Chasing Stanley Page 8

  “The day I call that prick is the day hell freezes over.” Her mother’s lips puckered sourly as she folded a paper napkin in half and put it under one of the forks. “He can screw whoever he wants now. I’ve got my own love life to keep me busy.”

  “Really?” Delilah was surprised. What man could deal with her mother’s unique blend of criticism and bitterness?

  “Uh-huh.” Her mother’s perfectly made-up face glowed. “His name is Bruce Holstein. I met him at the temple’s mixer for singles. He’s smart, rich—a widower.”

  “How long has he been widowed?”

  “About six months. Cancer. You know men: the wife dies, and before you know it, they’re on the prowl. They can’t stand being alone.”

  “Can’t stand doing their own laundry is more like it.”

  “Sweetheart, Bruce has no interest in my doing his laundry. He much prefers I do him.”

  “Mom!”

  “What, that shocks you? I’m just in it for the sex, Leelee. And let me tell you, it’s been fantastic. He’s a great lover. Much better than your father ever was, and that’s saying something, because your father was an absolute tiger in the sack. Bruce does this thing with his toes—”

  “Ma!” Delilah’s hands flew to her ears. “I don’t need to hear this, okay?!”

  Her mother looked wounded. “Fine. We can talk all about you, if you’d like. Forget about me.”

  “We can talk about you without talking about your sex life, can’t we?”

  Her mother shrugged. “I guess. Though where you get this prudishness from is beyond me. I certainly didn’t raise you to be that way.” She looked at the stove with longing. “Is that coffee almost done?”

  “Just sit down and relax, Mom. It’ll be done in a minute.” Delilah put two cups down on the table and went to fetch the coffee. “I wish you’d take off that raincoat. You look ridiculous.”

  “Some women don’t mind being covered in dog hair. Others do.” She held her coffee cup up for Delilah to fill. “Is this decaf?”

  “No.”

  “I thought I told you I only drink decaf now.”

  “No, Mom, you didn’t.”

  “It must have been your cousin Dory. She calls me all the time just to talk.”

  Delilah chose to ignore the implicit barb. “Do you want the coffee or not?”

  Her mother sighed. “Half a cup won’t kill me. I guess.”

  No, but I might, Delilah thought.

  “That’s enough!” her mother commanded when Delilah had filled the cup halfway. “You have skim milk, right?” She sounded nervous.

  “No, only cream. I’m going to tie you to the chair and make you drink it while watching your hips expand. Of course I have skim milk. That’s what I drink.”

  “Thank God.”

  Delilah fetched the milk from the fridge as she and her mother finally sat at the table. Only ten minutes had passed, and already Delilah felt exhausted. She’d have no problem falling asleep tonight.

  “How’s work?” Delilah asked.

  “Busy. I could use an assistant, if you ever decide you want a real job.”

  Delilah’s mother was an interior designer in Roslyn on Long Island. She catered to clients much like herself: wealthy North Shore residents who turned their homes into showpieces. Their willingness to spare no expense had made Delilah’s mother a rich woman.

  Delilah’s voice was even as she buttered her bagel. “I have a real job, Mom. I run my own business, just like you.”

  “You call cleaning up dog poop a business?” Her mother shook her head sadly. “I worry about you, Leelee. Truly.”

  Here it comes, Delilah thought. “Why’s that?” she made herself ask.

  “You’re not getting any younger.”

  “I’m not even thirty, Mom.”

  “You do nothing to capitalize on your assets.” Her mother reached across the table. Delilah swore she could see herself reflected in the high gloss of her mother’s red nails. “A little makeup wouldn’t kill you, you know. You have such beautiful eyes.”

  “I don’t like makeup. You know that. Besides, I don’t want anything chemical on my face in case one of the dogs licks me.”

  Delilah’s mother shuddered. “Don’t tell me any more, or I won’t be able to eat.” She ran her thumb back and forth over the top of Delilah’s hand. “If you wanted, I could pay to send you to a professional, someone who could show you the right makeup to buy and how to apply it.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” Delilah was incredulous. “I don’t like makeup.”

