Tallman Pg. 2

Then she thought about another airport, on the day she was supposed to come home. She remembered how she had stood with that same rolling suitcase, looking at a huge display of flight numbers for the one that would take her back to the U.S. She had felt empty. She had nothing to come home to. After dropping out of all her classes, her mother was barely speaking to her, and Joseph had turned all her old friends against her when he found out she’d cheated on him. The flight to Italy leaving in an hour had caught her eye. She couldn’t explain what happened next, but she didn’t regret it: she took out her credit card, went to the ticket counter, and bought herself a seat on the flight to Italy instead. As she waited to board the flight she went through her wallet, totaling up her savings and credit card balances in her head, trying to estimate how long she could survive abroad without going home.

Isabel didn’t want to see any more pictures. She put them all back in the box, closed it up, and hid it in the far corner of her closet. They were photos of a person she no longer was, and of a life that was no longer hers. She sat down with her back against the wall by the door, and wrapped her thin arms around her knees. She could hear the sound of television voices coming from downstairs, and the smell of someone browning onions in oil came in the open window. Isabel felt like she was in an empty box in her apartment, surrounded by people whose rooms were bright and full. She listened to the sounds of her neighbors, as the streetlights came on outside and the room grew dark around her.

The Tuesday evening after Louisa brought the groceries there was a soft knock on the door. Isabel set down her bottle, put her shirt on, and opened the door. A guy in his twenties, maybe a little younger than her, stood there holding an old electric fan. He was deeply tan, with green eyes and long golden-colored dreadlocks. He was smiling faintly and wore a tie-dyed shirt with a huge marijuana leaf on the front. The odor of patchouli wafted into the apartment.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh, hi. My uncle Mike lives downstairs. He wanted to know if you needed a fan. You’ve probably noticed the AC is broken.”

He brushed his long dreadlocks out of his eyes with his free hand, nervously.

“Actually, I didn’t notice. I don’t have any power yet. I’m broke.”

He glanced past her at the candles, some melted down and dripping onto the windowsill.

“Oh, sorry. Well, do you want it anyway?”

He held out the fan and she took it from him.

“Thanks.”

She started to shut the door.

“I’m Andrew, by the way.”

He stuck out his hand and smiled a little more broadly. His front teeth overlapped a little, and he had traces of acne scars on his cheeks, but he was not unattractive. She shook his hand quickly.

“I’m Isabel.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

She just stood there holding the fan, wondering how to get rid of him so she could go back to her bottle. He shifted his feet around a little, his Birkenstocks scraping against the cracked paint of the staircase. Finally, he mumbled what sounded like “see you later” and left. She set the fan on the counter and plugged it in. She pushed “ON”, wanting it to be running as soon as possible, whenever she figured out how to get the electricity turned on.

Louisa came back the next Sunday, with another bag of food and an envelope. She unpacked the food and set the cans next to last week’s unopened cans on Isabel’s shelves. Isabel eyed the envelope suspiciously, but did not open it.

“It’s from your mother. She gave it to me at church today. She also gave me these to give to you.”

She took two candles in long glass jars out of the bag. One had a picture of The Virgin Mary on it and the other had a picture of Jesus, wearing a crown of thorns. Her mother had a half-dozen of these candles in her living room, surrounding a plastic statue of the Virgin Mary on an altar. Isabel thought of her mother standing in front of them and crossing herself, praying for her.

“I guess I could actually use these—the power’s still not on.”

“She means well, Isabel. Why don’t you come to Mass with me next week?”

“No thanks. I couldn’t handle running into Joseph. And I don’t really want to see any of those people, or answer any of their questions right now.”

She set the candles on the windowsill next to what was left of her own candles. She’d been burning the vanilla-scented candles that used to be in her old apartment. They were the same candles that used to burn in her bedroom when Joseph would stay over, and smelling them now reminded her of those evenings. She took a certain satisfaction in watching them melt away into nothing.

“Well, I have some good news for you.”

Louisa’s voice interrupted Isabel’s thoughts and brought her back to reality.

“What?”

“I’ve arranged a job for you with me at the makeup counter. We’ve been really busy and Vivian really needs another salesgirl, because someone quit yesterday. Vivian said if want to come in you can have the job on a probationary basis, because I told her you’d be great.”

