Fearless (9 page)

“Hey there, Dalilah,” I said, almost as a joke, as I knew that I was ripping off the ubiquitous song from many years ago.

She texted me back immediately, an emoticon smile. “Oh, what you do to me,” she wrote, obviously continuing the joke. “How are you tonight, Luke?”

“Awesome,” I texted. “What’s up your way?”

“Doing some Googling,” she texted back. “Found your website.”

I felt a little bit embarrassed, although I really didn’t know why. There was something about Dalilah seeing all of my work that made me feel vaguely uncomfortable, as if she would see it and find it wanting somehow. “Oh, yeah? Bet you couldn’t tell my work apart from Matisse, huh?”

Another emoticon smile. “I’m actually VERY impressed,” she texted. “Your use of color and light is very reminiscent of
Michael Flohr,” she texted, referring to the modern impressionist whose work I really did admire. “But you aren’t derivative, either. Your style is certainly unique.”

I smiled, hoping that she wasn’t blowing smoke up my ass. “Well, it’s nothing compared to yours,” I texted.

She sent a frowny face emoticon to that. “No, much better.”

I was just about to send her another text, when she sent another one of her own. “Would you like to come over and watch a movie?” she texted.

I was somewhat startled, as I wasn’t expecting that. I rapidly texted “what time?”

“As early as you can get here.”

I glanced over at Jake, who was engrossed in conversation with blondie, and probably wouldn’t ever notice that I had high-tailed it out of there. “Be there in an hour,” I texted, regretting telling her that somewhat, as I knew that I had to shower before getting on the subway and the bus to get to where she was in SoHo. “What’s your addy?” I texted, realizing that I had no idea where she lived, except that it was in SoHo somewhere.

She texted it, and then wrote “I’ll order Chinese delivery. What’s your poison?”

“Anything moo shoo,” I texted. “But I’m easy when it comes to Chinese. Surprise me.”

“Will do.”

I put my phone away with a smile, looking way forward to that evening, much more so than I had ever looked forward to anything else prior to that. There was something about this girl….

I went over to Jake, who was now draped over blondie, who didn’t seem to mind one bit. “Cutting out,” I said to him. “Catch you later, huh?”

“Yeah, later,” he said.

I leaned over to whisper to him. “Just for the record, this is the kind of body language you want,” I said, gesturing to blondie, who was leaning into him and smiling.

“I’ll remember that,” he said.

At that, I went to catch the bus to my apartment, so that I could make my way to see Dalilah.

Chapter Thirteen

Dalilah

I got off my texting with Luke, and was awaiting him coming over to hang out with me. It was a spur of the moment decision to invite him over, inspired by the fact that I really, really, really wanted to see him. Especially after I Googled him and saw how talented he really was. His website showed paintings and sculptures that were really a stroke of genius. He showed clear influences of the masters of his field, but, at the same time, he took a fresh perspective and was able to bring this unique perspective to the subjects that he chose. There was desolation and loneliness right there on the canvas, but there was also a sense of hope and optimism. I could sense the hope and optimism when I was with him, as he was very good-natured and upbeat. But I wondered about what was underneath the facade, too, and was intrigued to say the very least.

There was definitely more to him than what met the eye. Of that, I was sure. I had always had amazing intuition about people, and I credited my father for that. He could get a read on anybody in a split second. What made them tick. What they feared. How they were inspired. My father had a sensitivity and a depth that was missing from most men, and I always admired him for this. Genetically, I definitely had much more in common with my dad than with my mother. She was a lovely person, but more than a little bit obtuse sometimes.

I felt little butterflies, and more than a little bit girlie as I fussed over myself in mirror. Perhaps it was time to upgrade my wardrobe, I thought with a bit of consternation, as I searched for a cute top or skirt, but then realized that I had nothing in my drawers and closet but jeans, t-shirts, frumpy sweaters and wooly boots. Alaina’s nagging voice rang in my ears about how I needed to get with it in the clothes department. She had tried to drag me to Bergdorf, Barney’s and Bloomingdales more times than I cared to count, but, every time, I went along just to get lunch and an ice-cream cone, and failed to pick up so much as a colorful scarf during these excursions.

I guess I was just a tomboy at heart, really. That, and the fact that I failed to get the boy-crazy fever that swept Alaina, Janelle, and virtually every other female I knew.
So, for me to suddenly be obsessing over my wardrobe and getting butterflies over some boy was a feeling that was alien to me. Not an entirely unwelcome feeling, mind you. Just alien.

