Warpaint

by J J Maya

  “Mrs. Campbell-Delgado, please can you tell us your neighbourhood garbage pickup days?”

  Crikey, I have no bloody clue. That’s not my department. I clean toilets. I don’t do garbage...

  “How the hell should I know? It’s not my job to put out the garbage. I clean the toilets; he does the bins!”

  The officer looked at me with a droll expression then carried on with the next question. I composed myself in my chair, pulling my dress down over my knees and began fidgeting with the cuffs of my coat.

  Inside, part of me was angry for having to go through this stupid situation in the first place while another part of me wanted to do my level best. I was conflicted, torn in half. I was resentful yet strangely compliant.

  “What colour are the curtains in your accommodation?”

  Shit! What colour does Rick have?

  Then it came to me in an instant, “We have no curtains, just blinds.” The officer ticked off a box on his sheet of paper and wiped sweat beads from his forehead. The questions appeared to be benign.

  What’s his problem? These are easy, I thought. He’s making a big deal out of nothing!

  “You’re doing fine Mrs. Campbell-Delgado, now tell me what each of you eat for breakfast?”

  Easy peasy!

  “I’m a night owl so I don’t eat breakfast. Neither does Rick but sometimes he’ll grab something on the run…just depends really.”

  Bingo! Aced that one!

  The officer looked up from his paperwork and looked straight at me once again. His eyes glinted with mirth, “How many remote controls are there in your home?”

  I exhaled in relief. This was like being on a quiz show. I was even beginning to loosen up and enjoy myself.

  “Just one. We’re always arguing over it. He was a bachelor before he met me.”

  Liar, liar pants on fire.

  “Does your spouse listen to the radio? If so, which station?”

  “He’s hooked on The Archers. BBC, I think? I introduced him to it when we first met in Glasgow. He thinks the posh English accents are hilarious.”

  The man smiled back.

  This is going better than I thought. Got him in the palm of my bleeding hand, haven’t I?

  “Is there a particular food that you eat each week? If so, what is it?”

  “Chicken Chow Mein!” I stated confidently.

  I hated that dish, but it was all I could think of to say. Rick and I hadn’t known each other long enough to establish a favourite weekly dish.

  The officer looked up from his notes and smiled at me.

  You go, Willow!

  “What is your favourite restaurant?” He went on, his voice taking a slightly more serious tone.

  Beaming with confidence, and thoroughly relaxed, I regaled the officer with my next answer, “Now that Sir, is impossible to answer…I mean how the hell you expect me to have a favourite restaurant in New York when I’ve only been here like two minutes?”

  “Point taken. Let’s move onto the next question, shall we?” he indicated, seemingly in a hurry to get everything over with.

  The officer looked closely at his notes, face blushing flame red. He cleared his throat, half apologising as I gripped onto the side of my chair in anticipation.

  “I apologise in advance but I have to ask you some personal questions now…I hope you understand.”

  Crikey Moses, I don’t like the sound of this… What can it be?

  The air of confidence I had acquired disappeared like a puff of smoke in the wind

  “What kind of birth control do you use? What brand do you use?” the man kept his eyes firmly on his paperwork as he spoke. I almost felt sorry for him.

  “Oh…I see…erm, I’m on birth control. The pill.”

  The officer’s face reddened further, as he scribbled notes on his paper.

  “I really do apologise for the next question.”

  “Go on then,” I urged, dreading the words that would come out of his mouth.

  “What is your favourite position? Cowgirl? Doggy? Missionary?”

  Now this question explains the pit stains on this poor man’s shirt! Yikes! I can’t even remember the last time we did “it!.”

  “Am I allowed to use the Fifth Amendment on that one?” I asked cheekily trying my best to inject a dose of humour into the proceedings.

  “Well, number one, you are not American so no, you can’t use it, and secondly, I need an answer from you,” his tone was changing with me now. It was clear he wanted this over and done with just as much as me.

