#16 Abogado
Real name: Diego Soto:
Barcelona fling; serious
language barrier.
#7 Henry Parker
One-night stand, used to prove
to Kate I was straight. A.k.a.
“Henry the Do-Gooder.”
#13 Alex Wolfe
Triple Threat: funny, smart,
good-looking. A.k.a. “The
Good One Who Got Away.”
*Beep*
Del, it’s Mom. I don’t know what’s going on, but I called your work number this morning hoping to catch you between assignments and was told by some guy named Roger that you got “laid off.” When I informed him he was mistaken, he laughed and said he was positive you were gone because he “sent you out with a bang” himself. Can you call me please to explain what’s going on? Thanks.
*Beep*
Del, it’s Daisy. Did you lose your job?
Mom’s totally freaking out. Will you please call her back?
i’m flabbergasted
In my list of twenty, Abogado came after Rod, but almost two years after Rod. Although it was unintentional, I had a bit of a dry spell when I stopped going out every weekend. I didn’t realize it at the time though. In fact, I didn’t realize it until I made my list. It was during that time that I started working at ESD, and I guess I started to focus more on my career and less on my personal life.
In November of 2002, eight months after I started, Elisabeth gave the entire staff the week of Thanksgiving off as a paid vacation. She was always doing nice things like this for us. Michelle and I had become pretty good friends at this point, so we planned a trip to Barcelona together. Neither of us had been there before, and both of us wanted to go. Although I don’t speak a lick of Spanish, Michelle studied it for eight years and was positive she’d be able to get us around.
We got along great on the trip. We agreed on everything—where to go, what to see, what not to eat. Yes, although we loved Barcelona, we weren’t crazy about the two foods that were served pretty much everywhere: fish and ham. Our problem with the fish was more of a preparation thing than anything else. The few times we ordered it, it was served to us whole, complete with its head and, yes, eyeballs. (In case you’re wondering, the eyeballs were slightly shrunken but still intact from being cooked in hot oil.) It was like someone caught the fish, threw it into a fryer, and then slapped it on our plates. Maybe Michelle and I are high-maintenance, but neither of us could eat it, not with it was staring at us. As for the ham, it had small white chunky things in it, were the consistency of cartilage. Whatever they were, they were gristly and unchewable, so we had to keep spitting them out into a napkin.
On our fourth day there Michelle and I started to get antsy, mostly because we were hungry. Seeing as though we needed to work off some energy, we called a guy we didn’t know, a friend of a friend who lived in Barcelona, to see what he was up to that evening. After telling us that he was going to dinner with a group of his friends to a Chinese restaurant—yes, no ham, no fish—he invited us to come along. Needless to say, we eagerly accepted.
Spanish men go out in large groups, so dinner consisted of Michelle, me, and seven cute guys who were all around our age, if not a little bit older. They showered us with attention, and we loved every minute of it. Abogado was the friend of a friend. His real name was Diego Soto, but Michelle and I called him Abogado, which is the Spanish word for lawyer, because that’s what he did for a living and because we couldn’t keep everyone’s name straight. He was so handsome. He had beautiful flawless skin and shaggy almost-black hair. And his eyes . . . wow. They were dark, mysterious, and framed by a pair of black plastic-rimmed glasses that looked like they belonged to Clark Kent.1
Despite the enormous language barrier that hampered us (in addition to Michelle’s weak Spanish, the guys spoke very broken English), Abogado and I hit it off right away, as did Michelle and a guy we called Dustin Hoffman. (He looked just like him; you should’ve seen him.) Abogado and Dustin Hoffman were so funny. They loved American movies and loved American culture. It was the year of Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, so they kept reciting lines from all the movies, like, “May the force be with you!” For some reason they also loved the word flabbergasted and were under the impression that it was really popular in America. Rather than correct them and tell them it wasn’t, Michelle and I decided that we’d start using it more, hoping it would catch on. It didn’t.
