Swiped

He’s here. And he’s just as hot as his pictures, Charlotte texted from outside of the café. She moved two steps to her right. Jenn responded with a string of emojis: bearded man face, burning heart, guy and girl kissing faces. Charlotte smiled and checked her hair in the reflection of the Ramen place next door, getting faint notes of the meaty umami, all that her still partially stuffed nose would allow. Her phone buzzed. Charlotte swiped to see it was Jenn with another string of emojis: sweaty face, fire, tongue, peace hand symbol, yum face, eggplant, peach, splash, snoring face, quickly followed by, Have fun! Winking face. Charlotte applied lip gloss with her freshly manicured hand – pink nails matching her pick lip gloss, fluffed her hair, and snapped a selfie. Sending the filtered picture to Jenn, she typed, I’m going in!!! Jenn hearted Charlotte’s selfie and responded, Sweep him off his hot feet! CALL IF IT GETS WEIRD. I’LL BE RIGHT THERE!!!!!!!!!!! Charlotte hearted the message, stood up straight, shifted her shoulders back and down, and pouted her lips and eyes; the face that always attracts attention.

Charlotte and Alex had been talking for two weeks. First through the app’s messenger, then texting, then hours-long conversations in the evenings. She finally agreed to a date, in public, during the day, at a location of her choosing. Charlotte, 29, was growing tired of the bar scene, the one-night stands. She enjoyed the attention, but she craved a man she could still stand on Sunday. A man she could go on a proper date with, spend an entire Saturday with wearing T-shirts, watching movies and ordering take-out. She wanted a boyfriend; one she could introduce to her parents; a boyfriend she could marry. She wanted a husband. A husband who would help her raise her son.

Charlotte’s family came from old money. Her parents still lived in the plantation house where she was raised, the house that her father inherited.

Her father drank bourbon neat. He married his high school sweetheart. His wife had no need to work – her working would only reflect poorly on the well-to-do family. They had pure bred Golden Retrievers. They went to church on Sunday mornings.

They had one perfect, gorgeous girl who had the world handed to her on an antique silver, lace doily-lined platter, her AKC registered puppy by her side. She had a tutor and made straight A’s. She went to Sunday School and could recite scripture. She played piano. She was a cheerleader and homecoming queen. She attended a debutante ball at 16. When she presented her parents a sonogram image of a 9-week-old life almost two months later, they pulled her out of her Christian school and transferred her to a boarding school more than 100 miles away, so that she could “finish her education without the distraction of devil-worshipping sinners occupying the halls of this shameful excuse of Jesus’ house.”

After the baby was born, her parents funded lavish childcare, so that Charlotte could graduate high school and attend college. She graduated summa cum laude and looked fabulous doing it. She ran on a treadmill and did palates daily to lose the baby weight. Her parents’ allowance afforded her regular Botox, laser body-hair removal, weekly mani/pedis, monthly hair appointments, boutique clothing and jewelry, and cutting-edge skin care products and treatments. She was flawless despite the constant drunken late nights, the Adderall to stay up, the Xanax to come down, the Zoloft to get her through each day. Her unlimited supply thanks to Dr. Dad. Wealthy eyes don’t carry bags.    

Charlotte met Alex through a dating app. She swiped right without reading his bio, which she intended not to do. She wanted a boyfriend, not a boy toy. But, god, that smile. Those dimples. The perfectly messy hair. The shadow of a beard she imagined would send chills down her spine when they kissed, enough to drive her wild. Reading his bio, Charlotte found herself instantly lost in an imaginary future with him. The Spanish Colonial home, yoga in the garden, her marketing businesses thriving, his groundbreaking medical research changing the course of cosmetic surgery, tapas on the veranda, summers in London visiting his family.

Alex sat at a table in direct eyesight of the entrance. A perfect man at a perfect table! Far enough from the entrance to escape the heat, but well within the afternoon glow, bathing his skin in gold, and within clear view of her favorite barista, Naomi. Naomi always anticipated Charlotte’s every need and filled it before Charlotte noticed what she lacked.

Charlotte strutted directly towards Alex, the light forming a halo around her flawless silhouette. She smiled and waved to Naomi, whose facial rings shimmered in the sun. Alex stood to greet her, dressed exactly as she imagined he would: beige linen pants, vertically striped cotton shirt with a deep V-neck, and pristinely clean brown leather sneakers. He smiled. “Wow,” he said. “You’re even more gorgeous in person,” his British accent the icing on the perfectly constructed cake in front of her. 

“You are looking quite good yourself,” she responded.

