The Day Before
"Non. This will not do," tssked Delphine upon entering the packed immigration office, grabbing an out-of-breath Cosima by the elbow and dragging her towards the front of the service line, passing an obscenely lengthy line of loud, aggravated customers.
"Ms-s-s. Cormier," stuttered Cosima, "stop."
Ignoring her secretary, Delphine arrived at the front of the line, effectively cutting off a pregnant woman who must've been waiting for over two hours, and stepping towards the front kiosk.
"Here, I'll need you to file this fiancé visa– merci," demanded Delphine (tacking on the pleasantry a little too late for sincerity's sake) as she handed the overweight man at the desk a purple folder with a smile that both made Cosima want to gag and apologize to the entire building.
The man accepted the papers begrudgingly, shooting the woman a disgusted look before glancing at Cosima as if to say, 'really?'
Cosima crinkled her nose, shifting in place awkwardly as she mouthed an apology that the man, thankfully, noted before opening the package and flipping through its various documents.
"Hmmmm." The man looked up at the pair with a raised brow before standing up from his seat. "You two are going to gave to come with me." The smile he sported as he led the duo towards the back of the room was broaching on criminal, obviously enjoying whatever torment was about to foresee the rude Parisian and enabling American.
Shit. "I have a bad feeling about this," whispered Cosima after the man bid them 'adieu,' promptly skipping away from the lion's den– a cluttered office belonging to…
"I'm Immigration Officer Paul Dierden, and you two must be my new clients," chuckled Dierden as he strutted into the room. Delphine chuckled politely, trying to ease a nervously perspiring Cosima into acting normal in the process with a light (and exceptionally awkward) pat on the knee.
Messing with the bangles on her wrists apprehensively, Cosima joined the others with forced laughter a tad too late, the others having already ceased their phony laughter, leaving the brunette to choke on the thickness of the room.
Delphine cut Cosima off with a forceful grab of the knee, causing the brunette to grit her teeth in the hopes of concealing a yelp of discomfort.
"So I have a question for you," began Paul after sitting down on the plush leather chair behind his desk. "Are you both committing fraud to avoid her deportation so she can keep her position as editor-in-chief of DYAD Books?" The way the man casually spouted the accusation raised the hairs on Cosima's spine, leaving her mouth uncomfortably dry.
Sensing Cosima's horror, Delphine grabbed her inferior's hand reassuringly, the other woman too stunned to pull away. "Mr. Dierden, of course not," laughed Delphine hotly. "I'm almost insulted you would accuse us of such a thing to begin with."
Paul eyed the woman sitting across from him skeptically, calling their bluff and gleefully reveling in it. Releasing a crooked smile, the man raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Okay Ms… Niehaus– Ms. Cormier," he drawled as he read their names off the documents in his large, calloused hands. "Let's play." That smile again… he fucking knows!
Cosima wanted to throw up. This was going so badly, it physically hurt her to be in the room with the powerhouse bitch and vindictive immigration officer. Each careful ministration of the blonde's thumb against the top of her thigh left Cosima more afraid for what was to come. Delphine never touched her– in fact, Delphine refused to touch anyone (and even though Cosima knew for a fact that Delphine's hands were unnaturally soft, at this very moment, it became all the more apparent how her skin was more like sand-paper, rubbing her raw and leaving her reeling), it was as if she was liable to self-destruct on the premise of any and all human-physical contact. The fact that the woman was opting to "comfort" Cosima now… made her all the more worried.
"This is how it's going to work," began Paul, clapping his hands together before folding them atop his desk. "Step One: scheduled interview– put you each in a room and we'll ask you every little question a real couple would know about each other." Barely leaving room for a response, but obviously expecting one, Cosima began to nod shakily before Paul continued his monologue with a wicked smile plastered on his face. "Step Two: I dig deeper– I look through your phone records, I speak to your neighbors, I interview your neighbors, I interview your coworkers– if your answers," he eyed the couple playfully, "don't match up at every point, you will be deported. INDEFINITELY," he threatened, pointing a fat finger at Delphine. Deadpanning to Cosima he supplemented, "and you, young lady, will have committed a felony. Punishable by a fine of up to $250,000 and a stay of five years in federal prison." Peering into her eyes– or her soul, really– Dierden loosened his posture, rolling his neck. "So… Cosima. You want to talk to me?"
