Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy)

by Bethany Bloom

  “I’ll just be working in my office at the college, and I’ll swing by your room at five-thirty. You’re in Rachael’s class, right?”

  “Um, yeah, I am. You know her?”

  “Of course, we’ve met. It’s a small faculty, and they recently hosted a meet-and-greet for me. Truth is, she’s a little bit star struck.”

  “Over you?”

  “It’s been known to happen, Charlotte. Don’t sound so surprised.” His voice dropped. “And I couldn’t have done what I’ve done—I couldn’t be the success I am—without you. You know that, right? That’s part of what I want to talk to you about. Over dinner. Tonight.”

  “You don’t have to phone woo, you know.”

  “Okay. I’ll save it up for tonight, then.”

  After Charlotte hung up, she began thinking how Rachael didn’t seem the type to be star struck over anyone. Except perhaps herself.

  She was still puzzling this out when she arrived in Room 104. Breadman was already there.

  Charlotte smiled and set down her supplies, careful not to knock anything over this time. Something about Breadman’s nature, his way, made her feel comfortable. Maybe it was his soft-spokenness. It was unusual for her to be the outgoing and talkative one, and, when she was, a temporary confidence would sometimes take over, mostly to help the other person feel more at ease. Not the false confidence she sometimes had to adopt to get along in the world, but a warm and loving one. The one she had when she was with her kids. A comfortable confidence. And he did smell so delightful. She took a slow, deep breath. It was faint but undeniable.

  Rachael sashayed into the room at just that moment, scoffing in Charlotte’s general direction and then exiting again.

  “I think our fair teacher has it in for me,” Charlotte confided.

  “Ah. Don’t let her bother you. She’s just a Mean Girl,” Breadman said.

  She turned to look at him. “Is she now?”

  “Oh yes, I teach seventh grade. Trust me. I know ‘em when I see ‘em. And they don’t outgrow it. They just get better at hiding it.”

  “Yeah, I know ‘em when I see ‘em, too. Doesn’t mean I’m immune to them. I mean, where do they learn that look they give?”

  “You mean this one?” Breadman smirked and lifted his chin in just the right way. Very subtly, as though he were smelling something rotten, and then he gave a half squint.

  “That’s it! It’s universal. No matter your age or where you go to school. It’s the same look. Where do they learn it?”

  “Mostly, they learn it from their mothers. The more I teach, the more I realize that those girl apples don’t fall far from those mama trees. Even when they are desperately trying to.”

  This made Charlotte think of her own girls. Kind. Gentle. Loving. She stood a little straighter. “I have two daughters in middle school. So I know.”

  He turned to look at her, and then he glanced at her bare left hand. She stood a little taller still.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so,” he said softly, “you don’t look nearly old enough to have middle-school daughters.”

  “Please.”

  “It’s true.”

  “You are kind.”

  “I try to be. Also, honest.”

  She stared at him. His voice. That chiseled, stony, whiskery face.

  “I’m Charlotte,” she said, holding out her hand, thumb pointing straight up.

  “Ed.”

  “Now that is a great name for a teacher.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Special Ed. General Ed. Phys Ed. What kind of Ed are you?”

  “Math Ed. I guess,” he said.

  Look at me, she thought. I am confidently bantering. Usually, it took weeks for her to get comfortable enough with someone for banter. But with Ed, it was comfortable and fun and almost flirtatious. Clearly, he was special. Special Ed to her from now on. Way better than Breadman, she thought.

  The other students were filing in now, chitting and chatting, tucking their supplies into cubbies, tying on smocks. Rachael re-entered and flashed her smile to Ed, and shot a derisive look toward Charlotte, very near to the look that Ed had demonstrated moments before. When Charlotte and Ed burst into giggles, Rachael turned to them and beat her eyelashes. Then she busied herself with the table at the front of the room.

  “So, Ed, I thought you were a baker,” Charlotte said, then, her voice low.