After about ten minutes of deciding upon whether I should wear a white t-shirt or a blue one or one of my t-shirts that had a smartass message on it, I decided to call Alaina. She had recently moved into my building, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because I could pretty much go and see her whenever I wanted to, provided that she was home, which she often wasn’t. Bad because you can sometimes get sick of seeing a person. Not that I was yet sick of seeing her. But I could imagine a time in the near future when I would be.

“Alaina,” I said, after she miraculously answered the phone. “Do you have anything I could borrow?”

She started laughing. “I told you. I told you that you would want to borrow clothes from me sometime. Sure, come on down and pick some stuff out. But, next time I take you shopping, could you please buy something for yourself?”

I was about to open my mouth to remind her that I was trying, very hard, to not rely on my parents for money, therefore shopping at high-end places was not realistic for me, but then thought better of it. That was a constant source of arguments between Alaina and me. She clearly thought that I should let my parents support me, at least until I became the famous artist that she was still convinced I was going to be. I, on the other hand, could not have imagined anything more humiliating. Perhaps if I were in school, as Alaina was, I would have thought differently about the subject. But I wasn’t. I chose to come to New York City to make my own mark in the world, and staying here on my parent’s dime didn’t quite factor into my somewhat romantic notion I had about my future in the city.

I went down the stairs to Alaina’s one-bedroom apartment that was clearly much larger than my little studio. Alaina could also afford to decorate her place with something other than hand-me-downs, so she had the best of everything. She had a funky aesthetic, favoring colorful blue and yellow couches that contrasted with the salmon-colored curtains. Yet everything seemed to blend. Her ceilings were around 12 feet high, so the place seemed enormous, really, and there was plenty of natural light that streamed through her large windows. Not that there was any light coming through the windows right th
en, of course - it was around 6 o’clock, and the sun was setting early, as it was early October. So, the apartment was lit up with various colorful floor lamps and some overhead track lighting.

She opened the door. “Come on in, Dalilah. I’m happy to see you, by the way. You haven’t been around much lately.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Sorry about that.” Of course, that was a lie. I wasn’t busy with anything but being a slutty barfly. I hoped that was about to change, though.

I went into her bedroom, and she gestured to her walk-in closet. “What’s mine is yours. Lucky for you that we’re the same size.”

I smiled and nodded, and selected a silk blouse and a mini-skirt, with thigh-high boots. Without thinking, I took off my sweater in front of Alaina, and turned around when I heard her gasp.

“What the fuck?” she asked me, touching my back. “What the hell happened to you?”

I felt my face turn about fourteen shades of purple, as I realized what she was looking at. Alaina was now going to be privy to my freakitude, and I wasn’t liking that prospect one bit. “Uh,” I said. “I don’t want to go into that right now. Luke is due at my apartment at any moment now.”

“Did he do this to you?” she demanded. Her hands were on her hips, and I think that I knew what was next. She would tell my parents, and then there would be hell to pay. Not that Alaina was a snitch, but she was a good friend, and, as a good friend, if I was involved in an abusive relationship, I was quite sure that she would try to get me help. Which would necessarily involve telling my mom and dad.

Which was the last thing that I wanted. I was skating on thin ice with them as it was. Not that they could do anything, legally, as I was an adult. But they certainly could make my life hell by incessantly prying and spying. Not to mention the fact that they probably would enlist Nick to come over here to kick my ass. My sweet dad was scary enough when he was angry. Nick – whoo boy, I didn’t want to get on his wrong side. Nice guy, but could be a total bad-ass when he wanted to be.

I tried to think fast, but lying was never my strong suit. So, I just told her the truth. “No, no, no. Luke is a nice boy. But I kinda ended up with this kinky guy who was into this kind of thing. I don’t anticipate ever seeing him again in that way, although I’m quite sure that I will see him again in some capacity. He’s kinda a stalker.”

“A stalker,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“Blake Nottingham,” I said.

At that, she sat down on her chair. “Fuck. Who knew a guy like that would be such a perv?”

“Do you know him?”

“I know of him. Of course. Who doesn’t? He owns half of lower Manhattan. Bars, restaurants, and more than a few galleries. If you ever start your art career again, he would be a great contact for you. But I don’t suggest that you see him again socially if he’s into all that. I mean, fuck. He really did a number on you.”

I felt embarrassed, not knowing that Nottingham was that powerful and wealthy. I mean, I knew that he was powerful and wealthy, but I didn’t know that he was into all those different businesses. Including galleries. I made a mental note to Google him
when Luke left. Perhaps I could use him to get more work for Luke. There wasn’t any reason why Luke had to struggle the way that he did, when he was so goddamned talented.

