Warpaint

by J J Maya

  Standing in Paulo's Pizzeria outdoor patio area, my stomach in knots, I pulled Rick in closer, staring in his eyes.

  "Will they like me?” I asked, feeling faintly hopeful.

  "Like you?" he replied, aghast that I could dare ask such a question.” They’re gonna love ya!"

  "I feel sick. I need a drink."

  "C’mon Willow," Rick held me by the arm, stopping me from slipping on an icy patch. "You must have done this countless times before, right?"

  "Not really, maybe once or twice at the most, but that was with Finn’s parents and I knew they didn't like me from the get-go."

  "That scumbag who went out and got someone else pregnant when he was still going out with you?"

  "Let's not talk about him. He's in the past," I declared, determined to move on with the conversation.

  "Damn right he is," replied Rick. "What kind of guy does something like that?"

  Secretly delighted with his internal view of me, I began to relax in the knowledge that maybe this situation would turn out to be easier than I previously thought.

  Feeling tipsy from the potent mix of jet lag, nerves and the mix of alcoholic drinks, I could feel the effects of the alcohol almost immediately. Rick noticed it too.

  "You're such a cheap date, Willow!" he laughed as he noticed my complexion flush with colour after slipping on the ice for the third time.

  "I can't help it," I giggled, hanging on for dear life to his jacket sleeve.

  "C'mon, we better get a move on. We don't want to be late." Rick looked at his watch.

  "Oops!"

  Feeling the sense of trepidation mount in my stomach, I suddenly felt a wave of shyness come over me as my fragile confidence instantly evaporated.

  How the hell am I going to handle myself feeling like this?

  ***

  Jake's Restaurant was packed with a well-to-do clientele who all looked like regulars, calling the waiters by their first names. The atmosphere was rowdy in a friendly kind of way, with regulars picking their way through the throng queuing up outside. The décor matched the punters in a strange kind of way: shabby chic nouveau riche is how I would have described it. The scent of money mingled with the aroma of grilled steaks and chateaubriand, while the women displayed every expensive label you could think of on their handbags.

  Rick strode on ahead pulling me close behind him as we made our way towards a round table in the centre of the room. I felt consumed with fear at the thought of meeting this new crowd of people. Thankfully a familiar face stood out. It belonged to Jackson, the assistant I had met in D’Arcy’s Department Store. One by one, Rick introduced me to his family and friends. His mother, Rosa, wore a classic pink sheath dress adorned with a string of pearls and carried herself in a perfectly straight manner. Her dark hair was styled in a classic bob, similar to my own, while her nails were painted in the exact same shade as her pink lipstick. She appeared well put together in an ‘old money’ kind of way. Rick’s father, also called Ricky, was a force to be reckoned with as he dominated the room, but in a good way. He had charm written all over his face and I instantly realized where Rick got his confidence from. I felt myself ease into the night. Slowly, but surely, I began to relax.

  Two merry hours must have passed as the dinner was served accompanied by lashings of champagne, wines and spirits.

  They seem like a nice family, I thought as I reveled in the stories being told at the table. Rick’s family originally hailed from the Dominican Republic and had settled in Queens during the early 60’s. I could tell they were proud of their son’s career in finance. His mother’s eyes shone with pride each time he spoke. He was a lucky man to be raised in a family like that.

  Towards the end of the evening, Rick put his arm around me and asked for everyone to be quiet.

  “Mom, Dad…I’m sorry you never got to our wedding in Scotland, but I’ve brought you a little memento of the day.”

  Rick put his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a brown envelope filled with black and white pictures of our wedding day. It was the first time I had seen them.

  He passed the pictures around as I gawped in awe at how beautiful we both looked bedecked out in all our finery. Rick wore the traditional Scottish Campbell tartan while I wore an intricate beaded velvet gown. Rosa gasped and appeared tearful. I felt bad for her, missing her only son’s wedding,

  I thought back to our conversations while planning the wedding and remembered that Rick had told me of the awful relationship he had with his mother and father. Now, seeing them in person, I was confused. This didn’t look anything like the dysfunctional relationship he had told me about. In fact, the more I looked at the woman, the sadder I felt for her.

