by Annie Jocoby
“Dalilah,” he said, his grin half-cocked. “I’m delighted to see you.” And then he suddenly blushed bright scarlet, and he shook his head and looked down at the floor.
I smiled back at him. “Luke, what is it? You’re turning bright red.”
“Oh, just embarrassed. Dalilah, delighted. Sounds like I’m trying too hard to be a stupid poet. A really lousy one at that.”
Something about his reaction just then made me laugh. He seemed so silly for getting embarrassed about something like that, but, at the same time, it was…adorable.
“Are you a poet, Luke?” I asked him.
“Nah,” he said. “A songwriter, maybe, but that really is a distant second to my art. Anyhow, I’m exactly not the second coming of McCartney/Lennon in that department.”
“Who is?”
“True that.”
I looked around a little bit, and suddenly, for some odd reason, felt a little bit self-conscious. It was almost as if I felt like I was stripping down prematurely for him. It was a weird feeling, because I had no problem doing just that the previous day.
“Well,” I finally said. “I guess I better get down to it, huh?”
He nodded, and I noticed that he now had a camera in his hand. He looked down at it, like he was adjusting the lens, and I could see that he was still blushing profusely.
I went behind the divider that he had erected for me. It did seem like a silly thing, taking off my clothes behind the divider. I mean, I was getting naked for him. Who really cared if I took off my clothes behind a divider, or if I took them off right there in full view?
Still, it was a somehow a nod to old-fashioned values, in a weird way. Ladies aren’t supposed to disrobe before gentlemen, until they get to know said gentleman. So, in that way, it seemed entirely appropriate to be taking off my clothes behind the divider. After all, at heart, I was a lady.
I came back out and looked at Luke. He was sitting on his stool, his long legs dangling over the side. One of his legs was swinging back and forth nervously. But, when he saw me emerge, his big smile, dimples and all, reappeared.
I wondered if I would deliberately show him my back. I had been still feeling the pain from where I beaten by Nottingham’s belt. I wondered if I had welts, or at least red marks.
Truth be told, that would be what I would be interested in, if I were in Luke’s shoes right now. The symbols of pain. The marks on a person’s back would be what I would be drawn to highlight, if I were to do a portrait of somebody. Because everybody carried around a great deal of pain, I was finding. Sometimes that pain was right there on the skin, ready to be portrayed on an easel. Sometimes it was more hidden and masked. But I could somehow bring that out, even when the person was attempting to hide it. I could draw it out in the person’s eyes, or their body language, or their demeanor. Even if the person was smiling when I painted them, there would always be something there. Something that might not be detected by the naked eye, but would be an instant connection to somebody who was experiencing sadness or hurt.
Portraits were really a small part of what I did, but I was good at them. My subjects were always quite amazed at how well I could capture their essence. Perhaps they really didn’t know why I could portray them so realistically. If they didn’t recognize their own damage to their psyche, which was so clearly brought into the light, then they probably couldn’t quite put a finger on why it was the visage that was on the canvas spoke to them so vividly. They only knew that it did somehow.
My ability to recognize pain in others, and portray it well, was really my secret weapon. It was also the reason why I was so in demand for awhile. Well, that, coupled with the sheer novelty of seeing a small child paint them with accuracy, precision and a certain degree of abandon.
My intuition had always served me well in that regard.
I took a deep breath, wondering if I should reveal that part of myself to Luke so soon. That damaged part that was now shown so clearly on my skin.
But then I thought better of it. There was no need to let this kind, talented and extraordinarily handsome man know the depths of my freakitude on the second day of knowing him.
So, I just laid down on the fainting couch, being very careful to only show my front side to him.
He smiled and sat down at his easel. “Are you comfortable enough?” he asked me.
“Very,” I said.
