“Why don’t you sketch something and we can talk on Tuesday?”
“Sure, Mister...”
“Fenton,” he said, extending his hand. “Lewis Fenton, at your service, Miss...” He bowed gallantly. The gesture revealed a bracelet beneath his shirt sleeve. On it was the same symbol as on the bracelets of Marjorie Newton and Rita.
“Melissa Baker.” I offered my hand, which he gently squeezed.
“Melissa. Beautiful name. The honey is a substance with healing properties...as well the Mauve...” he commented, somewhat enigmatically.
I left the store with a strange feeling. All the way back to the cable car terminal I created hypotheses for the mysterious symbol. My father would say that Mr. Fenton’s appearance was a sign. How I wish my dad was beside me now to protect me, to listen to me and to explain to me things I didn’t understand or would never understand.
When I got off the cable car in the lower town, I was overcome by an unexpected feeling of vertigo. Just thinking about how far I’d have to walk to get back to McPherson House made me slouch. Damn it! I wanted to spend time in the video store before heading back to my drawing board.
I had no alternative but to call Stephen—either that or sit on the curb until I felt better. I retrieved my phone from my handbag and punched in his number.
He answered on the first ring. “Yes?” he said, sounding surprised.
“Stephen, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m not feeling well. Could you give me a ride home?”
“So now you want a ride? You’ve been walking around like you’re getting ready for a marathon. You should have requested a ride from the beginning. I would have taken the private road to the upper town.”
I almost told him to spare me the sermon, but I stopped myself in time. He chuckled, as if he knew what I was thinking.
“Stephen...my dear bodyguard! Could you please be charitable and pick me up?”
“Sure,” he said. His voice sounded very close. “You asked me so sweetly, how can I deny you anything?”
Turning on my heels, I found myself facing him. He was standing behind me, still holding the phone to his ear. A mischievous smile hovered on his lips.
“Well...” I said.
23
DELILAH’S STORY
I crossed the main hall of the McPherson House, skimming through the gardening book that Delilah lent me. I’d have to make a list of things I’d need to buy in order to take proper care of Keyra McPherson’s pansies. I hope those poor little plants will survive while I’m a resident here!
I was immersed in my thoughts, so it was a shock when I recognized the two voices I heard coming from the study room where I was headed. I wanted to take advantage of the wireless Internet access to do my research, but now I didn’t know if I should go in.
I stood beside the French doors, surprised by the confidential tone of the conversation.
“I just don’t understand! What do you expect to get for minding that vapid girl?” Abby Haines asked.
“Stephen asked me to, okay? It’s my chance to do something for him,” responded Delilah Key.
“You’re so obsessed with Stephen Cahill that you forget your friends!” Abby complained.
“That’s not true.” Delilah sighed. “Please, Abbs! Try to understand! I didn’t want to sneak around, spying on Baker. She’s not the kind of girl I usually make friends with.”
“I know! She has no sense of elegance. And between us, she seems completely out of place here.”
“You’re right. She doesn’t know how to dress, not even a little fashion sense, and we don’t have anything in common,” Delilah snorted. “She says she wants to be an artist. Can you believe that? Artists are sensitive to beauty, shapes, they know how to combine colors, but she...” Her voice trailed off without finishing her sentence. “Anyway, it’s my big chance to get close to Stephen. I thought he’d never ask me, but now that he’s asked me to do him this simple favor, I can’t refuse.”
“But if he’s providing her security protection—that’s what you told me anyway, why do you need to watch her too?”
“Abby, for God’s sake, you can’t tell anyone what I told you!”
“Of course not! What do you think I am?”
“Sorry, I know I can trust you, but it’s just that Stephen really stressed the issue of confidentiality.” She dragged a chair over and sat down. “He doesn’t want me to watch her in the literal sense of the word, he wants me to keep her company, to befriend her so that she feels welcome in the new setting. In fact, he wants me to be like a concierge...”
I could almost see her rolling her eyes, judging by the irony in her voice.
“He also wants to know if she misses something...”
So my hunch was right! All the concern she was pretending. Delilah was simply a surrogate nanny for Charity and hating every second of it.
I don’t need nannies! Why can’t Adrian get that into his thick skull? Maybe he wants someone to watch me because he’s afraid that I might embarrass him in front of his friends. He didn’t have to worry about that anymore. I’d agreed to stick to his version of the story about my rescue.
Adrian didn’t trust me.
I changed my mind about doing any research or studying, what I needed was some quiet time alone for a while. There’s nothing I like better than seeking refuge in the privacy of my own room, but on second thought doing nothing would drive me crazy. I was angry, so I decided to study, but in my own room.
An hour later, I was tired of trying to concentrate on my research. The only way I could purge my feelings of disappointment was to get absorbed in my drawings. I was into my second draft when I heard a knock at the door. I knew who it was. Didn’t take me long to confirm that I’d become the best psychic on the planet.
“Hi!” said Delilah, poking her head inside.
I looked at her askance while I collected the papers on the bed. As much as I knew the drawing board was more appropriate for drawing, I was accustomed to working on the bed.
