Warpaint

by J J Maya

  Just as I replaced the phone on the receiver, the key turned in the lock. It was Rick.

  “Hi!” Rick said, immediately changing his expression when he saw me. “What’s the matter?” Rick asked, a concerned look appeared across his features.

  “Er nothing. Nothing,” I replied, shifting my weight uncomfortably on the couch.

  “Have you been drinking?” Rick asked, his look appearing from one of concern to disapproval.

  Once again, I felt like a small child being scolded for doing something wrong.

  “Just one,” I lied. “Jackson and I went for a cocktail after work.” I looked up at Rick who was staring down at me, but I gathered up the strength to proceed on, “I’ve just spoken to Geneviève and I’ve decided to go home.”

  Rick threw his copy of the New York Financial Times on the couch as an exasperated look stretched across his face.

  “Oh, don’t be so stupid! You can’t go home. You just got here.”

  This reply got my back up.

  “Don’t you dare call me stupid, Rick Delgado!” bolstered by alcohol, I stood up and faced him squarely, asserting myself in the room. “I’m not the stupid one in this scenario – you are!” He wasn’t going to talk down to me, not when he was the one who was in the wrong. “I’m the one who has to go into work every day and face the humiliation of working alongside that bitch of an ex-girlfriend! Oh, and by the way, I found more of her belongings when I was moving the furniture around.”

  Rick looked sheepish as I handed him the earring.

  “I had a past before you, Willow!” He shook the earring, “I didn’t live like a bloody monk.”

  “I get that!” I said, “But none of this makes me feel any better, does it?”

  Rick turned and stared at me.

  “So what? All this time, you were just using me to get into the States. Is that it?” he asked meanly as if the thought of my imminent departure had finally sunk in.

  “How long are you planning on going home for?” he asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation of my answer.

  “I don’t know,” I responded. It was the truth. I had no idea how long I would go home for.

  “But…You don’t get it, Willow, if you were to leave now, they’ll not let you back in.”

  Now it was my turn to be exasperated. “What do you mean “they won’t let me back in”?’”

  Rick hurriedly rifled through a batch of legal documentation in our Green Card file and pulled out an important-looking document. He scanned the paper for a few seconds, then began to read, “It says here “If you leave the United States while your application is awaiting a decision from USCIS, your application will be considered abandoned, and in most cases, you will be required to refile your application upon return to the United States”…if they let you back in!” He went on, “And it says here, “Applicants must bear in mind that a re-entry permit does not guarantee them re-entry into the United States.””

  Now I felt trapped. “But this can’t be right…surely not?!” Panic was rising in my voice.

  I threw myself down on the couch next to him, “What am I going to do Rick? This is impossible. I never knew any of this stuff.”

  Rick attempted to placate me, “It’s just the way things are…I’ve heard of folks not being able to return home to say their final goodbyes. It’s the price you have to pay if you want to live here permanently.” He ruffled the top of my hair while looking off into the distance. The tears that had been mounting finally broke. Rick held me, whispering in my ear, “You wanted this lifestyle babe. This is the price you have to pay.”

  I looked up at him, “Is that all you can say? This is the price I have to pay?”

  His words struck me as cold, and unfeeling. I pulled away from him. It was alright for him; he would never have to make a decision like the one I was going to have to make.

  I got up and left the living room, slamming the door shut behind me. I wanted to get away…to just breathe…be on my own while I figured everything out in my head. But there was no escape. Rick followed me into the bedroom.

  “You should have done your homework, Willow. This is just the way things are. They’re not going to bend the rules so you can run off whenever you feel like it. They don’t care what the reason is.”

  I glared back at him, seething. I took out my phone and pressed the “confirmation” button on the British Airways flight reservation screen. My flight home was now booked, and I shook the screen in Rick’s direction.

  The colour left his face as he scowled at me, turned around, and slammed the door shut.

  I instantly regretted my decision.

