Warpaint
Page 10
“I don’t have a choice. I can’t stay with him,” I blurted.
“There’s always a choice, Willow. Come back with me,” he said kindly, as he gently attempted to take the ticket and passport from me. “If you like, you can stay with me for a while, let everything calm down…then make a rational decision.”
“This is a final call for Mrs. Willow Campbell-Delgado travelling to London Heathrow on BA 1515. Please go to gate 12 immediately.”
“That’s me! They’re calling my name! I need to go, Jackson,” I panicked as I took my ticket and passport from him.
“Willow!” Jackson shouted, exasperated, stopping me in my tracks. “Don’t do this. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”
“It’s not that easy Jackson. I married him…and now he’s having a baby with her…”
The floodgates burst their banks finally as Jackson stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.
“I know…I know…it’s shit,” he cupped his hand under my chin and made me look at him. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did. That’s all. I want you to have time to think things through. You know…be my flat mate while the dust settles,” he suggested
I laughed through the tears, “You just want me to help pay your electric bill, don’t you?”
“Well,” he paused, “there’s that too!”
“This is the last and final call for Mrs. Willow Campbell-Delgado. Please go to Gate 12 where your flight is waiting to depart,” the announcer was getting antsy.
I thought about Jackson’s suggestion as the voice of reason in my head analysed the pros and cons of the situation. It would buy me some more time if I stayed a little longer plus there was the added attraction of not having to “eat humble pie” and return to my flat mate.
I looked up at Jackson, smiled, and finally relented.
“Ok. You’ve persuaded me,” I said quietly, once again second-guessing the wisdom of my actions.
Jackson grinned from ear to ear.
He put his arm around me and walked me to the baggage desk.
“We need to get a suitcase offloaded,” Jackson said to the agent behind the desk.
12
Port Wine Stain
JACKSON AND I made a detour to our favourite hangout – Lola’s Bar. The one we visited every Thursday night. The day that officially signposted the way to the weekend.
He placed the large suitcase by the side of my feet while we took up our favourite position on the barstools. He ordered me a large glass of red wine and a Corona for himself. Then sat down next to me, staring at me.
“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.
“Rick called me,” he stated.
“He did?” I asked, as I experienced a conflict of emotions overwhelm me.
“Whatever you think of him, Willow, he was messed up…in real bad shape, sobbing he was.”
“No! Never!” I shook my head disbelieving. “Not Rick. I’ve only ever seen him cry over a £1000 lost bet in the bookies! You’re making this stuff up.”
Taking the huff, Jackson looked over my shoulder.
“Think what you will, but I’m guessing that guy really loves you,” he responded, sulkily.
“But what about Isabella…and the baby?” I was seriously confused now.
“There’s a good chance the baby’s not his,” he stated.
“But…how can you say that?” I asked.
“I was with Isabella the night before Rick left for Glasgow, they had a falling out, and we went out dancing…she went off with another guy at the end of the night.”
Had I got it all wrong? Was he over Isabella? Now, I was delighted but still confused.
“You mean the baby might not be his?” I exclaimed as a swirl of thoughts and questions arose… Does he really love me? Had I got it so wrong?
“Will you take me back there? I want to see him,” I asked, pulse racing.
Jackson brightened, “Of course I will.” He nodded. “Hurry! Drink up. Let’s go.”
***
The streets of New York began to look vaguely familiar as I recognised landmarks along the way. I cast my memory back to how I felt when I first arrived in the city. I blushed at the memory of thinking I was going to be staying in uptown Manhattan, laughing at my own naiveté as I remembered standing in front of Manhattan Heights with the missing “H.” Smiling at my own absurdness, my heart missed a beat as we pulled up in front of the dingy brown apartment building. Leaping out, I left it to Jackson to pay the fare. Catching my reflection in the mirrored lobby, I was thankful that Jackson had done an expert job on my makeup in the back seat of the taxi. Gone were the puffy eye bags and any tell-tale redness around the rims of my eyes had been camouflaged with a white pencil. He even did my hair – backcombing the roots and giving it some bounce, then he sprayed it into place with a tiny travel size canister of hairspray.
“Keep that in your bag,” he said, handing me the canister, “It makes a great self-defense weapon.” Then he looked around him, “Especially in this neck of the woods.”
But I was only half-hearing him as my mind was on other things: Things are going to get better now. We’ll make up and pretend like none of this ever happened. It will be a fresh start for both of us.
I visualised myself settling down with Rick, enjoying my job in D’Arcy’s and making a frenemy out of Isabella. After all, it was me who Rick really loved. He had told me so himself. Suddenly, Jackson’s high-pitched, cut glass, London accent blasted into my thoughts.
“You go on ahead luv…I’ll catch you up,” he urged as he took out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to the cab driver.
Can’t take you anywhere, can I? I shook my head, smiling.
Standing in the familiar surroundings of the lift, alone, I took a deep breath and pressed number 14. The return ticket would have to be cancelled and I would probably lose the money on it, but I would soon make it up on a couple of overtime shifts later in the month. Saving my marriage would take precedence over everything, of that I was sure.