Alex leaned in for a friendly kiss on the cheek. Charlotte stepped back, placing a hand between their faces. “I’m still getting over this,” she grimaced, pointing in the general direction of her face. “Gotta love those summer colds!”

“I understand. Eh, please, sit,” he invited as he pulled out her chair. Charlotte sat and smoothed the skirt of her silk mini dress. “What can I get for you? I’ll place the order for us.”

“I’ll take a chamomile tea, with honey and lemon, please.”

“Right.” Alex stood at the counter between two glass cases of freshly baked muffins, scones, cookies, and tarts, a large basket of fresh fruit in front of the register. Charlotte watched him place their order – her chamomile tea and his tall, black Americano. He was very polite to Naomi, charming, almost flirtatious. He tapped his phone on the card reader to complete the transaction. He turned to meet Charlotte at the table but changed his mind. “Actually, can I purchase one of those peaches? They look delectable!”

“From a local orchard. Perfect time of year,” Naomi answered.

Alex peeked around the basket and selected one. “How much?” he asked.

Naomi smiled. “On the house.” Alex looked at Charlotte then back at Naomi, confused. “You’re a friend of Charlotte’s. She keeps us all employed.” Naomi winked at Charlotte, who returned the playful look. The café’s owner, Tracy approached Naomi then.

“See you in the morning, kid. I’m heading home.” She slung her computer bag over her shoulder, exposing a bandaged pinky.

“Cat scratch you again?” Naomi joked.

“Damn plastic wrap. Sliced it right open.” Naomi nodded. “Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll meet you here bright and early!” Tracy said sarcastically.

“You know you can just give me a set of keys, and you can sleep sometimes,” Naomi called to Tracy on her way out. Tracy smiled and winked.

“Keep up the good work, kid. You’ll get there!” Tracy disappeared into the sunlight.

Back at their table now, Alex joked “I didn’t know I was with a local celebrity. Shall I pick up the drinks when they’re ready?”

“Naomi will bring them right to us.”

“Brilliant! So… Charlotte. We meet at last!” He placed his peach on the small plate Naomi gave to him and unwrapped his silverware roll. Naomi appeared with their hot drinks.

“Your tea with honey and lemon, and your Americano, black,” she recited as she gently placed the hot mugs in front of them.

“Thank you, Naomi,” Charlotte said, as the barista walked back around the counter. “Yes, we meet at last.” She squeezed lemon juice into her tea and stirred in some honey.       

“Cheers!” Alex held up his mug.

“Cheers!“ Charlotte mirrored. “I thought you Brits drank tea over there.”

“Well, when in America, as they say!” Alex sipped his coffee.

“So, tell me more about your first few days at the hospital. Not the onboarding stuff, or the people, but the work. The meat and potatoes as we say.” Charlotte rested her elbows on the table and cradled her chin. She was all his.  

“Right. I mean, where to start. I am just Gobsmacked!” Alex’s face lit up. “The operating theatre they built is suited for the Queen. Top surgeons will fly in on a weekly basis for my lecture. From there, training. Who would’ve thought my research would have the reach it has! And cosmetic surgery is growing more and more by the day due to increasing accessibility. Now, just imagine! I mean, costs will be reduced considerably…”

As Alex went on with his research, Charlotte drifted off into daydreams. She wasn’t interested in his work. She was interested in his paycheck, his face, and his body. She nodded and smiled, raised her eyebrows from time to time, inserted an interested, “oh,” occasionally. As he talked, she devised a plan to hook him for good. Before he knew what hit him, he would be her husband, stepfather to her son. 

She entertained his dissertation about facial symmetry and flesh.

 Even as Naomi visited to see if they needed anything, Alex’s eyes were locked on Charlotte’s, so animated, eyes wide, arms gesturing this way and that. Charlotte gave Naomi an apologetic look and motioned that they were fine. Naomi turned to walk away and stopped dead in her tracks when she heard Alex describe “human flesh” with the same excited tone he used to describe the peaches. She glanced back at Alex, whose back was to her. Charlotte clocked Naomi’s troubled look, but with a reassuring nod and smile, Naomi went back to taking orders. 

“Would you like to see it sometime?” Charlotte heard Alex say.

Caught off guard with a question, she asked, “see what? Surgery?! Oh, no, I – “

“No, no. The mock theatre I built, where I practice at home,” he answered.

“Oh,” she hesitated. “Sure… I think I could come by one day.” She bought herself some time.

“What about today? Now?”

“Umm.”

“My place is just around the corner. What do you say?”

“Well, I still have this cold. One outing in a day is probably all I have energy for,” she said nervously.

“Anyhow, I can probably demonstrate on this peach now that I think of it. Do you have a pen?”