“Here,” Alaina said as she handed me a bracelet, a wary look on her face. “Borrow this. And I can see your wheels turning, Dalilah. I was kidding when I suggested that you use Nottingham as a contact. He sounds kinda wacked. But, then again, there’s lots of guys who are into that. I just didn’t imagine that you’d be involved with any of them.”

“I’m not involved. It was only that one night.” I looked down at my wrist, which was adorned with Alaina’s shiny bracelet. “I’m not into that. I mean, I kinda liked it, because it woke me up a bit. But I think it’s destructive, and I don’t want to go down that path. So, you can rest assured that I won’t be with him anymore.”

“I hope not,” she said. “I mean, light bondage and spanking is one thing. This is something else entirely.”

I nodded my head. “Well, thanks for letting me borrow these things, Alaina. Maybe when I finally get my art going again, and I can afford to shop at these high-end places, I can return the favor to you.”

“Well, until then, you can feel free to take as many clothes as you like without having to return them. Not that I think of you as a charity case, because god knows you’re not, but I do understand your wanting to be independent from your parents. And I take clothes into the thrift stores all the time. Maybe I’ll just bring them to you instead.”

I smiled. That actually sounded like a great arrangement, especially since Alaina really had amazing taste. And I knew that she wasn’t lying when she said that she took her clothes to the thrift store all the time. She tired of things easily, so she hauled stuff over to Goodwill and the Salvation Army just about every month. “Thanks,” I said. “I would appreciate that.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “And Dalilah?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay away from that guy. He sounds like a creeper.”

“He
is
a creeper. And, don’t worry, I won’t get sexually involved with him again.”

“Good. I don’t like seeing those welts and bruises on you. I’m sorry, I know that lots of people are into that, and they’re not all messed up. But he did that without really knowing if you wanted it, it sounds like. Give that guy the slip.”

“I will.”

At that, I left her apartment and made my way up to my own apartment to wait for Luke. Nottingham was far from my mind as I made my way up the steps and then opened the door to my apartment. I could only think of that cute boy with the dimples and messed-up hair
, who had layers and depth that I was really anxious to uncover.

Chapter
Fourteen

Before Luke got to my apartment, there was a matter of calling for the promised Chinese takeout. I ordered the Moo Shoo chicken, and the garlic shrimp. I felt a little bit guilty about eating meat and seafood, because I was raised a vegan. After all, my parents were animal-rights activists. But I tried to put the plight of the animals out of my mind as I waited for the takeout to arrive.

Luke actually arrived before the takeout, though. My heart skipped a beat, or maybe a thousand beats, as I opened up the door after buzzing him up. He looked unusually handsome in his green sweater and jeans, with his shoes looking their usual shiny selves. Because of the shade of his sweater, the green in his eyes seemed to dominate more than usual, but I knew that if I looked at him in another light, the eyes would change color like they usually did.

He looked just a bit shy, as he offered me a bouquet of wild flowers. He blushed crimson as he said “Uh, I picked these up. I mean, I hope that I wasn’t presumptuous that this is a date, or anything, but I just thought that you might like them.”

I smiled at his awkwardness. I felt just as awkward, as even I didn’t necessarily know if this was considered to be a date. I mean, we were hanging out that night. And I actually wanted it to be a date. But it was still kind of a grey area. So, I just decided to thank him and not try to confirm that this was considered to be a date. “Thanks, Luke. These are gorgeous. I’ll have to find a vase to put them in. Wait right there and make yourself comfortable. Would you like wine or something else to drink?”

“Sure, whatever you’re drinking.”

I went into my tiny kitchen and produced a vase and filled it with water, and then tried to find a suitable wine. Fortunately, wine was something that I knew a lot about. After all, my dad owned a winery in Italy. So, I grew up learning about different varietals and methods of making wine. My favorites tended to be the pinot noirs, so I opened up a bottle of Gate Sonoma Coast and poured two glasses. I went into the living room, where Luke was examining my record collection. I had actual vinyl records, which was unusual, but I was a collector. I was old-fashioned that way. Not that I didn’t love my digital collection, too, but there was still something about having a vinyl record that was something that just couldn’t really be duplicated.

He was smiling, as I gave him the glass of wine and he continued to thumb through the collection. I had everything in there from Sinatra to hard core rap. He picked up one of my Kid Cudi albums with interest. “Man on the Moon,” he said. “Nice. I would have never pictured you as a Kid Cudi fan, but it works.” And then he chuckled as he also saw that I had everything that Eminem
and Drake had put out on vinyl as well.

