stand her pain. Outside of her home, the girl became reckless...she lashed out in every way she should not have. She wanted her mother to recognize her, get her fucking
attention. She became an incorrigible and troublemaker. She caused trouble for teachers and fellow students in high school for the smallest of reasons...and sometimes she got violent. One day she literally lunged on the prima-donna bitch who led the varsity cheerleader squad. Delilah wanted to take the girl's Walkman, which she used to listen to Madonna between classes, and shove it up her ass. The only thing she didn't do as she progressed through her sophomore and junior years was try to be promiscuous with boys. The concept of sex with anyone, to even kiss someone, reminded her of the
priest who molested her. Every time she was attracted to a boy, she wanted to fantasize
about such things...but her pain made her turn from such thoughts. She felt more and more alone.
The one thing Delilah loved, the one thing that made her feel alive, was dancing. She had begun learning dance at a studio not long after she escaped the priest and began a new life away from him. In spite of her pain, in spite of her self-loathing, it was what gave her life meaning. It was her escape, to give herself to music, to have her body flow with the rhythms of it. And she did so wonderfully...even her mother was moved by her talent, even after the rift grew between them. As she grew into a beautiful woman, this one part of Delilah's life showed the greatest promise for happiness.
It had only been a handful of years before her seventeenth year that the arrests began of members of the Catholic Church across the country for sexual abuse of children. When she was seventeen, she saw a news report of the latest such arrest: the priest who molested her. The man her mother believed in, the wolf her mother thought handled her so well for so long. His arrest and the charges against him were part of a news report on television. For a moment, the teenager's heart swelled...maybe now mother would understand! Maybe she would finally see what kind of monster he is!
But incredibly, Delilah's mother didn't believe it...she wouldn't. She said it was all lies created to destroy the Catholic Church, to destroy him. Catholics had been persecuted before, she said with the blind resolve of a borderline zealot, and now it was happening again. Delilah begged her mother, pleaded with her to listen, but she wouldn't. Instead, she told her child to leave...and never come back. The girl felt torn apart inside, she was a stranger to her mother, and she did the only thing she could do: what her mother wanted. She ran away.
Delilah began moving across the country, existing as best she could...as well as any runaway her age with no sanctuary and few prospects could. Any hope for a new life faded, even when she managed to find other young adults just like her who sought to survive. When they attempted to evade those who would prey on them. Delilah lost friends just as quickly as she made them in part because of predators just as bad as the monster who devastated her childhood, and she knew she was fortunate to have escaped the same fate. But a part of her wondered why she even wanted to survive. It was a growing part of her that secretly wished for death, to bring an end to a life that brought her nothing but pain...pain that she believed was her fault.
At the age of nineteen, she was approached by a lecherous bug of a man as she panhandled outside of Union Station in St. Louis. This man claimed to be a scout looking for fresh young talent. She had heard offers like that before, and immediately began to walk away. But what stopped her was his claiming to work for a local strip club, and he said he was looking for new dancers. He might have been a malignant bastard, but he was a practical bastard: the moment he saw her, he knew the homeless girl had the potential to make his boss a lot of money in the long-term. By this time, she had nearly lost all hope of making a new life for herself...a life she wanted. And the lure of losing herself to music pulled to her, in spite of her better instincts. After visiting the club and discovering the offer was truthful, and after a brief tryout, she reluctantly said yes. The manager of the club asked her name...but she wouldn't use the name she was born with. That life was gone. She remembered from her poisoned childhood the biblical story of Samson, and the woman who betrayed and destroyed him. She thought ruefully, I'm not much better than her, anyway. It was in this way she gave herself the name Delilah.
Delilah already knew how to lose herself to the music, and that was the only thing that made her first night dancing nude in front of leering eyes tolerable. It got easier with each performance, but each night of dancing made her feel more alone...more guilty. That didn't change when Guido Roccoli, son of Boss Roccoli himself, went there to meet with one of his many lieutenants and noticed Delilah. One of Guido's few redeeming qualities was the fact that he loved his wife, and would never do anything to betray her. But some stripper joint was where the jerk wanted to meet, so what the hell could you do? Guido resolved not to watch any of the girls while there, but he couldn't help but be beguiled by Delilah. Guido decided then and there that the girl would be a perfect fit for this new club his pop opened up and gave Tony Pucci to manage, the Hot Biscuit. Guido approached her manager and bought out her contract, and that was how Delilah came to be there.
Two years later, the dancer's feelings didn't change...they intensified. On that early morning after Good Friday, as she danced, Delilah wanted to die more than ever before. Maybe that way she could have escaped the guilt...and the loneliness.
She saw the woman was strangely dressed in men's clothes, and would have dis-
regarded her...except there was something more to her. There was an unusually neutral
expression on the woman's face. Delilah knew better than anyone that the moment a customer came into the showroom to see the dancers, one thing that customer never had was a neutral expression. This couldn't have been called forced neutrality, either.
Maybe...maybe we honestly don't matter to her, Delilah thought. But if that's true, then
what's she doing here? As if in response to her thoughts...
...the woman looked directly at her.