Charley (4 page)

Randle, I love you, but you’re not here, why do you keep haunting me? Stop, Damn it! Let me go, please. I’ve got to move on with my life. I just don’t know if I can or if I really want to!

Sitting on the warm tiles reminded me of the time I had spent crouched similarly on the floor of my room at The Grace Medical Center’s psych ward. If possible, I wanted to stay on the shower floor, and cry for the rest of the day. But as tempting as it was to lapse totally into that unrealistic world, I resisted.

My years of therapy finally took hold. Quietly, but firmly, I repeated the mantra Dr. Cox had instilled in me over and over.

I will pull myself together. I will not live in the past, I will live for today, I will be happy.

Slowly, I began to relax. I straightened out my legs and took a deep breath, and sat there on the floor of that shower with the water still falling on my head. Actually I felt a little foolish.

I am a thirty-two year old woman, get a grip. I’ve got a problem and tonight, I have a solution. Get up; you’ve got a man to see tonight!

A few minutes later the mood was completely broken by a knock on the shower room door.

“Charlotte, Charlotte? Are you in the shower?  I came up to help you dress. We need to get your hair done.”

The voice belonged to Wilma Watson. She was in charge of the waitstaff, and generally ran the front end of the restaurant. Wilma was a female version of Ronnie. She had been with Jimmy Brewster almost from the beginning. Some people had rumored that she and Jimmy were having an affair during the last years of his wife’s life. No one ever confirmed it, but Jimmy and Wilma were as close as any couple ever was. When Randle and I started dating, Wilma assumed the role of chief chaperone and mothered us to death. And we loved her for it.

After a long pause, I pulled myself together. “I’ll be out in a minute, Wilma, just finishing up.”

I grabbed my favorite body lotion; the one that gave my body a soft vanilla-scented silkiness. “Pick me something sexy to wear.”

Wilma wasn’t there to help me dress, she never had before. Wilma was there to talk about tonight and her message would be the same as Ronnie’s had been earlier. Wrapped in a towel, I stepped into the domain of Mama Wilma.

“I hope you picked out the pastel pink wrap-around shirt and the white silk blouse.”

“I thought that would be your choice, I’ll get them in a minute. Come over here; let’s get your hair dried.”

As Wilma brushed the tangles out of my hair, I could tell she was trying hard to be casual, but it was obvious she had other things on her mind.

“Wilma, Ronnie has already talked to me about tonight, but I suspect you have something to say, don’t you?” I teased. “You’re not going to be like my mom, are you? One time, she forbade me to leave the house because she didn’t approve of a boy I wanted to see. You’re not going to lock me in, are you? I can leave the apartment, can’t I?”

Wilma reached for the hair dryer and continued to brush my damp hair. “Be serious, girl, we’re just concerned for you.”

“I know. But this is something I
need
to do.”

“What do you need to do, honey?”

“I need to get on with my life; I’m mired down. When Randle and I married, we had such high dreams. When he got involved with that damn Leonard Martin and got himself killed, my life fell apart. You knew I was pregnant when he was killed. Did you know we had just found out it was a boy? We were going to name him Jimmy.”

I hate losing control, but I couldn’t keep the tears from damping my eyes. “And three weeks later, I lost our baby! Wilma, in three weeks, I buried my husband and our baby and our dreams. Everything good in my life was gone, just gone.”

I almost couldn’t get the words out between the sobs.

“There, there, child everything will be okay.”

“My life is dead now, I have the Bar and you and Ronnie, but I go to bed in that huge condo and don’t have anyone to hold me. I get up and there’s no one to eat breakfast with. I don’t have anyone to tell me I’m pretty or I’m sexy. I can’t let my guard down with anyone. I don’t have anyone I can build a future with.”

I leaned on Wilma’s shoulder and hugged her tight. “Wilma, I’m thirty-two and I’m dead … dead and alone.”

“What about that young lawyer you’re seeing? Terry something or other isn’t it? He seems nice.”

“Terry Weldon. He is nice Wilma, but I need a man I can depend on, who can make decisions, who can take charge. I need someone who is affectionate and who needs me. I know it sounds stupid, but he’s always asking me what
I
want. Sometimes, I wish he would tell me what
he
wants. Terry is just too nice, too clinging; he always seems to be holding back something. And on top of that, he’s lousy in bed.”

