Where We Can Find It 
Delilah cranked the knob on her radio in the car car to drown out the endless stream of orders replaying themselves in her mind.
“I will take a 12 oz. caramel macchiato.”
“One blueberry muffin, warmed up, and a Grande’ chai latte.”
“Coffee. Black.”
She let the cemented smile slip off her face and drop into her lap where she’d plaster it on again tomorrow. She enjoyed the six other bubbly girls she worked with on a rotating shift at the “Mean Joe Bean”, but it was the nonstop grinning she would struggle with today. Delilah had turned the ripe old age of 21 over the week-end and still a touch queasy from the libations though today was Tuesday.
Looking up at her reflection in the rearview mirror she held her placid expression, and ran her hand through her caramel highlighted hair. It had knotted up throughout her shift causing it to kink into clumps resembling half-cooked ramen noodles. It still had lots of spring to it as Delilah pulled bits up and out trying to give her afro more height on top. She preferred the soft, natural kink her hair had, opposed to the flat ironed look that was so popular with her generation.
From her radio a sad teen whined about her life being empty and filled the background with woeful cries and odd instruments. It was a c.d. of music her friend from L.A. had sent her for her birthday. “Bent Barbie” was Terra’s newest obsession and had been helping them book gigs at local coffee shops and dive bars.
Delilah felt a twinge of jealousy bite at her insides as she realized that Terra was probably enjoying her life more than she. She imagined herself laughing with Terra; walking arm in arm from club to club under the glittering lights of L.A. Bend, Oregon was far from glitzy or electrifying. Terra had gotten out, and Delilah was still working at the coffee stand they both worked at their senior year of high school.
She pulled her silver Honda Civic into the awning covered parking space that read “24” and turned the key to kill the motor. Her body curled around the steering wheel in utter exhaustion. Her head flopped forward to rest there on the cold red plastic wheel until her forehead couldn’t take the uncomfortable press of the solid surface. She straightened up and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips for a brief moment. The c.d. slid out of the stereo, she grabbed it and placed her middle finger through the hole in the center to carry it into her apartment. With her free hand she snatched her salmon- pink patent leather purse and tangerine jean coat with the fake wool lining from the passenger seat.
“Damn it,” she said as her feet met the concrete. She’d forgotten that her ten minute drive home from the coffee shop was the first time in over six hours that she’d sat down. Delilah, like the other girls she worked with, wore high heels every day to work, rain or shine. She was 5 foot 3 and when she slid into her heels she was a super model ready to strut her stuff down the runway. She felt a couple of the girls she worked with were already tall and the extra height made them look far too lofty, but when she was a 5 foot 7, slender but still curvy, cocoa skinned young woman, she just knew the world was her oyster. Right now, though, the oyster was a tight pair of shiny back stiletto’s clamping down on her toes and all she wanted to do was shuck the darn things off and give herself a nice pedicure.
Wobbling to her door, she paused as a car came into the parking lot and blinded her with its high powered halogen lights. She put her arm up to shield her eyes and tried to see who was pulling in. The cobalt blue Cadillac Escalade passed her where she stood on the slim stone path that led to her light green front door. She turned and continued down the path past the hedges that line the left side to create a small amount of privacy from the other apartments. Her door faced her neighbors’ door, but the shoulder height hedge kept out unwanted peering eyes. The hedge grew down the slightly sloping yard that held a low glass table flanked by two wooden Adirondack chairs she’d painted conch shell pink early this last summer.
Where she and a friend might sip vodka lemonades, was now slightly dusted with dried up pine needles that had fallen from the adjacent tree. Her undersized yard required less than a five minute mow and now it wouldn’t need another watering until after the snow melted in the spring. The thought of the snow that would soon be falling on her drowsy little town made her shiver from the top of her head right down to the tips of her toes. Turning her back on her mini yard she dug into her cold leather purse to fish out her house key. Since turning twenty-one she put her house key on a separate ring from the car key in case she left her car at the club.
She smiled at her efficiency, how much she’d always paid attention to details and that it was always the best plan to be one step ahead of the game. Delilah walked into her warm apartment, hanging her purse and coat on the rack, she turned to the window facing the tiny yard and closed her long navy-blue velvet curtains, all but a sliver of a crack. She was warming up to the excitement she felt thinking about the pedicure.
Holland sat in his over-sized car and twisted his wedding ring with his thumb. He turned the key to the “off” position and stared ahead with a strained expression he held screwed to his face. The endless number crunching was wearing his nerves thin these days. His accounting office was the busiest in town; which was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand he could afford the Escalade, on the other it meant more often than not, he was burning the midnight oil and returning to his family to find them all asleep. His wife wasn’t bothering with making him a plate of leftovers for him to reheat; she figured he was fine to grab something from the deli adjacent to his office.
It wasn’t her fault; Holland knew that it was her personality to not be overly thoughtful. Birthdays consisted of gift certificates, father’s day was a dinner out with the family, and Christmas was a tie and cufflinks. She didn’t need to be fawned over and she just felt that everyone else should conduct their lives the same. Every year Holland got his hopes up though, when his special days would roll around he hoped that she would find a way to make him feel secure and special. He’d resigned himself to the old analogy that opposites attract and that would have to be good enough for him.
He sucked in a big cold breath of air as he slid from the heated leather front seat out into the evening’s crisp air. He reached into the inner pocket of his leather “Member s only” style jacket removing a business size envelope. Though his fingers were stiffening up from the cold, he pulled out its contents to make sure it was in order. Four crisp twenty-dollar bills were reinserted followed by three tongue touches to moisten the envelope’s seal.
Holland shuffled his feet down the short stone path and settled into the pink Adirondack chair. He covered his graying hair with a fitted black fleece hat, wrapped a Burberry scarf round his thick neck, slid his long-fingered accountant hands into wool-lined leather gloves and settled back into the summer settee’.
Delilah sat on her couch facing the front window, preparing for her weekly ritual. She’d carried in a porcelain bowl filled with hot, sudsy water and placed it on the floor. On a thin coffee table she’d made from turquoise 2x4’s lain across two cinder blocks, was her kit. Laid out was: lotion, a white emery board printed with tiny pictures of cherries, “Corvette Red” polish and polish remover, cotton balls, a blue gel filled toe separator, a towel that resembled a pink baby blanket and a pair of anklet socks.
Her acrylic nails ran over her implements to settle on the cotton balls and remover. Her expertise began to show as she smoothly swiped at each toe and tidily removed the previous red. Placing the used cotton balls next to her discarded stilettos, she moved on to ease her feet timidly into the pot of steaming water. As they entered the bubbles some overflowed and splashed to the wooden floor boards. Delilah relaxed her body and leaned into her over-stuffed plaid couch.
After a few moments had lapsed, she pulled one foot out at a time and toweled them off. Turning back to the coffee table, she snatched the toe separators and spread each toe to fit into the contraption. The filling was more out of habit than necessity, as she kept her nails in impeccable shape. She shook the polish then turned the cap to release the wand dripping quick drying paint. Ten short strokes later, she returned the wand to its bottle and examined her work.
Smiling, she released her digits from their gel jail and reached for the pomegranate scented lotion. Squeezing a fifty-cent sized dollop into her palm she began rubbing it into her ankles, arches and finally lubricated each dainty toe. Delilah grabbed the socks from the table and rolled each one over her toes on to cover her feet. She got up, walked to the living room window and pulled the heavy drapes completely closed.
Holland gripped the wide arms of the low chair and propelled himself into an upright position. He ambled up the slight slope of the stone path and deposited the envelope into the mailbox by the awning marked, “24” and headed for his Escalade.