“You oversleep today? I waited a long time, but you didn’t show up, so I gave up.”
I gave her an insincere smile. “That’s it...I woke up late.”
She approached the bed. “What are you doing?” she asked curiously.
“A little bit of everything,” I answered evasively.
She sat beside me, leaning back on her hands. A moment later she picked up the drawing that was laying on top of the essays I had begun to write for the school assessment test.
“Cool! I didn’t know you drew so well,” she said in slightly accusatory tone.
I gave her a severe look. “How would you know if I hadn’t told you?”
Finally, she noticed my “frosty attitude” and stared at me.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She rolled her eyes, as if arming herself with patience.
“Tonight Abby and I are going to ‘BP’ in Uptown. Dwayne plays on Saturdays...”
Suddenly, her cell phone rang. She jumped off of the bed and retrieved it from the pocket of her shorts. She grimaced was she saw the display. “It’s my mother. She always sends messages when I don’t return her calls.”
Well, now she’ll leave and save me the embarrassment of refusing her invitation.
“See you soon,” she said, heading for the door.
Apparently not...
“I’m not going with you guys,” I told her.
She stopped in the doorway, her hand resting on the doorknob.
“Why not?”
“Look, Delilah, let’s be frank! I don’t need anyone watching over me. You can tell Stephen that his plan failed. It’s bad enough having him nagging me all the time.”
She opened and closed her mouth.
“I don’t need a nanny,” I added, by way of explanation.
Delilah lowered her head and stared at the floor. I could almost hear the gears in her mind working.
“You heard my convers
ation with Abby,” she said.
Your answer is correct! Collect your prize of one million dollars!
“Yeah,” I grimaced and then refocused on my drawings.
“Listen, this isn’t what you’re thinking. I...”
“No, you listen, Delilah.” I dropped my pencil and leaned all my weight on my elbows, but then I immediately felt that this position was torquing my back and I tried to slowly straighten up to find a more comfortable position. “I can’t stand it when someone befriends me under false pretenses. My whole life has been like that and when people don’t tell me the truth, it’s even worse.”
She remained silent.
“Very well, I said. “I think I’m going to talk to Stephen.”
“No! Please! Don’t do that. This is my only chance...”
“Chance for what?”
“...to be closer to Stephen,” she stammered.
Sighing again, she returned to sit on the edge of my bed. “I didn’t want to play your nanny. It’s not my style...” She shrugged. “But when a special request came from Stephen, I couldn’t refuse. He avoided me for weeks, but when he finally came to me, it was to ask for my help! The opportunity was too good to pass up.”
Well, she wasn’t telling me anything new since I’d heard her conversation with Abby.
“Stephen is so uptight!” she continued, now seeming somewhat embarrassed. “He doesn’t give me any chance... You don’t understand! I need to be with you and I need to report to him everything that you do.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
Delilah laughed derisively. I’ve got to know if you’re happy, if you need anything, if you want to go, if you want to stay, who you talk to... Everything!
Now I understand why Delilah pressed me so much to go to that party. She didn’t want to sacrifice anything! She was just trying to manage the situation: what she wanted with what she’d have to do to achieve her objective, but she could never get what she wants without sacrificing some things. Generally, an achievement only happens after a succession of compromises. In this case, Delilah wanted Stephen, but she wanted to keep her intense social life too. What does she sacrifice first?
I sighed, slowly stretching my legs and resting my elbows on my knees.
“I’m telling you, I don’t need a nanny. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, you won’t have my cooperation, nor will you have my sympathy for your cause.”
She shook her head vehemently, but remained mute. Considering this to be a refusal, I got up, opened the door, and gestured for her to leave. “Go to Stephen. Give him your daily report,” I said sarcastically. “Enjoy yourself and tell Stephen I hate being distrusted when I have given my word, but he still sends nannies to watch over me.”
“It’s nothing like that,” she said. “Damn! He’ll think I messed up.”
“You’ve been gossiping with Abby! I heard you! If Stephen expects discretion from you, you’re in trouble.”
“But Abby is my friend! She won’t say anything to anyone. Besides, she doesn’t know that Stephen isn’t normal...” She broke off.
“What are you trying to say? He’s not...normal?”
She looked up and stared at me.
“That he’s not human?” I pressed her.
Delilah clenched her fists and turned to the window.
“So, you know,” she said softly.
I quietly digested what she said.
Her face was serious now. “And thanks to this favor he’s asked of me, he looks for me almost every day to learn about your day. It hurts me to know that he only comes to me to know about you, but I do anything he wants me to do just to be near him! I even sacrifice my social life to do this for him.”
I shuddered to hear confirmation. Imagining this crazy situation was one thing, but sharing it is completely different.
“I know some things,” I replied cautiously. “I’ve been watching the Cahills...and I think we’d be fools to not realize that they don’t act like the rest of us...most of us anyway.”
I cannot believe I admitted that out loud!
“If you want my help, you have to trust me and let me into the game. Tell the truth.” I was pushing hard now.
