The Truth About Delilah Blue by Tish Cohen Page A

straight” before the phones started ringing and his assistant started bursting in looking for signatures and flight confirmations. At six-foot-five, his college quarterback frame appeared comical behind his modern desk, as if the glass desktop were sitting directly on his knees. Douglas looked up when Victor passed, his fair skin toasted pink and peeling at the tip of his nose. “Vic, do you have a minute?”
    Victor stopped. “Can it wait until later? I’ve got an important call this morning. Two, actually.”
    Douglas pulled a file from a credenza behind his desk and motioned toward a chair. “Come on in, big guy. And shut the door behind you.”
    T HE FOURTH FLOOR of L.A. Arts’ visual arts building was dark. Empty too but for the back of someone’s head at a studio entryway. Lila nearly turned around when she realized it was the teacher’s assistant, Adam Harding. He pressed a notice to the door with one elbow while tearing a piece of masking tape with his teeth. The sign said class was canceled due to the heat. “Hey,” he mumbled through the tape.
    She dropped her backpack to the floor, took the roll of tape from him, and stuck a short curling strip on each of her spread-out fingertips.
    “Thanks.” He took a piece and affixed the top of the poster. “Lila, right?”
    She nodded, tearing more tape. “Are Lichty’s classes canceled too?”
    “The whole school.”
    “Is he still here?”
    “Not sure. Check his office if the studio is empty.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “I don’t mind classes being canceled. Midterms are going to suck and I need time to study.”
    She’d kill to have a problem like midterms.
    “One more semester and I’m out in the real world. Scary as hell.”
    “Yeah, well. You and millions of other college grads.”
    The muscle in his jaw bulged and he chanced a quick glance at her, saying nothing.
    She shrugged. “Sorry, but it just doesn’t sound that bad. Try taking your clothes off in front of a roomful of people your own age. Nothing will seem scary after that.”
    “You get nervous?”
    “Only to the point of having to swallow my own vomit.”
    “Huh. Well you look pretty darned good to me.”
    The TA leering at the art model? She dropped the tape to the floor. “Do you even hear yourself?”
    “What? No—”
    “Jesus .” She scooped up her bag and marched down the hall.
    S HE SLIPPED THROUGH the studio doors and closed them behind her, hoping Adam wouldn’t come after her. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.
    Behind her, she heard a ticking sound. She spun around to find Lichty staring at her, clicking a ballpoint pen. A wicked smile unfurled across his face. “Well, Miss Mack, to what do I owe this foul-mouthed outburst?”
    Lichty. She was completely unprepared now. And why did he have to click that pen? It sounded as if something was about to explode. “Uh…”
    “As eloquent as ever, I see.” He set the pen on his desk, picked up a stack of essays, and slid them into his valise. “I’ll have to ask you to take your games and go. This is a place of learning, not a kindergarten playground. Besides that, we had a conversation, about you and me and places you are not permitted to enter in the futu—”
    “I made a mistake,” she blurted out. “I never should have quit. I wasn’t thinking. I was new.”
    “New?” He touched one hand to his chest. “Well, now I am shocked. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I believe you said you’d modeled before.”
    “I did. I have. Lichty, I came to say I’m sorry. I realize now how badly I need this job and I’m asking you to forget what happened.”
    He appeared amused. Like a cat that’s just come upon a three-legged mouse. “I’m afraid I never forget. If I’m known for nothing else, it is my unfailing memory.”
    “Forgive, then. Please.”
    Silence. Then, “No model has ever walked out on my classes.”
    “Why would they? You’re the best. Everybody knows it.”
    “Don’t