As I stepped out of the lift and into the lobby, I waited a few moments to see if Jackson would catch up. I needed his presence to reassure me. After all, if he hadn’t revealed that morsel of information, then I would not be standing in the very building I had left so dramatically only a few hours earlier.
The adjacent lift door opened to reveal a beaming Jackson. Noticing that I was waiting to “do my thing” and makeup with Rick, Jackson stepped forward and hugged me tightly.
“You go on ahead,” he whispered encouragingly, “I’ll wait back here for ten minutes and then if you don’t come out…I’ll see you at work tomorrow!” he winked.
“You sure?” I asked, not quite believing how well things were all panning out.
Throwing that yellow book away had to be one of the best things I’d ever done.
Now, I was making decisions all by myself and boy did it feel good to be in control.
“Yes! Now go! Go!” he urged, shooing me forward like a kid at primary school leaving their dad for the first time.
It was now or never.
Walking along the carpeted hallway, I heard soothing notes of Bossa Nova bouncing off the walls. The closer I got to the apartment, the louder the notes became as back-up singers sung, “Going out of my head.”
I didn’t know Rick liked Sergio Mendez …That’s a first. I’ll have to buy him the album for Christmas.
The notes tinkled and reverberated, echoing soothingly along the corridor walls. I imagined Rick sitting on the couch, huddled over, full of remorse and clutching onto one of the last remaining crystal cut glass tumblers we received as a wedding present. I imagined the glass filled to the brim with the cloying amber nectar, product of my home country. Smiling warmly, I turned and looked back at Jackson. He gestured with his hands, urging me to go on and press the doorbell.
Taking a dee
p breath once again, I fixed my hair and smoothed my brows, then I knocked on the door, timidly at first. No one answered. I knocked again. Still nothing. I waited. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, I knocked once more but this time with more authority. The seductive tones of the music continued. I knocked again, much louder this time. Surely, he would hear me now?
I was right. The door cracked open slightly revealing a darkened hallway and only the side view of Rick’s profile.
“Bella! Turn that music down!” Rick laughed and turned to face me, shock arising in his expression. “Willow! What are you doing here?” His tone changed dramatically.
I had heard everything I needed to hear. We stood face to face, staring at each other, both of us waiting for the other person to speak. I saw Bella rush towards the door, wearing a short pink satin dressing gown, tied loosely at the waist. Her feet were bare, and her eyeliner smudged. Seeing me, she sneered, “I thought you’d left?”
***
I’ve often heard that actions speak louder than words. That night, I had an out of body experience. I watched myself run. I ran down the lobby, past Jackson, and kept on running. I ran past the lift door and kept on running. Somehow, and I don’t know how, I knew exactly where the fire escape was and so I ran, down —to floor ten, then 9, then 8, then 7, then 6, then 5, then 4, and my heart maintained a rhythmical beat. Ironically, the SugaBabes’ “Round Round” lyrics filled my ears as I continued to floor 3, floor 2, and then floor 1. My lungs, parched of oxygen, felt like they might explode.
Then I saw myself fall into a strong pair of arms.
“Fuck him,” Jackson said. “You’re coming home with me.”
13
Shock Value
JACKSON SETTLED ME into his green-winged armchair in front of the fireplace then fetched me a mug of freshly boiled hot chocolate.
“Take this,” he demanded, “It’s good for the shock.”
My hand wavered and shook as I wrapped my palm around the mug, heat searing into my hand. I sat there and watched on while Jackson scurried around collecting sheets, blankets, and pillows for a makeshift bed on the couch.
“I’ll sleep here tonight, and you can have my bed till you figure out what you want to do next.”
“That’s kind of you,” I whispered as one tear escaped down my cheek. “But I’m not taking your bed, you’ve already done more than enough for me. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I climbed under the covers that draped over the couch. It was cold in his apartment. I guessed he wasn’t a fan of turning on the heat while he was trying to survive in New York City on our wages.
“If you get hungry during the night, you’ll find some cheese and crackers on a plate in the fridge,” Jackson said.
I smiled meekly, “Thanks Jackson, you’re too kind.”
I gulped down the last dregs of the hot chocolate as Jackson switched off the lights.
“Night Jackson.”
“Night Willow.”
It was a relief to finally be in pitch darkness, where no-one could see me, as I sobbed myself to sleep.
***
I awoke early the next morning to find Jackson scribbling wildly on two sheets of paper.
At the top of each page, there was a title: “Reasons to Stay” and “Reasons to Go.”
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked, wiping the sleep from swollen eyes.
“Making life easy for you.” He looked up at me and smiled warmly, “You deserve a break!”
Then he handed me the two sheets of paper inscribed with lists of reasons. The “Stay” page had 8 bullet points while the “Go” page only had one.
Jackson sat back in his chair, staring at me as I read the lists.
At bullet point 8 on the “Stay” page I burst out laughing, “What’s this? It read: “Stay and be my flat mate.” I looked over at Jackson, one eyebrow raised as I contemplated his offer. Jackson blushed, stumbling his words as he recounted, “Well, you can probably tell I need some help with the bills! It’s freezing in here. You stay – we turn the heat on.”
