“So he can get me a job in town hall? A job so boring I can watch time tick by. Whoopee.”
“You don’t know who her husband is?”
“Sure I do.” She had just called him, after all.
“He’s Tony Giordano.”
“Yes, that’s what his business card said.”
“The Tony Giordano.”
“Still not impressed.” Fiona seemed to want Charlotte to gasp, and so Charlotte made up her mind not to.
“From Tony and Estelle.”
“Oh,” Charlotte laughed. That was kind of cool. Tony and Estelle had been a crooner couple for decades. Her mother played their album when she was a kid. They had a show in Vegas for years and years. “Was that Estelle today, in the salon?”
“No. That’s his new wife, Helga. Estelle is dead. God! Don’t you read Fanfair Magazine. Ever?”
“I guess not.”
“I have it in the salon. You really should. That’s another one of your assignments now. Come to the salon and read Fanfair Magazine. There’s opportunity for some good celebrity sightings in this town, and you can’t just be oblivious to it all.”
“So…what? Is Tony Giordano looking for a new backup singer? Why does this lady think Tony can help me?”
“Tony knows everyone in town. And if Helga tells you to call him, you just do.”
“He was perfectly nice on the phone.”
“So you really did call?”
“Yes, I told you I did.”
“Oh. Well. Good,” Fiona pulled on her blouse and wiggled her chest around a bit. “So?”
“We’re meeting tomorrow. After my workout.”
“Perfect! What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t everything in this town casual?”
“Nope.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Oh.”
“Let’s go. Come on,” Fiona grabbed her handbag. “Girls, your mom and I are going out. You two are in charge of the boys.”
Chapter Seven
This was how Charlotte came to be wearing a green shift dress and silver sandals after the next morning’s workout with Leopold. He was starting to come around, she felt. He talked a little more, and he grunted his approval with a variety of sounds. Plus, she had made it through the entire workout without passing out. She had figured out the secret, at least for her. She simply ate two MuscleBars on the way to the training session. The dense, gritty taste made her want to urp while she was eating them so early in the morning, but they made the lightheadedness go away. And she was never, ever going to faint like that again. Not ever.
This morning, the MuscleBars had powered her through standard pushups, wide pushups, military pushups, decline pushups, and pike pushups, plus a few hundred squats and a hill climb workout on the treadmill.
She felt a little weird eating an eight-hundred calorie snack before her workout, but she figured she burned more than that. Definitely more than that. Afterward, her upper arms were so sore she could hardly raise her hands to suds her hair in the shower.
When she arrived at Tony Giordano’s office, he was sitting out front. She recognized him at once. He hadn’t changed a lick from the old album cover her mom had in the eighties.
What was the protocol here? Should she check in at his office and then have them send her back down? Should she go sit next to him? She studied him for a moment, hoping he would turn to her and make it easy. He wore cowboy boots and a bolo tie under a white pressed shirt. His hair was silver and brushed back. He had to be in his seventies. Maybe even his eighties. And still a very attractive man.
She walked past him, into the building and then she stalled at the elevator. How she wished she wasn’t intimidated by every situation. Even in this new place, where she could redefine herself, reinvent herself, where no one knew she was the type to be nervous to meet new people, she couldn’t do it. She took a deep breath. She turned and saw him watching her through the glass on the front of the building. Oh, hell. She walked back out the doors. “Mr. Giordano?”
Tony Giordano was apparently accustomed to looking at women however he wanted. He slid his eyes toward her, then up and down, stopping at her chest. Then he flicked his eyes up to meet hers.
“You are late.” His Italian accent was thick but laced with Texas twang, rather the way she expected an old Vegas singer to speak.
“Sorry. I got hung up at the health club,” she said, sinking into a seat next to him.
“Ah. Well. How was the health club?”
“I’m meeting with this trainer…” Charlotte was often at a loss for words in these types of situations, and when she was particularly nervous, this gave her the tendency to over-share.
“Oh, don’t tell me. Leopold?”
“Yes.”
“My wife trains with him. Mercy. Isn’t he something? Like a caricature, he is.”
That’s better than calling him an asshole, like Slicky had, Charlotte thought.
Then Mr. Giordano said, “I think they are having sex.”
“What?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Charlotte decided not to worry about over-sharing. Mr. Giordano seemed to be down with that.
“Did that shock you? That I said that?” he asked, sliding his eyes over her once again.
“Yes. As a matter of fact.”
He leaned back, propping his arms behind his chair and puffing his chest out. “Are you two having sex, too? You and Leopold?”
“No.” Charlotte crossed her arms.
“Give that some time. I think this is why he is so popular.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I think it’s pretty well known that this is what he does.”
“So you don’t mind. That your wife…”
Tony began to laugh. “Oh…I’m past all of that. I lived in Hollywood for thirty-five years and then Vegas for twenty more. Marriage is a business arrangement. We get married and divorced to sell records and tickets and books. Surely you know that?”
She stared at him, and a thought occurred to her. Had her sister known that Leopold had this kind of…reputation? Is this why she set the two of them up? She felt her face flush.
