Suzetta Perkins - Déjà Vu

“Is that right? Well, I think you make the lady nervous.”

“You her man friend?”

“No. I’m looking for a job,” Angelica spoke up. “Are you following me?”

“No, in fact, I was headed to a job interview myself. I guess I better be going. Miss, you should close your jacket before another customer comes in.” The man saluted and walked out the store.

Angelica had all but forgotten that her jacket was unbuttoned. She pulled it together and fumbled with the buttons until she had them all fastened. With a slight tremble in her hand, she held onto Malik’s arm for support and then let go. It could not have been coincidental that Walter, the man in braids, happened to be on the same street at about the same time. Malik may have hit the nail on the head. It was time to go-to leave Fayetteville-because the town gave her very little room to start a brand-new life.

She bought a one-way ticket to New York. The city made Angelica feel as if she belonged. Bright lights, tall skyscrapers, and the vast city with its millions of people seemed to welcome her with open arms. Lady Liberty waved her torch while the Empire State Building stood alone in the middle of Manhattan without the support of the Twin Towers.

The plane circled the city and eased onto the runway at New York’s LaGuardia Airport. A surprise phone call from Hamilton’s cousin, Donna, had made leaving Fayetteville an easy decision for Angelica.

Donna Barnes Reardon had established herself as one of New York’s notable fashion photographers. Having graduated at one of the top schools of the arts, her portfolio was a collection of rich and flamboyant designs modeled by Donna’s exotic friends from Brazil and Trinidad that she’d met years earlier while a student. There were trips to the island beaches of Jamaica and Bermuda where Donna took advantage of all she learned to advance a career that was in need of a jump-start. It didn’t take long for Donna’s work to be noticed and then for her to be hired by a well-known modeling agency.

Donna needed an inexpensive subject for a personal project she was working on and remembered how excited her cousin’s wife, Angelica, had been about her work. Angelica loved fashion, which was evident by her love for the fashion retail industry. On a chance that Angelica might accept, Donna invited Angelica to come to the Big Apple and, much to Donna’s surprise, Angelica was available and on her way.

This was going to be the new life Angelica craved. Far away from the place that swallowed her up and advertised her sins on a billboard 24/7, Angelica was grateful and flashed a full set of teeth, so beside herself was she at her newfound fortune.

Hailing a cab, Angelica instructed the driver to take her to Manhattan. She sat in the back with the window down and let the breeze flow through her hair. Tranquil blue water from the East River separated Queens from Manhattan and the drive across soothed Angelica’s nerves.

Much to Angelica’s disappointment, Donna was out on a shoot when the cab arrived at the high-rise condo. The phone call had been simple and abrupt with instructions for the doorman to let Angelica in. Angelica had expected red-carpet treatment on arrival with Donna talking a mile a minute about the new project, where she was going to take Angelica for dinner, who the who’s-who in town were and what fabulous stars they would be cozying up to. With no welcome in sight, Angelica sighed, put her hair into a ponytail, and willed her body from the cab along with her three pieces of designer luggage and her Hobo handbag.

The doorman was an attractive, middle-aged Greek whose graying temples made him look distinguished. His cap sat atop a crop of thick, wavy curls that dropped below the hairline. His maroon and black doorman’s jacket fitted him like an Armani garment, custom-made for a movie star’s body.

Silence engulfed the elevator during the ride to the twenty-fifth floor. The doorman stole glances at the tall, statuesque beauty. Four-inch stilettos adorned her feet, while a green three-quarter-sleeve, retro cotton and linen jacket sat on top of a sheer, green-and-black, cheetah-print, short-sleeve silk blouse. White wide-leg cotton and spandex pants completed her look. Their eyes connected, and Angelica forced a smile when the doorman winked.

The doorman let Angelica in as Donna had instructed. He placed her luggage in the foyer and stood back by the door. Angelica fumbled around in her large Hobo handbag, but when she finally pulled the money out, the doorman had already gone. She would have to get his name in case she needed someone to talk to.

Angelica’s jaw dropped as she walked through the foyer and gazed around the room. It was a penthouse suite decorated for the rich and famous. Angelica walked through the huge living room/dining room with its mod furniture in colors of tangerine, chartreuse, blue, banana yellow, and coffee brown. The walls were painted custard yellow with off-white baseboards and trailer boards running the length of the rooms. The room was airy and light, but the highlight was the tremendous view of the city with a generous view of the Hudson River to the West and Central Park to the North.

Museum-quality art hung on the luscious walls. On further investigation, she found that huge blown-up photographs of Latin-looking women done in black and white, probably Donna’s work, adorned the walls of another large room that was most likely Donna’s studio. Angelica fingered the work as if she were appraising it for auction. She went from one portrait to the next, admiring what everyone in New York already knew-an award-winning photographer lived here.

Angelica walked around until she doubled back into the living room. For the first time since her arrival, she stepped into the stainless-steel jungle with the white and black tile running the length of the floor. Opening the refrigerator, Angelica had not expected to find it bare. A lonely, four-pack wine cooler that looked to be off limits sat in the back next to a block of cheese. Angelica took one of the coolers, went into the living room and sat in the chair closest to the window to take in the view.

“Angelica.”

Angelica jumped at the sound of Donna’s voice that was deep throat with too much “put-on.” It had been a long time since she had seen Donna, but to a casual observer, Donna looked like a young woman in an old person’s body. Too much make-up and her perfume was overpowering. Donna’s cocoa skin was beginning to show cracks-a sign that she was letting the industry suck her under.

How long was Angelica asleep? She wiped her mouth and noticed that the wine cooler still sat on the coffee table where she had left it.

“Donna.”

“Have you made yourself comfortable?”

Angelica wasn’t sure if that was a slur about Donna finding her asleep on her best chair or if she really meant it.

“Exhausted. Since I left Fayetteville so abruptly, I had to get someone to take care of my condo, my car, and stuff like the mail. I was so excited about getting away and coming to New York, I threw a few things together and caught the first thing smoking.”

“You’ll come to love New York like I do.”

“I think I already do,” Angelica said as she casually got up from her seat and stood in front of the window to peer out of it for the umpteenth time.

“Well, I have an exciting project that I’m sure you’ll enjoy. The pay’s pretty good and, who knows, you may end up on the twenty-fifth like me.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“Have you eaten? If not, I know this great little jazz club in SoHo. We can have a bite to eat and talk about the project.”

“Sounds great. I would like to know, Donna, why you called me. We haven’t spoken in a long time. Frankly, since Hamilton and I are no longer together, I thought I’d be the last person you’d call.”