I chuckled, “Well! That’s an offer I simply can’t refuse!” I rubbed my hands together. “But – are you sure?”
“Of course! Stay as long as you need! I could do with some company around here,” he replied.
I immediately thought of Isabella and the other girls on the shop floor. May as well give them something to talk about!
“OK! But only if you are sure…I don’t want to overstay my welcome or anything like that!”
“No worries. I’ll let you know the moment you do,” Jackson smiled as he tore up the “Go” sheet of paper.
14
Keeping up Appearances
AS ISABELLA BATTLED a seemingly never-ending cycle of turgid morning sickness, I fought the never-ending desire to smack her in the face. I didn’t know what was worse: the silent but sympathetically simpering looks from my co-workers or the constant discussions about cute baby names.
Have they no consideration for my feelings? Don’t they think it’s weird that she is having a baby with my husband?
At locking up time, I put my personal possessions away in my locker. I reapplied my red lipstick, taking extra care to fill in the lines before blotting with a tissue and reapplying a second time, then I quickly topped up my eyeliner with a deft flick of the wrist. My life may have been shattered across the four corners of the globe but there was no excuse for showing my despair in my appearance.
Making my way towards the staff entrance door, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and bumped face-first into Rick.
Fuck! What is he doing here?
“Willow!” he gasped, “How are you?”
His disheveled appearance took me by surprise. I thought back to the days when he would wait outside Devonshire Department Store in the freezing cold. There he would stand with his navy pea coat, collar pulled up high around the back of his neck, shielding himself from the harsh Scottish winter. His black wavy hair falling over one eye. Now, his appearance shocked me.
“How do you think I am?” I responded flatly, trying not to reveal any signs of lingering affection that I might still be harbouring for him. In his wavering hand, he clutched a brown envelope.
This can’t be good.
Following my gaze, he handed the envelope to me.
“It’s from Homeland Security. They’ve requested another meeting with us.”
As if on cue, Jackson burst forth from the building, lit a cigarette, and stepped closer to me, eyeing Rick. He gave a curt nod.
“Looks like he’s got a letter for me,” I broached, inspecting the government stamped envelope, “I wonder how you’re going to explain your little situation to them.”
“Look, we don’t even know if the baby is mine,” Rick faltered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Acute discomfort written across his face. His eyes refusing to meet mine.
“Now you’re attempting to deny you are the father?” I gasped, unsure of how exactly I had ever become entwined with this situation. Disgusted, I attempted to walk away as Rick made a desperate attempt to get Jackson to intervene.
Rick pulled Jackson by the arm, pleading with him.
“Jackson, you remember that night…the night I was due to fly off to Glasgow, don’t you?”
“Oh, no way!” Jackson held up a hand, “You’re not getting me involved in this.” Jackson backed away from Rick.
“Bella and I had a huge fight, remember?” Rick’s eyes were bulging, as he desperately willed Jackson to remember a distant event in the past.
I sensed Rick was clutching at straws.
Jackson looked at me like he wanted to make his escape as quickly as possible, but Rick was having none of it.
“I don’t even remember what we were arguing about but then you called and asked Bella if she wanted to go clubbing, remember?” Rick pleaded, staring at Jackson intently, urging him to answer the question.
&nbs
p; I sensed that Jackson knew exactly where this conversation was going.
I intervened and attempted to pull Jackson away from Rick, “Oh please!”
Rick became more desperate, “You remember that night, don’t you Jackson?” I looked on as Jackson took a long drag on his cigarette as if to buy time while Rick continued to question him.
“You guys went out on the town and I went to the airport”, he declared.
There was a lull of silence as Rick stared at Jackson and I.
“Don’t you see?” he implored, “For Chrissakes, do the math! There is no way that baby is mine.”
I wanted to believe him—I really, really did. The math made perfect sense, but I had made this mistake once before, with Finn. The guy, who in Geneviève’s eyes, was too good for me. The same guy who went out and got another girl pregnant while he was going out with me.
It was that day, when he had made the announcement that he was going to be a dad and that he was leaving me, that I had installed my protective shield. That was the day I promised myself that no other man would hurt me the way he had just done. But here I was again, in the exact same position, only this time, I was on the other side of the Atlantic.
“And the reason I met you Willow, is because I went into your store to buy her a bottle of perfume – to make it up to her…and all this time it looks like she was cheating on me with someone else!” Desperation filled the air as the irony of his own words were completely lost on him.
***
I felt Rick attempt to place his palm in mine, shaking me out of my thoughts. It was hot, sweaty. I immediately pulled my hand out of his; he was not going to weasel his way back into my affections – no chance. Refusing to return his gaze, my body language instinctively took over. My stomach began to loll as a sickening feeling developed rapidly in the pit of my stomach.
“So, let me get this right…you were shopping for her in my store when you asked me out?”
Rick realized there and then it was over.
“So, you’re not coming home with me?” he implored, eyes frantically searching mine.