“Why are you blushing?”
“Well…” She let out a nervous laugh. “A lot of reasons actually.”
“Tell me.”
Charlotte shook her head. He was staring at her, waiting for her to say something, so, finally, she managed, “You just say whatever’s on your mind, don’t you?”
“Of course. Who would I need to hide from?”
“Right.”
“Why don’t you? Speak your mind?”
Was this a job interview? A counseling session? A prank?
But Charlotte thought about his question for a moment and came up with a number of reasons: not wanting someone to know what she really thought; not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings; not wanting to offend someone… She thought about saying these things. And then she said, “You haven’t even spoken to me yet. Maybe I do speak my mind. All the time.”
“Well, do you?”
“No.” She laughed.
He didn’t laugh with her but he waited for her to finish. Then he said, “I know. I can tell.”
Then Charlotte laughed again, that nervous tittering sound that she couldn’t stand but that she also couldn’t help. This man, he was odd and oddly sexy and his words just seemed to slide out of him. Everything about his was fluid: his words, his gaze, everything. She wasn’t sure if she was creeped out or turned on by him. It was an odd mixture of both.
“So your wife asked me to come and see you,” Charlotte said.
“Yes,” he replied, in a breathy voice. “She said you needed a job.”
“I do.”
“What are your qualifications?”
She had thought about this the night before. “I am disciplined, a real self starter, and I am persistent. I like people and I am very conscientious.”
“But what do you do?”
&nb
sp; “Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything that a business might demand.”
He was silent for a moment. The breeze fluttered the nearby aspen leaves, a faint rattle. Finally, he said. “Tell me how to reach you. I’ll have you placed in your ideal job by the end of the business day tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay. Do I have any say?”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “You have the right to turn down whatever I find for you. But what I find will be just right. You won’t want to turn it down. You’ll see.”
Is this how things went in this town? Was he some kind of Godfather?
But she was curious. What would Tony Giordano decide was the ultimate job for her? She took a pen and a receipt from her handbag, and she jotted her cell number on the back, feeling oddly like she shouldn’t, even as she did it.
***
It was odd to have her daughters doing their own thing each day. For a decade and a half, her mornings started with a quick check in with Gracie and Hannah. What they would be doing that day, where they would be going. If they needed a ride or help with their homework or a pep talk or a bubble bath or a brownie.
But here, the girls were off, each morning. They ate their breakfast, artfully prepared and smilingly delivered by a Hispanic woman whom Charlotte did not know and hadn’t yet spoken with. Today, she had wanted to tell the girls about the Strangest Job Interview in the History of the World, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Leopold had rescheduled their session for later in the day because something had come up that morning. He had texted her at 4:30 a.m.: “Go back to bed.” Charlotte wondered if Helga was by his side. Or maybe one of his other clients. How many women in town was he sleeping with? And is that why his prices were so high? She had never met a gigolo before. And here she had been using his services for days, without knowing it. Ew. And what about Slicky? Was he one, too? All of these thoughts had raced through her mind for the minute-and-a-half it took her to roll over, nestle deeper into the covers, and fall back to sleep.
But now the day had begun, and the house was empty, and she was awaiting her call from Mr. Giordano. Or, as she decided to call him, Pompi, a name that just came to her probably due to that magnificent silver pompadour he sported. Or because he was so pompous. Either way, she could tell that this was a name that would stick.
It was strangely exciting and gave her a nervous feeling in the base of her stomach. Imagine, a man who prides himself on knowing exactly what you are all about, the moment he meets you, and he matches you up with the perfect job for you. Whatever would he determine?
She was just tying her aerobic shoes for her rescheduled training session when her text message chimed. “Preschool teacher. The Little Purple Polka-Dotted Schoolhouse. Arrive and begin, tomorrow, 7 am.”
Preschool teacher? The Little Purple Polka-Dotted Schoolhouse? Well, now, that sounded like hell on earth. Who would call a preschool that? Plus, this was the same job that Helga had mentioned in the first place. Was this the only job in town? Did she look like a preschool teacher? Is this what her entire persona screamed out: “I don’t know how to talk to adults, so stick me with kids.”
She thought of the way she felt whenever she volunteered at her children’s elementary school. Like her energy was escaping out her toes. She got all floppy and lethargic and her head would kind of buzz. When too many children were squeezed into the same room, it smelled like scalp and earwax. She had marveled, plenty of times, at the way she was such a patient, understanding mother to her own children, even her nephews, and yet so tentative and uninterested in other young people.
Yet, this is what Pompi had come up with, and Fiona would hold her to it. She had already made it clear that Charlotte was expected to say yes to life, and she was especially expected to say yes to Pompi.
The doorbell at the main entry chimed. A long sing-songy bell: Dong dong dong dong, dong dong dong dong. Turd and Rufus scooted down the stairs, hardly touching the floor. They yipped and skittered from her to the door and back again.
She felt strange answering the door in this place. Shouldn’t a butler do that? She waited a moment. No one appeared. Instructing herself to get a grip, Charlotte flung open the door.
