Chasing Holly Golightly: A Novella

By Janice De Jesus

When fantasy is more real than reality…
Breakfast at Tiffany's isn't just graduate student Daphne's favorite book of all time—her life's beginning to parallel the story of the classic novella. Or so it seems.
Her life's been going just fine—or so she thinks—until a new neighbor moves into her apartment complex and upends life as she knows it, challenging her to think twice about who she really is and what's really important to her.
Stubborn to a fault, Daphne continues living life on her own terms to avoid mishaps but she soon realizes that her way of living isn't always a surefire guarantee to happiness and that you can't always live life by the book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Dec 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781685831950

Book preview

Proceeds from the sales of this book will go toward various animal welfare organizations.

Thank you for your support.

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.

—Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

Simply put…I like the person I become in Spain.

—Patricia Harris

A cat has absolute emotional honesty. Human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings but a cat does not.

—Ernest Hemingway

For Lilly, the Feline Editor

Fall

The streets were teeming with bodies clothed in layers dictated by the mix of clouds and sun overhead. Shoppers punctuated by bags in tow rushed from one revolving door to the next, navigating their way through the streets and sidewalks flanked with labyrinthine construction dividers, an obstacle course amid the holiday rush.

In this maze, a girl dared to stride across a one-way street, looking both ways as her lithe figure glided past determined cars chugging up a hill. Her amble downhill from a sidewalk after she narrowly avoided a side swipe from a motorcyclist grew tentative as her knees wobbled, her body trembling from the near-miss, the near hit.

And on and on her figure forged forward, weaving through yet another maze of bodies in motion, some aimlessly, some just as determined for the holiday season can do that to a person. Make them determined for no reason.

But this girl strode with utter purpose, her dark brown ponytail swishing in the wind. If one could watch her from a window of a café, they would observe how her lanky figure darted through one edge of the sidewalk to the other like a horse in an equestrian course, avoiding the turbulent tide, jostling the wave of people coming toward her like salmon swimming upstream. For this time the girl had compromised grace for determination in the guise of perambulation.

Once she entered a fine department store from the street, the girl emerged fresh from the revolving doors, just as a soiled blouse would from its decadent cycle in the wash, its warm tumble in the dryer. Every step, light as air. She paused to gaze up with reverence at the dome that canopied the main floor of the store which to many shoppers was considered sacred, a cathedral unto itself. One would think she was wearing a little black dress with kitten heels by the way she glided through the aisles of the perfume counter, pausing to spritz a scent from an ornate glass decanter then waving her arm in the air to get a whiff of the floral scent. No, today the girl was clad in black capri pants, white tennis shoes and a beige trenchcoat, the strap of her brown leather crossbody bag across her chest like a shield.

With the holiday season in full swing, shoppers were flailing about in a frenzy gesticulating their hands as they waved their credit cards in the air, hurried chattering blending with a barrage of perfumed scents permeating the atmosphere. The girl gave an inward chuckle amused by the scene before her. Stripped from the opulent decor of the fine department store, these well-heeled clientele would look no different than those haggling at a flea market. She scanned the crowded perfume area that morphed into makeup counters, her mind assuring that it wouldn’t surprise her if half of those gathered today weren’t actually…wealthy. And how would she know? Remember the old adage: It takes one to know one?

Her eyes rested on a petite middle-aged woman, whose white roots formed a perfect line on her scalp, sampling the most expensive moisturizer known to humankind. The girl knew this as she herself had been the beneficiary of such a sample during a demonstration at a rival department store just a block away. As she ostensibly perused lipstick shades, the girl’s eyes continued to track the woman’s gestures and facial expressions from her side of the counter while a salesperson swiped gobs of cream across the woman’s face. Then the girl watched as the woman peered into the mirror no doubt satisfied with her visage as though this miracle cream had just smeared ten years off her face. The woman then whipped out her credit card, her hand trembling a bit as she did, to seal the deal before whisking off happily with a tiny shopping bag in tow.

