Warpaint

by J J Maya

  A real tree! Such class!

  There were four rooms leading off the vast open plan living room: each one led into elegantly dressed bedrooms and each bedroom appeared to have its own ensuite bathroom. I recalled Rick describing his ensuite as “luxury as standard” but his ensuite was a broom cupboard in comparison. I realised then that he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about…this is real luxury…quiet luxury. Understated, yet sumptuous.

  In one of the guest bedrooms lay a brown carrier bag with an expensive designer name inscribed on the outside. Inside the bag was a package wrapped in layers and layers of fine white tissue paper. As I unraveled the layers, I took out a pair of striped candy pink pj’s. These were just not any old pj’s. They were made from the softest brushed cotton and felt baby soft to the touch. I looked at the label. I still didn’t recognise the Italian name inscribed on the label. As I pulled the pj’s out for closer inspection, a small white card fell out and landed at my feet. It read:

  For You Willow! I hope you are enjoying your stay in my apartment over the Christmas Holidays. Happy Christmas from Gigi Gerson!

  Be sure to look in the fridge!

  (I’ll be home on the 26th)

  I climbed into the pajamas. No one had ever shown me such kindness. I was gob-smacked but deliriously happy. I walked into the kitchen wearing my new pink pajamas and felt the underfloor heating warming my feet. At that moment in time, life could not have been more perfect.

  I still had no clue as to why I had a key to this apartment. Feeling parched, I opened the huge refrigerator to look for a bottle of sparkling water. I knew how much Mrs. G adored her daily artisan water consumption and, lo and behold, there were six blue glass bottles on the top rack of the fridge, next to a yellow ceramic bowl of organic unwaxed lemons. On the bottom rack of the fridge lay a foil-wrapped cooked turkey. Stepping in closer, I could see there was a label in front of the bird which stated: Reheat at 180 degrees for 45 minutes.

  Wow! Did Mrs. G really leave this for me? Did she want me to have a proper Christmas dinner? I investigated further. Inside the thermostat-controlled wine refrigerator was a single bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape with a label around its neck: To be drunk slowly and carefully.

  I smiled at the humour.

  In one of the kitchen cupboards I found a traditional Christmas cake, with the instructions on how to cook, clearly labelled.

  This woman thinks of everything! Oh well, better get to work.

  I took the turkey out of the fridge and placed in in the centre of the oven, then opened the bottle of wine and poured myself a large goblet.

  “Happy Christmas Willow!” I said aloud, to no one in particular.

  As the smell of the turkey began to leak out from the oven and the soft glow of red wine had left its mark on me, I realised I needed to pee. Real bad.

  It took a moment or two to find the main bathroom that was not conjoined with a bedroom. As I washed my hands, I looked intently at my reflection in the mirror.

  Look at you girl! I mean holy fuck! If only they could see you now, washing your hands in your boss’ fancy condo apartment on Park Avenue.

  Grabbing my half-full goblet of wine, I sat down carefully on the cream leather sofa, making sure not to spill a drop. She would kill me if I did. I found the switch for the giant flatscreen TV and switched it on. More Christmas movies only this time I was not freezing my ass off in a crummy Queen’s apartment. Then it struck me. Jackson!

  What is he doing right now? Where is he? I wish he was with me.

  My heart plunged as I thought of him holed up somewhere. If only he could be here with me now, lapping up such luxury. Life would be just perfect.

  Ping!

  The oven timer indicated that my turkey was ready. I reached in and carefully extracted it without spilling a drop of juice onto the spotless stone-tiled kitchen floor. I lay it aside and let it cool for ten minutes while I sipped on another glass of the wine. Mrs. G sure knew how to make a girl feel at home.

  Feeling slightly tipsy, I dug into my Christmas dinner with much aplomb. The hearty meat satisfied an ache in my stomach that had been there for too long. Endless pot noodles and cup-a-soups had not been enough to keep me nourished and now my system was in shock. This felt like the first proper meal I had eaten in ages. The only upside to my monetary situation was that I was losing weight fast and furiously. My clothes were hanging off me but there was no spare cash to buy new ones.