I laughed a little through the tears.

“We’re just good friends. I know everyone else in town and they know me. My best friend from high school, Bobby Wagner, is married to my best girlfriend, Debbie Wilson. Everyone else is either married or moved away or gay. There’s just me. Confident, successful and, dammit, I’m alone, all alone! Wilma, when the Bar closes I either come up here, or go back to the condo, and I shower and put on an old ragged shirt and panties and I climb into the bed, a King sized bed meant for two! Do you know how lonely that huge bed makes me feel? I need someone to hold me and ask, ‘how was your day?’ and listen to me and rub the tension out of my shoulders and make love to me.”

“Sweet baby.”

It had been seven years since that three month period when Randle, the baby, and Jimmy Brewster, had been murdered. I think when Jimmy was murdered, it was the last straw. My Mom and Dad were gone, my husband was gone, my baby was gone and then the only family I had left, Randle’s Dad, was taken from me as well. I was all alone, no one to support me. I just lost it.

I spent six months in the hospital, slipping in and out of reality; one minute I would be talking to Randle or changing the baby’s diaper and the next I would be crying. Everyone thought I was crazy.  Visits with Dr. Cox and medication had done little to soften the trauma of those three months, but they had made me functional. Occasionally, just like now in the shower, small things tended to bring the memories back into focus. Dr. Cox reassured me my depression would disappear when I found a new person to love. I’ve been trying; Lord knows I’ve been trying. Maybe that’s why Ronnie and Wilma want me to be careful with Coach. They know what has happened in the past between me and men; my need for love clouded my judgment.

“But why this man, this coach, why now? You don’t know this man. He might be a killer, or worse, a sexual pervert or anything.”

I had to laugh at Wilma’s imagination. “Could be, but I doubt it. Wilma, when Randle and I lived in Memphis, we went to most of the Grizzles games. He was the leader of that team. We met him occasionally at various civic functions and knew him enough to wave at him across the room. Randle liked him and I thought he was a hunk, as well as a good basketball player.”

“But you don’t know anything about him since he retired. No telling what he has become.”

“A couple of months ago, I was rummaging through my things looking for something, who knows what, when I found an old program from a Boys and Girls Club benefit we attended. Apparently Randle saved it because he signed it for us. The autograph said, ‘Til We Meet Again’. I remembered him and I just sat there and cried. Wilma, it was like a sign from Heaven
—
this is the man for you
— flashing in neon blue and red and yellow lights. Is that silly?”

“Sweetheart that was just an autograph. It didn’t mean anything.”

Dr. Cox and I had numerous talks about my being careful in new relationships. I tended to jump in feet first and generally got burned. And I had already started this relationship in my mind. “I know, I know. But two months later, Sports Illustrated had him on the cover. The cover no less! He’s the coach at a small college in Ohio, and they had just beaten Indiana in the first round of the NCAA Basketball Tournament. Wilma, I’ve always dreamt of Randle, I still do. But I started having dreams about Coach McCoy as well. God knows, I don’t plan them, they just happen. At first the dreams were simple and meaningless, and after a while some of them became pretty sexy.  I mean real sexy. At first I was ashamed my mind was thinking and dreaming about someone else. Even today, I feel uneasy thinking I might have dreams about someone other than Randle. But I keep having dreams about the coach, and honestly now I look forward to them.”

“But those are just dreams Charley. They’re not real. You need a real live flesh and blood man.”

“Maybe you’re right Wilma. When Nashville secured the NCAA Regional Coach’s Convention, I decided to put an end to this madness. I’m going to meet this man, and see just how close he is to my dream man. If he is the man for me, I want to know it.  If not, I need to know that too. Wilma, something is just pulling me to see just how close this dream man and the real man really are.”

“It all sounds pretty unrealistic and dangerous to me. Dream man! Huh!”

