London Twist: A Delilah Novella

what did the effort itself suggest? Was it for Delilah’s benefit? For a man? Both? She found herself hoping the effort was for her, and the feeling was strange. Well, if Fatima cared enough about Delilah’s opinion of her appearance to go to some trouble before an evening out, it could only be good, because it would suggest she’d be amenable to spending more time together. And without that, this already long-shot op would be stillborn.
    Delilah stood as Fatima reached her table. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Fatima said, reaching for her shoulder and kissing her cheeks. “Trouble getting a cab.”
    No,
Delilah thought.
It was a fashion crisis. You tried on several outfits, and couldn’t settle on what felt like the right look.
The thought was strangely pleasing.
    “It’s nothing,” Delilah said. “I haven’t been here long, and anyway I’ve been enjoying the ambiance.”
    They sat. The waitress brought another tea, and they ordered a
meze
—small dishes like
baba ghanoush
and
mekanek
and
souvlakia
. While they ate, they chatted inconsequentially but pleasantly enough. Fatima told Delilah she loved the photos from the rally. Delilah told her if she copied and returned the memory card and indicated her favorites, Delilah would try to use them in the article.
    At one point, over coffees and a dessert of baklava and
sahlab
, Fatima asked, “How long do you think you’ll be in London?”
    Delilah had already thought about how she might answer. Too long would seem odd; too short, and their incipient friendship wouldn’t have time to bear fruit.
    “It depends on a lot of things,” Delilah said after a moment, as though having paused to consider the question. “I needed a break from Paris and I’m glad to be in London. I suppose it depends in part on how long I can spin out this assignment before my editor tells me no more rented flat.”
    This was calculated: by letting Fatima know that the duration of Delilah’s stay was in part a function of Fatima’s willingness to help her, she was offering Fatima an opening to become an accomplice in the deception of Delilah’s editor. And, if Fatima acted, and became complicit, it would be a good sign. It might create opportunities.
    Fatima took a sip of her coffee. “Are you… seeing anyone?”
    This question caught Delilah unawares, in part because of her own jumbled feelings about John. “You mean… in London?”
    “In general. You’re very beautiful… I couldn’t help but wonder if you had someone.”
    Delilah paused, then instinctively chose the response closest to the truth. “I was seeing someone, until recently. It wasn’t a good ending. Paris reminds me of him. I think that’s part of why I’m glad to be here.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Delilah smiled. “Don’t be. You’re the reason I came. What about you?”
    Fatima shook her head. “A recent breakup, like you. Not a bad one, though. It was harder on my parents than it was on either of us. I’m thirty, and they think I’m running out of time. And they liked him. A good Pakistani boy. But he wasn’t right. And I guess I’m at a point where, if it’s not really going anywhere, I don’t want it to just… I don’t know. Roll along by inertia, I guess. It seems unfair to everyone.”
    The opening was natural enough to be worth testing. “Your parents… they must be so ready for grandchildren. After what happened to your family.”
    Fatima took another sip of coffee. “Yes. And I feel selfish not giving them that comfort. But I’m just not ready.”
    “I don’t think it’s selfish. Or else, I’m quite selfish, too.” A slight detour from the route Delilah wanted to take, but it was important to share confidences, too.
    “Your parents want grandchildren?”
    “More than anything. And with my brother gone, I’m their only child. But… I don’t know. I’m not ready. Maybe not ready… to give up my freedom? I mean, I feel like I’m just getting started. There’s so much to do.”
    Fatima’s jaw hardened slightly, and for an instant her expression shifted into something both distant and intense. Then it was gone. “Yes,” she said. “Exactly.”
    “So what will you do, then? Poetry? Activism? What’s next, where do you want to make an impact?
    Fatima smiled. “Are you interviewing me now?”
    Delilah laughed and took a sip of coffee. “Yes, those are good interview questions, thank you for the reminder. I keep forgetting. I don’t feel like a very good journalist