Waiting for Lila

by Billie Green

  She felt it all right. She felt too much, and it confused her. Delilah couldn't understand what was happening to her. She had always used men's desire for her as a tool. She gave enough only to accomplish her goals, and she always knew when to back off. But she couldn't tell Bill that.

  Suddenly it was very important that for the little time they had left together he think well of her. She wouldn't meet him for a drink. She wouldn't see him again at all. She would leave him thinking she was a nice, ordinary woman.

  It was best for him. Best for her too. When she was with him her objective views of life began to slide away, and that couldn't happen.

  Drawing upon all her strength, she said, "I'm sorry, Bill. I won't be able to meet you for a drink or anything else. I have prior commitments."

  For a moment he showed no reaction. Then when he suddenly relaxed, Delilah realized how stiffly he had been holding himself.

  He smiled down at her. "I'll be in the bar at ten, just in case," he said quietly.

  "But—"

  "I'll be waiting, Lila."

  Chapter 6

  "Are you sure I look all right?" Addie asked anxiously as she and Delilah crossed the small lobby of the hotel. They were on their way to join the rest of the group for dinner at the Wimberley.

  "For Pete's sake, Addie, I've told you at least thirty times that you look gorgeous."

  Delilah was telling her nervous friend nothing less than the truth. The simple but form-fitting dress and dramatic evening makeup gave Addie a completely different look. Instead of looking like the slightly wacky girl next door, she now looked like a provocative elf.

  Grabbing Delilah's arm, Addie pulled her abruptly to a halt. "Wait!" Her unfocused eyes were wide with panic. "My mind has gone blank. After dinner I'm supposed to tell Booger that I need to walk on the beach to clear my head and that he has to come to keep me from walking into the ocean." She swallowed hard. "I forget the rest! This isn't going to work. I'll only end up making a fool of myself."

  She swung around frantically and began to walk in the opposite direction. "I'm going back to the suite to hide under the bed," Addie called back over her shoulder. "Tell them that I broke a leg. Tell them I've been hijacked to Cuba."

  Laughing helplessly, Delilah caught up with Addie and put both hands on her friend's shoulders to turn her around and push her toward the Wimberley. "You're an idiot."

  "And that's another reason I should go back to the room," Addie said. "Why didn't I wear a dress like yours? Why didn't I get something with a high neck? Why didn't I become a nun like Janet Marie Henderson?" She gulped in air, then moaned. "I'm scared, Dee. I'm really, really scared. It was much easier dreaming about Booger."

  "Dreams don't make babies," Delilah said flatly. "Just relax. Nothing is going to go wrong. You're supposed to tell him how inadequate you feel as a husband hunter—which is nothing but the truth. Then you suddenly notice that he's a man. You ask him what a man likes in the way of a kiss. Aggressive? Demure? He tells you what he likes, but you're a little slow and don't quite understand, so you ask him to demonstrate. That's it. Corny but effective. And simple as pie."

  "I think I'm going to be sick."

  "Addie," Delilah said sternly, "I forbid you to be sick. Come on, we're almost there. Do exactly what I told you, and I promise everything will work out fine."

  When the two women walked into the restaurant just off the lobby of the Wlmberley, heads turned. Delilah was used to it and didn't notice until Addie began pulling at the low neckline of her dress.

  "Stop that," Delilah said. "They're not staring because there's something wrong with you. They're staring because two beautiful women just walked into the room."

  "Two?" Addie said doubtfully.

  "Just wait and see," Delilah said confidently.

  As they drew near the table, Alan stood up and Delilah could have kissed him when he whistled, muttering, "Va-va-va-uoom," as he pulled Addie's chair out for her.

  The noises that Jack made were disgusting but just as effective. "I've always thought there should be some kind of law that forces women to show a certain amount of cleavage," he said, then glanced at the high neckline of Delilah's deep purple dress. "You'd be under arrest, Dee."

  "One of these days someone is going to clear the trash out of your brain," Delilah said with a sweet smile, "and there won't be anything left."