  Bloody hell! What a fucking mess this is!

  9

  Exfoliator

  MRS. G’S MORNING meetings always ran like clockwork. D’Arcy’s Department Store didn’t open till 10 am but all personnel were expected to be standing behind their counters, looking perfectly groomed and ready for the day’s business at 9:45 sharp. I arrived at 9:40 to the sound of Michael Bublé crooning sweet nothings from the store speakers. Mornings mostly consisted of everyone sharing little bits of gossip between the counters as they prepped their makeup and made last-minute touch-ups before facing the day. Today was no different, and I heard a few of the assistants gossiping about someone named Chi-Chi who was on maternity leave. As soon as Mrs. G made her appearance, an eerie silence swept over the shop floor as she captured her staff’s attention. One deft clap of her hand was all it took.

  “Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” she stated.

  “Good morning Mrs. G,” a few of the staff responded in unison.

  “Today, I have some exciting news for you!” she beamed.

  Everyone exchanged glances. I saw a few of my colleagues visibly brace themselves for what was about to come next. I suspected that a lot of them had been in the business for a long time and were not exactly welcoming of change.

  “Would Willow Campbell-Delgado and Jackson Dart please step forward?” Mrs. G looked straight at us as I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. Jackson glanced at me; his expression unreadable.

  Now it was our turn to exchange glances as we both timidly stepped out into the middle of the shop floor to face Mrs. G. I could see some of the women’s reflections in Dior’s counter mirrors as Jackson and I contemplated our fates.

  “I’ve been observing you both for a while now and…”

  My heart missed a beat as I eyed Jackson out of the corner of my eye.

  Oh, my dear God, I’m going to be fired.

  “Willow, don’t look so worried!” Mrs. G forced out a laugh. “I’ve decided I’d like to see you both work together on the brand new “Blake’s Apothecary” counter.” Mrs. G shot me a wry smile as she spoke.

  Jackson winked at me and then it clicked. Our conversation from the previous night had already made its way to Mrs. G. I felt annoyed that I hadn’t been asked to take part in any discussion.

  When did he find the time to chat with her?

  “I’ve agreed on a meeting with the head of Marketing for 11:00 tomorrow morning and Maria is very excited to hear your ideas for the counter.”

  I made eye contact with Mrs. G as she emphasised the word “ideas.” I felt myself shake. It was now or never.

  ***

  “Er …”

  My hands were soaked in sweat as I clasped them tightly behind my back.

  Mrs. G stared hard at me, urging me to go on. Making me feel like I was wasting her valuable time.

  “I, er, I can’t make it.” There. I’ve said it.

  I felt Jackson’s scowl cut through me like a blade even though I daren’t look at him.

  “I’m leaving, tonight.”

  God. He must hate me.

  “Home? To Scotland?” Mrs. G stared at me as I tried to avoid Jackson’s icy gaze. I nodded in agreement. Mrs. G appeared to pale as she paused for a second.

  “I thought I made it clear that if you go home
now during this part of your Green Card application that it’s highly likely you won’t get back in again?” she asked, staring at me, incredulous that I had even expressed a wish to leave. “Well?” she enquired, anticipating my response.

  I looked down at my shoes. I gulped hard. I sweated. But I said nothing.

  “Then I’ll have to replace you,” she stated.

  I’ll have to replace you.

  I noticed a cruel smirk break out on Isabella’s face as my stomach lurched.

  Mrs. G’s words stung me. Icy, brutal, without compassion. Bringing a flurry of bad memories to the surface.

  I was used to being replaced. From the moment my parents were killed in the horrific car accident at the foot of the Pentland hills till the time I reached adulthood, being replaced was a common theme running through my life. As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t seem to fit in. Always looking inward from the periphery, wishing that I was one of those people who could swan through life with ease. Then when boys came on the scene, that theme continued. One by one, I always seemed to be replaced by girls who were prettier than I was.