  Her mother sighed. “How about you let me take you shopping, then? We could get some nice clothes for you.”

  “I have nice clothes, thank you.”

  “How come I never see them?”

  “Because no matter what I wear or say or do, it’s never good enough for you.”

  “That’s not true. I just want the best for you.”

  “Then leave me alone about this stuff, okay?”

  Her mother withdrew her hand. “Fine. I will.”

  “Good.”

  Desperate to salvage what little chance of decent conversation was left, Delilah turned the subject back to her mother’s life. She got to hear all about her mother’s mahjongg group (the longest-running group in Roslyn!), her mother’s best friend Edie, her mother’s new white carpet, and her mother’s bid for the presidency of the temple board. But midway through her mother’s recitation, it dawned on Delilah that their conversation, if you could call it that, was strictly one-way. Not once did her mother ask about her business, her dogs, her friends, or even if Delilah was seeing anyone. Did she think Delilah was such a loser there was no point in asking?

  “You know, things are going really well for me,” Delilah interrupted in the middle of her mother’s story about how Sandi Mintz’s son-in-law had made partner. (Delilah had no idea who Sandi Mintz was).

  “Mmm?” Her mother sounded unconvinced as she spread a thin layer of whitefish salad on a hollowed-out bagel half.

  “My business is thriving.”

  “That’s nice, sweetheart.”

  “And I’m seeing someone.”

  Delilah knew she was digging a hole for herself, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted her mother’s attention. And judging by the expression of wide-eyed delight on her mother’s face, she had it.

  “Oh, Leelee! Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

  “I was waiting for the right time,” Delilah mumbled. It was the worst possible thing she could have said.

  “Oh my God.” Her mother clutched the lip of the table. “Is it serious?”

  Delilah could feel her feet beginning to sweat in her sneakers. “No. Not yet. I mean, it could be. In time. But not yet. I mean, we’ve only just started seeing each other.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks ago,” Delilah fibbed.

  Her mother bounced eagerly in her chair. “Name, I want a name.”

  “Jason Mitchell.”

  “Is he—?”

  “No, Mom, he’s not.”

  “Not a problem,” her mother trilled. “He can always convert.” The news of Delilah’s relationship seemed to have a profound effect on her mother’s appetite. Delilah watched in fascination as her mother piled more whitefish salad atop her bagel and bit into it lustily.

  “What does he do?” her mother warbled through the food in her mouth.

  “He’s a hockey player.”

  Her mother looked at her blankly. “A what?”

  “A hockey player,” Delilah repeated with annoyance. “For the New York Blades.”

  “Never heard of them.” Her mother looked uneasy. “Does he have his own teeth?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Delilah huffed, though she was embarrassed she’d asked the same thing.

  “And he makes a decent living hockey-ing?”

  “He’s a professional athlete. What do you think?”

  “As long as he can support my little girl, that’s
all that matters.”

  “Mom!” Delilah was mortified.

  “I know, I know, it’s early yet. But the news that you have a boyfriend—” She took a deep breath as her eyes misted over. “Excuse me a minute.” She reached into the pocket of her raincoat and pulled out a tissue, dabbing her eyes. “That’s better.” She put the tissue back in her pocket. “When do I get to meet him?”

  Delilah panicked. “Not for a while. I mean, he plays hockey a lot. A lot. And he has lots of away games. I mean I barely see him myself.”

  “I’m sure he can make time for brunch with his future mother-in-law.” Her mother winked.

  Delilah’s hands linked tightly beneath the table. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Afraid I’ll jinx it?”

  Delilah nodded, not knowing what else to do.