  As she squabbled with Jack, Delilah kept an eye on Booger. He couldn't stop staring at Addie. He didn't say anything. He simply sat, looking confused and more than a little intrigued.

  Smiling in satisfaction, Delilah straightened in her chair and suddenly noticed there was a stranger sitting across the table from her. A man.

  Jack, a suspicious twinkle in his eye, said,

  "Delilah, I'd like you to meet Dr. Stephen French. He's a urologist. Steve, this is our delectable Delilah, Dr. Delilah Jones. She's in internal medicine."

  If Jack had been close enough, Delilah would have kicked him in the shin. Knowing him, he had probably chosen a seat well away from her for that very reason.

  After their drinks were served, Steve leaned across the table toward her. "Would you like to dance. Delilah?"

  "Thank you," she murmured, "I'd love to."

  Why did I say that, she wondered as she pushed back her chair. She didn't want to dance. Even if she had wanted to dance, there was only one man she wanted to dance with. And he wasn't there.

  "So you're an internist," Steve said as soon as they were on the dance floor.

  "Yes. And you're a urologist."

  She raised her wrist slightly from where it lay on his shoulder. Eight-thirty. Only an hour and a half until Bill would be in the bar.

  "You practice in Dallas?"

  "Yes, and you?"

  "Milwaukee."

  Bill wouldn't be there, she told herself. Men had so many handy little lines they threw at women. I'll he waiting, Lila. That was right up there with "My wife doesn't understand me" and "I've had a vasectomy."

  Even if he did show up at the bar, it was nothing to her. She was having a fine time without him.

  "I hear the weather's always good in Dallas."

  "Usually," she said, glancing again at her watch. "Do you get much rain in Milwaukee?"

  "About average, I guess."

  A fine time, she repeated silently, gritting her teeth.

  Bill was probably eating dinner now. Alone? She shook her head slightly in irritation. It didn't matter if he was alone or not. It didn't matter if he was smiling at someone else, showing his crooked front teeth. It didn't matter if he was putting on his puppy-dog act for another woman. It really didn't matter.

  Steve was in the middle of telling her about the women in his life—his ex-wife, his ex-girlfriend— and Delilah was in the middle of remembering how Bill's lips felt on hers when she finally decided she had better start paying attention to her dance partner.

  She tried. She really, honestly tried. But as Delilah watched Steve's face, she became mesmerized by a mole that moved up and down while he talked.

  This is the man Jack brought. This is the mole that sits on the cheek of the man Jack brought. This is the hair that grows from the mole that sits on the cheek of the man Jack brought.

  Stop that! she told herself, swallowing a giggle. In spite of the mole, Steve was an attractive man. An interesting man. A successful, wealthy man. He was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  And Delilah couldn't have been more miserable. No matter how attractive and successful and interesting he was, he wasn't Bill.

  All through dinner she found herself glancing at her watch. By ten-thirty she was a mental case. She tried desperately to keep her mind on what Steve and her friends were saying, but her thoughts kept going back to Bill. Every time someone laughed, she remembered Bill's laugh. When the waiter brought their dessert, she thought of dessert at the Fuentes house with Bill beside her.

  And every time she thought of him she withdrew a little more from the people around her.
>
  After dinner the quartet that had been playing was replaced by a rock group, and the younger diners begin to file onto the dance floor. Addie turned in her chair to watch. Addie loved to dance, a fact that must have been obvious because it wasn't long before a tanned, muscular man beckoned to Addie from the dance floor. That was all the invitation she needed.

  Booger, on Delilah's right, watched the couple for a while, then muttered, "He's got to be taking steroids."

  He turned to Delilah. "Addie is acting really weird, Dee. Really weird. She's talking about her biological clock and being in her sexual prime and going around only once."

  "There's nothing weird about that," Delilah said. "I think Addie is simply ready to settie down."

  "She doesn't look settled," he grumbled, returning his gaze to the dance floor. "Do you think she's serious about wanting to get married?"

