Warpaint

by J J Maya

  "Hello love! Welcome to D'Arcy's Department Store."

  Jolted out of my thoughts, I looked up to see a tall, young man stare back at me. I had already made up my mind to leave and head back to the safety of the ant-infested apartment, but there was something faintly intriguing about hearing a British accent when I was so far away from home. Comforted by the familiarity of his accent, part of me wanted to learn more about this man and how he came to be standing here in front of me.

  "Hello!" I replied warmly, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  "Now, don't tell me you're from Glasgow?" the man asked, as he looked down at me.

  Shocked that he had pinpointed my accent exactly, I replied, "How did you guess?"

  "I trained there for a few weeks before I came out here to work. What was that store called—you know the big glitzy one? The one on Buchanan Street?"

  "Devonshire's?"

  "That's it! That's the one!” he exclaimed excitedly. Flicking his long dark hair off the side of his face, revealing a sharply contoured chin and chiseled cheekbones. His searing blue eyes glinting under the harsh lights of the store.

  "That’s my old store! I've just come from there!” I said excitedly, “I arrived yesterday."

  "What're the chances, eh? That’s bloody amazing, that is!” he smiled.

  For a fleeting moment, he looked wistful, his expression taking on a faraway gaze.

  "So, what brings you all the way over here?" he asked, bringing himself promptly back to earth.

  "A kettle," I replied. “Oh! And a man!” I added on, suddenly feeling stupid for giving away too much information to a stranger.

  “I might have known!” he laughed warmly.

  "What's so funny?" I asked, wondering what on earth could provoke such a reaction from a stranger.

  "Funny? It's the first thing all British expats do the day after they arrive, once they realise there is no way on earth they are going to make tea in a microwave. So, what do they do? They all rush out in search of a kettle.” The assistant stopped to take a breath, then carried on, pointing directions, “We have quite a selection on the 4th floor, right next to the elevator, or should I say lift?"

  Startled by his eerily accurate assessment of me and not knowing what else to say, I stared at my feet, mumbled, "Righty-oh, I'll be off then." Then sped off through the crowd of shoppers.

  I made my way towards the lift and pressed the button for 4th floor Electricals. Glancing back, I could see the assistant relaying his recent encounter with me to another assistant. Funny thing is, prior to my arrival in New York, I had never considered myself to be the least bit funny, yet over here, it was a whole different story. A wave of self-consciousness washed over me as it struck me then that there was a lot about living in New York that I was going to have to get used to.

  Twenty minutes later and feeling slightly fatigued from the morning’s events, I decided to grab a seat in D'Arcy's Cafe and spend a few moments watching the world go by. My mission to buy a kettle had been accomplished and now seemed the appropriate time to relax and rejuvenate over a hot cup of char. Sipping on the hot tea, I retrieved the yellow book from my bag and opened it at the chapter I had been reading the previous evening, when the shit had hit the fan.

  "Believe you are, and you will be."

  How could so few words mean so much? Could I just close my eyes and believe that here I am in New York and that all is right with me and the world? Or was it all just a crock of shit? Was it just another marketing ploy to lure in gullible human beings like myself who were so down on their luck that they thought things could never change for the better? Yet, here I was, alone and free of the shackles that had been placed around me all my life.

  "Believe you are, and you will be."

  Could it be possible to just believe who I wanted to be and transform into that person? Surely not.

  "Penny for them?"

  I opened my eyes to see a familiar pair of beautiful blue eyes staring back at me. Coaxing myself out of my dream-like state, I took a few seconds to realise that the vaguely familiar looking person staring at me was the assistant from the beauty hall, the one who had been laughing at me twenty minutes earlier.

  "Well, well, well, if it’s not ‘the girl in a hurry.’ The assistant immediately recognised me. “I see you found the kettles!"

  "You don't miss much, do you?" I responded, surprised at this interlude with a stranger.