  “Mum’s the word, then. For now.” Beaming, Delilah’s mother rose and came to stand behind her daughter. “I’m so, so happy,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Delilah’s neck and kissed the side of her face. “I have to be honest, I was getting a little worried. That last one you brought home was such a loser. And then you were spending so much time with that feygele dancer, I thought, She’ll never meet a nice boy. But you have, and I’m thrilled. Thrilled.” Her mother hugged her tighter. “Let me just say one more thing.”

  “If you must.”

  Her mother showered the top of her head with kisses. “I have a feeling about this, Leelee.”

  So do I, Delilah thought. I have a feeling I’ve just painted myself into the tightest corner in the world.

  CHAPTER 06

  “You’re skating like shit. Get your ass over here.”

  The disgust in Ty Gallagher’s voice made Jason slink off the ice like a puppy with his tail between his legs. Moronically, Jason had hoped his coach might not notice he was moving at half speed this morning, the result of one of the worst hangovers of his life. Five minutes of practice confirmed everything he’d heard about Ty: the guy didn’t miss a trick.

  Skull pounding, Jason stopped at the bench where Ty sat with a stopwatch and a clipboard, and waited. And waited. His humiliation grew the longer Ty ignored him. By the time Ty deigned to look up at him, Jason longed to sink through the floorboards.

  “What’s the problem?” Ty demanded.

  Jason swallowed. “I’m not feeling too hot, Coach. I think I’m getting a cold.”

  “I had the flu and was running a fever of one hundred and one when I won my second Cup. Don’t give me this ‘My nose is stuffed up’ bullshit.”

  Jason winced and glanced away, unsure of how to respond. Should he just come clean and tell him he was out drinking with Eric and other assorted hockey players until three a.m.?

  He hadn’t meant to get trashed. But he and Eric were having such a great time that one drink led to another, and before he knew it, late night had somehow turned to early morning. Yet the evening was great only in hindsight; right now, with a head filled with lead and his coach looking at him like he was the lowest form of scum, the previous evening seemed far from worth it.

  Jason forced his gaze back to Ty, who was still staring at him with contempt. “You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” There was no point in lying. “I’m sorry,” Jason added, heartfelt.

  “Me, too. Because we’re playing Chicago tonight, and I really could have used you. Instead you’re not dressing tonight—and you owe me five hundred bucks.”

  The thought of not being allowed to play was torture. “It won’t happen again, Coach! I swear!”

  “You’re fucking right it won’t happen again,” Ty snarled. “ ’Cause if it does, you’re gonna spend the rest of the season as the stick boy.”

  “Coach.” Jason was seconds away from tossing all dignity aside and pleading. “I really didn’t mean for it to happen. I was out with someone and—”

  “Who?”

  “My brother, Eric.” Jason removed his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “He can get a little wild sometimes and—”

  “Jason?”

  “Coach?”

  “Let me point something out to you.” Ty still sounded disgusted. “We have a game tonight. New Jersey doesn’t.”

  Jason was confused. “So?”

  “Did it ever cross your beer-sozzled mind that your brother, who just happens to play for a rival team, got you drunk on purpose so you wouldn’t be one hundred percent? Or so you couldn’t play at all?”

  “Uh, no, that never crossed my mind.” The thought made Jason vaguely ill.

  “Well, maybe the next time your brother invites you out for a brew, you’ll check to see if Jersey has a game the next day before accepting.”

  “I will,” Jason replied lamely.

  “Good. Now get back out there and skate until you puke. You can give me my check for five hundred dollars before the game.”

  “I’m not sure I’m up for this.”

  Delilah’s mouth felt dry as Marcus ushered her across the threshold of the Golden Bough, a New Age store down in Greenwich Village. Though she’d initially been excited by the prospect of a tarot card reading, now that she was actually here, she wasn’t so sure. What if this woman could read her mind and her long-running, secret crush on Wolf Blitzer was revealed? What if the cards said she hadn’t a hope in hell with Jason?

  Marcus inhaled deeply as he closed the door behind them. “Mmm, lavender. I love coming in here. It always smells so peaceful.”