By the end of dinner, Abogado and I were pretty much boyfriend/girlfriend, so he asked me to ride with him on his motorcycle to a discotheque that everyone was going to. There were so many reasons why I should’ve said no. For one, I had just met him; two, we had both been drinking heavily; three, I was in a foreign country where I didn’t speak a lick of the language; and four, I was separating myself from my friend in said foreign country. However, for some reason I felt like living life on the edge, so I grabbed a helmet and hopped on. “Hit the gas and drive me wild!” I told Abogado. “Of course I do,” he responded (which really didn’t make any sense).
As Abogado gunned it and peeled away, I held on for dear life as he sped down sidewalks, wove in and out of traffic, and ran red lights. The entire time his black hair flowed back at me in the breeze, and although it smelled a little bit like Chinese food, it was so sexy! The ride ended up to be both frightening and exhilarating.
After dancing the night (morning?) away, Michelle ended up going home with Dustin Hoffman, as did I with Abby, as I now affectionately called him. When we got back to his house, after some heavy petting, the two of us got naked. After copping a nice feel of his firme culo, I reached around front and was flabbergasted to discover an uncircumcised penis. Yepper. It was uncut, unaltered, and unfuckingbelieveable! It was the first uncircumcised penis I had ever come into contact with in my life, and wowie—it was amazing! Although Abby wanted to get down to business, I wanted to check it out so he had to be patient and wait. And turn on the lights. After exploring Abby’s nether regions for a while, I looked up at him in awe and said, “May the foreskin be with you.” Although he had no idea what I meant, Abby kissed me passionately and then the two of us made sweet, sweet Spanish love.
The following evening Abby and Dustin Hoffman invited Michelle and me out to dinner again and we graciously accepted. Although they took us to a place that served only ham, Michelle and I sucked up our dinner while Abby sucked his down . . . apparently a little too quickly. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but one minute he was fine and the next minute he was turning purple and grabbing at his throat. Dustin Hoffman was the first out of his chair.
For the next few minutes, Michelle and I watched in horror as Dustin Hoffman gave Abby the Heimlich maneuver, trying with all his might to dislodge the food from his friend’s throat. After four or five futile attempts the outlook didn’t look good, and tears began streaming down Abby’s face. Seeing his friend beginning to cry got Dustin Hoffman’s adrenaline pumping; he wasn’t going to give up. After screaming “Yo te voy a salvar amigo!” at the top of his lungs, he pulled his fists into Abby’s ribcage so forcefully that he lifted him off the ground. Almost immediately, the offending piece of ham shot out of Abby’s throat and landed—of all the places—directly on my cheek. Where it stayed. For a while. Seeing the result of his hard work so vulgarly displayed, Dustin Hoffman covered his mouth in horror while Michelle gasped and poor Abby fell back down into his chair, humiliated. Me? I calmly reached for a napkin and wiped my face clean. Trying to lighten the mood, Dustin Hoffman hit Abby on the back. “You really should take smaller bites next time!” Abby glared at him—it was no time for jokes—and then got up and left the table without saying a word. Dustin Hoffman followed.
Twenty minutes later, when the guys returned, Abby was quiet but better. Since Michelle was turned on by Dustin Hoffman’s act of heroism, she ended up going home with him again. Abby invited me over as well, but after what had just happened, I wasn’t exactly “in the mood.” However, I knew that declining his invitation would make him feel worse, so I ended up going, and I ended up sleeping with him again. However this time, instead of thinking about his uncircumcised penis, I kept thinking of the choking incident—his purple face, Dustin Hoffman’s blood-curdling scream, and of course the piece of partially chewed piece of ham flying at my face. The night’s main event was on instant replay, looped in my brain, and it was funny, so funny in fact that I accidentally let out a little laugh. When I did, Abby stopped what he was doing and looked at me, bewildered. “Why come you laugh at me?” he asked.
“Um . . . I didn’t,” I said quietly.
“Yes, you does,” Abby said, rolling off me. “You laugh.”
