by Cindy Bokma
Biting my nails and listening to the rain, I wished I had a friend to confide in. My neighbors were nice enough to grab a coffee with or go to a yoga class but they had no idea what Leo was really like. Claire and I had a superficial relationship, besides I didn’t trust her. I longed for a best friend that I could talk to, someone I could call up and run this idea by. I had no one. Maybe that’s what Leo wanted, to keep me alone. He constantly told me how no one would ever understand me like he did, how no other person would put up with me. It got to the point where I started to partially believe I was a person not worth knowing.
“Delia,” he said with that exasperated tone he used often, “You are an unusual person, not everyone’s cup of tea. You can be a little”—he pressed his lips together and smirked—“weird. People in this town will never accept you. Sure they will be nice to your face but you’ll never fit in.” I believed him.
Now I wanted answers. I needed them. Typically, I wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind and be impulsive but something propelled me forward. At the very moment I was pondering how this plan would work, I received a text from Leo. My ears started burning with shame, as if he saw me trying to escape.
Terrible cell service here. Spotty wifi. May not call for while, the text read.
How lucky was I?
The breath I held finally escaped in a long exhale and I collapsed in relief. The idea that he wanted to trick me and would come home unexpectedly floated into my brain but just as fast as the thought entered, I pushed it away.
Go to New Orleans, a voice inside me said. Maybe I was past the point of loneliness, maybe it was the rain or the darkness of outside but something made me move quickly. I grabbed a leather suitcase from the hall closet, tossed some clothes inside, then called a cab to take me to LAX. I was heading to The Big Easy in search of some answers.
The airplane touched down at Louis Armstrong International Airport and I trembled with nerves as I walked off the plane. I half expected Leo to be there, waiting for me with his arms crossed over his chest, smoking a cigar, his eyes dark and face pinched. I fully expected him ready to pounce, “You didn’t tell me you were coming here. You liar!” he would roar. His commanding presence was always impacted further by his deep, rich voice and his tall stature.
An argument one week before he left for Canada was something that still upset me. Thinking about it now made my stomach lurch and my throat twisted into a knot making it nearly impossible to swallow.
We went to see a movie in the evening and the smell of popcorn clung to my jacket. Walking to the car, I said, “That was a good movie. What did you think?”
He rolled his eyes at me, set his jaw firmly, and said in a forceful tone, “That was not a good movie. I’m an expert in film and I know when a movie is good, that wasn’t.”
“I guess the plot was weak.” I agreed with a shrug. I had no vested interest in the movie and didn’t care one way or the other about it.
He stopped, turned, and stared down at me. “Which is it? Was it good, or was the plot weak? Do you know what you’re talking about? Are you qualified to judge a film?” His tone was sarcastic.
I opened my mouth to answer then quickly shut it. Tears dangled on my eyelashes as I tried to blink them away. Why did he act like this? One minute he was in a good mood and the next, I said something that set him off.
“It was o . . . okay,” I stammered. “The plot was not developed, that’s all.” My voice came out like a whisper. The exchange of words was sickeningly familiar. Dare to disagree with Leo and there was hell to pay even over the most trivial of topics. I tried to backpedal, “I meant—”
He cut me off, giving me a hostile glare as he hit the button to open the car. It beeped twice, the sound piercing the air. “Come on. When it comes to film you’re completely ignorant. You can’t tell me one minute it was good and the next it had a weak plot. You’re confused, misguided, and don’t know what you’re speaking of. Admit it, you don’t have a clue.” He gave a short and cruel laugh as I fidgeted with the thick leather strap of my purse. “Weak plot? Seriously, Delia.” I opened the car door and wished he would stop talking.
“All right, I don’t really know about movies.” A shudder of humiliation moved through my body as I was forced to admit I was unintelligent. I slid into the leather seat and slammed the door.
He threw his hands up in the air. “I told you. This whole thing could have been avoided if you didn’t disagree with me in the first place.” Shaking his head from side to side, he started the car and drove home in silence. We didn’t speak until two days later. I wracked my brain thinking of our previous conversations, was he angry over something else? Why would my opinion on a movie warrant the silent treatment?
If I knew how to communicate my thoughts better, we would not have these blow ups. I was truthful, trying to tell Leo what went on in my brain, but often he chuckled and called me “weak.” Wanting to improve our relationship, I ignored the put-downs and the irate attacks. Dr. Hiller told me it wasn’t my shortcomings that made Leo behave in the manner he did, but it had to be my fault. If I could change how I reacted, Leo wouldn’t get mad at me and the times we were together would be more bearable. Until I decided if I was going to leave, which Dr. Hiller encouraged me to consider.
“This is only my account of what happened,” I would tell Dr. Hiller. “I’m sure I’m wrong most of the time. You haven’t spoken to him. He would tell you a whole other side to the story. I know it’s me and if I can change, then he’ll stop.”
Now, as I navigated my way through the airport, his hot breath on my cheek was almost tangible as I recalled his parting words to me, “Remember, only I love you. No one will love you like I do. Not one other person in this world would put up with you.”