I smiled back. “Songs of my youth,” I explained. “I’m kinda old school that way. But I’m not totall
y uncouth in my musical tastes. Notice that I also have quite a few classical and jazz records in there as well.”

He nodded his head, smiling big. “I did notice,” he said. “Gotta love a woman who can appreciate both Mozart and some good old fashioned rap as well.” He continued to thumb through my Green Day and Weezer collection, pausing to also admire my Adele and Amy Winehouse records. “Boy, you are old school,” he teased. “You got anything made in the last ten years? Not that being old school is a bad thing, though.”

I went over to where he was, and started flipping through to my more current records. “As you see, everything is arranged by genre and approximate era. You just didn’t go far enough.”

He nudged me playfully with his leg as he continued to flip through and admire my collection. “Guess you’re right,” he said, as he picked up individual records and admired them.

I examined him while he had his nose in the liner notes of the record he was looking at. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested in my record collection, or if he was nervous and didn’t really know what to say. Which would have been unusual, as he had no problem talking to me earlier at lunch. Our conversation then was easy, unforced and flowing. Now he just seemed a bit tongue-tied, and I wondered how I would loosen him up.

Sad to say, my first instinct was to try to make some kind of sexual advance. It was then that I realized just how far I had gone with my random hookups.
Like I couldn’t relate to men on any other level than that. And it was also, right at that very moment, that I had the epiphany that my behavior up until that point had been rather shameful. I made a silent vow to change.

“Well,” Luke finally said. “Why don’t we put some of these records on and play a game or something? I’m assuming that you got some cards around here somewhere, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said, as I took the vinyl records that were in his hands and lined them up on my console. Then my door buzzer went off, and I went to it and buzzed up the delivery guy. A few minutes later, I was bringing the food into the house. I got a couple of plates, and spooned the food onto them, and brought it into the living room. Luke and I dug into our food with gusto.

The first record dropped,
Bedtime for Democracy
by the Dead Kennedys, a band that was popular well before I was born. An interesting choice, considering we were settling down to play some cards and perhaps try to get to know one another better, but a good choice all the same. Also on tap was Frank Sinatra’s
September of my Years,
Adele’s
21, Under the Pink
by Tori Amos and Weezer’s
Red Album.
All amazingly old school, most of them from well before I was born, but all pretty much classic by my standards. I wondered if we would get through all the A sides of these records before he left, and found myself wanting that very much.

As the music played in the background, Luke and I got into some card playing and chatted a bit
while we ate our food. “So,” Luke said. “I hope you don’t mind the fact that I read that
Time
magazine article about your life.” He seemed shy and apprehensive as he brought this up to me.

“Not at all,” I said, as I dealt the cards. “How about some
Phase 10
?” I asked him, referring to the progressive card game that took several hours to play. It was always one of my favorite card games, having learned it from my maternal grandmother Charlotte. We used to play it for hours when she visited, and I really looked forward to those evenings when I was very small. “You know that game, right?” I asked, taking it for granted that he did. I assumed that everybody knew that game, as everybody probably had a grandmother like mine.

“No, actually, I don’t,” he said.

“Okay, then, I’ll teach you.” I then explained all the rules of the game. About how each hand was different, and each hand got progressively more challenging. I explained about how to keep track of points, and how it was best to have a low score, rather than a high one, and how different cards left in his hand when I would go out meant varying amounts of points. He listened intently and got it rather quickly.

“Sounds fun,” he said,
“let’s go.”

I dealt the cards, and asked “okay, go on. You saw the article in
Time
magazine about me. What did you think?”

“I think that you’re art is absolutely in-fucking-credible,” he said. “And, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but it’s an absolute tragedy that you have taken such a long sabbatical.”

I pondered his words, considering the fact that he didn’t come right out and say that I had quit, but, rather, carefully chose his words in saying “sabbatical.” I liked that he said that, because it did make me consider my long break in a different way. I was on a sabbatical, like a professor, as opposed to having given up. “Thanks,” I said, “I appreciate that.”

He looked at me some more, his beautiful eyes sizing me up. He took his cards, and looked them over, and then looked back at me. “No, Dalilah, I’m serious here. You have a phenomenal talent, and I know what I’m talking about. I’ve studied all the masters, just
like you, and I know a once-in-a-generation talent, and you definitely are that.”

I felt just a little bit uncomfortable at his fawning. Deep down, I kind of knew that he was right. I was talented, I did have something unique, and I did throw it all away. I needed to work on my confidence again, and, truth be told, Luke was actually helping in that department. Still, I wasn’t good with compliments. “Uh, thanks. Now, let me pick up some cards and discard some.”