  Wonder how much he gets paid for making people squirm in their chair? OK, get serious Willow. Think back to the wedding night…no don’t think of that, that was the night I discovered the lipstick in the bathroom. Go back to the rented apartment on Ingram Street. What did we do there?

  “I really can’t allow you much more time to answer the question Mrs. Delgado,” he looked at his watch then at me, “It’s beginning to appear like you don’t know the answer.”

  OK! Here’s hoping for the best.

  “I hate to sound boring, but let’s put the missionary position down for that one.”

  “Will do,” he replied, flicking the paper over to the next set of questions.

  Now I was sweating, and I needed to pee. The officer had expertly lulled me into a false sense of security with the easy questions and now they were getting more and more difficult to answer. I was sure he could see the cracks in my veneer. He wasn’t as innocent as he was making himself out to be.

  “What time did you wake up this morning?” he went on, this time looking me straight in the eyes.

  Shit! What the hell am I going to say to this one?

  I fidgeted once more with the coat cuffs and crossed and re-crossed my legs, hoping to put some pressure on my bladder so that I didn’t pee myself.

  “You must know the answer to that one surely?” I could tell he was beginning to lose patience with me.

  Blurting out the only answer I could come up with, I said, “I work shifts, so I don’t have a regular wake up time.”

  You must do better than that, Willow.

  The officer stared harshly at me, serving to heighten my anxiety levels sky high

  “Let’s just say it was around 7:30 am,” I went on, trying my best to stay in control of the situation.

  The officer scribbled more notes then looked at his watch. I could feel the interview slipping away from me. Then he hit me with the final nail in the coffin, “Did you come to the interview together? Who drove?”

  Aw no!!! What am I going to say to this one?

  I was convinced the officer could see trickles of sweat running down my forehead, as my knuckles whitened.

  Why hadn’t we prepared for this interview. Why didn’t we bring a lawyer with us?

  “Mrs. Delgado, could you please answer the question?”

  Resigned, I exhaled the answer, “We arrived separately.”

  The officer gave me a knowing look then spoke into the tape machine.

  “Interview terminated 11:35am on Tuesday 10th December 2019.”

  “You said what?” I couldn’t quite believe my ears. I had been released from the interview room 20 minutes before Rick was let go, and from his stance alone, I knew instinctively that things had gone awry for him too.

  Rick stirred his spoon around and around in his coffee cup, refusing to look at me. He exuded an air of nonchalance and arrogance from his every pore. It was easy to see now from his answers how little he really knew me or even cared for me. He had made no attempt to answer the officer in the correct manner. In fact, as I sat there getting angrier and angrier with him, the little voice in my head told me just to give up.

  He had told the officer that I did have a favourite restaurant, that my favourite position was cowgirl (in his dreams!), and that we always fought over the three remotes in his apartment. Oh, and he mentioned to his interviewer that he did have
curtains, ones that Isabella had installed the day of my departure, supposedly to mark her territory now that I was gone.

  Disgusted, I stood up and moved away from him, making my way towards the exit.

  “I’m going,” I stated.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  19

  Empire State of Mind

  THE RUN-UP TO Christmas is always an exciting time in retail. The hard-sell of new launches is suddenly replaced by throngs of mostly men queuing up to purchase luxuriously wrapped gift packages for their loved ones. The prettier the box, the more impressive the price tag and they were like putty in the palm of our experienced hands.

  It wasn’t unusual to hear, “Give me three of those” or “I’ll take five as long as you wrap!”

  It was also the time of year that could make or break department stores. They needed robust sales in order to survive the rest of the year.

  Then there was Mrs. G, frantically trying out every trick in the book. Trying to stay afloat and prevent the family’s long-standing wealth from disappearing down the drain.

  Who would want that kind of responsibility on their shoulders? To be the generation that wiped out a fortune built up over centuries. I had to hand it to Mrs. G, she appeared as cold as ice like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But underneath, I guessed she was just the same as the rest of us. We were all trying to survive in this concrete jungle called New York.