“I don’t even wear makeup.”

“Come on, Isabel…will you do it for me?”

Louisa worked at the Chéri Cosmetics counter of a large department store, and had asked Isabel to interview there before. Isabel didn’t really like being in department stores and couldn’t imagine working with Louisa, so she usually refused, but at this point she was desperate. Her rent would be due again soon and she had no way to pay for it.

“I’ll go and try it out. But I don’t know anything about working at a makeup counter.”

“Great! Here’s the paperwork you’ll need to fill out. You need to bring it in to Vivian tomorrow morning so she can meet you. If that goes well, you should start working in a week or so.” She handed the papers to her, smiling.

“Okay. Thanks.”

She gave Isabel a hug and left, wishing her luck on the way out. As soon as she left Isabel opened the envelope from her mother. Inside was $100 in cash and a handwritten note. The stationary was light blue, with a crucifix in the top right corner. She remembered it from the letters she’d received while at college in England, and how it always made her homesick. She read it quickly:

Isabella,

I hope this helps you, mija. Your cousin says your phone will be working soon. Will you call me? We are worried about you. You are in our prayers. May God bless you.

Mama

She woke up early the next day to get ready to go to the makeup counter. The black dress she had washed in the sink was still a little damp and wrinkled, and she had no way to iron it. She put it on anyway, figuring the heat of her body would dry it out eventually and probably take out some of the wrinkles. Then she pulled her wild hair back and rolled it into a loose bun. With no electricity for the hairdryer, it was the best she could do. The only makeup she owned was a six-year-old tube of red lipstick she’d had since the senior prom and some mascara. She applied both and regarded her reflection in the toothpaste-splattered mirror. The red lipstick looked too bright on her thin lips, against her white skin. Wisps of dark, curly hair were already escaping from the bun and hanging around her face and she had dark circles under her brown eyes. She didn’t look as polished as the girls she’d seen before at makeup counters, but she couldn’t think of what else to do. Her dress looked too big, her bare arms thinner than she’d realized. She thought they might take one look at her and turn her away. But she needed the job enough to risk it.

When she walked up to Louisa at the counter she noticed the perfect outline of her rose-colored lipstick, and the three or four shades of blue eye shadow blended on her lids. She looked Isabel over, and when her eyes stopped on her scuffed black dress shoes she raised a penciled eyebrow. Louisa’s black hair was perfectly straight and glossy, framing her heart-shaped face. Her pearl earrings looked lovely against her creamy skin. Isabel felt like an imposter.

“Isabel, I’ll have to take you shopping for some work clothes.”

“I just want to get this over with so I can go home, okay?”

“It will be just a minute, she’s in her office.”

Louisa walked over to help an elderly customer and left Isabel alone. Isabel was regretting the vodka she’d had the night before. She really only drank at night, because otherwise she couldn’t fall asleep. Her stomach felt a little queasy, and the strong perfumes that permeated the air weren’t helping. She watched as Louisa smiled broadly and tried an orange lipstick on the elderly woman.

“Isabel?”

Vivian was coming out of a door behind the counter. She was a large blond woman in a navy tailored jacket and matching skirt. Isabel followed her through the door. Vivian’s “office” was really just a desk in the corner of the cosmetics stockroom, surrounded by metal shelves that reached up to the ceiling. Rows of bottles and little lipstick and eye shadow boxes filled the shelves, and the room smelled of cardboard and old makeup. Vivian sat across from Isabel at her desk, holding the application forms.

“So, tell me, why would you like to work for Chéri Cosmetics?”

Isabel stared at Vivian’s mascara-clumped eyelashes for a moment, not sure how to answer. What could she say? She couldn’t just tell her that she was desperate and needed money. Vivian was waiting, her mouth slightly open. Isabel could see that she had a little bit of lipstick on her teeth, and her face makeup seemed to be settling into the lines around her mouth. Isabel’s nausea came back in a quick wave, but she ignored it.

“It seems a lot easier than waiting tables, that’s for sure. I don’t want to go back to that. I guess if I have to work I’d rather be in an air-conditioned department store than a hot restaurant kitchen. And it seems like a job I’d enjoy.”

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