Since I didn’t want him to think that I was laughing at his ability to have sex, I told Abby the truth—that I was thinking about what happened and thought it was funny. I even did my best imitation of him and Dustin Hoffman, complete with sound effects, hoping to make him feel less self-conscious about what happened. I thought it would put him at ease, which it did in a way—his penis went limp, retreated into its foreskin, hid its head in shame. “I think you should leave,” Abogado said. I tried to apologize, but he didn’t want to hear it so I got dressed and left.
When I got back to New York, I sent Abogado an e-mail, apologizing again. In a reply he said it was no big deal, but the chilly tone of his words suggested otherwise. Michelle still keeps in touch with Dustin Hoffman, so I know that Abogado moved to New Orleans a year ago to open a cooking school. I probably could’ve gone without having Colin find him, but since Michelle’s always so secretive about him, part of me wondered if he was married. He’s not. Despite what happened, I hope Abogado’s well, I hope he’s happy, and I sure as hell hope he’s teaching people to cook something other than ham.
crescent city cartwheels
tuesday, april 19
Eva and I got to New Orleans early yesterday morning and are now sitting outside Café du Monde in the French Quarter sharing beignets. I love beignets. My mom used to make them for Daisy and me when we were little girls. She’d let us help make the dough and cut it into squares, and we always used to argue over who got to sprinkle powdered sugar on top when they were done.
Last night I walked by Abogado’s cooking school which is also in the French Quarter. It’s located on the first floor of a tiny, yellow stucco town house with black shuttered windows and a fancy wrought-iron balcony that’s covered with ferns and flowers. Peering through the windows, I could see that a class was in session and didn’t want to go inside, so I took a pamphlet that was sitting in a box near the door. I’ve decided that the best way to get to him is to take a class and pretend that it’s all one big coincidence when I see him.
While waiting to call the school, I look around the French Quarter and smile. While it’s not quite back to the glory it once was before Hurricane Katrina, it warms my heart to see that many businesses are open and happy tourists are milling about.
A little before noon, I take my cell phone out of my purse to call the school when it suddenly rings. Looking at the caller ID, I see that it’s Colin Brody, P.I., so I answer. He asks if I got his e-mail saying that Henry and Alex are married.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. It’s a shame. They both had so much potential. “Hey, by any chance do you know the name of the woman Alex married?” While Henry and I dated only briefly, Alex and I dated for five months. Just as things were getting serious, he broke up with me for another girl. I can’t remember her name, but I think it was—
“Sarah,” Colin says. “I think her name is Sarah.”
Yep, that was it. Sarah. I’ve always thought of Alex as the good one who got away. He was so sharp and mature—my mother loved him. When he broke up with me, he was honest about why he was doing so, honest about Sarah, and I always respected him for that. Oh well. I guess if a guy’s going to leave you for another woman, it’s better to have it be the woman he ends up marrying than some dime-store floozy.
“So how’s it going?” Colin casually asks. “Have you been finding these guys all right?” Still thinking about Alex and Sarah, I answer without thinking.
“Yeah, but they’ve all been total busts so far. You should’ve seen them, they were total idiots. So I’m in New Orleans now, hoping things’ll work—”
I suddenly realize what I’m saying and stop talking.
Oh my God . . . I just spilled the beans. Why did I spill the beans? How did I spill the beans? What did Colin ask to make me spill the beans? He asked if I found the guys all right.
“You totally tricked me into saying that!” I scream into the phone.
“Whoa, whoa, don’t bite my head off!” Colin says, letting out a chuckle. “I did no such thing. All I did was ask you a question.”
“Yeah—a trick question,” I snap.
“It was no trick question. It was straightforward.”
“No it wasn’t.” Wait—Was it?
“Yes, it was. All I did was ask if you found the guys all right, like, did the invitations get to them.”
“If that’s what you wanted to know, then that’s what you should’ve asked. You specifically asked me if I found them, and you asked me casually, like we’d already talked about what I’m doing.”