The girl turned her heel toward the accessories department, a cold burn searing her throat. That could be me one day. She shuddered, running her fingertips across silk scarves on a display table. The sensation from the scarves left her breathless with longing, a bright image of herself enjoying gelato in a piazza in front of the Pantheon played in her mind like a movie still. Her destiny literally at her fingertips. If she could just…

In a matter of a few seconds, the girl swiped the scarf which slithered into her bag like a slimy snake promptly tucking its tail. She casually scanned her surroundings and, with daring eyes ascending towards the ceiling, stared into the camera at the far end of the corner. Heart pounding in her chest, she held her breath for a full five seconds before sauntering casually through racks of handbags. She wondered why today of all days, and why out of everything and anything in the store, why this particular scarf? It wasn’t as if she had been ogling this scarf for weeks. Why couldn’t it have been the lipstick sample she had been lusting over for a month, the one she’d been obsessed with and had made frequent visits for?

The girl continued weaving through the accessories department until she reached the escalator, her brain and blood pulsing with adrenaline, expecting that, any second now, she would be approached by security, perhaps even escorted to a private room, interrogated then released, if she were lucky. Part of her dared to return to the makeup counter to see if she could pocket the irresistible lipstick sample, hell, maybe even two! But as she floated up the escalator, her heart sank in disappointment, the feeling so unexpected, it perturbed her. Then as she reached the second floor, she caught sight of two men striding briskly down the aisle of the women’s dress department, heading her way. And down the escalator she went, blood coursing merrily through her veins, an artery on the left side of her head pulsating. She practically flew down the escalator two steps at a time, feeling the men burrowing down at her heels.

Just as she reached the revolving doors, the alarm pierced through the first floor, reverberating her eardrums as the doors were taking their sweet time like a carousel at an amusement park.

When the doors finally spit her lithe form outside, the brisk air whipped her face.

She was free.

The New Arrival

Girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.

Daphne had been standing in front of a full-length mirror purchased at a thrift store fiddling with the stolen scarf that now adorned her head, positioned like a headband such as the one Audrey Hepburn wore in the scene of her singing Moon River in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. One glance at Don’s disapproving expression caused Daphne to promptly remove the scarf from her head and toss it over her chest.

With the natural light in her room, she finally examined her recent acquisition. The silk was melted butter draped across her collarbone, the robin’s egg color blended with gray highlighting her dark brown layers and hazel eyes, or so complemented Don. The gray cat, a Nebelung rescue, sat upright on Daphne’s bed, her tail whisking from side to side in anticipation of sinking her claws into the teasingly silky fabric.

Her best friend towered behind her, one eyebrow raised as his eyes met hers in the mirror their reflections casting the truth of what was unknown to those outside their urban castle.

Don huffed as his impatient hands adjusted the scarf on Daphne’s neck. You could’ve just asked me for the money if you wanted this that bad. What if you had gotten arrested? What then? Like I have a couple of hundred to spare to bail you out of jail. He offered a mock pout.

Daphne laughed, preening in front of her reflection, visions of palazzos dancing in her head. I couldn’t borrow money from you. You barely make enough as it is on your salary.

Don, or Dawn as he was known in the drag community, stretched his lips into a thin straight line. Then, as if he had a cigarette, he blew out puffs of invisible smoke from his mouth, creases forming on his smooth dark skin. Well, rub it in, why don’t you?

Daphne untied the scarf letting its silkiness caress her neck as it slid down, the cat pawing at the end of the fabric. She whisked it quickly before feline claws could snag it whole and bent down to unceremoniously shove the scarf into an already stuffed drawer filled with socks.

A soft gasp escaped Don’s mouth. So that’s how you treat your stolen treasure? You could just give it to me, you know.

Barking shattered the unusual calm of their morning signaling the arrival of Sazón and her Formosan Mountain Dog, Whisper, an odd choice of name for a dog whose incessant barking was anything but soft.

Swinging the strap of his messenger bag over his chest, Don planted a quick peck on Daphne’s cheek. Gotta go.

But you just got here, Daphne said, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes on the floor.

