She wasn’t stupid. She’d heard of hallucinations, audio and visual, and how one or both can be so convincing people can actually feel them. People like… schizophrenics and drug addicts. She wasn’t taking anything, so was she losing her mind? Was she crazy?
She listened to Mel’s deep rhythmic breathing and occasional soft snoring noises and thought about it. Seriously. Because if she was nuts, Mel was the most exciting thing in her life since… ever, and she found it really hard to care, one way or the other. If she’d gone around the bend, she wanted to keep on going… and there didn’t seem to be any reason for her not to.
Her gaze gravitated along his strong muscled back to the football pants before she caught herself again. If she allowed herself to remain mentally impaired, there had to be rules; she had to draw some lines somewhere, right? Or did she?
She laughed silently and shook her head. Whatever Mel was, she was having fun. She liked him, except when he was grouchy and being too truthful. She liked having him here. He knew her, knew what she was feeling. He was something to think about besides how lonely and alone she was. He was company. He was… well, he was her dream man.
She snuck out quietly, hurrying over to West McGraw Street, and the one company her father represented that still kept its offices within walking distance of the apartment. Custom Window Coverings. They now had a large factory in Renton and did a booming catalogue business as well, and should have moved their offices out there, too, long ago. which she told the owner, Mike Woodall.
She was acutely aware that Mike’s wrinkled suit jacket concealed the drape of his blue cotton oxford shirt across his thick shoulders and that his middle-aged spread hid the way it tucked into his baggy pants, and despaired over her negative imaging – but at least she’d tried.
He was reminiscent and sympathetic about her father, and grateful that she’d stick with them until a new accountant could be found. It was a good meeting, over all.
On the way home she stopped briefly to pick up the monthly checks, deposits and sales invoices from Al’s Auto Repair, Royal Bowling and finally Garden Palace Chinese Restaurant, where she was always treated more like a guest than an employee. She traded Mrs. Chin a nice, flat, empty file folder for one that bulged witii business receipts.
„Every month I pick up your folder, Mrs. Chin, and every month it gets fatter.“
„That is good. A fat folder means good business,“ she said in rapid, clear, perfect English. She was barely five feet tall and Charlotte always felt the need to stoop in her presence. „Soon we will open restaurant number two, down the hill, under the Space Needle. Then we will give you two fat folders every month. Do you like hot and spicy?“ Before Charlotte could answer, the woman pushed a large brown paper bag at her, saying, „Please try my kung pao shrimp this time. You are not allergic, are you? You can tell me if you like it when you come back next month.“
„You don’t have to keep doing this, Mrs. Chin.“
„You do not have to pick up the folder. I have cousins in Renton who have to deliver the receipts themselves. I want to feed you for the pick up.“
„I like to walk, so it’s no…“
„Walking will make you hungry. So let me feed you.“
„Thank you.“
„You are welcome.“ She frowned briefly. „You are not married. Do you have a steady gentleman friend?“
Oh no. Was Set Me Up tattooed on her forehead?
„Not exactly,“ she said, hoping to ward off the inevitable without actually lying.
„I have a son who is ready to marry. He has been to college for a business degree. He can cook and clean and he lives alone. I am looking for a good wife for him.“
Lie! Lie! Lie!
„Well, I am sort of seeing someone. Someone new. Too new to tell really.“
„Good. That is good. But if it does not work out, you come back and date my son.“
„I will. Thank you.“
Mrs. Chin nodded and looked pleased.
Charlotte made one more stop, going several blocks out of her way, to the largest drugstore in the area. They had every magazine under the sun, and she plucked out several indiscriminately, as she combed the many copies for a recent GQ.
Suits and sport jackets, tuxedos and khaki slacks, button down and polo shirts. Is this how Mel wanted to dress? She contemplated a thick, white cable knit sweater she thought Mel would fill better than the model did and lingered – quite a while – over an ad for a pair of button-up-the-front jeans that lifted her eyebrows half-way up her forehead with the way they fit the bare-chested model. And it wasn’t so much the blue-and-gray striped oxford shirt as the way it was open down the front of a broad and muscled chest with a flat, ridged stomach and the thin line of dark hair running straight down the middle of it to his…
Did Mel’s chest look like this? Would the dark hair be coarse or downy soft? Would his skin be hot and smooth with hard pads of muscle beneath?
Oh my. She snapped the magazine closed. Big, deep breath. She glanced around to see if anyone watched as her cheeks flushed with heat, like some pervert in the magazine section of an adult bookstore. She gathered her things quickly, deciding it might be best to let Mel pick out his own clothes.
A few minutes later, watching the clerk fit a seven-inch stack of magazines into a bag for her, Charlotte trembled inside and out. She was excited. She couldn’t wait to get back to Mel. He’d be pleased and proud of her for taking this first step, minuscule as it was. On her own. Without him. He’d smile that smile that made her insides lurch and tell her she was being bold, that she was finally doing the right thing, getting her life back on track.
She rushed out of the store in time to see a tall, well-built man in jeans and a white cable knit sweater with a black sports jacket on over it, jogging gracefully across the street toward her in large, sparkling red shoes.
She started to laugh.
He slowed down when he saw her, his face full of smiles, stopped three feet away, held out his arms and turned in a circle for her to see.
„Look at me,“ he kept saying. „Just look at me. I couldn’t wait to see you. I’m a hunk, right? Look at me.
Real clothes. They feel amazing and they’re warm. I look fantastic, don’t I?“
„Yes. You do. I’m… I’m sorry about the shoes. I didn’t even think about – “
She fell silent when he suddenly took her by the shoulders. „Baby steps, Charlotte. One thing at a time. To me this says I’m sticking around, that you believe in me, that you’re beginning to trust me and you’re finally willing to at least hear what I have to say.“ He leaned in, set a tender kiss between her brows, men pulled back to meet her gaze squarely. „You were hoping I’d be pleased and proud of you, and I am. But more than that, I… well, I’m beginning to believe in you, too, sugar.“
He laughed at her expression and stepped away. They fell into an easy pace uphill toward home.
„Okay. Not sugar. But I’m still pretty impressed with the guts it took for you jump the hurdle, Charlotte. Most people ignore the voice inside them all their life. They play it safe, too afraid to take a chance on their dreams, and they regret it until the day they die. But not you. Not my Charlotte Gibson. You give your voice a body, and designer clothes… and body hair…“ He whipped an evil and highly amused glanced her way. She felt fire in her cheeks. „And you listen. I admit, I had my doubts about you. You are a True Believer but up to now you gave me no reason to believe you were any different than most people.“ He looked down as he slid his hand over the front of his sweater. „Up until now.“