  Delilah nodded in agreement. Marcus was right; the store smelled lovely, and the atmosphere created by the antique rugs and plump armchairs was welcoming. Delilah cocked her head, listening. Celtic music was playing softly.

  At the back of the store, a woman sat on a high stool behind a small wooden counter. She was small and curvy, with a wild tangle of red hair and the friendliest green eyes Delilah had ever seen. Spotting Marcus and Delilah coming toward her, she smiled. “Hello. I’m Gemma.”

  “Hi, hon.” Marcus rounded the counter and kissed her cheek. “I want you to meet my friend Delilah.”

  Gemma held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too,” said Delilah, who couldn’t help but notice the antique sapphire ring on Gemma’s left ring finger as it dazzled in the light. “That ring is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Gemma blushed with pleasure. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Delilah asked.

  “Gemma is good friends with my friend Theo,” Marcus explained.

  “Theo.” Delilah was drawing a blank.

  “The performance artist? The one who made a bra out of two CDs and licorice and crashed the Victoria’s Secret run-way show?”

  “Oh. Now I remember.”

  Marcus leaned close to Gemma, flicking a thumb at Delilah. “This one doesn’t remember anything unless it has to do with dogs,” he drawled.

  “That’s not true!” Delilah protested.

  Gemma smiled and patted the empty stool next to her. “Here, sit down,” she urged Delilah. Delilah sat. “I can do a bunch of different spreads for you. The simplest is a one-card spread, which might not be a bad way to start off if you’ve never had a reading before.”

  “I haven’t,” said Delilah.

  Gemma smiled kindly. “Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise.” She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small purple velvet bag, from which she removed a well-worn deck of tarot cards. “Now. What you need to do is think of one question, any question you want, and then shuffle the deck as many times as you want. When you’re done, just put the deck down on the counter and turn over the top card.”

  “Okay.” Delilah took the cards from Gemma. They were battered, almost flaccid; how many other people had sat right where she was sitting now, hoping for answers and insights? She kept waiting for some feeling of electricity or energy to shoot from the cards to her fingertips, but nothing happened. She decided to concentrate on her fi
rst question.

  She waited to see what her mind tossed up. An image of Belle swam before her. Delilah quietly asked, “Will Belle’s other eye need surgery?”

  “You’re asking about one of your dogs?!” Marcus yelped.

  Delilah’s eyes flew open. “This is my reading and I’m doing it my way! If you don’t like, just leave!”

  Gemma raised her hands in a gesture of calm. “We need to get centered here, people. This negative energy is not good.”

  Marcus made a zipping motion across his lips. “Not another word from me. I swear on Bob Fosse’s grave.”

  “Go ahead and shuffle,” Gemma urged Delilah.

  Delilah once again closed her eyes. She waited until she felt calm again before shuffling the cards. She shuffled twenty times, because it just felt right. Then she put the deck down, opened her eyes, and turned over the top card. The image on the top card looked like ten tree branches sawed perfectly straight at the top and bottom.

  Delilah held her breath as Gemma nodded slowly, looking pleased. “It’s the Ten of Wands. A very good card in terms of your dog’s health. It means problems are solved.”

  Delilah let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Can I ask another?”

  Gemma looked amused. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

  Delilah nodded gratefully and took the cards. She liked Gemma. She seemed to know just who she was. Delilah wondered: What did it take to achieve that kind of equanimity? To feel so at home in your own skin?

  She asked a bunch of questions about her business, her parents, even Marcus. Finally, she picked up the cards and thought of Jason. Is there any chance my friendship with him could grow into romance?

  It felt like she was shuffling endlessly. Worried that the universe—and Gemma—might be losing patience, she put down the cards and turned over the top card. Staring back at her was a scythe-wielding skeleton stalking a barren landscape.

  “Oh, God.” Delilah’s eyes began filling with tears. Someone was going to die.

  “Relax.” Gemma patted Delilah’s arm reassuringly. “This is a very, very good card.”

  Delilah looked at her through watery eyes. “Really?”