Time, for the brunette, seemed to stop as two miniature people appeared atop her shoulders. One, an unfortunately, devilishly delicious looking, blonde Frenchwoman with red lips that Cosima could only imagine tasted of expensive, red French wine and sin; and on the other, a man no older than 35 with bulging arms, fair skin, and a chiseled face that practically screamed, "JUSTICE," sat perched on her shoulder.
"Cosima," whispered miniature Delphine, "everything is fine, Mon Cherie. Lie for me…" Cosima trapped her bottom lip between her teeth to prevent it from shaking before the miniature Parisian added, "I'll make it worth your while…" Her French lilt almost made Cosima pass out right there from the butterflies fluttering in her stomach mixed with the inescapable nausea the other figure on Cosima's shoulder added to her conscious.
"Ms. Niehaus, you are an intelligent, beautiful woman. Don't throw it away for someone who does not care about you," advised the mini-man sympathetically. "What are you getting from this charade anyway?" Before the man could continue, a small, red high-heel wacked Paul Dierden on the head, forcing the figment of Cosima's, rather creative, imagination to disappear indefinitely.
The mini-Parisian stroked Cosima's cheek with the back of her hand seductively, concurrently peppering kisses along her jaw. "You have leverage, Mon Cherie. You do this for me and I, Delphine Évelyne Cassandre Cormier, am at your mercy…"
The dreadlocked woman found her lips subconsciously molded into her Cheshire grin once a very real, very intimidating, very large Officer Dierden whipped her back into reality with a pointed cough.
"Ms. Niehaus?"
Cosima shook her head, offering the man an assertive 'no.'
"Nnnooooo?" Cooed Dierden, fishing for a confession he was more than sure existed beneath Cosima's cracking exterior.
Cosima bit the inside of her cheek, forced once again to consider the repercussions for doing Ms. Cormier this favor. Acquiescing, she nodded her head sluggishly, her conscious shrieking for her to escape the room, or at the very least, admit the truth.
Dierden smiled, a green speck of, what Delphine deduced to be, broccoli stuck between his front teeth. "Yes?"
"No!" Delphine bellowed, catching her outburst a second too late. Paul narrowed his eyes at her accusingly, opening his mouth to dismiss her when…
"The truth is–" Cosima interrupted, clearing her throat before; and once she was positive she had the man's attention, continuing, "Mr. Dierden, the truth is… uh, Delphine and I are just two people who weren't supposed to fall in love– but did." Cosima tilted her head in her superior's direction, shooting her a convincing enough affectionate smolder. Delphine gave her a gentle smile in response, unsure of where this newfound confidence seemed to have sprung, taking an awkward sip of water from a bottle she snagged from her office before her impromptu immigration office date. "We couldn't tell anyone we worked with because of a promotion I had coming up," asserted Cosima with her canines on full display, Delphine spilling water down the front of her shirt, unleashing a strangulated gurgle of clear liquid from the back of her constricting throat. Cosima, already anticipating her boss's response, rubbed Delphine's back pseudo-soothingly in an in-vain attempt to contain her amusement.
Dierden fell back into his chair, the wooden seat creaking from the shift in pressure, shaking his head as if he were slapped and trying to overcome this unanticipated social-whiplash. "Promotion?" He echoed. Delphine deadpanned from the agent to the eyes of her assistant, challenging her with a raised brow.
Cosima could only smile. And what Delphine found, perhaps the most disturbing out of all of today's new developments, was that her expression was genuine.
"We felt it would be deeply inappropriate if I were to be promoted to editor–"
"–ediitoooor…" repeated Delphine incredulously.
"–while we were… you know…" Cosima clasped her hands together to prove her point, prompting Dierden to nod in delayed understanding.
"Have the two of you told your parents about your secret love?" Questioned the immigration officer as his eyes danced between the two.
Delphine chuckled uneasily as she responded, "Impossible. My parents are dead. No brothers and sisters either so…"
Dierden nodded solemnly before turning to Cosima and repeating his inquiry.
"No, hers are very much alive," interjected the blonde before continuing, "well, uh, we were going to tell them this weekend." Cosima's eyes widened at Delphine's input to visit her family. "Kira's 9th birthday, family's coming together– we thought it would be a nice… surprise."
Dierden nodded, pursing his lips, obviously impressed. "And where is this surprise going to take place?"
"At Cosima's parents' house," Delphine shot back.
"And where– where is that located again?" Fished Dierden once more, scribbling down notes in his notebook as he enunciated each syllable with profound clarity. Delphine had no fucking clue and the man knew, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that he enjoyed watching her squirm.