  After dinner, I carefully put the dirty dishes and glasses in the dishwasher and turned the TV off. My mood sank slightly as a semblance of hushed silence descended over the apartment. I switched off most of the living room lights, leaving but one lamp on, then lay back on the butter-soft leather and admired the cityscape view through the floor to ceiling windows. Through the windows, I could see small groups of people going about their business on Christmas night. I thought briefly about Geneviève back in Glasgow and considered whether to call her. I decided against it. I wanted to revel in this delicious solitude for as long as possible before having to face the gritty realities that tomorrow would bring. I pulled a cashmere blanket over me and rubbed my toes together as I gently drifted off. The warmth, the wine, and the luxe surroundings transpired to grant me one of the soundest sleeps I ever had.

  Early the next morning, I was awakened by brilliant rays of kia-orange sunshine beaming through the windows of the apartment. Looking at the time on the iPad, I could see it had just gone past 6:00am. I reached over and closed the blinds before padding into one of the spare bedrooms. The queen bed looked more inviting than the sofa. I reset the alarm clock for 9:00am then snuggled under the down duvet and drifted back to sleep. An extra three hours sleep would set me up for the challenges of the day ahead.

  23

  Heaven or Las Vegas

  ON MY ARRIVAL back at Jackson’s apartment, I received exactly what I expected. A note on the door front declaring in bold black letters that subject to section B1 of the tenancy agreement, non-payment of rent resulted in an end to the tenancy agreement. The locks had been changed and I was now officially homeless. I about turned and walked back out of the building. I had tried my best to summon up the money. I really had. But to no avail. I was now wearing all the clothes I had in my possession. My Kate Spade bag held a purse with a bunch of dollars, a small makeup bag, some notepads and pencils, and my passport.

  As I stepped out of the shelter of the apartment lobby into the street, the wind cut through me like a scalpel through flesh. I had no Plan B.

  I traipsed the streets for twenty minutes until I could stand the bitter temperature no more. Ducking into Lola’s, I took a pew at the bar, in the place that Jackson and I had regularly frequented and ordered a coffee, the strongest type available. Taking out my purse, while being careful not to reveal it to passersby, I carefully counted the bunch of twenties over and over. Each time I counted; I came to the same number - $620. No more and no less. I fired up the iPad and checked the price of a one-way ticket to London on British Airways. There was a seat available on this evening’s flight. If I booked the ticket, my dream of staying in New York would be over, that much would be true.

  Just then, the music system in the drum belted out a familiar beat that stopped me in my tracks. It was the intro to “Empire State of Mind” by Alicia Keys. I took a sip of the hot coffee and let the lyrics wash over me. It felt as if Alicia was talking directly at me. I put my purse away, left a dollar bill for the barman, then stepped out once more onto the pavement where I expertly hailed a cab.

  “Empire State Building, please.”

  The remainder of the day passed in a blur of plans. I wrote notes in my notepad as I stood at the top of the iconic building drinking in the views. I thought of the immigrants who had landed ashore at Ellis Island in the second half of the 19th century and the 20th-century engineers, architects, and welders who had built these towering skyscrapers with nothing but brute strength, determination, and adversity for b
edfellows. Their circumstances would have been much harsher than mine to deal with. I had my health. I had my talent. I had buckets loads of determination, and like Alicia, I had a bucket load of dreams.

  Surely I can make this happen? Surely I can do this?

  For inspiration, I opened the yellow book and read chapter after chapter. I had read these chapters many times before, but now on this day, as I faced homelessness, each word was carved in my mind.

  As darkness fell, my plan was made. I knew exactly what I had to do. I retraced my steps back to 24a West Park Avenue and let myself in once more to Mrs. G’s apartment. I knew she would be returning soon from her weekend away, so I had to be quick. I felt guilty about being back there but had convinced myself I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Now, where would she keep the keys to D’Arcy’s? I thought.

  A stickler for tidiness, I attempted to put myself into Gigi Gerson’s mind.

