The name I buried came back

Someone in Chinatown said "Amara" and I felt my stomach drop before I remembered that is not my name anymore. I made it not my name on purpose. I shed it like a skin after I stopped modeling because I could not stand being the clothes and the angles and the way people looked through me to the hemline. So hearing it in a repair shop with Jolene felt like a ghost at a funeral. My funeral, maybe.

She said it casual. Like we were friends. Like nothing happened. I smiled the stylist smile and said "it's Williams now" and she said oh of course and moved on and I stood there holding the memory card like it was the only solid thing in the room. I have been Williams for years. I made Williams in my own image. And one stranger undoing it in two words reminded me how thin the skin still is.

Jolene had the fundraiser photo. She matched the woman to the hostess and I watched her work and I felt something close to pride and something close to fear because Jolene is sharp and I need her sharp and I cannot afford to need anyone. I ranked her tonight the way I rank everyone. She is at the top. That is the most dangerous sentence I know.

The map on my laptop is almost complete. Routing log, manila envelope, Park Avenue husband, booking connection. It looks like evidence. It feels like standing at the edge of something with no bottom. Tomorrow is tower records and I do not know what is there but I know I will not sleep until I look.