Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy)

by Bethany Bloom

  Charlotte’s face prickled.

  “Your home is beautiful,” Gracie said, a little too quickly.

  “Thank you, doll face.” Fiona said, smiling again. “Let me show you around and then you can get unpacked.” She pranced along in front of them, beckoning with one finger to follow. “I want to show you all of the things I have planned for you this summer. It’s going to be amazing. Unforgettable.” She turned to face them. “Spectacular. Once in a lifetime. A summer to remember.”

  She led them down a great hallway. At its end stood the dining room, which housed a massive table with a striped wood grain, resembling the skin of a snake and stained a deep coffee color. The chairs were enormous and mismatched, but each looked to be handmade.

  “This piece has been in Kamal’s family for generations. The material is called Snakewood, which I know nothing about other than the fact that it’s ridiculously rare and expensive. But isn’t it exquisite? Breathtaking? Splendid?”

  There weren’t any more words for it, so Charlotte just nodded. The table’s top was freckled with brochures and guidebooks and maps.

  “Of course, you girls will be spending some time watching the boys,” Fiona continued. “I mean, if you want. We have Consuela if you decide you just want to go out and chase teenage boys all summer. But she can busy herself with other things on those days when you want to walk with the boys to the toy store, to the salon. Anytime you want...”

  “How is your salon?” Gracie asked.

  “Oh that’s right. You haven’t even seen it yet.” Fiona turned to Charlotte. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen my salon.” Fiona’s mouth turned down into a pout. “You never visit me.” Had her lips gotten bigger, too?

  Charlotte answered, “I’ve seen photographs.”

  “But they don’t do it justice.”

  “I’m sure that is true,” Charlotte replied. “I can only imagine how beautiful it must be.”

  “Kamal’s design team did a fantastic job. Amazing. Fabulous. Superb. But, really, it was a collaboration. He tried to steer me away from the theme I wanted—the cheetah print and the jewels—but I got some in there anyway.” She turned her head toward Hannah and Gracie and said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I got a winged horse.” She bobbled her head up and down. “A full-size Pegasus!”

  Charlotte smiled and tried to avoid looking at the girls for fear that one of them would laugh. Fiona’s obsession with mythical creatures had been a bit of a family joke. Caleb thought Fiona was hilarious, if completely childish, superficial and ridiculous.

  “I can imagine that it’s a perfect reflection of you.” Charlotte said, wishing suddenly that Caleb was there, if only to hear about the wingy-dingy horse.

  “We’ll go down and see my salon right away. I can promise you that. And if one of you girls decide you would rather work with me down there, that would be just fine, too. You can shampoo heads or sweep floors or answer phones. Or whatever. I can create a job. Any job you want. And we will give your mom some space to sort things out. To get her groove back. Or her mojo or her juju – or whatever it is she’s missing. Whatever it is she needs.” She put her arm around Gracie’s shoulders in a show of solidarity. “This summer is all about your mother, girls. Your poor mother. We need to mend her broken heart. Her poor twisted, broken, smashed up heart.”

  Charlotte had known that she would need to swallow every ounce of pride to come here. But it was going to be harder than she thought. The worst part was that the only person who could possibly understand how hard this was, the only person who would recognize each competitive jab and who would have been able to make her laugh about it, was Caleb. And she wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for him. And that woman in his office.

  Charlotte shook her head to dislodge the memory. She led her girls, following a sashaying Fiona down the hallway for The Grand Tour. Fiona’s dress was too thin, and Charlotte could see that her tiny rear still had some cellulite. See, she wasn’t perfect after all. There were some things that money couldn’t buy.

  But not much, she thought, winding her way through the castle where her sister would pity her for the next three months.

  Charlotte sure hoped that woman had burned her ass on that coffeepot.