  Unsure of how to proceed with the conversation, I waited. The assistant assumed a serious tone as he leaned in for a closer look at my book. He was tall and thin, but muscular, and had the most amazing physique which was just visible through the thin fabric of his black long-sleeved tee shirt.

  "No! Not much gets past these eyes," he declared proudly while pointing at his temples. “It's a fabulous read, isn't it?" he pressed politely. "Number 5 on the New York Times Best Sellers List for about, say, six months now, I think."

  I was secretly impressed by his knowledge but tried my best not to show it.

  "I bought it about three years ago and it changed my life practically overnight," the young man revealed, trying his best to make me feel comfortable. “I had been working in London, not getting anywhere with my career, then met and fell in love with a beautiful man who brought me over here…and ah well.”

  The assistant looked instantly sad, suggesting that things hadn’t worked out so well with the relationship…

  “The rest is history, as they say.”

  “Shut up! No way…Me too!" I shouted, struggling to contain my excitement at finding someone else who had the same experience as me. I lowered my voice and whispered, “I used to sneak down behind my makeup counter and hide the book in a drawer, you know…pretend I was counting boxes of mascara but I was really reading chapters of the book. In fact, if it wasn't for this book, I wouldn't be sitting here in this cafe talking to you."

  He cracked a knowing smile, then held out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Jackson."

  "I'm Willow."

  Look at you girl, meeting perfect strangers in New York! Whatever would Geneviève say!

  "May I?" Jackson pointed at the free seat next to mine.

  "Please do," I responded, feeling very pleased with myself. I could just picture the girls back at Devonshire's. If only they could see me now.

  "It's a long way to come to buy a kettle, is it not?" he pressed gently, while sitting back in his seat, long arms folded across his chest.

  "Suppose so. After the night and morning I've had, I was parched. I needed a strong cup of tea. Thought I'd have a root around in this old store y'know, see what I could find…” There was no way I was going to start telling him about my dramatic arrival.

  “So, what did you do in the store back home?" he asked, leaning in closer. Scrutinising me in a slightly unsettling manner, reminding me of the brief conversation we had earlier.

  "I was a counter manager in the beauty hall. I’ve been a makeup artist for… let me see…” I made a quick calculation, “8 years."

  Jackson's eyes lit up. "Really? You're not by any chance looking for work, are you?"

  His line of questioning took me by surprise.

  "Will be soon. I was going to take a few weeks to settle in first. You know, buy some curtains, paint the apartment...find my way about town."

  Jackson placed his hand down loudly on the table, causing my tea to spill in the saucer.

  “Drapes. Darling,” he stated in a self-assured manner.

  “What?” I asked, wondering what the hell he was going on about now.

  “Drapes not curtains, at least that’s what they are called over here.”

  “Oh…I see.” My spirits plunged; this conversation was taking far more energy from me than most.

  "But don't waste your time," he declared confidently.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, feeling slightly confused.

  What’s he talking about now?

&nbs
p; "Job hunting? This is New York, honey. It's all about who you know, not what you know! If you don't act now, you'll still be searching the classifieds two years from now."

  "Oh, I see,” I nodded, feeling instantly deflated, I felt my shoulders sink. “Like that is it?"

  Jackson leaned across the table, calmly patting my shoulder, "Don't look so worried," he said quietly. "I hold a lot of sway here and I know there's a position they're looking to fill." His blue eyes glinted wickedly under the cafe strip lighting, highlighting his perfect complexion.

  I felt my spirits instantly resurge.

  "Tell me more!"

  That morning, Jackson Dart and I discovered a lot about each other over tea and scones. Not only did we share a love for the craft of applying makeup and books on the 'Law of Attraction,' there seemed to be an undercurrent of something deeper running through our conversation. Something which left me feeling strangely and immediately at ease in his company.

  ***

  With a huge part of me still reeling from last night's revelations about the serious relationship Rick had been involved in for the seven years prior to his leaving for Glasgow, I returned to the apartment. As I put the key in the door lock, I felt a sense of trepidation wash over me.

