Delphine pushes over the speed limit, the old motor of the SUV loudly complaining at the treatment. She says nothing, eyes focused on the road ahead. The traffic is too sparse to warrant this level of concentration, and the silence is gradually leaving me unnerved. While I know that she's capable of long periods of quiet contemplation, I find myself wanting to cut through it; to say something to put an end to the tension bubbling inside me. As an alternative, I reach out to turn the radio on, hearing smooth jazz fill the space between us. I touch the dial to scan for other stations until she swats my hand away.
With her eyes still on the road, Delphine changes the station back to where it was. "My car, my rules!" She warns pointedly.
I smile at myself and let it go, turning back to the window to watch the large country homes go by as we approach the city limits.
"Any plans for your free afternoon?" I ask once the urban skyline comes into view.
"Yes," she replies shortly. "You?"
I have half a mind to stop by the safe house, perhaps try to contact Ms. S. I know she won't like it, but given the growing tension of the last couple of days, it might be a good idea.
"Nope!" I tell her.
Delphine glances at me, an eyebrow quirking up before she looks ahead again. I observe a thoughtful expression crossing her face, her full, bottom lip nagged by her teeth for a fraction of a second. And I simply know her too well - or at least, I think I do. My mind reels back to a time when such a sight was enough to provoke a distinct coil in my gut and awake desires that I didn't have the maturity to understand, let alone control. Now, as an adult, I can easily identify the tell-tale signs of lust, not that it helps me control them. The inside of the car becomes excruciatingly warm, the space seeming to close in on me and the coat, which I ridiculously left on, tightens around my chest as my breathing becomes deeper.
We're stopped at a red light when she fully turns to me, her hands grip the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles even paler than normal. Delphine holds my gaze for a few seconds and there's not a doubt in my mind that she's completely aware of my undisguised leering. She squints briefly and drops her stare.
"I know this is not what we agreed on, but you can come with me if you want," she proposes in a flat tone, and I can't tell if this is something she truly wants or if she's just being polite.
"Okay," I say without hesitation. My previous plans going down the drain for the simple possibly of spending time with her, shutting down the part of my brain that's chastising me for being so eager, condemning me for how easily I ignore the promises I made to my partners. In part, this decision is a conscious one; a curiosity of rediscovering Delphine is strong, but not uncontrollable. I believe, that if I put my mind to it, I could fight it back, but like an addict, the prospect of losing this opportunity is devastating. I know I can resist her, I simply don't want to.
"Bien," she says under her breath and the small smirk that appears on her lips when she puts the car back in drive is completely disarming.
We arrive downtown and Delphine, clearly familiar with the area, finds an underground parking lot. As soon as we stop, I'm out of the car, welcoming the cold air and the smell of carbon monoxide that perpetually impregnates the garage with a deep breath.
"Okay, so what's in the agenda?" I ask when she emerges.
"I need to buy a couple of things," Delphine doesn't reveal much as she opens the back door, slides on her coat and retrieves a black purse from the backseat.
"What sort of things?" I press and I know I sound curious, but I can't resist the urge to break her composure.
She narrows her eyes while we're stopped waiting for the elevator doors to open. There's a shift in her gaze, a sudden glimpse of recognition and a corner of her lips twitches up again, not giving me an answer as she steps into the elevator.
Outside, the air is cold, but the life within the city cuts through it; the tall buildings don't let the real cold get in - not like back at the Webster's estate. I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the smell of greasy street food as the noise of the constant traffic and people shouting all around us allows a hint of a smile to claim my lips. I feel like I'm home, or at least as close as I have to one. I'm a city dweller and it doesn't matter where I am in the world, because while each city has its own smells and sounds, it's the vibrance in them that breathes life into me. The big urban centers with the alleys that smell like piss and wet garbage, the rude people who'll turn a murderous glare at you for accidentally bumping into them, and the occasional act of compassion that manages to surprise me - I love it all.
"Come," I feel more than hear Delphine's voice next to my ear, as she links her arm around my elbow and pulls me with a gentle tug.