Suddenly Wilma put down the hair brush and the dryer and turned me around to face her. I could tell she had to voice what was really on her mind. “You’re planning on having sex with this man, aren’t you? Damn girl, you think sex can get you whatever you want. I know you, you probably see this man as a challenge, someone to conquer. Honey, Dr. Cox warned you to be careful with men. You tend to lose control, don’t you; admit it.”

“Okay Mama Wilma, I admit, I don’t have a great record romantically. But, we’re just going to have dinner. I promise I will be careful.  But if the real Coach is half the dream Coach, and I hope he is, would it be okay with you if I messed around just a little?”

“And watch how much you have to drink, it doesn’t mix well with your medications. Be sure you have protection, and don’t go out of the Bar with him. You stay close. Be careful, honey, please!”

“Ok, Ok, I will be careful, I promise. Now go on back downstairs, I’ve got to get ready.”

I hugged Wilma. “I love you, thanks for loving me and listening, it makes me feel so much better.”

I sat back down at mom’s antique vanity and finished brushing and drying my hair. I finally decided to fix it in a French twist to expose my slender neck. I picked the pastel pink wraparound skirt and white silk blouse to provide just the right flair, a bit of modesty and a lot of sexy. I fastened the stacked chocolate pearls around my neck, so they dangled just to the top of my breasts. The pearls were tasteful, but inviting.

My makeup for the evening took a little longer; slightly brighter cheeks, inviting lipstick, nice base powder and blush, lined eyes, and finally a hint of perfume behind the ears. I’ve always loved getting ready for a date; men are so visual. Use the right hair style, show a little cleavage and wear the perfect makeup and perfume, and you can get them to do anything you want. I wonder if I am going to be able to get Coach Mac to do what I want tonight. I couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of the challenge.

After a few whirls before the mirror, I breezed out of the apartment and descended to the Bar to begin my routine of greeting patrons and ensuring everyone was having a good time. And I waited patiently for my dream man.

The plan was for Roberto, the Summit’s doorman, to direct Coach to Jimmy’s. He told me later he and Coach had developed a little routine where Coach asked him what to do for the evening.  Roberto assured me he had told Coach about Jimmy’s, every evening of the four day convention. Each night he told him a little more of the history of Jimmy’s, and finally got him to agree to come here on Friday night.  I had every confidence in Roberto.

So I made my rounds, greeting the regulars and talking to those I didn’t recognize. There seemed to be more first timers this Friday than usual. Probably the summer tourist crowd coming to gawk at the gangster’s bar, and sip the 1920’s homebrew ‘Speak Easy’ beer we featured.

I settled into the owner’s booth in the rear of the lounge area to wait. I was so pumped with anticipation, I wanted to rush to the Summit and grab Coach McCoy out of one of those stuffy educational meetings he was leading.

But I didn’t.

I waited, and I waited, and my anxiety built up with each passing minute. I am not a patient person. The longer I waited, the more I thought about the sexy dream dates I had with Coach. One time we met at a basketball game in New York City, and he bought me cotton candy. In another dream, I walked in on the whole team showering after a game, ripped all my clothes off and they all laughed. I didn’t say the dreams made sense! But there were occasional dreams where we sat on the floor before a roaring fire and just held each other. In those dreams I wanted something to happen, but Coach resisted my advances.

I was going crazy daydreaming. So I sat and waited and watched the customers. Several of the girls from the accounting firm up the street were there. They usually came in after work to get the weekend started. A couple of them were married and just stopped by for a drink, waiting for the traffic to clear before heading home. A few of the girls looked like they were trying to catch someone who would take them home; his or theirs, it didn’t matter. Well more power to them! I guess I was doing the same thing.

The cell ring startled me. It was Roberto. “He’s on his way. I told him he should meet the owner, Charlotte Howard. Should be there in five minutes. Good luck.”

I thanked Roberto and immediately dialed Ronnie in the front. “He’s on his way.”

Ronnie was to direct him to the lounge and let him get used to the lights. Next Ronnie would invite him to have dinner with the owner. Sweet plan, if you ask me!

I was ready for the second call when Ronnie whispered. “He’s here.”

My heart was racing and the palms of my hands were sweating. I brushed back a small wisp of my tightly pinned hair, smoothed out my skirt and blouse. God, I was ready, bring him on!