the Blue Room,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek.

  It was the first time she had a Tom Collins and learned the power of gin. She spoke more of the progress she had made toward her graduate degree, the thought of being referred to as a doctor humbling and rewarding. He teased about the challenges she would face when she married and whether she would keep her maiden name personally as well as professionally. She conceded the point but maintained, “It is important not to count chickens before they hatch.” And the right man just might very well make her want to conform to the name change tradition that Southerners hold so dear.

  He talked about his love for architecture and drive to “honor the old souls that once graced buildings while making room for the new ones.” He was impressed with the renovation plans for Heights High School and was pleased that the school district took the pains necessary to preserve what they could. He held a fondness for Heights High, although he could not place the reason. He surmised it was because he loved the neighborhood, but he also appreciated that the campus was designed by renowned architect John Staub, who had also designed Rice University and multiple showcase homes in River Oaks and Shadyside.

  “A Houston treasure, right in our neighborhood,” he beamed. “And I hope my firm will make its own Houston treasures.” He admitted he was open to school design, knowing that many schools were on the list for an update, including Lamar High School and Milby High School, the latter built just a year before Heights High. He held her hand and teased that she could be his inspiration, an inspiration for a twenty-first century school.

  Delphina’s ears perked with the first “hello” coming from the dance hall, Victor noting the light in her eyes.

  “I was listening to “Hello Walls” when you called to ask me to the dance tonight.”

  “Then I
think we better hurry and hit the dance floor.”

  “Yes, I do agree!” she cheered, rising from the table and slurping the last of her drink through the straw. She giggled to herself as they scooted out of the bar, hand-in-hand, Delphina a little more at ease thanks to the gin.

  DELPHINA HELD OFF ON SLEEPING with him, so much so that he questioned whether she was truly interested in him at all. She was petrified for him to witness her anxiety that surfaced during intimacy, her struggle to lie affectionately with a man, to share the personal moments after the physical. As a testament to her growing vulnerability, she confessed her struggles to Victor one afternoon as they walked down Nineteenth Street, browsing in stores over ice cream.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Okay,” Victor replied, eyeing her cautiously as he took a lick of his butter pecan.

  They stopped in front of the window of an antique store, Delphina looking at the display of bedroom furniture and lamps as she gathered the courage to continue.

  “I’ve struggled with anxiety my entire life,” she said, continuing her gaze into the display window. “It’s been with me since I was a child. My earliest memories are rooted in fear that something will go wrong, that I will cause something to go wrong.”

  He stood next to her, placing his arm around her shoulders as she continued.

  “It paralyzes me at times, Victor. Makes me afraid to commit. I … I am so scared of losing someone I love,” she said, feeling tears coming to her eyes. “And, and … I … I …”

  “I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you,” Victor interrupted. “And I’ve spent my life as a pessimist when it comes to matters like these.”

  Delphina looked in the mirror of the art deco vanity to see their reflections, Victor’s gentle eyes and patient smile already familiar. She held his gaze in the mirror, and although he was standing right behind her, the window and mirror acted as a buffer that gave her the courage to admit, “I love you, too, Victor. I feel like I’ve known you for a long, long time.”