Charming

I knew it was gone when she didn’t leave the key.

My talent had always been present under very specific circumstances, but I was well aware of what they were. When all the boxes were checked, so to speak, I never failed to achieve my goal. Some called it seduction, but that implied a relationship to sexuality. Nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, in the wrong hands, a power such as mine could be used to take advantage of all sorts of people, but I never used it in any such way.

For me, charm was a responsibility.

That didn’t mean I never wanted the company of a woman for the night. Most of the time, a nice conversation was all I was after, but tonight, I was not relishing the idea of sleeping alone. I can assure you that I would have slept with my clothes on regardless of how eager the young lady might be (and they were often eager after I had dispatched my unusual skills). Tomorrow, I would have bought breakfast and bid her farewell as she made her way back to New York or Boston or any number of American cities that young women escape from in the summer.

After using my standard five questions to complete my charm offensive, I waited for the inevitable invitation up to the room. Instead, to my shock, the object of my attention said that she had “an early day tomorrow” and that she “needed to be off,” but she wished me “a pleasant evening.” With that, she paid her tab and departed.

Sitting at the bar in the Hotel Viking, alone, and not by my choosing for the first time in--goodness knows how long--I asked the bartender what the date was, just to be sure Labor Day hadn’t come and gone without my realizing it. You see, that’s one of the circumstances. My power only exists between Memorial Day and Labor Day. It’s at its strongest between the hours of seven and midnight (although I’ve found that it can still be used during the day, provided I ask double the number of questions).

Yes, the questions. They are important. Five in total (more if during my off-hours) and it’s important to ask them in the correct order. I’m happy to share them with you since it seems my powers are no longer in effect, and I doubt they’ll work for anyone else, but, in the event that they do work, I beseech you to only them for good.

They are as follows.

1. What is the name of the person you miss the most?
2. What is your opinion on nutmeg?
3. Where did you last forget something?
4. What word have you always misspelled?
5. Do you prefer Friday evening or Sunday afternoon?

I was running through these questions as soon as the bartender assured me that, yes, today was August 3rd. Nowhere close to the end of summer. My powers should have been intact. I noticed a gentleman sitting at the end of the bar. Gender was no hindrance when it came to charm. I moved to the seat next to him and struck up a chat. He was amiable. Like me, he was clearly a bit on the lonely side and being near the sea always brings out the best in everyone, but pirates.

“Let me ask you,” I said, getting ready to prove to myself that the woman was simply an anomaly, “What is the name of the person you miss the most?”

The man rankled instantly. He cleared his throat and told me that asking such a personal question to a total stranger showed a kind of social dementia. With that, he got up and exited the bar. It was getting rather late, and there was nobody else around save for the bartender, and I had no intention of trying out my questions on him. Make all the mistakes you want in life, but never agitate a bartender. I left a few bills on the bar, and wandered out onto the street.

In terms of places where a man can find himself without a bed to rest his head, there are certainly worse options than the vacation town I found myself in that evening. The police there weren’t on the lookout for the unsheltered, and so, one could simply find a covered doorway or a park bench, and rest soundly knowing that the island is essentially free of crime. Still, I had never slept outdoors, and had no plan to start now. I made my way down to another hotel, this one even closer to the water, and placed myself in one of the lobby chairs. I always travel while wearing a suit jacket and tie, because I find that nobody assumes you’re up to anything when you wear a suit jacket and tie. People assume that evildoers either wear trenchcoats or look slovenly. Everyone is too intimidated by a well-dressed man to ask him why he is where he is, or how he got there.

As soon as she walked in, I knew this was my chance. She was a middle-aged woman, perhaps five or six years older than me, and she had clearly just gotten in from a late flight. The bellhops were taking her luggage, of which there was a great deal, and she looked flustered as she checked in at the front desk. I bided my time, and when I saw her receive her key, I casually made my way to the elevator a few steps ahead of her so that, if anything, it would appear as though she was trailing me.

While we waited for the elevator to descend from a higher floor, I complimented her on her perfume. Not receiving a slap, but rather, a smile, I thought I might be in luck. Luck was never something I had needed prior, but I wasn’t foolish enough to overlook it. She gave me the name of the perfume, which I quickly forgot, and I asked her what she was doing in town.

“A wedding,” she said, “It’s first thing in the morning, and I’m going to look terrible at it. I’m a ghoul when I don’t get enough sleep.”

I knew this was her way of letting me know that priority #1 was getting to her room and passing out. Her warm smile was, maybe, a way of letting me know that she’d be available for a drink tomorrow after the festivities were over. Normally, I would log that in my memory so that my future lodging would be secure, but tonight, I had other things in mind.

“May I ask,” I began, “What is the name of the person you miss the most?”

By now, the elevator had arrived. It was just us two stepping onto it. She pressed the button for the third floor. I didn’t press any button at all. When the door closed, she turned to me.

“Henry,” she said, “Henry DeTour is the person I miss the most. I don’t care for nutmeg, but I’ll deal with it if I have to. I last forgot a book I was reading at the airport. Not on this trip, but a previous one. I’ve never been able to confidently spell the word ‘optician.’  And I love Sunday afternoons. Always have. Where are you staying tonight?”

I was flummoxed. Nobody had ever--

“We’re at my floor,” she said, interrupting my train of thought, “It’s now or never.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, “How did you know--?”

“You’re not the only charmer in town,” she replied, stepping out of the elevator, “But if that desperate musk coming off you is correct, it means your charm has run out.”

She began walking, and I followed behind her like some sort of sad, little dog.

“Luckily for you,” she said, arriving at 3010, “I don’t enjoy sleeping alone.”

With that, she entered her room and motioned for me to come inside. I never did manage to retrieve my charm after that night, but I did continue to trail behind her like a puppy for the next twenty years or so. Sometimes in life, you lose passion and gain comfort. Sometimes lust is replaced by trust. In this case, I lost charm, but gained love.

When we had been together for around ten years, I told her that I assumed her charm had disappeared the same way mine had. What use would she have for it, now that she was a married woman of over a decade. We were both sitting at the bar in the Hotel Viking. It wasn’t where we met, but it was still my favorite of all the hotels on the island. She smiled at my suggestion, and waved over the bartender. When he got there, she asked him to make her a drink that wasn’t on the menu. He started to object, but then she said--

“And while you’re making it, would you mind telling me the name of a person you really miss?”

It was clear that when it came to charm, some of us had been given an endless supply.