I open my eyes to a smiling Delphine, her face so close to mine that the entire city disappears and all that's left is her. It's Delphine's perfume and natural scent. It's the shades of browns, golds, and greens of her hazel eyes. It's blonde curls cascading down soft features and tickling at my cheeks. I swallow dryly and she knows. Not that I've ever doubted it, but she has known all along the influence she has on me. There was a time I made no secret of it. But there is a difference now; now she teases at it, provokes and taunts it out to play. And if in the past the consequences would've been a broken heart, today the stakes are much higher.
This time I don't allow the addiction to control me and pull back from her; not too abruptly, but turn my head to let the city become my focus instead of her.
"Lead the way," I say, extending my free arm.
She smirks and gives another little tug at my arm. "So, I have some dress shopping to do," she offers casually, her heels clicking on the ground with every light step that carries us. "Then I was thinking we could stop for something to eat and kill some time."
"Sounds like a plan," I mutter, letting her lead me, enjoying far too much the easiness of this whole situation, noting, to my surprise, that none of this feels artificial or forced.
The sidewalk is not too crowded, most people are still at work, and those who are out, look busy, talking low on the phone with hurried strides. We haven't walked too long before Delphine is pulling me inside an upscale boutique, where we are received by a young woman. Tall, with straight, blond hair, she stops herself for a brief moment, blue eyes assessing me with a discontented frown that only deepens when her gaze lands on my dreadlocked hair. She quickly regains herself and stretches a forced smile across her lips.
"Good afternoon, my name is Brenda and I'll be your assistant for today," she presents herself in an all too cheerful voice, looking at Delphine after clearly deeming me unworthy of her attention.
"Hello, Brenda," I say in the same cheerful pitch, just to get under her skin.
"I'm looking for a formal dress," Delphine adds, not wasting time with pleasantries, and despite my jab, she doesn't distance herself from me. While her hand has left my arm, she remains close.
"Any particular requests, Mrs..." Brenda returns, after giving me an ugly look.
"Ms.," Delphine corrects her, "Ms. Cormier and no, I come with an open mind."
"Very well," our helper clasps her hands together and licks her lips, probably thinking about the huge bonus in the horizon. "Why don't we go into the private room and get started?
"We're going to begin with a selection of our several models and we can go from there," she continues as she guides us to the back room. "If there's something you like but don't agree with the color, we can arrange that, although you might have to wait a week or two."
"Actually, I'm in a bit of a hurry, so that really doesn't work for me," Delphine states in a voice that invites no discussion. She's completely at ease dealing with the snobbish woman.
"Oh, I'm sure we can find something you like," Brenda dismisses with a large smile. "Is there something I can get you while you wait?"
"No, thank you," Delphine answers curtly.
Brenda gets the message and soon is leaving us to arrange dresses for Delphine to see.
"You should make her rummage through the store looking for the perfect dress and then leave without buying shit," I propose, with my eyes still on the door.
I sense Delphine move and turn in time to observe her drop her purse on the couch and remove her coat, draping it on the armrest. "While that would be fun, I'd still be without a dress that I desperately need," she says, sitting on the couch and gracefully crosses her legs.
I follow her lead, although I'm not nearly as graceful as her when I shrug off my coat and heavily drop on the comfortable seat.
"Big event coming up?" I prompt, not sure what sort of rules guide our relationship.
"You could say that," Delphine replies cryptically.
I hum, finding it impossible to tear my eyes away from her, even if I'm keeping it discreet. She seems somewhat tense however, and I don't think it has anything to do with my presence as much as with the place we're in. Delphine sits with her spine straight, seemingly unable to relax into the couch, and her facial expression reveals nothing about what's going through her mind. Perhaps this is just the way one's supposed to act in places like this - I wouldn't know. And yet, despite the confidence she exudes, my mind continues to struggle with the notion that this is all Delphine is these days. I can't believe that the part of her that brought us together in the past, that made me feel like we could've had common characteristics is dead.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the door opening and Brenda entering with an impressive number of dresses that she hangs on hooks for Delphine to appraise. She rises and approaches them with a frown, and without a word, Delphine immediately discards the two short dresses that were brought, picking them up and carelessly placing them in the arms of the giddy employer.
"It's not a cocktail party," Delphine says in an abrasive tone. Then she takes in her hands a lime green dress and gives it the same treatment. "And stay clear of bright colors; I'm not going to prom," her voice remains demanding, just on the edge of rudeness.
