Call Me Charlie

         “I was a stud then and I’m a stud now,” Charlie affirmed to himself after posting his profile pictures on yet another dating site; photos taken almost twenty years ago. “The lady lucky enough to be matched with me will be pleasantly surprised.”

         The first few matches he was sent were duds, “Homely women,” he called them, “not worth a second glance.” Then he saw Wanda’s photo and immediately declared her to be his next challenge. He didn't even bother to read her profile before he sent her a message expressing his interest in meeting up. Wanda found the forthright invitation to exude a kind of confidence and charm, replying that she would meet him at a public location.

         When the big day arrived, Charlie stood on the sidewalk in front of ‘The Garden Tavern’ gathering his composure. He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and tucked it under the collar of his sport coat, draping it beneath the lapels; it was showtime. He inhaled and backed into the establishment, whirling around like a swing dancer, letting the door shut behind him.

         A low haze of cooking-smoke hovered throughout the cabin-like atmosphere and the faint smell of spilled beer and fried foods fought with warm, savory aromas. Conversations were loud and plentiful but not one was discernible.

         A woman in black jeans and a black T-shirt approached, Charlie taking note of the name tag pinned to the slope of her plump bosom.

         “Hello Julie,” he said, before informing her that someone would be joining him. She led him to a corner booth and Charlie ordered a Manhattan while sliding onto the couch.

        Within seconds, the waitress sauntered over and placed a paper coaster on the table in front of him, plunking the tumbler on top. She laid a second coaster on the table across from him, promising to be back when his guest arrived, then turned and strolled back toward the bar.

         Reaching out, Charlie snatched the coaster from the table and folded it into a tiny lotus flower, dropping it in his breast pocket in anticipation of his date. He was getting anxious, thrumming his fingertips on the glass and chewing on his bottom lip.

         Ten minutes later, there she was. Nearly everyone sitting at the bar looked to see who caused the gust of wind that blew in from the open door, and the expressions on their faces when they saw her made Charlie feel proud that she was there for him. He recognized her from her picture; dark, pixie cut hair, curvy and barely five feet tall. She glided onto the upholstered bench beside him.

         Not a bad start, he thought, she must think I’m attractive. The wonderful scent of sweet nectar hovered all around her and Charlie leaned a little closer.

         Julie sidled over, and Wanda ordered a Shirley Temple with extra cherries. Charlie ordered another Manhattan along with fried cheese sticks for them to share. He plucked the origami flower from his pocket and set it in the palm of his hand before presenting it to Wanda. She swooned and carefully placed the flower in the center of the table.

          Julie returned with their order, arranging the cocktails on a couple of fresh coasters and setting a basket of cheese sticks between them. With the skill of a well-practiced angler, Charlie fished out the maraschino cherry from his Manhattan. He clamped the pulpy stone behind his teeth and plucked it from its stem, then flipped the fruitless stalk into his mouth, working and manipulating it with the tip of his tongue. He placed the knotted stem on by the flower and Wanda giggled.

          It was getting steamy, and Charlie commented on how warm he was getting. Wanda slithered the scarf from his coat and wrapped it around her own neck. Banter flowed; there were no awkward silences, the server only interrupting them once to refresh their drinks. Charlie asked Wanda what she did to make a living and when she told him she was a witch, he responded by saying, “Who knew witchism was a profession?”

        She looked at him matter-of-factly and replied, “Witches can be metaphysical shop owners, professional psychics, Reiki masters, midwives and holistic nurses, acupuncturists and herbalists, not to mention, work in farming and gardening. I personally opened a witchy small business.”

         Charlie laughed, not just smiled and chuckled, full-on belly laughed.

         “I have regulars who love my stuff,” she said with frustration.

         “I bet you do,” Charlie forced out while wiping his eyes. He just couldn’t stop laughing; maybe it was that third Manhattan.

         Wanda whispered the word, “disrespectful,” into his ear.

         Charlie wanted to apologize for making her feel insulted, but when he felt the warmth that escaped her parted lips, he whispered back, “Call me Charlie.” She looked him in the eyes, brushed the paper flower and the cherry stem into her pocketbook, scooched to the end of the booth and stomped out of the joint.

         Several patrons turned to glare at Charlie, and he wondered how many evil eyes it took to kill a man. He held up his empty glass and saluted his fans at the bar before slamming it down on the table and swaggering out the door.

         The snowflakes outside twirled in sparce numbers and Charlie hiked up his collar, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. He lumbered home, the scene between himself and Wanda replaying in his head. First, he was angry at himself, but then he said aloud, — “No — I did nothing wrong. A witch…” he harrumphed and rolled his eyes.

***

         Wanda was seething. She loomed over the ironing board in her craft room and surveyed the parade of items on the silver coverlet: a threaded needle, a button, a few cotton balls, the knotted cherry stem, the origami lotus flower, Charlie’s scarf, the gingerbread man templet she fashioned from a cookie cutter, and a pair of scissors.

         She pinned the templet to Charlie’s folded scarf and cut out two fabric, gingerbread man shapes. On the head of one of the woolen figures, she sewed one button eye and an ‘X’ where the second eye should have been. She stitched a horizontal line to represent a mouth, adding small vertical stitches like sutures sewing the lips shut. She darned the two cloth figures together, leaving the top half of the head unsewn. Through that opening, she was able to pack the arms, legs, and belly of the doll-casing with cotton balls. After inserting the knotted cherry stem and the origami flower into the head, she closed the incision. Wanda held the little effigy of Charlie in the palm of her hand.

End