Delphine opened her mouth without any word to offer with wide eyes; thankful the man was otherwise too preoccupied with his notes to notice this particular reaction. "Aaaaah. Why am I doing all the talking? It's your parents' house. Tell them where it is. Jump in."
Cosima narrowed her own eyes at the other woman, before, as Delphine so elegantly put it, 'jumping in.'
"Scarborough."
"Scarborough," emphasized Delphine brazenly.
"Canada," finished Cosima, grinning wildly at Delphine's bewildered expression in her peripherals.
"…Ca-ca-ca-caaannnada…"
Paul Dierden looked up from his work, narrowing his eyes once again at the couple. "You're going to Canada this weekend?"
The women answered an affirmative in unison before Cosima continued, "for a week."
The room became silent as Dierden scrutinized the American and Parisian, completely annoyed at the route they chose to take in lying to his face instead of taking the out he, so generously, offered them. Shaking his head, the man dropped his pen dramatically, the utensil obnoxiously slamming against the desk for effect. "Fine. I see how this is going to go. I'll see you both on your first Monday back for your scheduled interview." Dierden stood, prompting the women follow and exit his office. "Travel safe," he offered with empty words, lacking any real value, "–I'm looking forward to this one."
When Cosima walked out of the Immigration building, she had half a mind to fall on her hands and knees to kiss the ground and thank a deity she didn't believe in for making it out of there alive sans heart attack or stroke.
Instead, Cosima tottered to the curb and put her hands behind her head, feeling the cool autumn air fill her lungs.
Behind her, the snap of a lighter beckoned her attention.
Cupping her hands, the Frenchwoman managed to ignite her distastefully posh French cigarette, tossing the tool into her handbag after it served its asinine purpose.
"So what we'll do is, we'll see your family, pretend we're engaged–" began Delphine in rapid-fire English, smoke escaping from her nostrils. "Use the miles for the tickets, I'll compensate so we can fly first-class, but if you don't use the miles, we're not going." Taking another hit, Delphine wrapped her sinfully red, luscious lips around her cigarette before exhaling in calculated puffs, meeting Cosima's unabashed gaze. "Are you not taking notes or…?"
"Seriously?" Cosima spat back at the woman with furrowed brows, arms across her chest. "Were you, like, not in the room back there?" Prompted the brunette disbelievingly.
Delphine replayed the shit-show in her mind, for what she hoped to be the last time EVER, quickly, as if she were inspecting film-reels. "What?" Cosima rolled her eyes, tapping her foot impatiently. "Oh, oh, oh! The promotion," concluded Delphine triumphantly upon receiving an affirmative nod from the tiny bespectacled woman facing her. "That was genius, Cosima. He completely fell for it," added the Parisian with a proud smirk as her lips met the filter of her cigarette. Dropping the bud to the ground, she casually extinguished it with the tip of her high-heel. Cosima grimaced at the litter, never being a fan of tossing cigarettes, or even joints, to the ground for nature to dispose of.
Suddenly, with all the finesse of a baby doe taking its first steps, Delphine's words sunk in– she thought Cosima was bluffing. Hah, cute. "I was serious," spat Cosima, deadpanning from the concealed cigarette to Delphine's questioning eyes. "I'm facing a 250 thousand dollar fine AND five years in prison. THAT changes things," enunciated Cosima with profoundly damning clarity.
It suddenly struck Delphine how she couldn't recall a time Cosima ever spoke in such a slow, calculated manner. He words were almost always slurred together in haste, unable to make themselves known to the world fast enough as her hands danced in the air with unmatched enthusiasm. Delphine could count on one hand, maybe, the number of instances that jovial gusto was directed at her, and while she normally wouldn't care, a "microscopic" part of her wished Cosima radiated that warmth towards her. Then again, it's not as if Delphine did much better on her part. Delphine never did anything to make work easier for the brunette, and regardless, Cosima always tried to impress. Delphine always saw this eagerness as a flaw– as a way coworkers could take advantage of the over-eager, aspiring editor. After all, Delphine did. A part of her enjoyed the game of seeing how far she could push the brunette, even managing to get the other woman to fetch her tampons at ungodly hours and deliver food to her residence for no other reason than interrupt her dates.
Before she could catch it, a chuckle bubbled from behind her lips. "Promotion to editor," recalled Delphine inquisitively. A small smile ghosted its was across Cosima's lips before Delphine humorlessly added, "no way."