  Chapter Two

  Fiona’s wine glasses were the size of cereal bowls, perched on spindly stems. The cabernet inside seemed too thick and dark. As Fiona spoke, the wine sloshed about, occasionally sliding up the side and splashing down again into the bottom during a particularly passionate part of Fiona’s tale.

  When Fiona stopped talking long enough to refill her glass, Charlotte asked, “How much wine fits into this glass, exactly?”

  “Exactly enough,” Fiona replied. “And if we find that it isn’t, we’ll pour more. I did show you the wine room, did I not?”

  “Oh, you did,” Charlotte answered.

  “We could do nothing but drink wine for weeks. We wouldn’t even need to go out!” She winked at her sister. “But you were never one to drown your sorrows.”

  “No. But I do enjoy a nice glass of wine from time to time.”

  Charlotte paused for a moment to listen for the girls, to whom she had just said goodnight. She knew they would be awake texting their friends and sharing photos. Hannah had mentioned she might call her dad, maybe do a web cam call so she could see him. And then she looked sheepish. Guilty. Charlotte had drawn her lips upwards. “Wonderful,” she had said in as pleasant a voice as she could manage.

  Fiona’s wrap-around sweater matched the color of wine in her glass. She drew it around herself.

  “The evenings get chilly here, don’t they?” Charlotte asked.

  “It’s different from where you live, I’m sure. In so many ways. The sun goes down and it gets cold, almost instantly. And in the daytime, it never really gets above seventy-five. It’s because you’re at, like, eight thousand feet above sea level here.”

  “I’m glad about the change, from Missouri. And not because of the temperature.” Charlotte felt nervous suddenly. “Thanks for the invitation, Fiona. It might be just what we need.” A time to rest. To read. To escape. To not think about much of anything. To sort out what she wanted to do about her blasted marriage.

  Fiona gave her a sideways grin. “It is going to be so nice to have you here. With Kamal traveling so much, I sort of rattle around in this house, and I end up spending way too much time working. Or shopping.”

  “You have a gorgeous home. And I’m eager to see your salon. I’m sure it’s beautiful.” Charlotte drew her lips back into a smile, once again, and then she swallowed. Where had she derailed? She had thought it was Caleb’s affair, the looming divorce, but now, being here and comparing her life to her sister’s life; her home to her sister’s home; her job to her sister’s job; she realized it may have happened years before.

  Charlotte had been the straight-A student. The one voted most likely to succeed. She was the one who always had a date. Who took Calculus in college as an elective, just to challenge herself. She was the one who always knew where she was going.

  Fiona, on the other hand… Fiona was the one who snacked too much and skipped class and did whatever she could to get C’s. The one who had to finish high school at the alternative school where they ate Cheetos and Skittles whenever they wanted and held math class at the bowling alley just to entice kids to show up. Fiona was the one who dropped out of junior college after the first semester. The one to whom people said, incredulously, “You are Charlotte’s sister?”

  And now here Charlotte was. A soon-to-be-single, unemployed woman, sitting in Fiona’s multi-million dollar mansion, listening to her yammer on about her booming day spa and salon.

  Fiona took a pull at her wine. “Do you remember that pact we made…when we were teenagers?” Fiona asked.

  “Pact?” She knew she shouldn’t pretend not to know what Fiona was talking about, but she couldn’t help it.

  “You don’t remember? Really?”

  “I don
’t think so.” But of course, she remembered. They had been teenagers, probably just older than her girls were now. They had written it late one night, after one of Fiona’s crying jags. Fiona had insisted it be signed in blood, so they pricked their fingertips with a straight pin from Mom’s sewing room, and Fiona had squealed and found that she couldn’t sign her entire name even though she was squeezing at her fingertip with all her might. So, instead, they each left a tiny dot next to their ink-based signatures.

  “Our Transformation Pact?” Fiona’s expression was solemn. “The Great Transformation Pact of 1994?”

  “Oh, I’m remembering vaguely now.”

  “Did you know that this pact changed the entire direction of my life?”

  “Did it now?” She knew. Her sister had told her before.