  “I know. You kind of mentioned that. Why? Did I sit in flour or something?”

  “Has no one ever told you…?”

  Rachael began speaking, then, clicking around on her little heels with her tight calf muscles. Charlotte had forgotten about the seventh grade Mean Girls. There had been a time when they had made her want to stop living. And now she couldn’t even remember their names.

  Rachael spent the class period going on about something, using her projector, moving around the room, and so Charlotte and Special Ed had very little time to talk, but she could feel his energy beside her. He made her feel kind of buzzy.

  After class, he turned to her and took a deep breath and he said, softly, “Charlotte.” She liked the way her name sounded when he said it. Soft and round. “There’s no way you would want to get some coffee, is there?”

  “I would, in fact,” she said, smiling.

  And then Caleb burst through the door. Shit. Caleb. Dinner. Resies at six. Woo Part Deux.

  Caleb made his way toward her but Rachael had come to stand between them. Her head was tilted and she was touching the side of her neck.

  Charlotte turned to Special Ed and smiled. “But I can’t. I’m sorry. I just… I really can’t tonight. But another time. Yes.”

  Ed followed her gaze toward Caleb. Then he shoved his materials into his leather messenger bag, dipped his head toward her and was gone.

  Caleb sauntered over to her with one hand in his pocket. He was wearing a suit and tie, trousers that fell just so, and his shirt was carefully pressed. Who had ironed that shirt for him? He had never ironed a shirt in his life. Should she have worn a dress? A boob sling top?

  Caleb lifted his chin in the direction of Ed’s workspace. “Who is your little friend?”

  “Just a classmate.”

  “Hmm. So, are you ready for dinner?”

  “I suppose I am.”

  As they pushed out into the evening air, he grabbed for her elbow and she felt a lift in her belly, a sensation she hadn’t felt with him in ages. He opened her car door and watched her slide in. Then he gave her a wink and a nod before shutting the door again.

  His car smelled like leather and car dealerships. It was new and it was clean and, wow, did it ever smell better than hers.

  Caleb sped down the road and then took an abrupt right onto Second Street. Since when was he such a fast driver? The windows were down and her hair kept blowing in her mouth and sucking her breath away.

  He slid his car between two others, just as Leopold had the night before. She could see Arturo’s, dazzling there on the corner. Tonight, a group sat outside at silvery bistro tables, arms slung over chairs. They threw their heads back when they laughed.

  “Arturo’s? Is this where your reservation is?”

  “Yes. It’s lovely inside.”

  “I saw you there last night. Caleb. I know you saw me, too.”

  He turned in his seat to look at her.

  “I know about your little waitress friend.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your girlfriend. I saw her there. She was my waitress last night.”

  “My girlfriend?”

  “The woman. You were with. From your office. She is here.”

  “Dear God. I hope not. I’d call the police.”

  “Please.”

  “Charlotte, you have this all wrong. Surely you see that by now.”

  “Do I?”

  “You don’t trust me at all anymore, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “She’s not here, Charlotte. Not to
my knowledge. She meant nothing to me.”

  “That doesn’t make it better, Caleb. I don’t think, anyway. I don’t think so.”

  “Charlotte. It wasn’t at all what you think. She was coming on to me. She’s nuts. She probably had me confused with one of my characters. That’s all.”

  She was quiet. She had heard all this before.

  “I just don’t know, Charlotte.” He threw up his hands. “I worry that you are throwing everything away over this. Like you are making something up, in your mind, in order to throw it all away. Everything we have.”

  Charlotte’s throat went tight. She swallowed and reminded herself to breathe.

  “Just…what is the problem?” he continued. “I mean, I’m beginning to think you are using this whole situation as an excuse to get out of our marriage. To go and have weird dates with weird guys.”

  She stared straight ahead.

  “We are still married, Charlotte. I was at that restaurant last night just trying to see if it would meet my standards, my new ‘woo’ standards. I wanted a nice place to take you. And I saw you there, with that Polish guy. Your waitress told me he’s the personal trainer. That guy everyone talks about. Did you know he has a reputation for…?”

