Warpaint

by J J Maya

  What’s she playing at? Changing my age to 28!

  Why did she put me down as 28? Is there some age discrimination going on here? I thought. I’m 33 on my next birthday.

  Looking up from my feet, I stared the officer in the eyes, “What exactly are you getting at?”

  “What I am getting at, Mrs. Campbell-Delgado, is that perhaps you might have seen one last opportunity to escape your miserable life and you took it…Am I right?” his right cheek sidled up in a mocking smirk as he continued to pencil notes in his little black book.

  “No! It wasn’t like that at all!” I shouted, strangely unnerved by my own defensive reaction to his line of questioning.

  Deep down though, if I was really, really honest with myself…my heart sank as even I couldn’t bring myself to contemplate what I had done. The truth hurt. He had hit the nail on the head, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to stand up and slap him.

  I caught Mrs. G and the officer exchanging a look. In finality, the officer closed his notebook, then made his way to the office door. I remained in my chair, feeling like I had just taken a punch to the stomach.

  Placing one hand on the door, he turned around to fire one more parting shot, “That’ll be all for today. We will be taking our investigations further. Let your husband know that we will be paying him a visit. I take it you do live together?”

  “Of course we do.”

  Fuck!.

  10

  Colour Corrector

  THAT EVENING AS the winter moonlight glinted through the vertical blind slats, I watched as Rick made up a bed on the couch. He threw a pile of pillows and blankets unceremoniously on the floor as he huffed and puffed, making it known to me in a non-verbal fashion, that he was at best displeased with me and at worst, absolutely furious. Our short time together made it impossible for me to surmise which one it was. The stellar scene outside our window only heightened the tense and morose atmosphere inside apartment 168, Manhattan Heights. He hadn’t spoken to me since our discussion earlier, and it felt like you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. I traipsed around the apartment, silently picking up my last few remaining belongings as he lay on the couch hiding behind a copy of the New York Financial Times.

  I couldn’t help feeling that everything had ended before it had even begun. Since our arrival, there had been no romantic flowering of our relationship, instead, we had been dumped into a melee of lies and deceit – the very stuff I had been hoping to escape.

  Wanting to break away from the tension in the room, I entered the en-suite and quietly jammed the lock shut. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I felt the tears threaten to well up, but this time I allowed them to fall down my face and splash into the sink below. I noticed the shadows around my eyes were growing darker by the day and no matter how much concealer I applied, those annoying stretches of darkness still managed to peek out from behind their cashmere canvas.

  Bloody waste of time and money; another product I’ve been suckered into buying that doesn’t work.

  Ironically, it was one of my best-selling items on the counter. I scraped my nail across a dried-in foundation ring on the windowsill, one that had somehow missed the vigorous Windex onslaught. Staring at the speckles of foundation that now lay inside my nail extension, I thought back to how Isabella must have felt that evening when she got the call from Rick telling her to vacate the apartment. Now, it’s my turn to leave his apartment.

  ***

  “Bang! Bang! Bang!”

  What the …?

  “Bang! Bang!”

  I leaped out the bathroom and made my way to the bedroom as Rick answered the door.

  “Mr. Delgado? Homeland Security, may we come in?” Officer Jamieson had warned me they would turn up, but just before 7:00pm on a Friday? This was bloody ridiculous!

  Eyeballing the three men through the gap between the door and the doorframe, I watched as the shorter of the two officers began scribbling notes in a small notebook. I followed his eyes as he looked intently at the bedding on the couch, then at Rick.

  “Oh, that?” I heard him say, “I snore. Real bad. My wife makes me sleep on the couch.”

  You go, Rick! Good on you!

  The shorter man carried on writing notes while Mr. Jamieson assumed a more aggressive stance in front of Rick. I had to give it to my husband, he stood his ground, standing there in his flannel pj bottoms with striped bedraggled t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. The other financial hot shots on Wall Street would be in fits if they could see him right now.