“And by ‘what you’re doing’ you mean tracking down old boyfriends, right?”
“Exactly.”
Oh-shit! I did it again!
“Ah ha!” Colin exclaims. “Got you twice!”
I don’t say anything. I’m too angry.
“Oh, c’mon Del,” he continues. “Don’t be mad. I’m just curious, that’s all.”
I’m still too angry to speak.
“So, why are ya tracking down old boyfriends? Is it like a twelve-step thing? Are ya making peace with all your demons?”
“No, it’s not a twelve-step thing, you moron! And it’s none of your business why I’m doing it!”
“I s’pose you’re right,” Colin says. “But if I knew, I might be able to help you out with a little more information.”
A little more information? My curiosity is piqued.
“What kind of a little more information?”
“Well, take your chef, for example,” Colin says. “In addition to being single and straight, I found out that he’s quite the catch down there in New Orleans.”
Piqued more.
“How so?”
“Well, I found an interesting article about him on Nexis, an article that was written a few months ago in the New Orleans Times-Picayune, an article that you can’t find on Google.”
“And what did it say?”
“Hold on, let me get it.” I hear papers shuffling. “Okay, here it is. Let’s see . . . it says that Diego Soto is a natural-born chef who never took a cooking class in his life. His new cooking school, which fuses Spanish, French, and American cuisines together, is all the rage in New Orleans. Quickly becoming one of the Crescent City’s new movers and shakers, he was recently spotted eating dinner with Emeril Lagasse. Diego Soto also just purchased a million-dollar loft in New Orleans’s very trendy Warehouse District and is considered to be one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.”
Emeril Lagasse? A million-dollar loft? A most eligible bachelor?
Bam!!!
I can’t believe I hooked up with a most eligible bachelor! I know the Times-Picayune isn’t exactly People, but it’s still so exciting. This is it—this is it! Abogado’s the one, I’m positive. All those others didn’t happen for a reason.
Although I can barely contain my enthusiasm, I try to keep my cool. If Colin finds out just how keyed-up I am about all this, then it’ll mean he was right, that I should’ve told him what I was doing. With that said, after taking a deep breath, I clear my throat, and speak slowly. “It’s great to hear Diego’s doing so well.” The tone of my voice is low and serious.
“That’s as excited as you’re gonna get?” Colin asks, obviously surprised by my demeanor.
“Did you expect cartwheels?”
“Are ya doing cartwheels?”
“No,” I say calmly. But I am pacing. I need to get off the phone and sign up for one of Abogado’s classes immediately. “Colin, is there a reason that you called?” I ask impatiently.
“A reason? Oh, yes, right.” He suddenly remembers that he called me. “I can’t find this guy Nukes, not without a proper first or last name.”
Nukes? Who in the hell is that? Oh! Yes, right . . . Cabo San Lucas . . . Coco Locos . . . Trampoline.
“I did a search for people whose last name begins with the letters N-u-k and then narrowed the results down three times to include only men, currently between the ages of twenty-seven and thirty-one, who lived in the state of Arizona or Arkansas or Alabama in 1997. I even looked in Alaska just for kicks. There were none.”
Okay, so he couldn’t find him—I’m not surprised. And I really don’t care, to be honest. Not with an eligible bachelor at my fingertips. “Anything else?”
“No. Oh wait—yes. Check your e-mail. I sent you another guy’s information. Matt King.”
“Will do,” I quickly say. “Do I owe you anything extra for the article?”
“Nah . . . it was my pleasure to get you as excited as I know you are, even though you’re pretending not to be.”
I smile. He’s good, this one.
“Well, all right then. Thanks and have a nice day.”
“Yes, you too, my dear. And good luck with the chef.”
As soon as I hang up the phone, I scream. When I’m done, I look around and realize that no one sitting around me has flinched. New Orleans rocks. I love this same thing about New York. I love that after a good date or a good meeting I can walk down the street screaming with joy if I want, and no one cares. No one calls the police or grabs their kids. If anything, they smile. You see, New York is filled with crazy people, so to everyone walking by, I’m just one more crazy. It’s a very freeing feeling.