  Jackson pulled me aside, a few steps away from Mrs. G.

  “You can’t go Willow…I’ll be out of a job if you go!” he pleaded with me.

  Staring at me; silently questioning me; pinning all his hopes on me.

  Don’t do this to me, I silently pleaded back.

  I wondered just what kind of deal he had struck with Mrs. G in the early hours of the morning. Whatever had happened, I felt truly awful. Leaving New York had been the last thing on my mind.

  “I know how this must all look,” I blurted out. “I just need to get away for a while.” I stared over at Isabella as I spoke.

  Mrs. G immediately took a step back as the workers on the shop floor all turned and stared at Isabella. Isabella cupped her growing belly in her manicured hand. Her complexion glowing with pregnancy hormones as a self-satisfied smirk stretched across her face.

  “Oh, well I am sorry to hear that,” she hesitated then blurted, “But are you sure you are doing the right thing?”

  Appearing uncharacteristically ill-at-ease, my boss caught herself mid-sentence.

  “I expect you are,” she pulled at her shirt sleeve,

  Now it was my turn to placate.

  “It’s OK,” I replied. “It’s fine, really.”

  Deep inside, I felt chilled to the bone. My thoughts ran amok as the burden of my decision began to weigh heavily on me.

  Looking up into Jackson’s face, I could tell immediately that he wasn’t buying it.

  “Think about it Willow, Mrs. G is right,” Jackson said quietly, looking down at his shoe. “And I’m not being selfish here, but you really must think this through before getting on that flight tonight.”

  I sensed that Jackson was fighting not only for his job but for his career.

  Oh my God, I feel bloody awful! Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

  My heart pounded violently in my chest. These people had only just come into my life, so why did I feel pulled in every direction? Rick wasn’t talking to me. He told me that if I were to get on that airplane, our marriage would be over. I could feel the familiar sensation of tears bubbling under the surface, the lump in my throat…threatening to ruin my composure.

  Not now. Keep it together Willow. Keep it together.

  Mrs. G expertly diagnosed the situation. “Jackson, take Willow to the staff room and get her some coffee please,” she ordered. As we walked past, I overheard her whisper in his ear, “Get her to think about this. This is serious.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isabella stare over. Her expression unnerved me; she looked like the cat that had just got the cream.

  Jackson and I stood opposite each other in the staff room. Neither of us knew what to say or do as we held our plastic cups of machine sludge coffee. Strangely, I felt like it was me who should be doing the comforting and not the other way around. No matter what I did, I would be letting someone down, and on top of everything, I still had the fallout from the previous night’s argument with Rick to deal with.

  “What time is your flight?” Jackson asked, shoulders sunken in defeat.

  “11pm. I’m almost packed. Just a few last things to throw in my case.”

  “How’s Rick taking the news?”

  “He’s not,” I replied, looking away from Jackson.

  “Yeah…I can see his point. Look…you will think about staying?” Jackson pleaded as he put his arm around me.

  “Promise,” I attempted a smile in his direction but both of us knew I was merely placating him. Inside, I felt like I was being sliced open by a knife. Everything was black and white; there was no grey area. The action I was about to take would have an immense impact on my future. I gazed into my new friend’s eyes as tears threatened to spill over my freshly applied makeup. We didn’t say a word.

  The irony of Frank Sinatra singing “That’s Life” was not lost on me. D’Arcy’s Department Store was once again open for business.

  ***

  Eyes dried and composure regained, Jackson led the way as we walked back to our counters. No one dared look at me as I walked past. As I stepped nearer my counter, I noticed Isabella staring straight at me. That’s when it struck me, I was playing right into her hands.

  Back at my counter, I worked hurriedly through a pile of paperwork – tallying up targets for the day, calculating percentages, and working out the amount of product to shift per hour. My brain whirred erratically as I tried not to compute ways in which my decision would affect those closest to me.

  “That’s her over there.”