  Where would she put them? Where would she hide them?

  I hated myself for prowling through her belongings, then I remembered how cold it was on the city streets and told myself I would be done for if I attempted to stay out all night. The thought made me feel only slightly better. In her bedroom, I surveyed the scene. Her dresser drawers and bedside cabinet drawers were instantly eliminated from my search – way too obvious! I sat down on the edge of her enormous super King bed and calmed my mind for a moment. My heart had been racing and the clock was ticking. She would be back soon. I took a few deep breaths and calmed myself then said quietly and directly to myself and the universe, “Where are the keys to D’Arcy’s Department Store.”

  Just then the phone rang. I jumped out of my skin. The phone went straight to the answering machine. It was a man’s voice. He sounded very direct and spoke in a perfectly clipped tone that indicated he was very well educated. I surmised it was her lawyer. I looked at the time on the bedside clock, she would be back home in about half an hour.

  Once again, I calmed my breathing and placed my sweat-stained palms on my knees. Then I scanned the room once more. My attention was caught by a silver canister containing Tiffany blue pens on the dressing table. I knew that Mrs. G wrote all her personal correspondence with these pens and there were always two or three laying on her desk at work at any given time. I walked over and pulled a bunch of the elegantly designed pens out of the silver holder and held them in my hands. They were weighty, defying their slimline look. As I reached out to place them back in the holder, I noticed a small bunch of silver keys at the bottom of the container. I took them out and opened a furled brown piece of paper that was attached to the key fob. The initials D.D.S. had been almost rubbed out.

  Bingo!

  I bolted out of the apartment, making sure to lock it before I left. Now, all I had to do was find one of those key cutting machines.

  I didn’t have to look long. New York was like that. You could get your hands on just about anything at any time of the day or night. It truly was the city that never slept. As I made my way back to Mrs. G’s apartment, a creeping sense of anxiety washed over me…was I really going ahead with my plan? A gust of wind took my breath away as I pulled my scarf up over my mouth. There was my answer.

  With the original set of keys delivered safely back to the apartment, I made my way to Queens on the subway. Holding my bag tightly in front of my chest, I noticed, not for the first time, the subway riders who spent a large portion of their day living a subterranean lifestyle. Now, I could see why. Who could blame them? Who in their right mind would want to face those freezing temperatures above ground? A solitary tear trickled down my cheek as I realized I was now in the same category. But what about Jackson? Was he too riding the subway to stay warm?

  Just then an elderly woman of eastern European descent appeared in the carriage of commuters. I eyed her nervously as she proffered small bags of lavender for a dollar apiece. I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out a five-dollar note. I didn’t want her wares, but I wanted to give her the note. As the woman approached, she stood directly in front of me and smiled.

  “A bag of lavender for you sweetie?”

  Her kind smile warmed me as I offered her the note.

  As she gathered up five bags of lavender, I interrupted.

  “I don’t want them…I just want you to have the money.”

  “That’s very kind of you sweetie,” she reassured, “But I want you to take one bag and keep it with you at all times.”

  Ok, then, I thought.

  As we exchanged our gifts, her expression changed, “Courage is born in the face of adversity,” she said quietly before moving on. I was gobsmacked.

  I blushed then smiled back at her. “I know,” I replied, and then she was gone.

  I had reached my station, in more ways than one.

  ***

  As I climbed the stairs lit by the last shards of daylight, I knew it would only be a short walk along Main Street to D’Arcy’s Department Store. The throngs of customers would have departed by now and there would only be a few remaining customers left to annoy the hell out of the part-time staff, who were usually employed for their looks and not for the elevated standards of customer service, although I had to admit that Rose was a noted exception in that category.

  I stood opposite the four-storey building and really saw it, perhaps for the first time. I took in its elegant late 19th century architectural adornments and noticed that the building was looking somewhat the worse for wear. The upkeep alone must have given Mrs. G many sleepless nights. As the clock struck 10:00pm, I stood in the shadows and watched on as Cecil, our beloved doorman locked the front door with his large cluster of keys. I hoped and prayed that the key I held in my hand was not a front door key. The CCTV man would have a field day!