So, for the next hour or so, Luke sat behind his easel. He studied me for about twenty minutes or so, his hand on his chin. And then he would start his hand working furiously for another twenty minutes or so, then it would start all over again. I knew why he was working with so much more abandon the first time, and why, this time, it all seemed so painstaking. I appreciated that he was pondering the details, and how to portray them properly. When it came down to the minutiae, it was always difficult and took a lot of thinking.
Finally, he stretched a little bit. “I need a break,” he said. “And you probably do, too. Why don’t you put your clothes on for a little bit, if you don’t mind, and we can have some lunch or something? I mean, if you don’t have pressing plans.”
“Actually, that sounds lovely,” I said, trying to tamp down my rising sense of excitement over seeing Luke somewhat socially. To my own dismay, I felt the blood rushing to my own cheeks. Luke looked at me a little bit quizzically, as if he was wondering why it was that I would feel the need to blush.
I was wondering that one myself.
I stood up, and Luke turned around modestly. As if he were saying that he wanted to give me my privacy as I made my way behind the divider. That relieved me, because I was realizing, more and more, that I had no desire for Luke to see my backside. There was something about what had happened last night, between Nottingham and me, which had made me feel ashamed. Almost dirty. And it wasn’t even that I participated in off-color sex games. It was that I was having sex at all with somebody that I hardly knew.
And that feeling, that sleeping with a stranger was somehow wrong, was alien to me. I had never before seen it in that light. I didn’t know why it never had occurred to me that sex should be something that is between two people who actually have feelings for one another. It just never did.
Until right at that moment, that is.
I threw on my clothes and boots, and walked back in front of the divider. “I’m ready,” I said. “Where would you like to go?”
“Uh, there’s a little diner that’s down the street a little bit. It’s actually within walking distance. I know, this area doesn’t seem like there is any kind of real civilization around, but the workers have to eat somewhere. And it’s pretty damned good food too. If you don’t mind a greasy spoon.”
“I love greasy spoons,” I told him. Which was true. Growing up with wealthy parents didn’t mean that I wasn’t exposed to the more mundane things in life, such as greasy spoons. That was because my parents were surprisingly down to earth, considering how much money they had. Especially my mother. She always struck me as the working-class-girl-made-good that she actually was. Nothing in the intervening years, between her meeting my father and today, had changed that about her. Something about taking a girl out of a working class neighborhood, but never taking the working class neighborhood out of the girl.
I was startled as I realized that I actually had an endearing thought about my mother, which was a rarity, in and of itself. I suddenly could see that I was always too hard on her, because I always was thinking that she couldn’t understand or relate to me. Perhaps I could accept her more, and her limitations, and try to find common ground.
As I walked along with Luke, through the sidewalks that were littered with beer bottles and various other sundry items, I marveled about how my attitudes towards people in my life, and life in general, was starting to shift. The shift was still imperceptible, and threatening to recede, much like my newfound joie de vivre from the previous night had receded as soon as my little games with Nottingham were through. But, at the same time, the shift was th
ere. Perhaps if I nurtured it a little it could come into full bloom.
After a few blocks of walking, we came upon a small restaurant that looked like it was housed in a converted trailer. On the roof was a neon sign that blared the words “Joey’s Diner.” We walked into the rather small place, where there was a cook behind the counter with a white hat on. The guy looked like a typical diner owner from the movies and television – around 50 years old, slightly pudgy, short and craggy. He was joking around with two or three people who sat around the counter, eating typical greasy spoon type food – eggs and hash, some kind of meat smothered in gravy with a side of mashed potatoes, and hamburgers.
The guy lit up when he saw us coming through the door. “Luke, my boy! How you been?” The guy had a thick “New Yawk” type accent and a very jolly demeanor.
Luke put his arm around my shoulder, which gave me a strange sensation of shivers coursing throughout my body. I looked at Luke, wondering where those shivers and little butterflies, which were forming in my stomach, were coming from. “Just great, Joey. Hey, Joey, this is Dalilah Gallagher. Dalilah, this is Joey Facinelli.”