There stood Caleb, clutching a bouquet of gerbera daisies. Her favorite. Bright and simple: no extra adornment, just a plain bold flash of a zesty color. He thrust them toward her and grinned. His eyes were wrinkled at the corners, and they were kind.
Was she really married to this man? It all seemed so surreal now. The past thirteen years of her life. How could it have been that long? How could she be so deeply entrenched in her thirties and still have no idea who she was?
Caleb had a scar on his chin. It wasn’t a new scar, but it stood out to her now. He was the kind of man whose sex appeal rumbled forth from somewhere deep inside. The kind of man who knew when to speak and when to stay quiet.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
She found, suddenly, that she wanted to, and so she was glad that she could not. “I am running late, actually, so, no,” she said.
“Late for what?”
She didn’t answer.
“Looks like you’re dressed for a run.”
She shook her head.
“Come on, Charlotte. Whatever it is, can’t it wait?”
“No, actually, it can’t. I’m meeting someone. At the gym.” Caleb wouldn’t like it if she called it a health club. Too froo-froo.
“Are you meeting Fiona?”
“No.”
“Gracie and Hannah?”
“No.”
“Who else do you know here?”
“My trainer.” She blushed.
“Ah. Your trainer. Don’t tell me it’s that Leopold guy.”
Charlotte’s breath caught. “It’s whoever Fiona set me up with.”
“There was a gal at the college who was talking about him the other day. Be on the lookout for this guy. I heard…”
“Caleb, really? I’ve got to go.”
He thrust the flowers into her hands and then he swept his arms forward in an entirely uncharacteristic way. “For what it’s worth. I don’t think you need any personal training. I think you look gorgeous exactly the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Not a thing.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “So the wooing has begun,” she said.
He beamed back at her and bounced on his heels. “It has. Put those flowers in water, will you? I’ll be back.” He winked and turned to go.
She had to admit, she did enjoy the wooing.
***
Caleb sat in the car and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. This car suddenly seemed so stupid, so cliché. Like something a philanderer would drive. He didn’t need a new car and certainly not a muscle car. She was the one who needed something…something besides that late model minivan, shaped like a tampon, the upholstery smelling of old cheese and feet. Maybe that was the way to Charlotte’s heart.
He still couldn’t believe she had run off so fast. No amount of pleading or explaining would convince her that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That it was just Loopy Lisa doing what Loopy Lisa does. She had seen what she had seen. And then she was gone.
Seeing her just now. It made him gulp. She was so perfect. And her lip had trembled a little when she saw the flowers. She was responding, on at least some cellular level, to the wooing.
Why hadn’t he started it sooner? There comes a time in a marriage when you know you are being lazy. When you expect to make love by just showing up in the middle of the day and announcing, “Hey. Nobody is home.” When you are constantly forgetting to flush. When you start showering after sex instead of before. It was great to be comfortable; he loved to be comfortable. But he could see where it might have caused things to slide off the tracks.
His heart seized when he thought of it. She was the one who had left him. She didn’t want to be married to him anymore.
The very day that she had s
een Loopy Lisa, she had thrown him out. Just like that. Even though it seemed pretty obvious to him what was going on there. The old Charlotte would have laughed and said something glib like “Ew. Tell her to put her clothes on, or I’ll come kick her ass.” But she had come in and then it was over. And that night he had found himself on his buddy’s couch and he had related the sheer unfairness of it, the cruelty with which she wouldn’t even listen to an explanation.
This guy was a perennial bachelor who had seen it all. Hell, he had probably taken Loopy Lisa up on her offers once or twice. Caleb expected him to say that Charlotte had gone nuts and he was better off without her. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had said, “Dude. Don’t let her get away. You’ve got to work for a girl like her.”
And that’s precisely what he was about to do.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte stood at the entrance to The Little Purple Polka-Dotted Schoolhouse, a tiny white building on the edge of town where everything that held still long enough had been painted with grape-colored bubbles.
It was 7 a.m., on the dot, and no one had yet arrived. Didn’t people have to go to work in this town? She sat in her car and wondered why she was so nervous to start a job that paid eight dollars an hour and that she didn’t really want in the first place. What was she even doing here? She had to reschedule this morning’s session with Leopold, and she was growing to like…
A silver convertible screeched up next to her and a young woman with platinum blonde braids hopped out of the driver’s seat. She wore a mini-dress edged with purple tulle, stripy knee socks and clunky pink hiking boots.
Charlotte stood from her own car now, suddenly questioning her own choice of footwear.
“Can I help you?” the young woman asked, in the bright and breathy voice of a preschool teacher. She was fiddling with the keys for the front door and having a rather difficult time of it. She had glitter on her neck and two perfectly pink dots of blush on her cheeks.
“I’m Charlotte MacDougall,” she announced, using the rah-rah voice. “I am supposed to start working here today.”
“Oh.” The young woman looked her up and down, then, stopped at her chest, just the way Tony had. Odd. Charlotte crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. She was the adult here, she reminded herself, and probably almost twice this woman’s age.
Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) Page 9