I took a cab to the restaurant. Driving through the city, I was fascinated by the architecture and the cab driver was eager to point out the Creole cottages, townhouses, raised center hall villas, and double gallery houses. I liked the brightly painted two story homes with iron railings, black shutters with tall narrow windows, and long front doors. I saw curly iron fences in front of homes with huge porches and broad wide steps. I smiled to myself as I read signs for Gumbo, Shrimp Remoulade and Jambalaya.
The driver left me in front of the restaurant Aurora worked at, Pazzo’s Steakhouse. I entered the small dark lobby, and paused at the host stand. A short man with a handlebar mustache and a purple vest approached me. “Yes?” he asked, looking up at me, fingering the gold buttons on the vest. “Do you have a reservation?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for Aurora. Is she here?”
“No, today is her day off.”
“I’ve traveled pretty far, is there any way I can get in touch with her?” I indicated carry-on bag at my feet.
That was stupid. You should have called first. Poor planning. Leo’s voice echoed in my head and I tossed my head subtly from side to side. I pushed thoughts of him away. The scent of spices in the air made my stomach rumble.
“You are a . . . friend?” the mustache man asked, holding up his stubby sausage fingers.
I nodded. Yes. A friend.
“A college friend. Culinary school, actually. I don't have her current number. I came a long way to see her.”
He looked around and then pulled out a slip of paper from the host stand, wrote something down, and handed it to me quickly and covertly. “There you are,” he said curtly.
I went outside around the corner of the restaurant to phone Aurora. Standing against the red brick of the building, I shivered though I was warm. The piece of paper in my hand trembled from my shaking fingers. I licked my lips as I looked around, was anyone watching me? I always sensed I was being observed. That was ridiculous; Leo was three thousand miles away from here.
People of all sizes and shapes strolled up and down the cobblestone street. Someone waved a sign for a Hurricane drink. On the corner, a wiry black man played the saxophone while passersby threw coins and dollar bills i
n his hat resting upside down on the sidewalk. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to relax and enjoy the surroundings.
I unfolded the paper and read the scribbled telephone number. With quivering fingers, I punched in the numbers and held my breath. Part of me hoped she didn’t pick up. After three rings, I almost hung up when someone answered.
“Hello?” A female voice.
“Aurora?”
“Yes? Who is this?”
I bit my nail, chewing on a jagged edge. “You don’t know me, but . . . I’m married to Leo Kubias, my name is Delia.” A long silence stretched forever. “Aurora?”
Finally, she spoke. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you. I don’t know why you’re calling my house. How did you get this number?” Her tone was chilly and her words were clipped.
“I was hoping I could come over and talk to you. I have some questions that I think you might have answers to.”
Stupid. You are a stupid girl.
A breeze blew and I caught a whiff of familiar putrid cigar smoke. I panicked for a moment, Leo! But no, he wouldn’t be in New Orleans. He was somewhere near Vancouver, I reminded myself.
“Please, it’s important. I’m . . .” What was I? “I’m scared.” I smoothed down my hair with a nervous hand. I looked around me, was I being watched? People moved in slow motion, no one looked in my direction. Clearing my throat when I spoke again, my voice trembled. “I think you can help. It’s Leo, I don’t know what to do.”
Reluctantly, and only after I begged, Aurora told me she could spare twenty minutes and gave me the name of a coffee shop where we could meet. I flagged down another cab. My heart beat so fast that I thought I was going to pass out in the backseat. Looking out the window, my brain didn’t register what my eyes saw, everything blurred together as I went through possible scenarios with Aurora. What was she going to tell me? What if things were much worse than I anticipated?
I threw a handful of bills at the driver as he pulled up in front of a gray painted brick building with ornate double doors topped with fancy scrollwork
Opening the door, I glanced around looking for the person attached to the voice on the phone. She didn’t sound friendly; I hoped in person she’d be kinder. I was edgy and hot. The stifling heat in New Orleans was unbearable and I ordered a cold brew then sat at a small table facing the door. My cotton tee shirt stuck to my back. Sweat gathered on my chest and dribbled down to my belly button where it pooled, reminding me of Florida. I wondered about Priscilla and Taffy. Their faces flashed in my mind.
I glanced down at my phone and when I looked up, a woman stood over me.
“Aurora?”
I was surprised at how pretty she was; though with Leo’s taste for all things beautiful, this shouldn’t have been a shock.
“Is he here?” Fear clouded her eyes and she gingerly looked left and right, straining to see out of the large front windows.
“No, I’m alone.”
“You are?” She lifted her eyebrows and looked past me.
I nodded. “Promise.”
“Okay.” She lowered herself onto the seat opposite me, her eyes never leaving my face.
I coughed, mostly from the constricted feeling in my throat. I didn’t think it was possible to be more nervous than I was before I left the house or on the drive to meet her. Now, red welts broke out on my chest: hives. I used to get them when I gave an oral report in school. I gripped my coffee and took a sip, hoping I didn’t choke.
Aurora had a square face with high cheekbones and a small nose. Her large green eyes sat far apart, framed by thin eyebrows. Her short brownish red hair was styled in a shag cut. The jeans she wore looked expensive and her shirt was red with beading around the collar and cuffs. I sized her up in seconds, trying to imagine her with Leo.