  “Don’t say it,” she interrupted.

  “Fine. But what am I supposed to think or do when I see you out with him? You’re my wife.”

  “Did you see how he saved my life?”

  He let out a grunt. “I saw his hands on you. Then I had to leave so I wouldn’t punch him in the face.”

  “He was giving me the Heimlich, Caleb.”

  “I don’t know…His hands were too low for that.”

  Were they ever, she thought. Then she sighed and she said, low, “Why did you follow me out here? I was supposed to come out here alone, to get things sorted out.”

  “I know. That’s exactly why I came out. I don’t want you to sort anything without me.”

  She listened to him breathe for a moment. A heavy, familiar sound.

  “Let’s just go and eat. And talk.”

  She flicked her eyes toward Arturo’s. “Not there. I’m never going in there again.”

  “Okay,” he said, brightening. “Of course. We don’t have to go to Arturo’s. Look there’s a taco stand…a little margarita bar, almost next door.”

  She took a long, slow breath.

  “Please.”

  She swung her legs out of the car. “Okay, but only because I haven’t eaten all day.”

  ***

  The man who flopped their menus on the table had a head so big his baseball cap wouldn’t fasten in the back. They ordered a pitcher of margaritas, extra salt on the rims.

  Charlotte studied her salsa-splattered menu, and when she glanced up, Caleb was staring at her.

  “God I love you,” he said.

  Something bright rose in her, but she returned her eyes to the food choices. Chimichanga. That sounded delicious, but she knew that was out. She motioned to the waiter. “Excuse me, are your corn tortillas fried?”

  “Of course,” he grunted.

  She chewed at her lip and looked back down at the menu.

  “Since when do you care, Charlotte?” Caleb asked. “Whom are you trying to impress? Leopold? Fiona?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Myself, I guess.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She gave a tight nod.

  “You are just right, Charlotte. Exactly the way you are. Yes, you weigh more than you did when you were a teenager. But you’ve had two babies. And you’ve raised them into magnificent young adults, without obsessing over calories or how many hours you spend at the gym.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “I’m not obsessing over anything.”

  “It just doesn’t seem like your style.” He leaned in toward her. “Hannah has been keeping me updated on your Transformation Project, you know.”

  “Has she now?”

  “Yes. She says you refuse to get in the tanning bed, but that you’ve been working out. A lot. And she says that you have a new job. She thinks you’ve been dating at least one man, and she says she never sees you anymore.”

  Charlotte’s stomach dropped. “Hannah said that to you?”

  “That is nearly verbatim what she said to me.” Caleb took a deep breath. “Charlotte, the kids miss you. And it’s a confusing time for them…So, this is what I wanted to ask you: Can they come and live with me, while you get things sorted out for yourself?”

  Charlotte felt a sudden empty space all around her. Her throat clutched. Her mouthed open and closed, and she blinked hard. He wanted to take her girls?

  She looked down at the menu. Then closed it and leaned back.

  The waiter plunked a plexiglass pitcher and two ice-filled glasses on the table. As he poured, the smell of cheap tequila hit Charlotte like a wave. She reached forward for her glass and sucked hard on the tiny black straw. It was too narrow and didn’t give her enough salt, so she removed it from her glass and took a gulp of the limey, salty goodness.

  Then she said, “You can’t take away my girls, Caleb. I just came out here to get some space from you. From us. Just for the summer. Why can’t you just let us do that…for a summer. Then we’ll figure out what the long-term arrangements will be.”

  Caleb swallowed. “The long-term arrangement that needs to happen, for the girls, is for us to be back together. I came out here to make sure this happens. To prove to you that I did nothing wrong and to get to the bottom of why you really ran away. The girls need us back together. Hell, I need us back together.”

  Charlotte allowed the tequila to wrap her mind in its fuzzy embrace and to fill the spot inside that was always quiet and alone.