I saw him visibly get just a little bit frustrated, and then he shrugged his shoulders. He picked up some more cards himself and discarded some more, and then announced that he had the necessary hand to lay it down.

Eh, beginner’s luck.
I transferred some more cards, but, before I knew it, he had gone completely out and I was stuck with all the cards in my hand. I sighed, and counted up the cards “Well, this game is getting off the ground wonderfully for me,” I said sarcastically.

He smiled his goofy smile, his dimples broadening on his cheeks. “Card shark, huh?”

I didn’t want to tell him that I was, actually, a card shark when I really wanted to be. I had mastered the art of card counting, not that it would have mattered much in this game. “Beginner’s luck. Don’t get too cocky,” I said teasingly.

But, the next few hands went the same way. Luke was really starting to take to the game, and I didn’t mind that he was. I wasn’t overly competitive, really, and was happy to see that he was winning.

“So, Dalilah,” he said, casually laying down yet another hand. “I can’t help but wonder what happened. I hope that I’m not prying.”

“It’s like this, Luke,” I said, finally being able to lay down a hand of my own. “I was a young child when I was getting all of this attention. Just 11 years old. I suppose you also read in this article that I have a very high level of, well, smarts.” I hated to talk about
myself in this way. It always sounded so pretentious and obnoxious. Yet, I had to discuss the issues.

“Yes,” he said. “Your overall level of intellect is astounding to me, to say the very least.”

“Well,” I said. “What nobody tells you about prodigies and geniuses is that our emotional maturity is virtually the same as anybody else our age. So, it’s very difficult to be advanced. Critics certainly didn’t understand this. They saw my work, and just assumed that, because I had the skill set of an adult, I also had the maturity of one.” I shrugged. “Not so much. I was absolutely devastated by the avalanche of crap that came at me after that Jacobs article. I couldn’t function after a little while. My father tried to hide all these magazines and articles from me, but, of course, I had the Internet, so I was relentless in seeing what the critics were saying about me. It was all so glowing until that Jacobs article, and then they suddenly turned on me
en masse.
And I know it might be difficult to understand, but I started to lose my identity and my inner core. I was virtually silenced by my own critical voice.”

“Okay,” he said. “How can we bring that back?”

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “I guess that I just need to become fearless again. I wish that I knew how to do that.”

The next record dropped, and the card game continued. We talked a bit more about what was going on with me, and I commented about how much I loved his work as well.

“Let’s just form a mutual admiration society,” he said with a smile. “I think that we are completely enamored with each other’s work. Perhaps we could be each other’s cheerleaders. I can help you get back into it, and you can help me not lose hope that I need to just go back to Maine and become a fisherman like my dad.”

I was startled at such a suggestion. “You can’t become a fisherman,” I said. “I mean, not that being a fisherman isn’t a noble profession. It is, of course. But you have too much talent to do anything else but art.”

He smiled, and blushed. “Well, your words and about $7 can get me a nice cup of Starbucks coffee. But thanks.”

I dealt the cards. “What about Nottingham? He sees your talent. He hired you, after all, to paint me.”

Luke shrugged. “Well, I might as well come clean right now. I got that job because of a sketch I made of you.”

“Of me? I don’t understand.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Please don’t think that I’m a stalker. But I saw you on the bus. I was on my way to see about a commission, so I was in the city. And you got on the bus. And, well, you lit up the entire city. So cliché, I know, and I’m sorry. But that was the only way that I could describe you. You just looked incandescent. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

I felt myself blush, which was a different reaction for me than was usual. I mean, I had heard men talk like this to me before, but I had never heard such words delivered with such passion.

I didn’t say anything, but just stared at my cards. My hands were shaking, and I actually felt tears forming. Why I was about to cry was a mystery to me. I only knew that I was moved by what he was saying.

So he went on. “So, anyhow, I had a really shitty evening that night. I came home to see that I had been robbed, again, and I needed something to cheer me up. I immediately saw your face in my mind again, and I, well, sketched you from memory.”

I was becoming overwhelmed at his words. He was obviously infatuated with me, somehow, from the moment he saw me. Like my father was with my mother. And something inside me was screaming that I virtually felt the same way about him when I first met him. Perhaps I wasn’t acknowledging as much, that I felt a thunderbolt when I met him. But his words were bringing these feelings to the surface, and they felt more than a little bit uncomfortable. Mainly because these feelings I was having for him were still so alien for me.