by Karyn Bosnak
The cab driver clears his throat. “Hey, buddy,” he says to Abogado. “You gonna get in or what?” Looking forward, I see the traffic has started to move.
“Delilah, I insist you talk to me,” Abogado says, reaching in his pocket. Pulling out a five dollar bill, he gives it to the cab driver. “Please come out of the taxi.”
“I can’t,” I say shaking my head. “I really can’t. I’m late for a . . . fishing thing.”
Abogado gives me a look, a serious look, an intense look, a look that’s just plain . . . well, sexy. His brow is furrowed and he’s got a little wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. He’s so cute. God, why did this have to happen? Looking away from him for a moment, I weigh my options. If I stay in this cab and leave, I will have blown any chance I might have with him. However, if I get out and talk to him, I might be able to save things. I turn back to him.
“I guess I have a few minutes to talk.”
After grabbing Eva and getting out of the taxi, I tell Abogado that I did sign up to take a baking class but didn’t know that he was the teacher.
“So you aren’t following me?” he asks.
“No, I swear.”
He gestures to my chest. “Then why do you wear binoculars?” Looking down, I see them dangling from my neck. Oops. I forgot to put them away. “And why do I see you look into the windows of my building?” Oops again. I knew he saw me, but I didn’t know he saw me do this.
“Well,” I say, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m scouting locations for a new Elisabeth Sterling Design store and think the Warehouse District is perfect and—”
“Michelle says you both lose your job.”
She did? Damn her! I try again.
“Well, there were some beautiful iridescent birds perched on the roof of your building and—”
“Those were pigeons.”
They were? Damn them! I rack my brain for another excuse.
“Delilah, stop lying,” Abogado says, as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “You only make this worse.” When I look into his eyes, his sexy eyes that are still half-hidden behind a pair of Clark Kent glasses, my shoulders sink. Why am I trying to lie my way out of this? I was caught in the act. Walking over to a nearby stoop, I plop down and hold my head in my hands.
“You’re right,” I confess. “I did stop by your place today to see where you lived, and I did sign up for the baking class knowing you were the teacher. I’m sorry but I just wanted to see you again and wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”
Abogado clears his throat. “Delilah, I am flattered you go to such great lengths to connect with me, but you are right. I do not want to see you and I do not want you to take my class.” A pang of sadness shoots through my heart. I look up.
“But everything happened so long ago, why can’t you just let it go? Why can’t we pretend like we just met?”
“Because we did not just meet and I cannot let it go. Delilah, you laugh at me. Do you not understand? You knew that I was embarrassed about what happen that night and you laugh at me anyway.”
“No, you’re wrong. I didn’t laugh at you; I laughed at what happened. It might’ve been embarrassing, but it was still funny. You have to admit that.” Abogado doesn’t respond. “Look at it this way,” I continue. “If you’re embarrassed, imagine how I feel right now. You caught me spying on you. At least what you did, the choking, was an accident. What I just did was planned.” I holding my right hand up to my forehead and make the L sign. “I’m a loser.”
After half-smiling for half a second, Abogado shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Delilah,” he says. “I appreciate you coming here, but I cannot stop thinking about what you do. I’d appreciate if you go home.”
“I understand,” I say quietly, accepting defeat.
After saying good-bye, Abogado walks away. When he disappears around the corner, I curse myself. I don’t always think about the things I say and do, especially when I’m joking. I don’t often think beyond the moment about how my words and actions affect people. I can’t believe what I did has stuck with him for two years. Michelle was right.
After slowly standing up, I walk Eva back to the French Quarter, back to the hotel. As we walk past a Red Cross donation box in the window of a store, I stop and put the same amount of money I was going to spend on the baking class inside. My relationship with Abogado might not be able to be revived, but I hope the great energy that once pumped through this city will.