  “But,” Caleb went on, “If you need some space, as you say, then the girls will have a greater sense of normalcy with me. They will have a more stable home environment.”

  “You think you would provide a more stable home environment than I do?”

  “Judging from what the girls are telling me, yes.”

  “But you date other women, Caleb.”

  “Listen to me, sweetheart. I didn’t. Never have. Never will. And, like I said, I think someplace down deep, you know that. Somehow, you are using something you’ve made up as a reason, as an excuse, to leave me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Caleb shook his head from side to side. “Charlotte. Okay, just for a minute, wipe out of your mind any thought of me and another woman. If you and I were okay, blissfully happy together as a couple, would you be happy? Would you be happy with your life?”

  “No.” The word slipped out.

  “No?”

  She took another swig and leaned back in her chair. “The truth is, Caleb, I feel trapped at home. Bored and trapped. And so I guess I can’t blame you for feeling that way, too, at times.”

  “I don’t feel bored and trapped. Not in the slightest. But you do?”

  “Yes.”

  Caleb sat back in his chair. “Charlotte, I’m sorry. I thought you were so content.”

  “Maybe content isn’t enough.”

  “It’s not?”

  “It isn’t for Fiona. I mean look at her life.”

  “Yeah, look at it.” Caleb scoffed as he leaned forward and lifted his glass.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I just don’t see why you would compare yourself to Fiona all of a sudden. She has made completely different life choices than you have. She’s a completely different person than you are.”

  “Is she?”

  “Oh, most definitely.”

  “You’ve just never liked Fiona.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t see why Fiona has anything to do with this.”

  “You have to admit, her life is pretty sexy.”

  Caleb shook his head. “It just seems to me that you didn’t realize anything was wrong with you until you came out here and Fiona told you there was. Until she started pointing out what she considers to be your f
laws. I can only imagine what she says to you about me. It’s like she’s poisoning your mind.”

  “I am in full control of my own mind.” Charlotte all of a sudden felt like she was talking really fast. Easy on the margaritas, she said to herself. Then, aloud: “If anything is wrong with my mind it’s that I haven’t been able to use it in, like, a decade.”

  “That’s not true. At all. You help me out so much. Without you, Charlotte, I wouldn’t be an author. I’d probably be a deadbeat somewhere. Actually, I’d probably be dead.”

  “Please.”

  “It’s true, Charlotte. My life began when I met you. You made me believe in myself. You told me over and over again that this success would arrive. The success I’m having right now. I can’t see how we aren’t ecstatically happy. And, frankly, it pisses me off that your sister has the power of ruining our lives. Of proving to you that what we have isn’t worth anything. Of taking it upon herself to convince you that everything is wrong. That you are overweight, that you need a new man. Did you ever think maybe she’s trying to sabotage you…because you do live a perfect life?”

  “Where do you see perfection? Our marriage is a mess.”

  “No it isn’t. You simply walked in on something at the wrong time. Again, I think, somewhere down deep, you know that.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes and felt her mind slog though his words. All these words.

  Caleb’s voice grew quiet. “Listen, Charlotte, if you feel trapped or stuck, let’s change things. I earn enough money now. Maybe it’s your turn. You can go and earn a master’s degree in something. Start a new career. Start a business. Hell, go start a foundation or a charity. Whatever you want.”

  She leaned in toward him once again, holding her glass in both hands and rubbing at the sides with her thumbs. She finished the glass and poured another, motioning to the waiter for a second pitcher.

  She sucked in a piece of ice from her glass and began crunching it. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and low. “But I don’t know what I would do.”

  Caleb stayed quiet, watching her.

  “That’s part of my problem,” Charlotte went on. “I feel like I no longer know how to make myself important. I feel like I’ve wasted a couple of decades and now I’m waking up from it all and I don’t know what to do.” She stared at the table and let her eyes shift in and out of focus. “I used to have potential. It used to be important to me that I live an important life.”