  After a particularly grueling day on the beauty hall floor, dealing with irate customers who were unhappy that their skin hadn’t cleared up the way it said it would on the packaging, it was a relief to grab a seat on the subway. I went over and over a conversation I had earlier with one of my regular customers who had experienced a breakout in her skin. She had brought the half-used product back and had demanded a full refund. It happened all the time. It was a case of choose your battles.

  As I played the conversation over and over in my head, I noticed that Jackson appeared lost in thought.

  “What’s up with you?” I asked.

  “Oh…nothing much…just got a favour to ask…” he mumbled as if to himself.

  “Ok. Go on!” I encouraged.

  Jackson turned his face towards me, his expression appeared slightly troubled.

  “When we get back to the apartment…do you mind leaving for a while?”

  “Why...What’s going on?” I enquired.

  “I’ve got a date,” Jackson blushed slightly, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “Charles from accounts is coming over for dinner at 8.”

  “Well! Look at you!” I joked, feeling faintly hollow inside. “Going on a hot date!”

  “Yeah! Who would’ve thought it? This will be my first date since…well, you know who.”

  “Aw, you’ll be fine” I encouraged, “Charlie is a lovely man.”

  Inside, I was screaming. No! He’s not! He’s a man-eater! A horror! And it’s Saturday night—where am I supposed to go, alone???

  Jackson must have read my thoughts.

  “They’re playing Devil Wears Prada at the Roxy. I hope you don’t mind but I bought you a ticket.”

  Hold on!

  “You did?” I asked. “I’ve seen it five times already but …oh well, never mind.”

  We arrived at our stop. Both of us deep in thought. As soon as we entered the apartment, I strung into gear. It was a pleasure to be able to help out Jackson, after everything he had done for me.

  “You get the hoover and I’ll clean the dishes…. have you got ingredients for the dinner?” I asked. Jackson looked at me.

  “Well, you better run down to the store and get some. Have you any idea what you are going to cook?”

  “Pasta?” he suggested half-heartedly.

  “Look, you go and get a shower and I’ll nip down to Mario’s and get stuff for a Thai chicken curry, he’ll like that, won’t he?” I asked.

  Secretly, I imagined how unbearably hot I could make it then thought better of it. Charlie had never been particularly pleasant to me whenever I enquired about my late paycheque but I’m guessing he was in deep trying to keep D’Arcy’s afloat.

  Half an hour later, the apartment was filled with the aroma of lemongrass, coconut, and fragrant Thai sauce. I had cleaned up the dishes and gave the bathroom a quick spritz. I then replaced Jackson’s scruffy towel with my treasured pristine white Donna Karan towel set. Afterwards, I lit a small tea candle and placed it in one of Jackson’s empty votive holders. I turned the dimmer switch down low to create a more ambient effect in the apartment and finally, cranked up the thermostat. I fluffed the cushions then slammed then with the side of my hand, in a vain attempt to give the five-star hotel effect. It wasn’t working. All that was left to do was roll up my bedding and hide it somewhere, but where? The apartment was tiny with very little in the way of closet space. I decided to cram the duvet and blankets into the hall closet where we kept our winter coats and boots. It was already filled to capacity but just then Jackson appeared from his bedroom and helped me push the duvet in. Then he slammed the door shut and looked at me.

  “Well? What’s the verdict?” he asked, “How do I look?”

  His appearance took my breath away. His long black silky hair hung over one eye and he was dressed head to toe in black. He had applied black eyeliner and painted his nails neon blue.

  “Not too shabby!” I stumbled. You go Jackson!

  It was as if I was seeing him for the first time as my memory flitted back to him introducing himself to me in D’Arcy’s, that fateful morning I went out looking to buy a kettle.

  Jackson appeared uncharacteristically self-conscious.

  “Is it too much?” he asked.

  “No! Not at all!” I replied, hoping that my facial expression matched my voice.