$2,284, 28 days, 6 guys left
* * *
1 Christopher Reeve, the world’s best Superman, may you rest in peace.
Chapter eight
*Beep*
Del—it’s Michelle. Why haven’t you returned my phone calls? Also, your mom . . . she needs to be stopped. Will you please call her back? She somehow got into the building this morning and knocked on my door looking for you. I pretended not to be home. Call me. Bye.
*Beep*
It’s Daisy. I really need to talk to you. Call me.
when kitty comes a knockin’
wednesday, april 20
The next morning, as I wait in line to pay for gas while still in New Orleans, I feel sick to my stomach for a couple of reasons. For one, I’m not too eager to hit the road again because I hate, hate, hate my car. It blows. Literally. All over the road. It’s a cheap little piece of shit that feels like it’s made from an egg carton. And two, I can’t believe the guy I shared my first time with is actually doing time. This is horrible—he was the first love of my life. He’s where this all started. It’s like a sign from God, saying “You’ve been doomed from the get-go. I don’t even know why you’re trying.”
Nate wasn’t the love of my life, but he was my first love, and because of that, I’ve always held a special place for him in my heart. We went to high school together and dated on and off during our junior and senior years. I was crazy about him. He had a private school-boy look, very Dead Poets Society. He was a little bit of a hippie but in a privileged Connecticut sort of way. Like his sweaters might’ve had holes near the elbows, but they were made of cashmere. And he might’ve followed Phish around for a month, but he did so while driving a BMW. Nate was a spoiled rich kid all right, but he didn’t act like one. He was quiet, kind, and not at all arrogant.
On a beautiful spring day a couple weeks before we graduated, Nate came over after school. Since my mom and Victor were out of town, I offered him a beer and took one for myself. The two of us then sat outside on the back deck and drank them. I’ll never forget the feeling I had that day. It was spring, so it felt alive outside, and I was getting ready to graduate and leave home for the very first time, so I felt alive inside.
Nate and I looked at each other without saying much that day. I think the fact that we were going to different schools was setting in and neither of us knew what to say. I can still see him sitting there, looking slightly disheveled in his navy blue school uniform. He was so cute—a loosened red tie hung around his neck and the top few buttons of his oxford shirt were undone. A big mess of wavy brown hair sat on top of his head and his cheeks were slightly flushed.
After a while we both smiled at each other. I’m not sure what Nate was thinking when he did, but I knew that even if we lost touch, I’d always carry a part of him with me. Although I was naive, I was aware enough to know just how young and impressionable I was, aware enough to understand the influence Nate had on who I was and who I’d become. He instilled a free-spirited attitude in me, taught me to live life to the fullest, live life in the moment. And I’ve done that. Maybe a little too much in some respects, but still.
Later that afternoon a couple more friends came over. By that evening we were all buzzed, feeling melancholy, and dancing to Cat Stevens. When the song “Wild World” came on, Nate wrapped his arms around me and sang in my ear. “Oh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world. I’ll always remember you . . .” He then started kissing my shoulders, my neck, and then my lips.
The alcohol made the sex easier. It still h
urt, but I was more relaxed, that’s for sure. I remember it being awkward. I remember thinking Nate’s penis was too big, that it wasn’t going to work. But after trying for a while I was surprised when it did. Even though it didn’t feel that good I still liked it. Despite the discomfort, I loved the closeness of it. I loved feeling all of Nate’s weight on top of me. It was all so strange and new, and he looked into my eyes the entire time, telling me it would be okay. I loved that.
We spent every day together that summer. When we left for college, we decided not to break up but take things as they came, to just see what would happen. We talked a few times the first week we got there but then not so much. A couple of months later I knew Nate had plans to come home for the weekend to go to a Santana concert, so I grabbed two friends, hopped on a train, and went as well. I wanted to surprise him, and well . . . I did. When I found him and some of our other high school friends, I saw him standing with a girl. I didn’t know who she was. All I knew is that she was hanging all over him and he wasn’t pushing her away. When I said hello to everyone, Nate nodded and then ignored me. At the time I felt like I didn’t have a right to be angry because we said we’d take things as they come, but thinking back now, I had every right to be—I mean, we never officially broke up.