After the purge, only two dresses survive and Brenda is feeling much less self assured. During the entire show, I watch silently from my place on the couch, a smirk on my lips that I refuse to hide, thinking how odd it is to find the whole thing terribly entertaining. My mirth is only increased by the fact that Brenda only becomes more solicitous after Delphine dismisses her to scavenge for more dresses, this time with a more severe guideline.
"I should feel sorry for the girl," I comment the moment we're alone.
"Don't," Delphine says sharply, selecting a burgundy dress with a cross pattern made by several straps on the back. "I've come here several times and she continues to act like it's my first visit."
My grins widens. "And how could she forget someone like you..."
"Exactly!" She says with a hint of humor, carrying the dress with her into the changing room and softly closing the door. "I've dealt with people like her longer than I care to think about," her voice travels through the door and I can hear rustling while she changes. "The nicer you are to them, the more rude they become."
"So why not pay them the same courtesy..." I lean back on the couch, my shoulders drop slightly while I take a deep breath and extend my arm on the headrest.
"Thats right!"
"Then why don't you go elsewhere?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. "You know... where they aren't so pretentious..."
Delphine doesn't answer me, and all I can hear is her moving around on the other side of the door. There's a small gap beneath it and I can see her putting her shoes back on, the lower seam of the dress falls loosely, covering her ankles and leaving just the tips of her heels in display. She opens the door and takes a small step in my direction, her eyes quickly looking down at me, but I can't hold her gaze. Instead, my eyes move over her slender form, the dress appearing to be tailor-made for her, hugging her curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination about what lies beneath the soft material.
"Because they have amazing dresses," she finally responds, as her hands smooth their way along her hips slowly as she turns this way and that in front of the full-body mirror.
I stir uncomfortably on the couch, my comfort quickly fading, and I sit up, swallowing a whimper that threatens my dignity.
"I can see that," I remark in a thick voice, unable to pull my eyes away from the hints of skin that the dress leaves tantalizing revealed on her back.
"You like it then?" She asks with a knowing smile.
I can't shake the feeling that Delphine's doing this intentionally; that for whatever reason, she's testing to see how far she can push before I crack. And yet, this could not have been premeditated; it was not her idea for us to spend any sort of time together. In fact, she has been avoiding me almost the entire time since my arrival. So, perhaps this just fell into her lap and she decided to make the best of it... at my expense, of course.
I clear my throat and will some of the tension away, returning to my previous position. "I approve," I answer in the most detached manner I can muster.
She smiles, apparently amused by my little display of rebellion.
"I do too," she says with a small sparkle in her eyes, which are focused on mine attentively, scrutinizing me. "But I'd like to try a few more."
As if on cue, Brenda knocks on the door and I don't think I've ever hated someone I know so little about with such ferocity, but I wish she could just evaporate.
"Well... Look at you," she comments gleefully. "You look stunning!"
I roll my eyes, mentally demanding her to just leave the dresses she brought and make herself vanish. However, Brenda lingers; walking around Delphine with the judgmental air of someone enjoying an expensive piece of art. While that's to be expected, it's the complete lack of affection that gets to me and, in my mind, I've already deemed this Brenda person undeserving of the privilege.
"Thank you," Delphine mumbles, the flirtatious timbre and fluidity of movement from moments ago is conspicuously absent.
I glare at Brenda. "You can just leave those!" I say abruptly, not bothering to be subtle about wanting her gone.
She looks at me with unfriendly eyes, clearly taken aback at my unpolished manners. She turns her attention to Delphine, certain she'll find an ally in the blonde woman, but finds herself faced with a cold smile and a head nod in the door's direction.
Delphine looks at me with a raised eyebrow, seemingly surprised by my sudden abrasiveness and I realize now that it's something she's really never seen before. I suppose she never imagined I was capable of being this blunt. Although I've not always been kind to her, I certainly have never been so openly rude, especially if unprovoked. And while it's something I don't do often, it surely isn't the first time I've used these methods to turn away unwanted attention.
"She was overstaying her welcome," I shrug it off, a modicum of my control returned.