  “It did. Remember what it said? I could probably find it for you if you really want to know.” Fiona rose from the table and crossed to the sideboard in the dining room. She creaked open a door on its face and drew out a large envelope.

  Charlotte sincerely hoped this wasn’t the pact. How embarrassing that would be to see it again. She couldn’t remember the exact words, but she remembered the way the pages looked. The crumpled white college-ruled paper. Ink from a blue Bic pen. The words loopy, the i’s dotted with bubbles and hearts.

  The pact had actually been Charlotte’s idea, a means for cheering up her little sister who was having a hard time getting the attention of a particular boy. And so they had made a pact. It was filled with words such as “solemnly” and “declare” and “promise” and “oath,” and it contained a series of ideas for how they could each reach their true potential as girls. As women. She remembered certain promises, such as “Be more confident. Stand tall!” and “Exercise every day. It will make you feel amazing!” and “Don’t be so intimidated by boys, especially Bobby Samuels, who is probably only so mean because he likes Fiona!”

  Following the signing of this pact, Charlotte had promptly moved on with her life in the same direction she had been going. But Fiona had worn a Band-Aid around her finger for a week, hoping that someone would press her for details about the pact. The pact that was so solemn, so paramount to their lives forevermore that they had actually signed it in blood.

  “I still have it,” Fiona said. “Still in that original vanilla envelope.”

  “Manila. It’s a manila envelope.” Charlotte took a sip of her wine.

  “Why do you always have to correct me?”

  “Sorry, Fiona.” Charlotte looked down at the table. “I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s a manila envelope.”

  Fiona held up the package she had taken from the sideboard and let it drop on the table. “Don’t be like that, Charlotte. I’ve done something really nice for you. You’ll see. It’s all in this MANILA envelope.”

  “Is this our pact? From when we were kids?”

  “No. It’s a new one. For you. I made it for you. To turn your life around.” And then she stopped pouting long enough to clap her hands together and bounce on her heels.

  ***

  Caleb ran his hands over his head. His hair was thinning. He was sure it was. Charlotte would say that it wasn’t. On their web cam call, just now, Hannah had said that it wasn’t, but he could feel it. Withering away. He was losing it. He could tell even if no one else could.

  He was at his prime, his professional pinnacle, though he hoped to ride higher, of course. The first two books had a tepid response, at best. But the last one, he had decided to make that one a bit more commercial, and it had hit and stayed on the best sellers list. It was still there even as the next was ready for release. He had just mailed off the galley proof, which meant he had a little time off, before the official book launch later in the summer.

  For the first time in his life, he had a month or two to relax at the same time that he had money. To travel. To enjoy nice things. To escape the day-to-day stressors of life. He and Charlotte had worked so hard to get to this point, and now that it was here, she was gone.

  It meant nothing without her, for Charlotte had left him. Beautiful Charlotte. His harlot, he would call her sometimes, in bed, when she whipped her head up and let her loose strawberry blonde curls tumble down her shoulders, her green eyes blazing. Such a peaceful strength, a kindness. So thoughtful to their children. A Scottish lass, just like his own mother had been, so quiet and yet capable, durable. She was the kind of woman who could sit on the sofa with you all day as you worked and you could lie down and tuck your feet under her thighs and she would place her hand on your ankles and smile and you could soak in this rich, quiet, happiness all day. Days like this stayed on his skin, like a scent. They fueled him. And now she was gone. And with her, his lovely daughters. And with her, these kinds of days. Days when, as Charlotte had phrased it, “There was nothing to do but each other.”