  “I spoke with your wife earlier today, is she here?”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I ran towards my bed and jumped in under the covers, just as my husband and the two Homeland Security Officers entered the room.

  Fuck!

  My heart pounded in my chest as beads of sweat formed on my forehead. It was hot under the covers. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but I could hear Rick answer, “Of course she is, she’s taking a nap, hang on…I’ll just wake her, OK?”

  “Please,” replied Officer Jamieson.

  As I pretended to be asleep under the bedcovers, the adrenaline forcing through my veins caused flashes of sweat to soak my back. Rick pulled back the heavy bed cover, “Get up Willow. These men want to talk to us.” I had never seen my new husband look so serious.

  “Er… Hello again Mr. Jamieson!” I blushed. Mortified that I was lying in bed fully clothed.

  “Hello, Mrs. Campbell-Delgado. Nice to see you again.” He looked over at Rick as he spoke, “I’m assuming your wife did tell you we would be visiting?”

  Cheeky git!

  I hated how he put the emphasis on the word “wife.”

  Rick drew me a foul look, “She did indeed…although I wasn’t expecting a visit at this time on a Friday night. You guys not in a hurry to get to the bar?” Rick asked, with an air of nonchalance. That question annoyed me. Why couldn’t he be serious when dealing with people in a position of authority? Although his mighty self-confidence was one of the qualities that attracted me to him in the first place.

  Mr. Jamieson declined to join in with the small talk.

  “We operate a 24/7 service, sir. You can expect a visit from us at any time of the day or night,” he responded smugly.

  With Rick put firmly back in his place, the second officer walked towards him holding a piece of paper in his hand. He had picked it up off the bedroom floor. Apparently, Rick had written me a note while I was in the bathroom.

  “What’s this then?” he asked before reading out the scrawled words on the note.

  “We’re invited to dinner at my mom’s tomorrow night. Can’t you stay for one more day and act like you’re my wife.”

  Rick replied, “But you don’t understand Officer, that note was written in anger.”

  It was quite clear that the game was up. The two officers stared at me while Rick gazed helplessly at his bare feet. The smaller officer placed the note carefully in a plastic bag then sealed it, while Officer Jamieson stared down at me.

  “We’ll see ourselves out. Expect to hear from us again in a few days.”

  Hauling myself up, I attempted to smooth my bed hair and regain my composure while Rick continued to stare at his feet.

  “And you, Mrs. Delgado,”

  I didn’t like the way he emphasised the “Mrs.” bit.

  “You have a good night!” said the officer.

  “It’s Campbell-Delgado actually,” I responded, somehow finding the courage to look right through him.

  Correcting him, I was painfully aware of my inability to think of anything clever to say.

  As the apartment door slammed shut, Rick threw himself face down on the bed and let out a groan.

  “I don’t understand any of this! Why don’t they believe us, Rick?”

  Looking up at me, his face gnarled in an expression I had never seen before, Rick placed his hands on my hands and stared at me.

/>   “Believe us?” he gasped, “I’m in this marriage and even I don’t believe it! Seven days to gather evidence from everyone who knows us? What the fuck! Seven days to prove that we have a legitimate marriage and here you are, heading off to stay with an old flat mate who doesn’t even like you, for fuck’s sake, Willow.”

  I held my head in the palms of my sweaty hands, feeling emotionally and physically drained by what had just happened. I had never heard him sound so angry.

  But deep down, if I was really, honest with myself, I knew his words rang true.

  Refusing to take onboard his viewpoint of my dysfunctional relationship with Geneviève, I stood in front of him, hands on hips and declared, “I’ve got to get packed.”

  As I made to exit the room, Rick grabbed me by the wrist as he lay on his stomach, “Look, you’re the only one for me,” he pleaded, despair welling in his eyes.

  Turning my face away from his, my stomach lurched. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this to me.