After reading the pamphlet from Abogado’s cooking school, I dial the number on the front as quickly as I can. A woman answers the phone. When I ask her when the next available class is, she tells me it’s my lucky day. Although everything is booked solid for the next three weeks, she just got a cancellation for a pastry class that evening.
Kick. Ass.
I tell her I’ll take it.
After I give her my credit card number to hold the reservation, she tells me to arrive promptly at six o’clock that evening. “It’ll be a long class,” she says enthusiastically. “You’re going to explore the exciting world of the puff pastry!”
Since I have a few hours to kill before six, I decide to take a walk to the Warehouse District to see where Abogado lives. My guidebook says it’s considered the artsy area of New Orleans and is within walking distance from the French Quarter, so I let Eva walk there on her leash for practice. Since being in Philadelphia, she’s attempted to do so a few more times but hasn’t gotten much better. She walks in circles and backtracks well but for some reason can’t grasp the concept of going forward. However that’s all about to change today because Mommy read The Dog Whisperer last night and has a pocket full of treats. Someone’s going to get rewarded for walking forward! While gearing her up, I check my home voice mail and hear two more messages from my mother. I haven’t figured out what to tell her yet about losing my job yet, so I don’t call her back.
Abogado’s loft is located just off St. Charles, a historic avenue in New Orleans (or so says my map), and although it takes Eva and me a little longer to get there than it would if I was the only one doing the walking, we get there and that’s what’s important. The treats do seem to be working though; she’s catching on quickly. (“Who’s Mommy’s little miss smarty pants? Whooo? You are, dat’s whooo!”)
Although I didn’t bring my sunglasses/baseball hat disguise with me, I don’t think it’ll be a problem because it’s the middle of a workday. I doubt Abogado’s even home. After locating the correct building, I peek inside at the opulent lobby and am impressed at what I see. The old redbrick facade seems to be all that’s left of the original structure. Everything else is shiny and new. Marble floors run throughout, and a doorman stands behind a big mahogany desk—it’s fancy-schmancy. Curious as to what the lofts look like, I ask if they have any to show and am told no. After poking around a bit longer, I realize there’s not much else to see and leave.
After walking across the street, Eva squats to go potty. She can’t go when people are looking—she gets stage fright—so I look away. While waiting for her to finish, I glance back at Abogado’s building and realize that I can see into the apartments from where I’m standing. Although I know I shouldn’t, remembering that I have my binoculars in my purse, I pull them out to take a look.
For the middle of a workday, there seems to be a lot of people out and about. Since I don’t want anyone to think I’m a perv, I first pretend to look at the birds perched on top of Abogado’s building and then shift my gaze down to the windows when I’m sure the coast is clear. I pan across the building. Hmm . . . ceiling, ceiling, wall, chandelier, and . . . that’s it. How boring.
As I put my binoculars down and let them hang around my neck, Eva kicks her legs back like a bull, signaling she’s done. After praising her for being such a good “pooopy pooopy poo!” I pull a tissue out of my purse for the cleanup. When I finish, I casually glance across the street to get one last look at Abogado’s building and am horrified at what I see: Abogado himself is standing outside the front entrance, looking in my direction. For a split second our eyes meet. My stomach drops. Praying he doesn’t recognize me, I quickly look away.
A few seconds later I gather the courage to turn my head around, hoping to see that Abogado has already gone on his way. As I slowly peer over my shoulder, my stomach drops again when I see that he’s not only still standing out front looking at me, he’s now shaking his head in disgust as well.
Fuck.
I can’t believe it—I’ve been busted.
I have to get out of here.
Turning around, I attempt to run down the street away from Abogado’s building but am stopped short by Eva’s leash. When I look down to see what the problem is, I find her sprawled out on the sidewalk, refusing to move. Of all the times! When I swoop down to pick her up, I see Abogado crossing the street, heading toward me.