A sly grin shapes her lips. "She was," her agreement comes right before she spins on her heels to select another dress. "What do you think?" She asks, turning a look my way over her shoulder.
I purse my lips and leave her glorious vision momentarily to take a better look at the dresses displayed on the hangers. Even without looking, I can sense that she continues to stare at me as I slowly rise from the couch and take the three small steps to stand next to her. I reach forward and pass my fingertips along the collection of soft fabrics.
"You know... it would be easier if I knew what sort of event you're shopping for," I say without looking at her, but feeling her presence next to me, warming my skin.
"It's a formal diner," it's the only explanation she offers after a long pause.
I hum and look at her for a brief moment, noticing her features harden and I can't believe that after all this time I can still feel an irrational connection to her that crosses the line of simple empathy. Instead of getting stuck in this, I decide to move forward - it won't do any good to dwell in the past.
I return my attention to the task at hand. "What do they say?... You can't go wrong with black." I say, picking up a black dress, elegant in its simplicity, a large strap holds it at the back of the neck.
Delphine quietly accepts it and takes it with her into the dressing room. While I wait, I sit back on the couch, crossing my legs and resuming my relaxed position. My eyes travel to the bottom of the stall without permission and watch as her feet move out of a sea of deep red, only to step into black, soft fabric and high heels.
My mouth goes dry and my stomach drops the instant she opens the door, still adjusting the dress around her waist. Just like the previous one, the fitted design of the dress accentuates the delicate curves of her body, but the black makes a delicious contrast with the paleness of her skin, and the bold red lips grant her an elegance that only a blessed few can hope to achieve. Delphine takes a few steps and stops in front of the mirror and it's only then that I can fully appreciate the low cut on the back. Her freckle dotted, porcelain complexion is on full display; the dip of her lower back revealed just enough to leave you dreaming of what lays beyond. Tight around her hips and the gentle swell of her backside, the dress falls loosely along her legs, with a long silt that starts on her left mid-thigh, again allowing just a glimpse of the perfection that's hidden and giving the illusion she's even taller.
My body reacts on instinct. An uncomfortable heat settles in my lower abdomen, causing me to cross my legs more firmly and my arm, previously lazily draped along the back of the couch, grips the soft cushion much harder. It's all I can do to stay put, acutely aware of Delphine stealing a few glances at my reflection in the mirror.
"I think we have a winner," she says casually and I can easily see the self-satisfied smirk when she meets my eyes in the reflection. "I knew I could count on your... good instincts."
I match her smirk, but continue to feel the tension coursing my body. "You should be ashamed to be playing me like this," it's an half-hearted complaint, more due to the circumstances than the situation itself.
Delphine turns around and looks straight at me. "I'm not playing you," she states, "you're help is invaluable. And...reactions speak so much louder than words."
"Well, you look fucking gorgeous," I say plainly. "Not that I need to tell you that."
My candidness seems to catch Delphine off-guard; her movements freezing for a brief moment before a more natural smile shapes her lips. I foolishly find myself drowning in her gaze, but don't allow it to swallow me completely as I break our eye contact and clear my throat.
"You should put your hair up, though," despite the self-assurance of my words, my voice still sounds a little broken.
She sighs softly and raises both her hands to her long blonde locks, pulling up and securing them on the back of her head, wisps of curly hair brushing her long neck. "You think?" She asks, her eyes on her own reflection.
"Sure," I encourage in a clearer voice. "It gives you more of an... unobtainable look."
Delphine laughs heartily and allows her hair to fall over her shoulders. "I'll think about it."
A very happy Brenda walks us to the door a little while later. My body feels lighter as we walk down the street, Delphine's arm locked around my elbow, and her other shoulder carrying her purse and the bag with the dress neatly folded and wrapped in delicate paper. Once again, we don't travel too far before we're entering a small bakery, a few elderly women are dispersed at the tables, cups of tea and small pastries in front of them. The conversation is low and they don't even turn our way when we enter. We weave our way to a free table in one of the corners of the small room and, out of habit, I claim the seat facing the front door. A fleeting look of annoyance crosses Delphine's expression as she begrudgingly takes the chair across from me and sets her bag and purse on one of the chairs left empty.