  “Willow, you’re the only one for me. When I was with Isabella, I thought I was in love with her…then I met you, that’s when I realised what real love is,” Rick remonstrated as I observed a single bead of sweat run down the side of his face.

  Keep it together Willow.

  “That night in that restaurant in Scotland, two weeks after I met you…I called her and told her we were over.”

  Placing my feet squarely on the sheepskin rug, I turned to face him. I wanted to believe him, but I felt so conflicted. He gripped my wrist and held on tightly, staring at me with a pleading expression, as if his very life depended on me staying in New York. Ignoring the despair in his eyes, I drew upon my last ounce of inner strength.

  “Really? I hear it, but I don’t see it. I’ve been such a bloody fool…silly…childish…living in a dream world, running all the way over here to be with you and look where it got us…visits from the authorities and the daily indignity of working with your ex. It’s hardly the perfect start to a new life in America, is it? And then I find out your “ex” is pregnant with your child…it’s hardly what I would call a reason to stay, is it?”

  Rick glared furiously at me, “What did you expect Willow? Some fairyland? Somethin’ out a storybook?” he snorted. “It’s New York and now you’re acting like your shit don’t stink! Like nothing is good enough for you, and for the last time, that baby’s not mine!” he shouted, frightening me.

  “You told me you were bringing me to Manhattan! Not bloody Manhattan Nights…not some dump in the back of beyond.”

  There, I had said it. Said what I had been feeling all this time. I felt Rick’s grip on my wrist loosen as my stand-up-for-myself speech sank in.

  “You can hardly call Queens the “back of beyond” for Chrissakes, get a grip!” Rick huffed. “Anyway, what does it matter where you live, you’re with me…is that not enough?”

  I didn’t respond. I looked away. He was right. He should be enough.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Pulling my hand from his, I rubbed my hands as an angry red band appeared around my wrist.

  I picked up the yellow book that had been lying on the bedside table and threw it unceremoniously into my fake Kelly bag,

  “I’m done, Rick. I can’t do this anymore. I’m going home.”

  Deflated, I pulled the suitcase down from the top of the closet, checked it for any signs of ant infestation, then threw in the few clothes I had brought with me. So much for shopping in Saks and Macy’s and Nordstrom. My “American dream” had evaporated before I even had the chance to purchase my very first Kate Spade bag.

  I heard Rick mutter under his breath, “This can’t be happening.” I stood aside as he made his way to the kitchen, refusing to look my way.

  Stepping into the ensuite to get dressed, I wavered for a second before regaining my steely resolve. I noticed the last few remaining minute traces of red lipstick remained on the mirror, and despite Rick’s protestations to the contrary, I realised that Isabella had very clearly not left the building.

  ***

  Alone, I lugged the heavy suitcase from the top of the bed onto the floor and out into the living room. Willing myself to stay strong, I silently coached myself: You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. Just look straight ahead. Don’t look at him.

  Reaching the apartment door, I placed my sweat-soaked hand on the door handle, forcing myself not to look at Rick.

  “I’ll call you when I land,” I whispered, knowing that if I spoke louder, emotions would cloud my words and I might be persuaded to stay.

  I felt Rick’s shallow breath on the back of my neck, his delicate touch on the small of my back.

  I coached myself: Keep it together. Don’t look at him.

  “Won’t you reconsider?” Silence. “Please, Willow, I’ll do anything!” The depth of emotion in his voice unnerved me. I had never heard him sound so vulnerable.

  This was unbearable.

  Don’t say anything. Keep going.

  Burt Bacharach’s “This guy’s in love with you” played softly from the kitchen radio as if he was callously poking fun at our ridiculous relationship.

  Go now! Just keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t say anything.

  I closed the apartment door gently behind me. I didn’t look back. I rushed down the corridor as fast as I could go, willing Rick not to come after me. Then it struck me. If he didn’t come after me, would he really give up so easily? I pressed the button to call the lift and immediately felt a rush of panic descend over me.