Fuck. Fuck.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe he’s coming after me.
With Eva safely in my arms, I turn around once again and run as fast as I can down the sidewalk. As I run and run and run, I feel like a criminal, like someone who’s just been caught shoplifting. I feel like Abogado is the fuzz, out to get me. The people I pass on the sidewalk are staring at me, and I’m positive that, at any moment, one of them is going to try and trip me so I don’t get away. Hoping to prevent this from happening, I begin smiling at everyone I pass.
After running for what seems like one hundred blocks, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost Abogado and turn around. When I do, my heart begins beating faster. Not only is Abogado still hot on my trail looking angrier than ever, but he’s even closer to me than he was before.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I turn back around and pick up speed.
As Eva bounces up and down in my arms, small beads of sweat begin trickling down my forehead because not only is it warm outside, but I’m nervous and out of shape. Trying my hardest to lose Abogado, I quickly take a left down the first side street I see, then another quick right, and then another quick left. I have no idea where I am or where I’m going, but I don’t care. I have to shake Abogado—I have to lose him! After one more block, I turn around again and—
Oh. My. God.
He’s still there.
He’s like the Terminator.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Suddenly I hear him call out to me. “Delilah! Stop running!”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do! Do I stop? Do I pretend like this is all just a coincidence? Do I—
Suddenly a taxi drives by. Yes! After whistling the loudest whistle I’ve ever whistled, it stops. I’m in the backseat within seconds.
“The French Quarter please!” I yell up to the driver, as I crouch down on the floor. As the cab moves forward, a small sense of relief comes over me. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I got caught. Of all the guys to catch me, why did it have to be Abogado? Why couldn’t it have been someone like Wade? I know this is my fault for not wearing a disguise, but—
Suddenly the cab comes to a stop.
“What’s going on?” I ask the driver nervously. “Why are you stopping?”
“Traffic.”
“Traffic? What do you mean traffic?”
“Traffic only means one thing.”
Lifting my head, I look out the front window and see dozens of cars stopped in front of us. Turning around, I look out the back window and see Abogado approaching the car.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I hit the floor again.
I can’t believe this is happening. He’s going to call the police on me. I’m going to go to jail for stalking. Suddenly I hear knocking on the window.
Knock, knock, knock!
Eva begins to bark.
Ruff, ruff, ruff!
Abogado begins to yell.
“Delilah, I know you in there!”
Knock, knock, knock!
Ruff, ruff, ruff!
“Delilah! I see you! Open the door!”
Fuck to the millionth degree.
“Hey, lady—what’s going on here?” the cab driver asks.
“Um . . . nothing, sir,” I say from the floor. “How’s that traffic jam looking?”
Before the cab driver has a chance to answer, I hear a click and feel a breeze. The back door right next to me has just opened. I must have forgotten to lock it. Oops.
“Delilah, why are you following me?” Abogado asks.
Unsure of what to do or say, I pick up a crumpled up piece of paper from the floor and hold it up. “Here it is!” I exclaim, pretending I’ve been looking for whatever it is. I flatten it out and read. “It’s my receipt from . . . Buddy’s Bait Shop . . . for . . . five hundred night crawlers and an insulated worm container!”
Oh, Jesus.
“Delilah, stop pretending you don’t see me,” Abogado says. Looking up, I pretend to be surprised that it’s him.
“Aboga—I mean Diego . . . is that you?”
“Yes, it is me, and you know it is me. Why is you run from me?”
“Run from you? I wasn’t running from you. I was running to catch up with this taxi. I left this very important receipt in it.” I hold it up as evidence.
“Please, do not be lying,” Abogado says. His voice is serious tone. “You spy on me, I catch you, and now you run.”
“Spy on you?” I pretend to be insulted. “I’d never do such a thing!”
Abogado shakes his head in disbelief. “You know, I think it be coincidental when I see your name on the list for the baking class I teach tonight, but now I see it is not.”