  He clenched inside and then he had a thought that made him brighten. There was that girl he knew, from when he was an undergrad. She had dated Robert Suzuki or maybe Sam Peterson. Either way. He had heard from someone or other that she had taken a position as a professor of art in the same mountain town where Fiona lived. Maybe her college would want a visiting professor. Maybe they would like him to teach a few weekend writing workshops or host some critique sessions. It wouldn’t have to be a big deal. Just an excuse to go down there, so it didn’t look like he was following her. Not that he didn’t have a right to follow her. They were still married and she had taken his girls. He would have to be very, very careful not to chase her off, but he certainly wasn’t going to have all this free time and no Charlotte to spend it with. Besides, he didn’t really know how to work without her. She had always been there. She had always been home, whenever he needed her. And Marcus wanted at least the outline of the next book by mid-September.

  He grabbed for the phone.

  ***

  Charlotte eyed the envelope in front of her. It had been decorated in silver and pink Sharpie, the words “Charlotte MacDougall’s Grand Transformation Pact” penned in glittery, twisting script.

  She leaned forward. The wine made the room spin a little and she felt strange in her stomach, like she was half-floating and half-heavy.

  “It’s a bit personal,” Fiona said, biting on her lip. “I wonder if I should leave the room while you read it over.”

  “Personal?”

  “Yes. I just don’t want you to feel embarrassed. You know, with how things have gotten for you.” Fiona stood. “I really think I should leave.”

  Charlotte felt for a moment as though she might be sick. “What is this, Fiona?”

  “I just…well, I had some ideas. And I hope you won’t take them the wrong way, but I just really think this could help you. But I know what it says and… I don’t want to embarrass you. So I’m leaving. I’m going to bed.”

  Fiona filled Charlotte’s wine glass and then she shuffled off, wrapping her sweater tight around her teensy waist and hugging herself, though it wasn’t especially cold.

  Charlotte raised one leg on the oversized chair and rested her wine glass on her knee. The chair made her feel like a child, sitting, as she was, in her favorite striped pink pajamas.

  She looked around, then, at the ceiling, in each corner of the room, to ensure that there wasn’t some kind of surveillance. Was Fiona sitting in a nook somewhere, munching Cheetos and Skittles and scrutinizing her reaction? Taking notes on how to better help her poor, pathetic sister who once thought she had the world by the tail?

  Charlotte had a vision of herself just then, throwing up her hands and dashing the envelope into the fireplace, letting the flames lick away whatever fate her sister had outlined for her. Whatever embarrassing words were inside. Standing then, with hands on hips and determining that she would make her own transformation. That she needed no one.

  She glanced toward the fireplace on the south wall. It was still. Devoid even of ashes or the hint that it had once held a fire.

  There was a candelabra in the center of the table.
Fourteen tiny flames there. But that would take a lot of burning, and what if the table caught fire and she had to explain to Kamal’s family how she destroyed their magnificent, exquisite, rare and expensive Snakewood table? And then maybe the sprinklers would go off. Surely a house this size would be equipped with fire mitigation. No. She would just need to open this damn thing. Get it over with.

  She slid one finger under the envelope’s seal. Her nails were chewed and ragged and the cuticles folded in on themselves. Instead of long and pointy and dexterous, like her sister’s, they were pudgy and unkempt. They looked like the fingers of a child. When had her fingers gotten chubby?

  Inside the envelope was a thick sheaf of papers, bound together with a small silver fastener at the top. There were several paper clips and different colors of ink, everything coordinated in pink and silver. She imagined Fiona driving her Range Rover to the office supply store and clicking up and down the tiled floors in her tiny heels, hand-selecting the accessories for this most important document.

  As Charlotte scanned the front page, she was struck, first, by the sheer volume of exclamatory punctuation. She and Caleb once joked that Fiona spoke all day long in multiple exclamation marks—“Good morning!!! Did you sleep well?!?!”—but to see them in print like this was really something. Charlotte was more a period kind of person. Question marks, on occasion. She saved the exclamation marks for, well…never.

  The cover letter did look to be a bit embarrassing, so she skimmed it. Her sister loves her…yadda yadda… can’t stand to see her like this…blah blah…just a sad shred of her former self.

  That didn’t feel good.