Delilah hesitated...and then as if she had made a very difficult decision, she grabbed my hand.
“Come with me.” She towed me out the door. We crossed the hallway and entered the room she shares with Abby, directly across the hall from mine. She closed the door behind us and turned the lock.
Briefly, I was distracted by the thought that she had a coffin in her room. I glanced around, curious. Mmmm, the place looked pretty normal to me—a college girl with her posters and other mementos around, but wait! There he was! The atmosphere in her room suddenly changed from normal college student to Dracula: Dead and loving it!
The coffin was in the opposite corner of the room. It was actually kind of cute! Tan polished wood without any of those gleaming and complicated reliefs that in my opinion could turn a funeral into a “horror show.” It had some stickers on the sides—small vampires, mummies, puppies of werewolves, and even heavy metal rock stars. It was blowing me away! There was even the Tasmanian Devil! A teen-fashionista coffin.
Delilah gestured for me to sit down. “Abby won’t be back anytime soon, so...”
“You two share this room?”
“Yes.”
“So, she knows...?”
“No. Abby thinks I’m an obsessed Satan worshipper, as well as a conspiracy theorist.” She sat down heavily on one of the beds and stared at me. “She also believes she can save me from my own delusions.” She looked like she was pouting.
“Please, Mel. You can’t dismiss me. It’s my only chance with Stephen!”
I felt like I was beginning to soften, but I couldn’t let her know it—at least not until I got some more answers out of her.
“Why do you need to resort to tricks to be near him?”
“Stephen is stubborn. I feel like he wants me, but he believes he can’t be involved with me. He’s always saying that we belong to different worlds.” She leaned forward. “I don’t care about any of that, I just want to be with him.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what world does he live in?”
Delilah didn’t answer. She seemed very nervous. She stood up and walked to the window.
“What is he? I persisted.
“I have a theory...”
I sighed. This conversation was going to be difficult.
“Did you know that Stephen saved my life?” she asked. Her gaze was lost in the landscape out there. Suddenly she asked, “Do you really like Adrian?”
Another sudden change of subject...
“Sure I like him,” I frowned at my response. For me it was something obvious, but then I remembered I had to hint that there was nothing between us, just friendship. On impulse, I added, “He is very special to me...”
There was no way she didn’t see the sincerity in my eyes. Delilah was suddenly calm and sat down again.
“Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a fashion designer. Many years ago, my mother sold fabrics, you know? Now she’s running a successful factory and is very busy with regard to the competitive market in which she decided to settle —in other words, the production of fabrics.” She looked at me askance. “What I mean by that is...I grew up in the middle of textures, colors, cuts, and fashion trends.” She gave me a bright smile, as if she enjoyed sharing sweet memories.
“I designed the best evening gowns for prom in high school, including my own dress. The high standard sewing is my world—the world my mother introduced me into.” She gave a short laugh and then sighed. “It sure isn’t my daddy’s world. Definitely, not! He’s an accountant. He owns a firm in partnership with another guy and despite the fact that my mother’s loaded, he still works at running his business. He’s a proud man.”
Oh, God! Now she’s going to tell me the story of her life! I armed myself with patience and fortitude.
“But don’t think my father’s a pauper,” she said. “He may not have as much money as my mother’s family, but his name also boasts tradition and prestige in our town.”
She lowered her head, stroking an imaginary seam in her clothes.
“Sometimes, I think the reason my parents got married was to satisfy practical interests...it was a business deal.” She was restless. She got up again and walked back to the window, but her sad look only lasted a second. “But one thing they have in common is me. They love me very much. They invested heavily in my education...so voila! I was accepted by three excellent universities—the dream of any teenager.
“One of them—UWall, is the least affordable in the world! Whoever graduates from here will have it made—any job they want. The final stage of the fashion program here will take place in the most important design houses on the planet—something that’s almost impossible to achieve. But my parents were worried when I chose UWall. Later I understood why. They wanted me to stay closer to home. With so many reputable colleges in Michigan which offer the same courses, they didn’t understand my need for independence. They tried to send me to the Institute of Fashion and Visual Arts in Detroit which also conducts creative study cycles.
“Because my mother was affiliated with the Textile Association, she knew many influential people in the business. She was so determined to keep me near home, she even pulled some strings to get me a seat there, which was totally unnecessary. If I really wanted to attend the Institute, I would have submitted my application for admission, but she didn’t want to believe that I had other plans.
“Anyway, the pressure on me to attend a college close to home was enormous. Believe me, they would have accepted California, but Maine, no way!”
Delilah laughed and began to imitate the way her mother talks. ‘Sweetie pie heart, Maine winters are as horrible as ours! You’ll trade six of one for half a dozen of the other. At least in California the weather’s nicer...and those wonderful beaches will be teeming with athletic guys willing to please the heiress of the Michigan tissues. Your aunt Adele is there... you can work in one of her boutique shops.” Suddenly, Delilah became serious. “Leave her protective wings to fall into the clutches of Aunt Adele? Give me a break, Mom! Do I look like a fool?”
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