Charlotte dug into her Gucci bag and located a pen. Before handing it to Alex she discreetly took her phone out of the bag and placed it on her lap.

“Here you go,” she said as she steadied her hand. He took the pen without looking at her.

Alex drew two lines on the peach. “Like I was explaining, if the cheek bone is here,” he pointed at a line. “You want to make your incision precisely,” he took up the butter knife and carefully placed it along the second line. “Here.” He punctured the skin, juice escaping the fruit dripping down the peach. He smiled and applied more pressure, exposing the meat inside, veiny, juicy, fleshy. “Yeah,” Alex said smiling, “yeah,” he said again, almost laughing.

Charlotte looked for Naomi at the counter. She was distracted by a line of customers, unaware of the peach mutilation.

“What do you practice on? Um, at home?” she asked Alex.

“Pigs, mostly. Dead, donated to science,” he answered as he used his napkin to wipe the liquid evidence off his hands.

“Pigs, mostly? So, pigs, and…”

“You know there is just no comparison to the beautiful, fatty flesh of a live human.” Alex’s eyes were wild, glued to Charlotte’s.

“I, um, I have the nanny at home. I really should be going,” she mumbled as she gathered her bag and started to stand.

“Just let me show you this last thing. Right? Then you’ll go and get some rest?” He retrieved his phone from his pocket, looked at the screen to unlock it and opened an app. He swiped a few times and turned the phone so that the screen faced her, still half-standing.

The image of her son playing in the park with the nanny glared back at her. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

“Sit,” Alex demanded quietly. Charlotte looked at Naomi again, still taking orders. She sunk into her seat.

“Naomi can’t help you, Charlotte.” Without turning his phone around he swiped through his photos. Picture after picture of the boy. At least a dozen, at school, in the back of her car, at home through windows, with her parents at the plantation home. Tears welled, and she used every ounce of strength to keep them from falling.

“You are going to suck those tears down and you are going to come with me. We leave together as a happy couple. One wrong move, and the boy is dead.” He locked his phone and put it back in his pocket. He cleared his throat and stood.

“Right, then. Shall we?” he said smiling, his voice bouncy and pleasant. He held out a hand to Charlotte. She took it and stood. They walked out of the café hand in hand into the setting sun.

The next morning, Naomi arrived at the café shortly after 5. Without keys, she’d be stuck outside waiting on Tracy, so she never arrived on time. After letting herself in, she stuffed her backpack in the cubby below the register. She clocked in, pulled her phone from her back pocket, found the playlist she wanted, and plugged it into the café’s sound system. This was Naomi’s way of letting Tracy know she had arrived without having to speak so early in the morning.

The café’s landline was blinking. Great, another warning about our car insurance, Naomi thought as she picked up the phone to listen to the message.

“Hello, I know this might sound strange, but my friend was there yesterday to meet a date and now I can’t get in touch with her. We talk every day, especially after a date. Her name is Charlotte. She’s tall, blonde, beautiful. She was meeting a guy named Alex, a doctor from London. She texted me right after 4 to tell me she was there. I don’t know how long they stayed. Anyway, if anyone knows anything, can you please give me a call? I have to wait 24 hours to report her missing. It’s just not like her. My name is Jenn, by the way.”

Jenn said her number before Naomi had a pen and something to write on, so she started the message over. At the end of the second listen, Naomi wrote down the number on a napkin and placed it under her phone. She wasn’t calling anyone at that hour. Besides, Naomi sort of knew Charlotte. She wouldn’t be surprised if she left with the weirdo and was still naked in his bed, sleeping off another drunk.

Naomi continued with her morning routine. She opened the bin of Columbian Breakfast Blend beans. She grabbed the large scooper and looked down at the beans. She screamed and dropped the scooper.

“Tracy!” She pleaded. “Tracy, come out here!” No answer. No sound. She pulled her phone off the cord, music still playing through her phone’s speaker, and dialed 911 without pressing send. She looked around and tip-toed back to the coffee bin to confirm her nightmare.

Two pinky fingers, lifeless on a pile of beans. One with a perfectly manicured pink nail. One with a band-aid wrapped around the knuckle.

“Oh God!” she cried. She noticed a piece of paper sticking out from the manicured pinky. At closer look, the paper had writing on it. A note. With a trembling hand, Naomi reached into the bin, carefully maneuvering around the fingers. She grabbed a corner and quickly yanked the note out, shrieking.

Squeal and you’re next.

She slid to the floor in hopeless panic, note clutched in one hand, her phone clutched in the other.

The Beatles’ I Want to Hold Your Hand played softly from her phone.