  "Yes, I do. And I think it's exactly what she needs. Addie was made for marriage. She's a warm kind of person, the kind who shouldn't be alone."

  "She's not alone. She has friends. She has me."

  "You know and I know that friends don't take the place of a husband. Most women need more. Addie needs more. She needs someone who is just for her."

  "You mean she's looking to get laid?"

  "Among other things," Delilah said, hiding her smile at his obvious jealousy. "Isn't sex important to you?"

  "Sure, but we're talking about Addie. Jeez, would you look at that idiot thrusting his crotch at her."

  "Calm down. They're only dancing. Besides, Addie can't see a thing. She wouldn't know if he were thrusting a chain saw at her."

  Booger grabbed Delilah's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh as he kept his gaze on Addie. "And she's jiggling her boobs at him! Where did Addie get boobs anyway?"

  "She's always had them. Her new dress simply shows them off a little."

  "I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

  "Don't be such a prude. If she were jiggling them at you, you wouldn't be complaining."

  He frowned. "No, I guess I wouldn't." With an abrupt movement he pushed his chair back and stalked out onto the dance floor, heading in Addie's direction.

  It looked as though the plan was working out just fine. At least, it might if Addie noticed that her dance partner had changed.

  Delilah needn't have worried. As soon as Booger reached Addie he took her into his arms, ignoring completely the young Adonis.

  Great, Delilah thought with a wry smile. Wonderful. She had Addie's life under control. Why couldn't she do something about her own? She should have been having a fantastic time flirting with Steve, a man who was definitely ripe for a new relationship.

  Bill, she thought, answering her own question. He had sent all her plans haywire. It wasn't fair that a casually met stranger should mess her up like no man had ever done before. She wouldn't let him get to her, she told herself stubbornly. She had to take control of her life again.

  Until this conference was over, she would take care to stay well out of Bill Shelley's way.

  ❧

  Bill leaned over the bar and tapped the bartender on the shoulder. "Hit me again, Sam."

  "I keep telling you my name is Winston," the slender bartender said as he refilled Bill's glass. "Don't you think you've had enough of this stuff?"

  "I can handle it."

  "I don't know," Winston said doubtfully. "Club soda affects some people real funny."

  "What time is it?"

  "It's two minutes later than the last time you asked." Winston glanced at his watch. "It's three and a half minutes past twelve. Isn't that a watch on your wrist?"

  Bill nodded. "But if I keep looking at my watch I'll seem anxious. I'll look like I've been stood up."

  "What time was she supposed to be here?"

  "Ten."

  "This is just a guess—I mean it's not like a scientific survey or anything—but I would say you have been stood up."

  "Who asked you?" Bill muttered.

  Why was he there, he asked himself silently. Why was he waiting for a woman who obviously was not coming? She probably didn't give a damn about him. She was probably dancing and laughing with a man one of the members of her precious group had found for her. She had probably forgotten a man named Bill Shelley existed.

  "What time is it, Sam?"

  "Twelve-oh-five. And she still ain't here."

  "No. she still ain't here." He smiled slightly. "She said she wouldn't be here. I should accept that, shouldn't I? I should give it up and leave. That's exactly what I should do." He sighed. "Give me another drink, Sam."

  "Judas Priest, Bill, you're gonna explode In a minute."

  "That's what women do to you," Bill said glumly. "They twist you all up inside and make you drown your sorrows in club soda,"

  "You gonna cry, Bill?" Winston asked warily.

  Bill laughed. "Not yet. Ask me again at twelve-thirty. Have you got a woman, Sam?"

  "Naw. she ran off with a Toyota dealer. That's why I'm in Mexico instead of in Little Rock like

  the good Lord intended. I followed them and took one of his cars, a cute little red job. I figured it was a fair trade. The police didn't quite see it that way."

  "Can the Toyota listen to your dreams and carry on an intelligent conversation?"

  "No, but neither could Sally."