Daniel the priest was Nate’s best friend back then and was at the concert that evening. Seeing that I was upset, he asked if I wanted to talk and I said yes. I remember thinking— hoping—that Nate would see me leave with Daniel, get jealous, realize he loved me, and come after me. He didn’t.
Daniel and I started kissing in the parking lot, and the next thing you know, were in the back of his mom’s wood-paneled Wagoneer having sex. At the time I remember thinking Daniel’s eyes were closed because he was thinking about Nate, feeling bad that he was having sex with his best friend’s former girlfriend. Having learned how he ended up, however, I now know that wasn’t the case; I now know he was thinking about Jesus.
Nate found out about Daniel and called me a couple of times the following month to yell at me for it, which in a way made me happy—happy because he cared. (In a way it’s kind of screwed up to feel that way; but at the same time, it’s kind of normal.) That winter, Nate’s parents moved from Connecticut to Colorado so he stopped coming home for holiday breaks. I never saw him or talked to him again.
After paying for gas, string-cheese for Eva (she goes bananas for it), and a set of cab-driver beads for my back, I get back in my car and reread the attachment in Colin’s e-mail with the details of what happened. Apparently Nate was arrested during some sort of environmental sit-in, along with a bunch of other people. Studying his file, I notice that there are two addresses listed for him. One is in Telluride and the other, oddly enough, is on Franklin Street in Manhattan. I think I would’ve heard if he moved back to the East Coast, especially New York, but maybe not—I don’t talk to that many people from high school anymore. Feeling bad about the way things ended with Abogado in New Orleans, feeling desperate, I pick up my cell phone and call the only phone number listed, which is a Colorado one. Not surprisingly, it goes right to voicemail. I decide to leave a message.
“Hey, Nate,” I say quietly. “I’m sure this is kind of a weird phone call to get, but it’s Delilah Darling. We haven’t talked in ages and I was just thinking about you. I ran into Daniel not too long ago—”
Shit! Why did I mention Daniel? Way to bring up bad memories.
“Um . . . anyway,” I continue. “I was just remembering how much fun we had back in the day and . . . I don’t know . . . I kind of miss you sometimes.”
Okay, that was even more stupid—it’s been eleven years!
“I mean I think of you sometimes,” I say, trying to cover. “Anyway, give me a call sometime.” After leaving my cell and home phone numbers, I hang up and hold my head in my hands.
Shit.
I should’ve rehearsed that.
Suddenly my cell phone rings, startling me. Knowing Nate wouldn’t be calling me back this quickly (he’s still locked up), I look at the caller ID. It’s Colin.
“So how are things going with the chef?” he asks when I answer.
Going? I laugh at the thought—they went.
“None of your business,” I say. I’m still angry at him for tricking me yesterday.
“Fine, fine,” he says, sighing loudly. “You know, I don’t know why you’re so secretive. I mean, Kitty’s so open.”
“Kitty?” I’m confused. “You mean Kitty, like my mom?”
“Yes, Kitty like your mom indeed.”
Oh no. A pit forms in my stomach.
“Uh . . . how do you know my mom’s name?”
“Well, she introduced herself to me this morning after she woke me up, knocking on my door at eight o’clock.”
I suddenly remember Michelle’s message from this morning. Shit! I should’ve done what she said; I should’ve called my mom back.
“Why was my mom knocking on your door?” I ask, even though I really don’t want to know.
“She knocked on everyone’s door in the building. I was just the lucky one who answered. She was looking for you. She’s worried. She said she left numerous messages for you at home but you didn’t call her back so she tried you at work and heard that you got sacked. When I asked if she tried calling your mobile, she told me you didn’t have one. Delilah . . . how could you not give your mother your mobile number?”