Don threw her an expression of mock flirtation over his shoulder. Deadlines, darling.

As soon as they entered the living room, Whisper, his triangular head lifted, thin pricked ears on alert, barked at Don who peered at him over the rim of his glasses. He glared at the dog. Why do you keep barking at me? You see me practically every day.

Sazón reached down to grab a bag of groceries and placed it on the kitchen counter. You know he barks at everyone as a greeting.

But by the last few words Sazón uttered, Don was already out the door. She shook her head. Don really doesn’t like me.

Daphne started helping Sazón put away the groceries: almond milk, grapes, blueberries, organic chicken breasts, tortillas and eggs. You know Don. He’s hard to please.

Sazón remained silent as she placed some fruit in a colander and rinsed them in the sink. Daphne observed the way her friend’s shoulders drooped and knew even with her back facing her, that Sazón felt deflated.

It’s not that he doesn’t like you, Daphne said. He’s just protective of me, that’s all.

Sazón slammed the refrigerator door shut. And he thinks I’m a bad influence on you.

Daphne popped a few blueberries in her mouth. Sazón was right. Don did believe that the newly-divorced Sazón had brainwashed her into swearing off men, off relationships entirely. Which, Daphne mused as she chewed, wasn’t such a bad idea given her romantic track record.

So have you checked out the new neighbor lately? Sazón had moved on to rinsing butter lettuce in a colander, apparently her way of moving on to the next topic.

Which new neighbor?

Sazón cocked her head to one side indicating the unit across from their place where the front door of the new neighbor’s apartment was within full view of the kitchen sink and living room windows. It appeared that Sazón had likely been tracking the comings and goings of this new neighbor as Daphne was unaware such a person existed.

She joined Sazón by the kitchen sink as they both stared out the window. Right on cue the door opened and a man slipped out, holding a plastic bag, presumably on his way to the dumpster. Incessant barking from the living room indicated that Whisper was also monitoring the stranger’s actions.

"Whisper! ¡Cállate! Whisper!" Sazón hollered from the kitchen, oblivious to the irony of her action.

Suddenly, the man’s gaze zeroed in on their window and before Daphne thought to turn away, she found herself mesmerized by this stranger’s gaze. The man nodded to them.

Don’t stare!

Daphne blinked as she faced her friend. What? You were staring too! And besides, if I looked away, it would be obvious we were watching him.

Her friend raised an eyebrow that met with dark curly locks on her forehead." ¡Dios mío! Since when did you become so concerned with what strangers think? With what men think?"

She thought about what Don, hopelessly romantic Don, had said about Sazón and her extreme feminism. But Sazón meant well. She was only ensuring that Daphne wouldn’t succumb to another broken heart and yet…

...And yet, here was Sazón asking her whether she’d seen the new neighbor unless…

"You’re not interested in him, are you?" The words escaped Daphne’s mouth before she could stop them.

Sazón shook her head with a flourish as she flailed the lettuce to air dry in the absence of a salad spinner.

Hell, no, she said tossing the leaves into a large bowl. She gathered cucumbers, mushrooms, tomatoes and olives. I haven’t sworn off men for good. I’m just taking a long break from them is all. She motioned for Daphne to hand her a knife. I suggest you do the same.

Turning to her friend, she handed her a knife, an image of Sazón brandishing the cutlery as if it were a sword entered Daphne’s mind. She knew that in Sazón’s marriage, she had to defend herself with a knife far too many times from her drunken, now ex-husband.

Well, I gotta go. Daphne popped a few more blueberries in her mouth.

Truth was that she had more than her fair share of lectures from Sazón about allowing men into her life. These kinds of conversations usually sucked the energy from her like a vampire sucking way too much blood from her victim. While she meant well, Sazón emptied the blood right out of Daphne with her warnings. The only problem with draining the blood right out of you, Daphne mused, was that you’re always ready to go to the blood bank for replenishment like a gambler depleting funds from his bank account. You’re never satisfied, you never learn your lesson and worse, you keep coming back for more.

On Campus

The loud and squeaky rails of the train sounded like nails