  “I’m sorry you weren’t able to make it over for our big day, Mrs. Delgado,” I offered.

  Rosa looked at me with a confused expression as her son shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “We never got invited!”

  Rick cleared his throat and beckoned the waiter over, “Another round please, Charlie.”

  I stared hard at Rick.

  How could you do that to your own mother? I thought. Not inviting her to your wedding?

  I made a mental note to question him about it later. Now was not the time. My mood plummeted as doubt once again filled my mind. Why would he do that?

  “Can I see those photos?”

  My attention was immediately drawn by the sound of an Irish lilt emanating from a man who had been standing on the perimeter of the crowd. He appeared to know Rick, as he looked at my husband with a questioning gaze. I wondered who the stranger was.

  “What a beautiful bride,” he said wistfully, staring at me and then at the photo. There was something about the way he looked at me. It was as if he was staring deep into my soul. He unnerved me.

  Rick grabbed the photo out of his hand, “Hey Jake! What about me? Don’t I look handsome?” he asked, but everyone had moved on with their conversations. I watched on as the Irish man left in the direction of the bar. Now I knew his name, I wondered who he was.

  Just then, a woman appeared at our table. She was about 5ft 8 inches tall and wore her hair in a messed-up pile on the top of her head, adding another couple of inches. Her hour-glass figure caught the attention of both the men and the women in the group.

  “Hello Rick,” she said. Then she nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Delgado.

  Rick looked up from staring at his image in the photograph.

  “Isabella!” he gasped, causing me to startle at the mention of her name. Isabella? That name struck like a dagger. Oh my God it’s her! “What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away!” he snarled. I had never seen this nasty side of Rick before and it shocked me.

  “Don't you dare talk to Isabella like that," said Rick’s dad.

  She turned her attention to me.

  “Who’s this?” she asked looking straight through me, chewing gum as she eyed me up and down.

  "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away," Rick repeated.

  Not quite sure how to respond, I remained silent as Rick put his arm protectively around me, presenting me to the table.

  “Bella, this is Willow. My wife.

  Silence.

  “Excuse me? Did you say ‘wife’?” Isabella’s eyes narrowed as she spoke.

  I swallowed hard. I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. Peering up at Rick's face, the devastation I felt was palpable.

  "Didn't you tell her?” I bleated, as confusion and disappointment filled me with despair.

  Never in my life had my presence elicited such a reaction from a group of strangers. Rick instinctively knew what was coming as he clutched my shoulders tightly, like he was holding on for dear life.

  I couldn't take my eyes off Isabella. I could feel her analysing every aspect of me, from the shoes I wore to the hair follicles on the top of my head, while I, like
any other woman in my position, wondered why Rick had chosen me over this exotic looking vision of beauty standing in front of me.

  I was shaken from my thoughts as a thick New Jersey drawl spat at me.

  "You got married?” Isabella gawped. “To that?"

  I shuddered. Cut to the bone by her cruel words, an all-consuming anger bellowed up from deep within me. She had called me 'That,' the expression I most hated from my childhood. The word one particularly nasty set of foster parents had used when they were talking about me to the social worker or when they had chastised me in public. Isabella had referred to me as ‘That,' like I was a piece of shit on the bottom of her shoe.

  "What did you just say?" I jostled out of Rick's arm, lunging towards her perfectly made up face. As we stared each other out, I heard another voice ringing in my left ear.

  “What did she just say?” Isabella looked around. “What kind of freakin' accent is that?"

  I continued to stare back at Isabella while Rick's father attempted to placate the crowd. One thing I had learned in foster care was how to take care of myself. Onlookers were enjoying the free spectacle while a slew of waiters rushed around looking mightily miffed at the proceedings.