We're not quite settled in when a woman, well into her sixties, with gray hair sternly pushed into a tight French bun, approaches us with a surprisingly kind smile.
"We haven't seen you in a while," she greets Delphine with a heavy French accent.
The blonde gives her an easy smile. "You know I can come too often," she says, "otherwise I'd fall into temptation."
"We should make up for that," the other woman's smile grows wider and leaves with a swift step without asking for our order.
"Regular customer?" I ask with a raised brow.
"I don't live too far and come here for breakfast some times," Delphine replies and her gentle smile remains. "Not as much as I'd like, though."
I look around, taking in the environment of the establishment. There's the sensation of familiarity one gets when walking into a small neighborhood bakery; the soft strains of a piano in the background, quiet conversation, and the small space smells like freshly baked bread and sweet pastries. The display case is filled with all manner of cakes, cookies, colourful macaroons, and flakey croissants, while the back is laden with baskets of various breads, big and small. This could be heaven or hell, depending on how much one can resist gorging themselves.
"I can see why," I return to her. "How long have you been living here?"
"I moved to Boston about two months ago," Delphine replies mechanically.
"From New York?" I probe some more, but careful not to sound too inquisitive.
She nods, but her smile becomes thinner and I can see that this is not a line of conversation she's inclined to continue. Out of the corner of my eye I watch the same woman from before approach us with a tray and pause while she places a plate with two chocolate croissants and two bright pink macaroons - one of each for us, I presume. Taking the pot of tea, she fills our cups, before setting it on the center of the table. All this she does without saying a word, only the same gentle smile.
"How are your mother and stepfather?" I try to make polite conversation, avoiding the long silences she's so found of.
"My mother returned to Paris when my stepfather died two years ago," Delphine answers without emotion. Her delicate fingers reach for one of the croissants and rips one of the edges off with a satisfying crunching sounds and she takes it to her mouth.
I do the same, pleased to see that the croissant is still warm, the flaky dough almost melts in my mouth, the chocolate with touches of hazelnut makes my taste buds hum.
"I would say I'm sorry to hear that, but..." I let it linger as I take a sip from the strong tea.
"Yes, don't bother," Delphine says with her eyes on a little piece of the croissant that she takes no time in eating.
"And how long have you been in the States?" I wish I could keep my curiosity at bay, but for now I'll indulge in it - at least until Delphine makes me stop.
"Seven years," she continues to answer my questions with ease. "I came to New York after I graduated to work at a gallery."
I quirked my brow. "Art?"
She nods and continues to smile. "Well... restoration, really."
I chuckle. "I gotta say, I would've never guessed."
She doesn't look happy with my reaction, but I can't muffle my laughs. "Sorry, I just don't see it."
Delphine pouts in the most adorable way, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and I have before me the girl I once knew. "I never thought you would be some sort of security analyst or whatever you call yourself, so..." she says with that hint of annoyance I so well remember. "How did that happen anyway?"
"It's the sorta thing that falls in your lap," I vaguely answer and I know I shouldn't be feeling so guilty about lying to her. This is just another job, I have to remind myself constantly, because my mind is becoming dangerously unguarded.
I avoid engaging her directly, my eyes focused on my hands as I reach for another generous bite of the croissant and a large sip of tea. When I finally gather the courage to look at her, I'm surprised to see what looks like concern in her eyes. Delphine is completely still, only her fingertips toy on the rim of her cup and she's nervously nibbling her lower lip.
She opens her mouth slightly, as if to speak, but pauses, probably reconsidering her words while she thoughtfully goes for the last of her croissant.
"How long are you going to work for Daniel?" Delphine asks. All the lightness disappeared from her voice.
"I have a one year contract," I answer, scanning her serious expression. "But it's renewable."
She breathes out deeply. "These are not good people, Cosima." There's no denying the warning in her voice, even if she continues to not look me in the eye.
"What do you mean?" I lean forward, my posture tenses and I can feel my heart rate increase.
"Just..." Delphine hesitates and shakes her head. "Never mind..."
My eyes lock on her, and she takes a sip of her tea, staring at me over the rim of the cup.
"And what makes you think I'm a good person?" I challenge.
Her laughter startles me and Delphine looks at me in disbelief, my words obviously carrying no weight.