  What will I find this time? I thought to myself as I turned the key in the lock, breath baited with anticipation.

  A dead body? I shuddered, as I stepped out of my outdoor shoes and into the white flannel ones by the door which, judging by the gold logo, had more than likely been stolen from a fancy hotel in Asia.

  Will she be here scooping up the last few traces of her expensive lingerie?

  My mind whirred like a Swiss clock on speed, as I conjured up visions of how she might look.

  And why did Rick leave her so abruptly? More to the point, why did he pick someone like me over this woman who he had been with for all those years?

  Off to the right-hand side of my peripheral vision, I noticed a red flashing light on the telephone answering machine. The anxiety in my stomach intensified.

  Could it be her? What would she say? Should I play the message?

  The palms of my hands were wet with sweat. I knew there was no-one in the apartment and I also knew that curiosity would get the best of me. I picked up the receiver and pressed play.

  "Hi Rick, It's your mom here. I can't wait to hear all about your news. Call me when you get this. Love you."

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I surmised from her voice alone, that she would most likely be in her early 60s. Judging by the clipped tones of her New York accent, I could tell she had been very well educated, just like her son. Thinking that Rick must have told his mum about our wedding, I carefully replaced the receiver, eyes darting from side to side as I looked around me, making sure that no-one was watching, which, all told, was a pretty daft thing to do seeing as I was alone and 14 flights up a building in Queens.

  I went into the kitchen and unboxed the kettle, making sure to check that the plug was the American version and not the British one as I didn't want to be electrocuted before having my first cup of home-brewed tea. The card from the pest control company lay on the kitchen table, signed by the operator, telling me that the extermination job had been done. I pushed it aside and breathed a sigh of relief, realising for the first time how stressed I had been feeling about the whole incident. Ten minutes later, I sat back on the couch and surveyed my surroundings.

  Who would have thought it? Me? Living in bloody New York!!! Well, even if it is Queens, all this place needs is a good clean and a woman’s touch. Now, I have my kettle, I can make myself endless cups of tea while cleaning the apartment. I wonder if there is an Ikea nearby.

  I took a sip of Earl Grey and let my imagination roam… some nice bright cushions are just what this place needs, oh and maybe a new silk bedspread and some down pillows…I thought of how different my life is now to only two months ago prior to that fateful meeting with Rick.

  Now, this is the life I deserve. This is the life I have been waiting for. Finally, I’ve caught a break. The yellow book peeking out of my handbag caught my attention. Can’t wait to see what the next chapter brings!

  What seemed like hours later, I was roused from my snooze on the bed by the sound of a key in the door. Bolting upright and manically wiping the trail of saliva from the side of my mouth, I attempted to figure out where I was, what time of day it was and what country I was in as the familiar sound of Rick's whistling brought me to the here and now.

  "Babe? Where are you? It's freezing out!” he said, as he walked into the bedroom, nervously studying me, trying to figure out what kind of mood I was in.

  "I know," I replied coldly. "Feels like 5 below."

  "So, you ventured out then? All by yourself?" he enquired, as he took off his overcoat, hanging it up in the bedroom wardrobe. His face lit up as his brow arched quizzically. I adored how he made that expression.

  "Yes!" I replied, matter-of-factly. "Made it all the way to D'Arcy's all by myself. No one spoke to me. No one tried to rob me at gunpoint and no, I did not interrupt any drug deals."

  "Cheeky!" he retorted, flashing a wry smirk, his cold face creasing into a smile.

  "Oh! But I did meet a lovely guy from London!” I smacked the blankets on the bed. “Jackson. Jackson Dart. In fact, I might even have got myself a job." I beamed up at Rick, proud of my achievements, wanting him to feel happy for me.

  "Wait a minute. Slow down,” Rick held up his hands. “D'Arcy's? Jackson? A job?” Rick turned his back on me and walked into the galley kitchen. His gait appeared to stiffen. “You've only been here five minutes…what’s the big rush?”