The cab driver clears his throat. “Hey, buddy,” he says to Abogado. “You gonna get in or what?” Looking forward, I see the traffic has started to move.
“Delilah, I insist you talk to me,” Abogado says, reaching in his pocket. Pulling out a five dollar bill, he gives it to the cab driver. “Please come out of the taxi.”
“I can’t,” I say shaking my head. “I really can’t. I’m late for a . . . fishing thing.”
Abogado gives me a look, a serious look, an intense look, a look that’s just plain . . . well, sexy. His brow is furrowed and he’s got a little wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. He’s so cute. God, why did this have to happen? Looking away from him for a moment, I weigh my options. If I stay in this cab and leave, I will have blown any chance I might have with him. However, if I get out and talk to him, I might be able to save things. I turn back to him.
“I guess I have a few minutes to talk.”
After grabbing Eva and getting out of the taxi, I tell Abogado that I did sign up to take a baking class but didn’t know that he was the teacher.
“So you aren’t following me?” he asks.
“No, I swear.”
He gestures to my chest. “Then why do you wear binoculars?” Looking down, I see them dangling from my neck. Oops. I forgot to put them away. “And why do I see you look into the windows of my building?” Oops again. I knew he saw me, but I didn’t know he saw me do this.
“Well,” I say, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m scouting locations for a new Elisabeth Sterling Design store and think the Warehouse District is perfect and—”
“Michelle says you both lose your job.”
She did? Damn her! I try again.
“Well, there were some beautiful iridescent birds perched on the roof of your building and—”
“Those were pigeons.”
They were? Damn them! I rack my brain for another excuse.
“Delilah, stop lying,” Abogado says, as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “You only make this worse.” When I look into his eyes, his sexy eyes that are still half-hidden behind a pair of Clark Kent glasses, my shoulders sink. Why am I trying to lie my way out of this? I was caught in the act. Walking over to a nearby stoop, I plop down and hold my head in my hands.
“You’re right,” I confess. “I did stop by your place today to see where you lived, and I did sign up for the baking class knowing you were the teacher. I’m sorry but I just wanted to see you again and wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”
Abogado clears his throat. “Delilah, I am flattered you go to such great lengths to connect with me, but you are right. I do not want to see you and I do not want you to take my class.” A pang of sadness shoots through my heart. I look up.
“But everything happened so long ago, why can’t you just let it go? Why can’t we pretend like we just met?”
“Because we did not just meet and I cannot let it go. Delilah, you laugh at me. Do you not understand? You knew that I was embarrassed about what happen that night and you laugh at me anyway.”
“No, you’re wrong. I didn’t laugh at you; I laughed at what happened. It might’ve been embarrassing, but it was still funny. You have to admit that.” Abogado doesn’t respond. “Look at it this way,” I continue. “If you’re embarrassed, imagine how I feel right now. You caught me spying on you. At least what you did, the choking, was an accident. What I just did was planned.” I holding my right hand up to my forehead and make the L sign. “I’m a loser.”
After half-smiling for half a second, Abogado shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Delilah,” he says. “I appreciate you coming here, but I cannot stop thinking about what you do. I’d appreciate if you go home.”
“I understand,” I say quietly, accepting defeat.
After saying good-bye, Abogado walks away. When he disappears around the corner, I curse myself. I don’t always think about the things I say and do, especially when I’m joking. I don’t often think beyond the moment about how my words and actions affect people. I can’t believe what I did has stuck with him for two years. Michelle was right.
After slowly standing up, I walk Eva back to the French Quarter, back to the hotel. As we walk past a Red Cross donation box in the window of a store, I stop and put the same amount of money I was going to spend on the baking class inside. My relationship with Abogado might not be able to be revived, but I hope the great energy that once pumped through this city will.
$2,284, 28 days, 6 guys left
1 Christopher Reeve, the world’s best Superman, may you rest in peace.