“I need to ask you some questions about—”
“I know. You told me on the phone. I don’t know how I can help you.” Her voice was low, words short. She kept glancing toward the front door and I followed her gaze, half expecting Leo to walk through, his face a mask of anger.
I took a breath attempting to steady my erratic heart beat. When I spoke, there was a quiver in my voice. “I married Leo almost three years ago. And he has gotten increasingly . . . angry.” I delved right into the purpose of my visit, giving her little information on how we met and our history together. When I was done with my monologue, she took a deep breath and shifted her eyes toward the door again. I kept licking my lips, heart pounding in my chest. I followed her gaze but no one was there. Aside from a young couple drinking their coffees and looking at a map, we were alone.
Aurora rubbed the back of her neck as if she were in pain. She narrowed her eyes at me. “I can appreciate your situation, but you shouldn’t be here with me or in New Orleans.”
“I had to come. I need to know things that I think only you can answer.”
“I can’t help you.” She stared at her hands and began to turn a silver ring around on her finger.
“Please, I need to know where Leo’s parents are. I need to know if he treated you the same way he treats me. I think it’s me. But maybe it’s not. It didn’t start out like this.”
“You flew all the way out from Los Angeles to ask me a couple of questions? You should have called me. You could have sent me a message.”
Stupid girl. Mentally I swatted his voice away like a pesky fly.
“Surely, you can tell me about your marriage to Leo,” I pleaded, palms turned upwards. “I need to know, is this a pattern? Did you ever find yourself . . . afraid of him?” My voice dropped to a whisper.
“All right.”
She continued to spin the ring around her finger. “We met in college. Leo was very driven, very ambitious. He was successful right away and I was thrilled. What woman wouldn’t want to be married to a movie director? Yes, he was controlling, I knew that going into the relationship. He was a type-A personality, which I thought would benefit him in his work. When I got closer to him, I started thinking he was playing mind games with me. He was always on edge, but I figured it was stress from work.” She took a long swallow of water and my mouth instantly became drier. I licked my lips and stared at her glass.
Our eyes locked and I nodded, encouraging her to keep talking. I thought of Dr. Hiller, how she often stared at me and I was compelled to fill the silence.
“But no one is perfect and I loved him. We got married. He had strong opinions. I was forced to sit back and let him choose everything. I was foolish and young and thought I was in love and made excuses for him. Anyway . . .” She paused and looked down at the floor for what seemed like ten minutes.
“An old friend of his came to the wedding. He pulled me aside and warned me about Leo. He had anger problems ever since his father left the family when he was a little boy. His mom remarried and had two more children, but Leo never forgave his mother or his father. It wasn’t until we were married that Leo found out his father had been in jail all those years and his mother divorced him when he was in prison. He went ballistic. And when he was a teenager, there was a . . .” She shook her head and brought her hands to her face.
My heart began to thump. My stomach lurched. I hoped this coffee didn’t come up. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What is it? What happened?”
“Oh, I don’t want to tell you this. He would kill me if he knew that I told you. I mean, literally kill me.” She pressed her lips together until they turned white and shook her head again.
“What?”
“I learned that he . . .”
“What is it?” I grabbed the edge of the table until my fingers turned white.
“Please don’t repeat this. His stepbrother died under mysterious circumstances.” She paused. “Leo’s involvement was questioned but . . .” Her voice trailed off and she covered her mouth with a hand.
I understood her implication but didn’t believe it. “You’re not saying Leo . . . ?” I let the question hang in the air.
“I’m not sayi
ng Leo did anything,” she said sharply. The couple with the map turned and looked at us. She lowered her voice. “His brother’s body was found, burned, under a tree not far from their home. It was brought to trial, but there wasn’t enough evidence to put Leo in jail. He was the only suspect.”
My mind swirled like a tornado. This was too much. Leo wasn’t who he said he was, this wasn’t the story Leo told me.
“His mother cut off all contact with him. His father passed away while in jail. Leo never saw his family again. He reinvented himself in Hollywood—new name, new everything. I only know this because Leo’s friend tried to warn me. This was the only guy Leo had kept in touch with all those years. Naturally, I researched the stories about the death of this young boy. It was Leo’s picture in all the papers. Different name, but definitely Leo.”
“Oh my God.” I couldn’t find the energy to gather my thoughts.
“I kept it quiet for a long time. But I finally questioned him. He threatened me and then things got—” she paused and ran her teeth over her lip. “Anyway, of course, he didn’t want anyone to know the truth.” She got a faraway look in her moss-colored eyes.
“I can’t believe it,” I murmured. Was I living with a murderer? I stared at the ceiling. What was I going to do?
As if reading my mind, Aurora spoke. “I couldn’t continue to live with him knowing about his past. He assured me. . .” She chuckled. “Assured me? Warned me is more like it, that I would be very unhappy if I told anyone. Not soon after, the man who initially told me was . . . well, he went missing. I think Leo paid him off to disappear.”