“You met her,” I say defensively. “Would you, if you were me?”
“As a matter of fact, I did give her mine, after we finished our tea.”
“Oh, you’ll regret it, mark my—wait—You had tea with my mother?”
“Yes, I did. She’s got her knickers all up in a twist and needed someone to talk to.”
“Her knickers all up in a twist?” What in the hell? “About what?”
“Well, Daisy’s moved up her wedding.” Colin says this like he knows her. “Instead of it happening in two years, it’s gonna happen in two months, in the middle of June at the Waldorf=Astoria. They had a cancellation, and Edward, with all the connections he has being a big Wall Streeter and all, was able to snag the date.” He says this like he knows him too. “So anyway, Kitty was fine with everything until—” Colin stops talking.
“Until?”
“Until she found out that Edward’s Jewish.”
“Edward’s Jewish?”
“Yep.”
Jewish? How could I not have known this? How could Daisy not have mentioned this to me? To anyone? “Wait—He’s black and Jewish?”
“It’s been known to happen. You ever hear of Lenny Kravitz?”
“Yes, I know, it’s just not very common.”
“Yes, I s’pose you’re right.”
Wow, Edward’s Jewish. Okay, I’ve processed it.
“I can understand my mom being caught off-guard,” I tell Colin. “But why is she upset?” She may be slightly crazy, but she’s hardly anti-Semitic.
“Well, because Daisy and Edward aren’t having the ceremony in a Catholic church, and she’s heartbroken about it.”
“She’s heartbroken about it? Oh please!” My mother is so dramatic. “Colin, don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s a devout Catholic. When I was younger, she used to take Daisy and me to mass at the local hospital because the service in the chapel there was only twenty minutes long.” She did, I swear.
“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Colin says, defending her. “She’s a busy woman.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So is she okay now?”
“Yeah, I think so. She seemed to calm down once the whiskey started working.”
“Whiskey? Colin! You gave my mom whiskey at eight o’clock in the morning?”
“Hey, don’t jump down my throat! I didn’t give it to her. She pulled a flask out of her purse and poured it in her tea herself.”
“No way,” I say incredulously.
“Seriously, she did. It was a small silver monogrammed one.”
“M
onogrammed?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my . . .” I can’t believe my mother carries around a monogrammed flask. Oddly, I find myself having a little more respect for her.
“You should call her,” Colin says. “But give her until at least three. She’s got yoga today.”
“Yoga . . . right . . .”
After a long pause, Colin speaks somewhat reluctantly. “You know, Delilah, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but your mom asked me when the last time I saw you was because she was concerned. I told her it was last night because I didn’t want her to worry. When I said that, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she threw her arms around my neck and hugged the living daylights out of me. I think she thought I meant that we spent the night together.”
“You’re joking . . . right?”
“’Fraid not.”
Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed.
“After that,” Colin continues, “she started going on and on about how worried she’s been about you, with Daisy getting married first and all.”
Okay, now I’m more embarrassed. What is my mom thinking? To talk about me with her friends is one thing. To do it with some guy she thinks I’m dating is another.
“Colin, my mom can act kind of crazy sometimes,” I say, trying to explain, “and I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it.”
“Ah, don’t worry,” he says quietly. “Delilah, I know it’s none of my business, but you’re not tracking down old boyfriends because your sister’s getting married, are ya?”
I roll my eyes. I hate this—I hate having to defend myself.
“No, I’m sure it looks that way, but I’m not.”
“Then I don’t understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. I mean, are ya trying to get back together with these guys you’re having me find? Is that it?”
I hate this. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.
“Colin, it’s complicated and I don’t feel like explaining. Please don’t listen to my mom though. If any part of my life contradicts what she considers to be normal then she assumes I’m unhappy. It’s like she’s disappointed in me for not following the masses, for not walking down the same traditional path that her friends’ daughters have walked down. Do you understand?”