  "Ladies! Ladies! Calm down!" Rick's father pleaded to our better nature, but Isabella's nostrils continued to flare as she took a stiletto heeled step towards Rick and I. Hands on hips, she spat, "So where did you dig her up from?"

  "Stop it, Bella!” Rick pointed his finger in Isabella’s face, “I'm warning you."

  “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, Rick Delgado. Not now! Not ever! And certainly not while I’m carrying your baby.” Isabella declared, one hand cupping her tiny belly. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Isabella, then at Rick, then at me.

  What? No…this can’t be happening. Not again!

  I turned and slapped Rick hard across the right cheek. “You bastard,” I shouted as a sick feeling erupted inside me. I turned away from the crowd and made my way towards the exit.

  "Wait! Don't go!" called Rick as he rushed after me. “Hold on Willow.”

  I turned to face him.

  “Give me your keys,” I demanded.

  Rick had no choice but to hand over his set of keys.

  "Really Rick?” I shouted. “This is how you choose to introduce me to your family?"

  "But Willow…none of this adds up! It can’t be mine…” he wailed, frantically. “I’ve been with you in Glasgow for the last six weeks…how can that baby be mine?”

  Over his shoulder I could see Isabella being escorted away by Rick's mother. I shook my head in disgust and turned and left the scene. Throwing myself into the back seat of a waiting yellow cab. That’s when I noticed that Rick did not follow me.

  "Manhattan Heights please."

  Oh boy, what a sucker I've been.

  The Agent Provocateur underwear. The lipsticked message across the bathroom mirror. Now I had seen her for myself, a vast swathe of questions presented themselves. The most pressing of them all was how could Rick have been with someone like that for seven years only to dump her and marry me? Me, who bought utilitarian underwear from Primark and used a lip brush to ensure an expensive lipstick would last a whole year? It just didn't add up.

  ***

  The taxi ride back to the apartment took an eternity. The driver had attempted to chat to me but the expression on my face told him to back off. He turned on the radio as Nilsson belted out ‘Everyone’s Talking at Me’ from Midnight Cowboy. I retreated into myself as I envisaged Isabella and Rick together. I told myself I only had to hold it together for another ten minutes. You can do it Willow, I encouraged, you’ve done it before, you can do it again. Keep it together. No one needs to see the tears. You can do it.

  On our arrival at the apartment block, I had paid the driver the money and bolted from his taxi before he had had the chance to ask me if I needed change. Catching my reflection in the mirror, it soon struck me why the driver looked so relieved to get me out of his taxi. I looked a right old mess. Blood-shot, puffy eyes, a runny nose and the residue of spilled champagne on my fingers.

  As I reached the sanctuary of the apartment, loud sobs exploded out of me as I struggled through the tears to put the key in the keyhole. At last, I had got in, hauled my coat off, accidentally banged my knuckles off the door handle, kicked my shoes off and thrown myself on top of the unmade bed. I lay there sobbing into my pillow, while trails of black mascara made train tracks on the 300-count white bed linen. I couldn’t have cared less that I was potentially ruining his expensive bed linens. At that moment in time, laundry was the least of my worries.

  Thirty minutes later, the sound of loud knocking at the door shook me from my thoughts.

  Go away!

  But the knocking persisted. I could hear Rick call my name. While my gut instinct told me to stay put on top of the bed, I remembered I had taken his door key. I stood up and walked towards the entrance of the apartment.

  Ever so slowly, I opened the door, while trying my best to stop the tears from falling.

  "Willow. Look, I'm sorry. It's not what you think." Rick wore a hang-dog expression, as raindrops ran off his overcoat.

  "Go Away!” I shouted, hardly able to even look at him. “Just get away from me!”

  “You gotta believe me!” Rick pleaded. “She's nuts! She wasn't supposed to be there."

  Seething with the well of anger that was swirling inside me, I found the strength from within to grab Rick by the arms and turn him around, pushing him towards the door. Three months of intense ballet barre classes had made me stronger than I realised.