"You?" She raises her brown. "Cosima, you're probably the kindest person I've ever met."
As she says the words, I can gather that for her, this is an absolute truth.
I smile at her, but it's a tainted thing, plagued by dark thoughts and dark deeds. "If you believe that, you either don't know me nearly as well as you think or that doesn't say much for the people you've met."
Delphine holds my stare, her expression shifts, and the somber mask that appears doesn't waver; only the corner of her lip turns upwards into a contorted smile. "Both are probably true," she says, taking a little time to think on her reply, the reality of her statement, most likely had become obvious some time ago.
We remain in silent contemplation, the tea and small pastries disappearing between exchanged glances, the long periods of silence I dreaded before, now come as welcomed reprieve. When glancing at Delphine becomes too much for me to bear, my eyes roam around the small bakery. I observe the serenity on the expressions of women who have lived long enough to know that it's useless to rush life, and who, contrary to the norm, want time to slow down to enjoy these little moments in life. Delphine has a distracted smile on her lips as she watches the activity on the street getting busier while the afternoon grows longer, and I wonder if she had always known secrets that only come with years of living.
After a quick peek at her wristwatch, Delphine looks at me, a sort of melancholy darkening her bright eyes. "We should get going," she says in the softest voice and stands slowly.
My heart sinks irrationality and my glance falls on my arms crossed over the table. On the edge of my attention, I can hear her exchange a few words and a small laugh with the woman who tended to our needs. Getting up, I locate the restroom and step inside without saying anything, my mind much too occupied with thoughts that have no right being there. And when I finally emerge, Delphine is waiting for me outside by the door, the tip of a cigarette glows as she brings it to her lips and a weak smile takes its place once she notices me.
The drive back feels too short, even with the lack of conversation, and the same low jazz music that gives too much room for my mind to wander fills the silence. She sighs deeply while we wait for the gates of the estate to open and I can't bring myself to look at her, afraid I'll see relief in her expression instead of my own disappointment brought on by the end of our day. The night has fully set, and the winter moon is already high in the sky, its crescent face partially obscured by clouds when Delphine parks in her usual place. Even so, after unlocking our seat belts neither of us move. The yellow lights coming from the windows of the big house providing just enough light inside the vehicle.
She exhales again, grasping the steering wheel with a tight grip. "I had a good time," she says so softly that I'm not sure she actually said the words or if it was meant for me to hear them at all.
It's only when I dare look at her again and see the small smile that I have confirmation.
"Yeah..." I force the corner my lip to curl up. "Me too."
Unable to take this any longer, I twist to reach for the coat which I had thrown in the back seat. She moves suddenly, catching me by surprise when she grabs my right wrist. When I turn to her, I find her looking not at the shocked expression on my face, but at the art on my arm. The complex design of the tattoo on the interior of my wrist was what caught her attention and where her eyes are pinned. I roughly pull my arm back and tug the sleeve of my shirt down before grabbing my coat and getting hastily out of the car. The cold air doesn't have enough strength to come as a shock; my body is burning with a volatile temperament I thought I had left behind me many years ago.
"Cosima, wait!" I hear her call as I walk as fast as I can without running in towards the cottage, her quick steps clacking on the small rocks under her feet.
I turn around and let her catch me when I realize that it's better to be done with this confrontation without risking the possibility that others will read too much into us. Delphine didn't bother with her coat, and the car door is left open in her hurry. She approaches me quickly, and gently grasps my wrist again, tugging my sleeve up slowly once she sees that I'm not pulling back. The tips of long, graceful fingers trace the circular shape, and despite the cold air, it causes my skin to burn wherever her touch is felt - not with anger, but something much more dangerous. My eyes go from her nimble fingers to her face, her lower lip caught between her teeth, glossy golden orbs on the skin she's drawing.
Not to let the emotions get the best of me, I harden my expression and pull my arm back again, although this time not as abruptly. "A reminder of past mistakes," I offer bitterly.
She looks at me and I can see that my roughness did the damage I sought. "You're being unfair," Delphine quietly says, shaking her head.
I narrow my eyes at her. "Am I?"
I don't bother to wait for her response, and quickly turn away to resume my escape, hating that it's a struggle for me not to look at her and take back what I said.