Call Me Charlie

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do, but when Charlie signed up on the dating site, he posted the pictures of himself taken almost twenty years ago. “I was a stud then and I’m a stud now. The lady lucky enough to be matched with me will be pleasantly surprised.”

The first few matches he was sent were duds, homely women, not worth a second glance. Then he saw Wanda’s photo and immediately declared her his first conquest. He didn't even bother to read her profile. They messaged one another and decided to meet in person at an agreeable 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, then pushed the door open with his back and went inside. Conversations were loud and plentiful but not one was discernible.

After ordering a Manhattan from the bar, he slipped into a corner booth. Within seconds, the waitress sauntered over and laid out a paper coaster before plunking the full tumbler on top. He took note of her name tag sitting on her ample breasts. “Hello Julie.” Charlie informed her that someone would be joining him, so Julie set down an extra coaster, and before strolling toward the bar, promised to be back when his guest arrived.

Taking a crayon out of the cup near the napkins, Charlie doodled a flower on the coaster, sliding it across the table 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 couch next to 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 reached across the table and dragged the picture of the daisy he sketched closer. Wanda swooned.

Julie returned with their order, placing the cocktails on a couple of fresh coasters and setting a basket of cheese sticks between them. 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 the drawing of the flower and Wanda giggled, folding the loop in the depiction of the flower and dropping the items into her pocketbook.

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, then scooched to the end of the booth and stomped out of the establishment.

Several patrons turned to glare at him, 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 huffed 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, the knotted cherry stem, a small heap of shredded paper, 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 doll casing with the shredded paper coaster on which Charlie had drawn the flower. After inserting the knotted cherry stem into the nest of stuffing, she closed the incision. Wanda held the little effigy of Charlie in the palm of her hand.