  "Willow, please, listen to me..."

  Opening the door, I stood by it, indicating for Rick to leave. “Out," I pointed.

  Rick went to say something, then thought better of it. Staring at the floor, he exited his own apartment. I slammed the door shut then leaned against it, staring at the apartment interior before me. As if seeing it clearly for the first time. Slowly, I exhaled and slid my back down the door, falling to a heap on the polished wooden floorboards. A wail of sadness erupted from within as I lay in the fetal position on the floor.

  That night, the New York skyline twinkled like diamonds in the dust, peeking through the slim gaps in the blinds that weren't shut quite tightly. The dusky interior took on a magical light. From my position on the floor, I noticed the phone blinking furiously away. Bereft, I briefly thought about phoning Geneviève back in Glasgow but the shivers running down my spine informed me that was a very bad decision. I resolutely decided against it. What a field day she would have with this!

  Tonight, I would face being alone in New York. Eventually I gathered myself together and like any other adult in my position, I sought solace in the kitchen where I poured myself a large goblet of comforting red Syrah wine, cranked up the heat, pulled on my warmest fleece pj's and threw myself, once more, on top of the gigantic king size bed.

  Rick is the father of Isabella’s baby; the thought would not leave me.

  4

  Prep and Go!

  AWAKENING WITH A jolt, it took me a few moments to register my surroundings. The previous night had been rough, and the sheets on Rick's bed bore all the hallmarks of a fractious night spent tossing and turning. I had curled myself up into a ball in a bid to keep warm and had gathered the pillows around me into a protective shield, forming a makeshift wall in a vain attempt to keep the outside world as far away as possible.

  Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stepped onto the cold floor, trembling slightly as the sensation shot through me, and made my way towards the window. That morning I saw New York through the curtain of a blizzard, huge pillow-like snowflakes falling silently from far above me. My heart pounded as I watched one little snowflake spinning around as it made its way down to the street below. It would reach its destination in only a few short seconds and with a sudden ‘splat!’ it would all be over.

  That’s when it dawned
on me that I had an interview to get ready for - my interview at D'Arcy's. The interview that Rick did not want me to go for.

  I had never been more determined to secure a job than I was at that moment.

  As there is no better way to start the day than with a mug of steaming hot tea, I made my way to the kitchen and switched on my brand-new kettle. Waiting patiently in the freezing kitchen for the kettle to boil, I turned the thermostat way up as I attempted to keep myself warm by dancing ridiculously to The Waitresses belting out ‘Christmas Wrapping.’ Then it struck me.

  Wait! It's only 5 weeks till Christmas!

  Kettle boiled, I steeped the tea bag for a few seconds before grabbing my mug of tea and the yellow book I had left balancing precariously on the arm rest of the sofa the day before. I made my way back to Rick's bedroom, taking care to avert my eyes from the last vestiges of red lipstick on the bathroom mirror.

  Five minutes later, snuggling under the warmth of the feather duvet, I lay back against the pillow, took a sip of tea and exhaled as I surveyed my surroundings. I decided then to open the yellow book at a random page.

  'Harmonise the mind by seeking strength in solitude.'

  Wow! Bloody spot on again!

  I had never felt more alone than I did at that moment but sensing that I was somehow supposed to be in this place at this exact time, I felt a wave of calmness wash over me.

  As my gaze settled on the view from the bedroom window, I decided to get up, have a shower, get dressed and then head down to the streets below to find a new outfit to wear to my interview. Just for once, today was going to be all about me. Catching sight of the bathroom mirror, I made a mental note to buy a bottle of Windex.

  Later that morning as I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I noticed the snowflakes had stopped falling and instead, the sun shone brightly, the clouds clearing away to reveal a sparkling navy-blue sky. The biting cold air swirled around my ankles, chilling me to the bone. I had to give it to Rick, he was right about New York winters, and they made our Scottish ones seem like springtime in comparison.