  This wasn't the enthusiastic response I had anticipated.

  "Oh, don't be so uptight, if I don't act quickly, I'll still be reading the classifieds two years from now!” I repeated what Jackson had said.

  "Classifieds?” Rick turned around and stared at me. “Where are you getting this stuff from?” he huffed. “Babe, this is New York not Glasgow, you’ve got to be careful who you talk to," he winced, causing my spirits to plummet.

  "Yeah, right, like I don't know how to take care of myself!” I didn’t want to, but I could feel myself starting to pout. “I spoke to you, didn't I?"

  What is his freakin’ problem?

  "Ok. Ok,” he nodded. “That was different."

  He moved in closely, placing his cold hands around my waist. "Just be careful out there, that's all I'm asking." He kissed my ear lobe. I stood unresponsive. Perplexed. Unsure of how to react.

  Registering my detachment, Rick fetched two crystal tumblers from the cupboard. Remaining silent, he poured out two whiskies. As he turned around to hand me the glass, I noticed he looked pensive, deep in thought. I had never seen him look this way before.

  "Jackson you say?" he asked again.

  I stared at my glass.

  "You must know by now I don't drink whisky unless it has Irn Bru in it."

  My fruitless attempt at humour washed over his head. Rick was deep in thought. In a fog, miles away from me.

  “Yes. Jackson,” I replied slightly perplexed. “Do you know him?”

  “About 6 ft. 3? White? Black hair?” he enquired further, growing antsier by the minute.

  “Yeah, that would be him.”

  “Yes…I know him. Everyone knows Jackson…he’s worked on and off with my ‘ex’ for the past few years. We met at Business School years ago in London.”

  “Oh…I see. Well, he appeared very nice and friendly to me,” I stated matter-of-factly, inwardly annoyed at hearing the words ‘my ex.’

  But Rick wasn’t finished yet.

  "There's a ton of department stores in New York, why did you have to apply to D'Arcy's?" The pitch of his voice heightened, “Couldn’t you have gone to Macy’s or Nordstrom? Why D’Arcy’s, for chrissakes?”

  His outburst startled me. Speechless, I stared back at him, defiantly but not knowing what to say. I watched on as
he removed each shoe and threw it into the corner of the room.

  I don’t get this. I just don’t get it.

  Standing up, I cleared my throat.

  "You know, I thought for a minute you would have been pleased for me, pleased that I'm trying to get a job and earn some money."

  The disappointment in my voice was palpable, “But no! Not you! You go and have a hissy fit. I mean, what’s your problem? Most husbands would be delighted that their wives want to go out to work!” There. I had said it. Said what was on my mind. And he could like it or leave it.

  Feeling self-righteous that I had asserted myself, I noticed Rick’s expression had changed to one of mild shock. I sensed that he realised he had overstepped the mark and tried his best to placate me, but his expression could not hide the fact that he was unhappy with my decision. An inexplicable tension mounted inside me.

  I pointed to the red lipstick stained mirror in the adjoining bathroom, "After all, it hasn't exactly been the best start to married life, has it?"

  Rick sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands, ruffling his hair as he spoke.

  “I'm sorry Willow. None of this has gone to plan." Looking at me, he stood up and swept into the base of my neck, snuggling, kissing me gently as he ran his fingers down my spine. I froze. Once again, I remained unresponsive to his touch as the anxiety roared in the pit of my stomach.

  Noticing my frosty demeanour, Rick changed tack, "Look, why don't you go get changed into that slinky black dress I like? You know, the one that sparkles?”

  Melting slightly, I gasped as he kissed my earlobe but felt somewhat disappointed in myself that he appeared to be able to win me over so easily.

  “And… there’s some folks I’d like you to meet.”

  Finally, I thought. I was starting to think he was ashamed of me.

  ***

  An hour later, Rick and I stole our way down Grand Avenue trying to cadge some heat from wherever we could. Temperatures had plummeted to what felt like 10 below, and yet still there were people out on the street, going about their daily business.