  Was I really doing this? Was I really going back? Hurry up, lift. Get me out of here, quick!

  The lift arrived just four seconds later but it felt like an eternity. Any minute now, Rick would appear and persuade me to go back to him. As the doors opened slowly, I rushed in rolling the heavy suitcase over my foot.

  “Ouch!”

  Frantically, I pressed the button over and over as the only other person in the lift, an older man in his late 50s, stared at me.

  “Going somewhere nice?” he asked, a wicked smile leeching out of his gnarled face.

  I ignored him. Praying instead that the door wouldn’t suddenly open and reveal Rick standing there staring at me, but still half-hoping that it would.

  Shit! This is awful.

  A minute later, we reached the lobby. Grabbing the handle of my suitcase, I hobbled out of the tiny compartment as fast as I could, not daring to look behind me. Five minutes later, I was expertly hailing a cab like a native New Yorker and telling the driver to take me straight to JFK. As we sped off, I finally allowed myself to look back towards the apartment building, one last time. There was no sign of Rick.

  11

  Runway

  THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, I arrived at the British Airways check-in desk in JFK.

  “Mrs. Campbell-Delgado, would you like a window or aisle seat?”

  “Window, please.”

  “Seat 35A has just become available. I’ve blocked the seat next to it so you should have some room. Please go straight to security then proceed to Gate 12.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered under my breath, as I tried to stall a burgeoning tear. I looked behind me at the remainder of the queue of passengers, all last-minute stragglers like me, but there was no sign of Rick. He hadn’t bothered to come after me and make one last-ditch attempt to get me to stay. There was nothing left for me to do but to carry on with my journey.

  Trudging through the airport, I stopped at a specialty bagel store. I had passed by one of these stores on the way to work every morning and had made a mental note to stop in one day and sample their fare. Now, seemed as good a time as any.

  Five minutes later, a comforting cup of latte in hand, I chewed slowly on my lox bagel, savouring every mouthful. As the array of delicious flavours danced on my taste buds, my thoughts quickly returned to my first day in New York and how Rick had attempted to buy lunch for me at the Little Café in Cent
ral Park. Only a few short weeks ago, it was just me, Rick, a plateful of ciabatta bread, a bowl of olives and tapenade, and what seemed like all the time in the world to savour our brand-new life together. Except, there was one vital ingredient missing – Rick’s wallet. The thought struck me, had he mistakenly left his wallet in the apartment when he took the cases up? And why did he tell me he lived in Manhattan when the reality was a forlorn tower block in Queens. Why did he feel the need to impress me?

  ***

  “Would all remaining passengers flying to London Heathrow on BA 1515 please proceed now to Gate 12, where your flight is currently boarding.”

  Brushing away a stray lock of hair, I picked up my Kelly bag and took out the yellow book that was partly responsible for getting me into this mess in the first place. I took one last look at it before throwing it in the nearest trash bin.

  There. That’s where you belong.

  Deep inside me, I knew that from now on, there would be no more need for such frivolous nonsense in my life. It was time to finally grow up and face the consequences of my rash actions.

  Feeling emotionally bruised from my short time in New York, I prepared to return home to my old life in Scotland, the same life I had been so desperate to leave.

  ***

  “Ahem! I think you forgot something.”

  I turned around to see Jackson smile down at me. He was holding a grubby yellow book in his hand.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, shocked to the core.

  “I found this in the trash and knew you had to be around here somewhere,” Jackson joked, then got serious. “I can’t let you go through with this, Willow. I can’t stand by and let you throw this opportunity away. It’s too important. You can’t go home…not now.”

  My head was swimming as my flight number was called out again. I felt a tear snake down my right cheek as the stress of the last few days took its toll on me. I never wanted to be in this position but what was I supposed to do? I looked up at Jackson, his kind smile revealing two rows of perfectly aligned sparkling white teeth.