The Delilah Complex

Fifty-Six

Dulcie was standing in the middle of the living room. I was on the couch, more relaxed than I had been in days. Jordain had Paul Lessor in custody. The danger was over. Dulcie was telling me about her rehearsal.

“Once we were all there, Raul sat us down in a circle and we went over everything that had happened in Boston.”

She wasn’t just telling me what had happened but performing for me, as if it were a scene from the play. “He asked each one of us what we thought, both positive and negative. No one mentioned me freezing up. No one.”

“Well, Dad said it wasn’t something he thought many people even noticed. I’m sure it felt to you like it lasted for hours, but he told me it was only a minute or two.”

“It did feel like hours, sort of like time had just stopped. And it was so quiet and everyone was looking at me and I couldn’t figure out what to do next.”

“It sounds really awful,” I said. “My mom told me about it when it happened to her.”

“Did she ever throw up because she was so nervous?” Dulcie asked. “Raul said some really big actors and actresses throw up even after years of performing. Can you imagine that? If I kept throwing up, I’d quit. Don’t you think you would?” But she didn’t really give me a chance to answer. There was more to tell about the healing that happened this day. “So then Raul told us there were more reviews and he read them to us.”

“Were they good?”

“All three of them said that I was going to be a star. That I had everything it takes.”

“Did they mention your stage fright?”

She shook her head. “No. Pretty amazing. I really thought they would.” Dulcie was more serene than I’d seen her in the past few weeks. The opening was still eight weeks away. The writers were reworking two of the songs and some of the dialogue. The cast and director were reblocking some of the numbers that had tripped them up in Boston.

I’d talked to Raul for a few minutes while Dulcie was gathering up her stuff that evening, and he assured me that her stage fright was much less severe than he’d seen in far more experienced performers.

“I wouldn’t worry about her,” he’d said.

“If you can find me a mother who doesn’t worry about her daughter, then she’s not much of a parent.”

I looked around, making sure Dulcie wasn’t nearby and couldn’t overhear me, and broached the subject of the suspected crush. “It seems perfectly natural to me but I wanted to mention it. To let you know.”

“Goes with the territory,” he said matter-of-factly. “First time it happened I was floored. Had no bloody idea what was going on. But that was a while ago. I’ve gotten awfully good at spotting it. And if I do say so, I’ve figured out how to strike a good balance of staying involved without appearing interested.”

After Dulcie finished recounting her day, we’d gone into the kitchen to make real hot chocolate, with melted bittersweet chocolate and milk. Actually, Dulcie was preparing it to ensure its success. I was sitting at the table and keeping her company.

That was when Noah called and asked if it would be okay if he came up.

“Is this business…?”

“Or pleasure?” He finished the part of the sentence I hadn’t asked, partly because Dulcie was in the room and partly because it was easier for me to assume it was business.

“I think you have to tell me,” I said.

“Tonight, it’s business. But it’s always a pleasure to do business with you, Dr. Snow.”

There was a playfulness back in his tone that seemed appropriate. I could only imagine how relieved he must be to have detained the man who had eluded and confounded him and the rest of the department for almost a month.

I didn’t ask him if it could wait until the next day. If it could have, I knew he wouldn’t have called.

“Do you like hot chocolate?”

“Are you making it?”

“No, Dulcie is.” They’d never met, but he knew about her, had seen photos of her, and had been interested in her drama career.

“Then the answer is yes.”