  I looked up from my paperwork to see Jackson being questioned by a man in uniform. He was pointing in my direction. A sense of unease washed over my body. Exasperated, I threw my pen down.

  Oh God! What now?

  I swallowed hard.

  What the f? Who is this guy and why is he walking in my direction?

  I put the paperwork away as Mrs. G sidled up to my counter arriving at the same time as the uniformed man.

  “Can I be of help, Officer?” asked Mrs. G pleasantly, granting me a sideways look that indicated she was now in control.

  Seemingly unaffected by the presence of a strong, beautiful woman standing in front of him, the officer held up his badge, displaying it for both of us to see.

  “Homeland Security.”

  “I see,” Mrs. G replied, equally visibly unmoved by his display of authority.

  “I’m here to question Willow Campbell-Delgado,” the officer stared at me as he spoke. I shivered.

  “Is there somewhere private we can go?” the officer’s voice was gruff. “I need to ask your employee here a few questions.”

  I didn’t appreciate the emphasis he placed on the word “employee.” I looked over in Jackson’s direction, but he was gone already; so was Isabella.

  Mrs. G indicated for the officer and I to follow her, “Come with me, you can use my office.”

  This is all very suspicious, I thought. As the three of us entered Mrs. G’s office, she motioned for both the officer and I to sit down. The officer declined, leaving me to sit alone at the table in front of Mrs. G. I hadn’t known her very long but the expression on her face was telling and summed up that there was way more to her than just this austere “in control” image she presented to the outside world.

  “And so young lady… it says here—in my notes—that you are married to a Mr. Ricardo Delgado? Is that correct?” the officer stared hard at me, refusing to give anything away in his expression. I could tell he was “an old hat” at his job.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” I replied, staring straight back at him. I’m tougher than you think mister.

  “And where did you get married?” he asked, as he fiddled with his well-chewed biro.

  “Cléments Estate, Loch Lomond,” I answered, looking him straight in the eye, wondering why the hell I was being questioned in the fir
st place.

  The officer looked over at Mrs. G with a confused look on his face, “What did she just say? I didn’t catch a word of that.”

  The bloody cheek of him!

  Mrs. G looked over in my direction, a faint smile creeping around the edges of her perfectly penciled mouth. “That’s funny officer, I got it all. She said Clements Estate, Loch Lomond. Now Loch Lomond is in a beautiful part of Scotland, and for your information, Scotland is part of the United Kingdom…well, it was the last time I checked on CNN, but that situation may have changed by now.”

  You go, Mrs. G! I wanted to hug her.

  “I got it,” the officer quipped sternly, scribbling furiously in his little black notebook while I pinched myself in an attempt to stop laughing. I daren’t look at Mrs. G.

  “Show me her paperwork,” he demanded.

  Mrs. G slowly and silently got up from her chair and opened her pristine filing cabinet, which was filled with paperwork all meticulously labelled in baby blue ink. Shooting me a warning look, she handed my file to the officer and sat back down on her sheepskin covered Philippe Starck Ghost Chair. I gripped the side of my seat, mentally preparing myself for the next set of questions.

  Who would have thought working as a makeup artist in New York would be such a white-knuckle ride?

  I was completely unprepared for the next question.

  “How long did you know Ricardo Delgado prior to marrying him?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and looked at Mrs. G. It was as if we both instantly knew where this line of questioning was going. “Em…”

  Right girl. Take it slowly. Breathe.

  “About six weeks.” I stated defiantly.

  “Six weeks you say?” he re-iterated.

  I stared at my shoes as the officer chuckled to himself. The way this was all panning out, he may as well just have shouted “Game Over.” The confidence I felt earlier evaporated in an instant.

  “And you’re how old?” he asked, “28 years old according to this paperwork?” the officer droned on, going through the motions Mrs. G nudged me under the table, urging me to answer.

  “Er yes.” I looked at Mrs. G as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.