  Bill leaned forward, poking Winston's thin chest to make his point. "Ah, but can a pile of metal keep your bed and your heart warm?"

  The bartender leaned against the bar and sighed. "Sally had the damnedest little giggle. Made my toes curl every time I heard it."

  Silence fell as each man was drawn into his own thoughts. Bill sat staring into his glass, remembering the way Lila had kissed him at the valley of the rainbows. She was cool on the outside, but beneath the surface there was a passionate heart. He had felt it then. He had felt it the first time he ever saw her.

  She should have followed her passionate heart, he told himself. Or, if she couldn't follow her own, she should have followed his. He knew it was heading in the right direction. Instead, she had said she wouldn't meet him at the bar. She had said it very firmly.

  But Bill was still there, and he was still waiting. He felt his whole life had been nothing more than time spent waiting for Lila. He could wait a while longer.

  "What time is it, Sam?"

  "Twelve-fifteen."

  Bill slumped forward and ran his finger down the side of his glass. "How did she get inside me so quickly?" he murmured. "In my head ... in my blood." He glanced up. "I guess I'd sound like a wuss if I said in my heart."

  "Hey," Winston said, shaking his head, "you'd be surprised at some of the weird stuff a bartender hears. You wanna say she's in your heart, say it."

  "She's in my heart," Bill said quietly. "Lila is in my heart. Why isn't she in my arms? Why isn't she in this damn bar?"

  Winston stared over Bill's head toward the entrance to the room. "Is she blond with a figure that would stop an eighteen wheeler?"

  Bill felt his heart skitter sideways, then it began to pound loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. Slowly he swung around on the barstool until he was facing the door.

  ❧

  With her hands clenched at her sides, Delilah stood just inside the door of the dimly lit bar. She didn't know why she was there. She had developed a killer headache and had told her friends she was going to the suite.

  Then suddenly she had found herself in the bar. And her headache was gone.

  I should leave right now, she told herself. She should get out of there and back to sanity as quickly as possible.

  But it was too late. Already Bill had slid off the barstool and was walking toward her. Too late. Maybe it had been too late from the moment she met him.

  When he reached her, he stood for a moment looking down at her. "I knew you'd come," he murmured.

  "Did you?"

  He shook his head. "No, I was lying. I didn't think you'd be here."

  "Neither did I." />
  "Did that scare you as much as it did me?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "I guess it did."

  For a long time he simply stood there. Delilah could hear him breathing but he didn't say anything. Then without another word he took her hand, and together they walked out of the bar.

  Behind them Delilah thought she heard someone say "Way to go, Bill . . . nice to meet you, Lila," but decided she must have imagined it.

  ❧

  Bill was staying in a small one-bedroom suite on the ground floor of the hotel. Country music was playing on the radio as they stepped inside the room. He left her side and walked to the radio, turning the dial quickly. He passed several Spanish stations, then suddenly the sounds of Chopin's Heroic Polonaise filled the room.

  "That's better," he said, turning toward her. "It's triumphant music." He frowned. "Unless you'd rather have something else?"

  Delilah glanced around the room, staring at a huge basket of fruit on the coffee table as she tried to find something to do with her hands. Why didn't she smoke?

  "Is the music important?"

  " 'My baby left me for a trucker' didn't seem right somehow," he said. "And I want everything to be right." He gestured toward the coffee table. "Want some fruit? The avocados are great."

  She turned her head and stared at him for a moment. Delilah had expected silky words and iced champagne. Those were the instruments of seduction, not Chopin and avocados.

  "Bill, are you nervous?" Her voice sounded incredulous to her own ears.

  "Petrified," he said without any sign of embarrassment. "How about you?"

  She laughed, feeling a glow settle over her body. "I didn't know men got nervous about . . . you know."

  He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "This is the first time I've ever been nervous about 'you know.' 'You know' doesn't usually throw me for a loop. It's you. I've met the perfect woman and I don't want to scare her off." He raised one thick brow. "You want to play checkers instead?"