  Ever thankful for my skipped hat and woolen scarf, I bundled myself behind a pillar of the building I was taking shelter in and waited for the last remaining members of staff to leave. I stood there as long as I could. Once it appeared that no-one else would come out of the building, I made my move.

  Deftly, I sprung across the road and walked on purpose by the front entrance. I walked a few steps north of the building then stopped to peer into a clothes shop window. There was no-one else around as I turned around and made my way back towards the department store that was going to be my home for the night. As I reached the side entrance, I put the key in the staff entrance door and held my breath. At first, the key would not turn. I looked around and still the coast was clear. I tried again. The key didn’t budge. Then I remembered to pull the door towards me and twist the key at the same time. Success! The door opened. I stepped into the darkness, too afraid to switch on a light. Instead, I took out my mobile phone and illuminated my way up the fire exit stairs with bated breath. Thankfully, there was no sign of any stragglers in the building. I had the added advantage of knowing exactly where I was going…all the way to the fourth floor – home of electricals, wallpaper, interiors, and bedding. The fourth floor was also home to the Ladies loos, which would be very convenient during my overnight stay.

  On arrival, feeling breathless through a combination of adrenalin and exertion, I stood in the shadows until I was absolutely sure there was no-one in the building, then I walked into the ladies’ loos and changed into the pj’s that Mrs. G had gifted me for Christmas. My hands were almost blue with cold as I warmed them under the dryer. My cheeks were ruddy with the cold and I looked a right old mess, but at least I had a roof over my head and had escaped the outdoor frozen temperatures. Gradually, I began to relax as my plan fell effortlessly into place. That’s when I noticed it had begun to snow.

  Those poor souls out there…

  Exhausted from my day of traipsing the streets, I snuggled under the display bed duvet and drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  “Be Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Willow! What are you doing here? You gave me the fright of my bloody life, you did!”

  Jake O’Riordan stared at me a
s if he had seen a ghost. It took a moment or two to gather my thoughts and remember where I was.

  “Shooosh! Please don’t tell anyone Jake,” I pleaded, “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “We can’t be having this, Willow,” Jake shook his head in disgust then stormed off.

  I had never seen our normally mild-mannered cleaner look so pissed off.

  Shit. He’s going to blow my cover, I thought, as I frantically kicked off the covers and ran to the “Ladies” to get dressed. By the time he got back from wherever he went, I was looking fairly composed in a “rumpled clothes from yesterday” kind of way.

  Jake returned, carrying a “Henry” the hoover in one hand and a paper carrier bag in the other. He sat down on the edge of the display bed and looked at me with an expression I had never seen before. To be perfectly honest, I had never paid Jake much attention at all, but now looking at him sitting across from me, it was obvious he held all the cards in this situation. It was up to him whether he kept my secret or blew my cover and I had no idea which way it was going to go.

  He handed me the paper carrier bar.

  “What’s this?” I asked, looking inside.

  “Coffee. Milk and two sugar. Correct?” he asked.

  “But how did you know?” I asked, confused. How the hell does he know I take two sugar in my coffee?

  Jake looked rile, “Never mind that. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  I took a sip of the burning coffee and felt its warmth travel all the way to my toes.

  “So, what happened, that you had to spend the night in your place of work? Were you drunk?” His question infuriated me.

  “No! I bloody well was not,” I replied indignantly.

  “Don’t be so uppity now…it’s not unusual for you and Jackson to go out on the lash…now is it?”

  Who the hell does he think he is? My father? I wondered.

  It was the first time I really paid attention to Jake, of course, I had seen him working around the store, doing odd jobs for Mrs. G but I never bothered to find out anything about him or his job for that matter. He was always just there, in the background. I reckoned he was perhaps a year or two older than myself and he was maybe a couple of inches taller than me. When he handed me the paper bag, I noticed his hands were gnarled from hard labour; his were working hands, hands that were never shy of a day’s hard work. I gathered he was angry with me for having put myself in a situation.