I put out my hand for Joey to shake, but he came around and gave Luke and me a big bear hug instead. “Any friend of Luke is a friend of mine,” he said with a hearty laugh. Then he turned to Luke. “What’s a guy look you doing with a classy girl like this?”
“Just lucky I guess,” Luke said, not bothering to correct Joey’s apparent perception that I was Luke’s date.
Not that I minded being thought of as Luke’s date. I didn’t mind at all.
Luke and I sat at the counter, and Joey got back behind it and said “okay, then, what can I do you for? The usual?”
Luke nodded. “Yep, the usual. Hamburger with everything and large fries. And Dalilah would like…” At that, he turned and looked at me. “So sorry, Dalilah, I didn’t think to find out what you like to eat.”
I nodded at Joey. “A hamburger and fries sounds good to me too.” I then looked over to Luke, who was staring back at me in appreciation. “What?” I said to Luke teasingly. “I would have ordered the caviar, but I just had that for breakfast.” Then I smiled, as I took a sip of the water that was just brought out.
He smiled back, his dimples making me feel a little bit weak in the knees. “Ah, too bad. Joey’s caviar is the best in town. The lobster, too.”
At that, I surreptitiously looked at the menu, just to check and make sure that there actually wasn’t lobster or caviar on the menu. I knew that Luke was joking, but I always liked to check anyhow. Then I looked up, and Luke was staring at me, his eyes dancing. He grinned crookedly, and said “aw, come on, you didn’t really believe that a greasy joint like this would have lobster and caviar, did ya?”
I laughed, feeling a bit foolish for falling for the joke for even a second. “Of course not,” I said. “Silly.”
Then he nudged my leg with his under the counter. It was a flirtatious move, and I felt the shivers course through my body again. What the hell was wrong with me?
“So, Luke,” Joey was saying. “How’d you come out with the ponies yesterday?”
Luke looked embarrassed and ran his hand through his hair. I smiled at his seeming uncomfortable about betting on a horse race, although I longed to let him know that I was perfectly okay with that. I had played my share of blackjack myself, and had actually gotten pretty good at it. Of course, it was partially due to my ability to count cards, no matter how many decks they had in the shoe, so my conscience eventually got the better of me and I started playing without doing that. Once I started losing, I decided that it wasn’t the game for me after all.
“Not bad at all,” he said. “I actually won fifty bucks.”
“Ah, then, I guess you’re buying, huh?” Joey said with a hearty laugh.
“Yeah, something like that.” He still looked embarrassed, and he sipped his water, not meeting my eyes. So, I put my arm around his shoulders and smiled at him. He brought his eyes up to meet mine, his crooked grin with the cute dimples back.
Joey addressed me. “So, I guess I didn’t ask you this, but what would you like to drink besides water?”
“Um, some iced tea would be great,” I said.
Joey looked at Luke. “I’m guessing you want the usual, huh?”
“Yeah. A suicide.”
“Coming right up.”
I looked at my straw and said “you know, I’ve always wondered why they call mixing up a bunch of drinks a suicide. I mean, really, it’s not that deadly, is it?”
“Well, of course it is,” Luke said. “All pop is deadly, really. It rots your belly. But I know what you mean. I’ve been drinking suicides ever since I was a kid and they started having those self-serve pop machines in every fast food joint.”
“Me too,” I said. “I got that from my mom, I guess. She always liked doing that.”
Luke smiled “your mom. Does she live around here? I have noticed that you don’t have an East Coast accent at all.” Luke’s own accent didn’t exactly seem New York, but someplace East Coast. Maine, maybe. I remembered going to some of the seafood towns around the Maine coasts, when I traveled with Nick and Scotty and their kids. The fishermen who worked around those places sounded just like Luke.
I shook my head. “Kansas City. She was raised there, anyhow. So was I until I was 17.”
Luke narrowed his eyes at me. “17, huh? And that was how many years ago that you came here?”