  “Thanks for cooking the dinner and cleaning up the apartment. The place looks great and it smells great too!” Then he looked over at the sofa at the line of cushions all standing to attention, “But what is that all about?” he laughed.

  I noticed the time on the living room clock. It was 7:50pm.

  “I better make my escape then,” I suggested. “Three’s a crowd…n’all that.”

  I hadn’t had time to do anything about my own appearance. I was still in my work clothes and my makeup needed a touch-up. My signature red lipstick had all but disappeared except for a faint pencil line around the outline of my lips. Not a good look for someone who works in the industry, but oh well, Jackson was my priority.

  Walking me to the door, he smiled, “I really appreciate this, Willow…oh and don’t forget this,” he handed me the cinema ticket. I noticed the screening was scheduled for 9:00pm.

  “You be good…and if you can’t be good…be careful,” I heard myself say.

  For fuck sake Willow, what are you saying? Get out the apartment and leave him alone!

  ***

  I walked along the crowded pavement making way for the groups of friends and loved up couples heading out for an evening of revelry in the bars and restaurants of Queens. I walked past our favourite dive bar, unable to summon up the courage to walk in alone. Instead, I decided to kill twenty minutes in a tiny Italian café. I ordered an espresso and slice of millionaire’s cake and thought back to Jackson, who would now be having dinner with Charlie…or maybe they had moved on to other activities…I brushed the thought aside as I devoured the thick layer of chocolate. In the background, Alicia Keys could be heard singing “Empire State of Mind.” I had never paid much attention to the lyrics, but now it felt as if she was talking straight at me.

  I smiled wryly to myself as Alicia described the city I had now come to think of as home. But as much as I loved the song, it caused me an aching sadness that I might not be able to stay and make all my dreams come true. The fear of having to return to my past was never far away. It was the sole fear that propelled me on.

  I gulped down the last residue of thick black coff
ee and pulled on my coat, buckling the belt tightly around my waist. The film was starting in 10 minutes. I had never been to the cinema alone. It wasn’t something I had ever thought about doing. If there was a film I really wanted to see, there was always someone willing to tag along. Squeezing into my seat, I initially thought myself lucky to be sitting alone, then I looked all around me. It was quite clearly date night. I was the only singleton surrounded by a sea of smooching couples.

  Christ almighty. I shuddered as I slunk down into my seat, trying my best to look inconspicuous. It was just me, Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestley, Emily, and Nigel for the next hour or two. About an hour into my favourite movie, I noticed the couple in front of me were starting to get rather amorous with each other. As much as I attempted to avert my gaze, there was something about the man’s silhouette in the darkness that piqued my interest. I accidentally on purpose dropped my unopened bag of crisps on the floor so that I would have to bend down and pick it up, as I did, the unmistakable scent of vetiver and cedar infiltrated my nostrils.

  No! It can’t be! Oh my God! But the woman…who is she? I pondered to myself as I sat back in my chair studying the back of Rick’s head.

  Whoever she is, she isn’t Isabella. Strangely, I felt bad for Isabella, sitting at home …

  Feeling sick to my stomach, I couldn’t sit there any longer. I had to leave. I bundled up my belongings and made my way along the aisle, stepping on toes in my rush to get out of there.

  “Ouch! Watch where you’re going, idiot!” one young man shouted as his eyes bulged in pain.

  “Sorry, so sorry,” I whispered as I bundled myself out of there. I prayed to God he hadn’t seen me.

  I couldn’t wait to make my escape out on to the busy street. It was a relief to sidle into anonymity. It was raining heavily, suiting my bad mood perfectly.

  I can’t even go to a freakin film without bumping into him…

  I checked the time. It was 10pm. I couldn’t stay out any longer. I needed to get home and go to sleep. It had been a long day and I was tired.

  I put on my headphones and listened to Simply Red’s “Holding Back the Years.” The singer’s lament perfectly echoing the way I felt.