Déjà Vu by Suzetta Perkins Read Free Book Online

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 livingroom. 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,”