I laughed. “If you want to know my age, I’ll just tell you. I’m20. I just had a birthday in August, so I just turned 20 a couple of months ago.”
“20. So, how do you get into bars?”
“How do you know I go to bars?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just figured that you do.”
“Well,” I said. “I have a fake ID.” At that, I brought it out for him to see.
He nodded his head, evidently impressed. “Very authentic, Deanna Cerino,” he said, reading the name on the ID. “But you don’t much look Italian.” And then he smiled and handed the ID back to me.
“What?” I said. “You seem surprised that I would have a fake ID.”
“Nah, not surprised,” he said. “I mean, who doesn’t when they’re under 21? Except me, of course. I’m one of the dorks who doesn’t know somebody who can help me get one.”
I was wondering how old Luke was, and he just answered my question. Sort of.
“And you are?” I asked.
“I’m also 20. But I turn 21 in December, so I know what I will be doing.”
“So, how do you bet on the horse races if you’re not 21?”
“Oh, that’s easy. My uncle lives in upstate New York, and I just give the money to him. He’s really the only family member that I trust not to cheat me, though. As sad as that is.”
Just then, Joey brought our food out to us. I dug into my burger, which was actually delicious. Perhaps the best I had ever had. It was crispy on the edges, and juicy in the middle. It just had the basics on it – ketchup, mustard and pickles. The fries were just as good – crispy and brown, with just the right amount of salt on them.
“So, what do you think?” Luke asked me, as he took bites out of his own burger.
“Delicious,” I said. “These little restaurants always do have the best food.”
“Nah, this isn’t a restaurant,” Luke said. “It’s a joint. You can call it that. Joey won’t get upset, right Joey?”
“This ain’t no joint,” he said, indignantly. “It’s a fine dining establishment. Too bad you didn’t come in when my maître d’ was here. He gets here at 5.”
Luke smiled at Joey and winked. “Hey, at least I didn’t call this place what it is. The ‘d’ word.”
“The ‘d’ word?” I asked. “You mean dive?”
“Shhhh, never say that word out loud around Joey. He turns green and bursts out of his clothes when people call this place that word.”
To which Joey said “yeah, this place is a dive. What o
f it?”
I smiled and said “well, dive or no dive, this is the best goddamned hamburger I have ever had.”
Both Luke and Joey momentarily looked at me with a bit of shock, and then both of them started laughing.
“Hey, the next thing you know,” Joey was saying to Luke. “This little girl is going to be finishing the Joey special.”
“The Joey special?” I asked, and then looked at where Joey was pointing. The sign detailed what the ‘Joey Special’ was. It was apparently four lbs of beef, with all the trimmings on it – lettuce, pickle, tomato and special sauce. It was served with three pounds of French fries, and the sign said that anybody who could finish it all in under a half hour not only got it for free, but also got their picture on the wall.
Thus far, there were only three pictures on the wall. All of the pictures showed men who looked rather green and about to puke. “Hmmm, I’m guessing not too many people are successful in completing that challenge, from the looks of things.”
“You might say that,” Luke said. “I tried one time, and got halfway through that gut-bomb of a burger and cried uncle. Loudly. But, I’m never one to back away from a challenge, so I’m going to try, try again.”
“Yeah,” Joey said. “Great ambition in this kid, there. Finish my special and get his name on the wall.”
Luke just smiled and Joey punched him lightly on the arm. “I’m just giving you crap. You know I love you. The proof is there on that other wall.”
I looked around at where Joey’s eyes were, and there on the wall was an exquisite impressionistic painting of a nearly abandoned city street. The use of color, light and brush strokes, combined with the technique, made me gasp. The trees were multi-colored, but mainly burnt orange, and the street shimmered with a multi-colored hue that made the entire painting seem to undulate. There was a sense of alienation that was perfectly captured on the canvas, as shown by the lone figure on the sidewalk with non-descript features. There were shades of Guillaumin in this painting, as it depicted the sense of foreboding in the modern landscape.