Cosima shrugged even though her body, somehow, simultaneously sagged in defeat, chest confidently puffed out. "That's totally fine." The silence following the proclamation was deafening. "Then I quit and you're screwed. Have a great day, Ms. Cormier." Delphine barely had the time to react when the short woman turned and began walking away.
"Co-si-ma! Cosima! COSIMA! WAIT!" Yelled Delphine, reaching for the space Cosima's body previously occupied. The dreadlocked woman turned back around, feigning disinterest as she met the Parisian's vulnerable glare. Cosima would never admit it, but the whole 'wounded puppy look' looked pretty cute on Delphine. "Fine," she groaned, once Cosima returned, "I'll make you editor. If you do the Canada trip and immigration interview I will make you editor. Happy?" Delphine smiled weakly, refusing to beg, but also willing to go the extra mile if Cosima was on her side.
The brunette pursed her lips, quipping, "And not in two years. Right away."
The two women stood their ground, eyeing the other as if they were about to engage in a Western shoot-out. Cosima could almost hear the infamous whistled-tune from her dad's favorite cowboy movie playing in the background.
"Fine."
"And you'll publish my manuscript." Delphine considered the proposal, glancing at her red nails absently, shrugging. "10,000 copies."
"–20,000 copies first-run, and we'll tell my family about our engagement when I want, where I want, and how I want." There was an unsettling pause before Cosima tilted her head and grinned mischievously, poking a pink tongue from between her teeth. "And… ask me nicely."
The blonde shook her head, undoubtedly confused by the request, scrunching her nose. "Ask you nicely what?"
"Ask me nicely… to marry you, Delphine," stated Cosima casually, yet making it clear that there was no getting around this particular term.
Delphine gawked at her, opening and closing her mouth as if she had taken a bite of wasabi and couldn't figure out what exactly to do with her tongue. "What does that even mean?" Laughed the woman humorlessly.
"You heard me," Cosima asserted. "On your knee." She's actually pointing to the fucking ground, this woman.
To say Delphine was horrified would be an understatement; the Frenchwoman was completely out of her comfort zone. Worrying her bottom lip between pearly-white teeth, Delphine quickly glanced around them, the sidewalk bustling with men and women donning corporate attire, most likely on their lunch break. Gulping, Delphine turned back towards an expectant Cosima who kept motioning to the cold concrete sidewalk. Sighing, Delphine began her slow descent to the pavement, struggling to find a way to the ground without breaking a heel or tearing her ridiculously tight (and according to a fellow employee named Erik, extremely "fucking hot") pencil skirt.
"Does this work for you?" Jabbed Delphine sarcastically upon finding her knees kissing the coarse platform meant for walking– not for proposing.
"Oh, I quite like this," responded a genuinely pleased Cosima.
The blonde sighed, shaking her head before meeting the brunette's merry expression. "Will you marry me?" She didn't mean for it to come out so candidly cynical, but it did.
"No. Say it like you mean it," chastised Cosima.
Delphine cleared her throat dramatically, reminding Cosima of her older sister whenever she was about to recite some Shakespeare. "Cosima…" began Delphine.
"Yes. Delphine."
"…Sweet, sweet Cosima."
"I'm listening."
"Would you please, with– …how do you Americans say it? Merde– with cherries on top, marry me?"
Cosima won. Oh, she fucking won. Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, the woman took in a huge breath of fresh air before meeting her superior's expectant gaze. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm, but I'll take it. See you at the airport tomorrow."
Relieved, Delphine smiled and offered her hand to Cosima, incorrectly assuming she would be assisted back onto her feet, as she was, instead, met with the dreadlocked woman's retreating form.
"Petite Merde."
"Hey, Delphine…" Cosima bravely circled her hand around Delphine's bicep, shaking the appendage lightly, "Wake up… I need to tell you something."
Delphine shuddered under the added contact, the two having already been… cuddling?
"Cosima?" Muttered Delphine sleepily, fluttering her eyelids to a more cognizant state, taking in the amber orbs belonging to the woman that woke her.
"Uh… we're not, like, exactly almost there, but, like, I just sorta realized something important."
"Mmmm," supplied the blonde, surprisingly not too peeved for having been awoken before she had asked.
"You're about to meet my family and what not and I know everything about you and you know nothing about me… When we get back, we have this bloody interview and we're totally fucked, Delphine. You need to know this shit and you don't know anything and I'm about to go to fucking jail and I might never see my family again after this and fuck, fuck, fuck."