Charley

by Shelby C. Jacobs

  On the left wall was a full length fogless mirror. Close at hand were shelves containing a colorful array of shampoos, conditioners, rinses and lotions. I didn’t need any spa membership, I had one right here.

  Even though it was the hottest part of July outside, and I was already sweating, I filled the room with the kind of refreshing heat that comes from steaming water. The relaxing steam cleanses the pores of my body, while the soothing mist seemed to penetrate all my muscles and massage them into relaxation. I turned the shower knobs to hot, real hot, and stepped back to give the room time to fill up.

  As the effects of the hot relaxing steam wrapped around my body and pulled out the impurities, I loosened my hair and let it fall down my back. I needed to get it cut, it was a bit long. I reached for the big comb and stepped in front of the fogless floor length mirror to get the tangles out before I washed it.

  I couldn’t help admiring my body for a few minutes. I had to admit, I may have let my personal life go to hell, but my body was still pretty damn sexy. Posing like a model, I viewed my body from every possible angle. I had been fortunate to inherit my mom’s tall, slender and well-proportioned figure. Randle always liked my breasts, not tiny by any means, but not huge either. The light smattering of freckles on my chest was the only blemish to my skin. Randle always told me the freckles made me look young and tempting.

  A lot of good this body has done me! I’m still alone. If I could exchange this body for a family and a normal life, I’d do it in a heartbeat! Oh well, can’t change what’s been done.

  I reached in the shower to turn the water down and stepped into the warm soothing water, letting it cascade over my head. I don’t know why, but this was my favorite part of showering; just feeling the warm water fall onto the top of my head, wash over my face and head and flow evenly over my body. I put my hands out and leaned against the wall, did a few toe rises, and took a deep breath.

  God, this is relaxing!

  It seemed as if all the cares in my world washed to the drain, twirled around with the water and disappeared. The Awapuhi shampoo was on the edge of the shelf. The Paul Mitchell product is gentle, and adds volume and it smells like a large bouquet of summer flowers. I almost hated to rinse the smell away, but the soapy feel of the shampoo, as it washed over my shoulders, felt like a perfume soaked wrap.

  Randle always waited until I was rinsing my hair and would sneak up behind me. I never knew for sure if he would come to me, but I always hoped. He would finger walk his way up my back and around my waist and over my breasts with his soft hands. There was something magical about the way he pulled me back to him and nibbled on my shoulder while slowly massaging my tender breasts. The warm water smelled like fresh summer rain drops on our bodies. Randle would whisper, ‘I love you’ in my ear, and I would melt back into his wet body. He would ease back on Mama Webster’s bench and pull me to him. I straddled his lap as the warm shower washed over our passionate bodies. Afterwards, we would slowly and gently wash each other and towel one another off.

  But there’s only me now dammit! Just me!

  As quickly as the image of my lover came, it faded away. I have to get over this incessant memory of the way it was with Randle. It was great, but … it’ll never be again!

  I opened my eyes, gave a deep sigh of acceptance and lathered the washcloth to wipe away the afternoon’s coating of perspiration. I worked the soap over my body in an absent minded routine; face, arms, stomach, breasts. But that delicious memory of our lovemaking in the shower refused to be washed away.

  When I began lathering my breasts, a melancholy swept over me and I stopped. I had no control over my hand, as it began a slow sweeping motion over first one breast and then the other, stopping at each to squeeze and massage as Randle had done. The soap laden cloth was soft and slick, like the smoothness of Randle’s hands. I closed my eyes and gave in to the memory. I could feel the softness of his body pressing against my back. I felt him reach around my back to grasp my eager breasts. As one hand continued to tease the passion from my breasts, the other hand would slip slowly down my abdomen A smile eased over my face and I slowly began to move in rhythm with him as if we were one body.

  This roller coaster of emotions haunted me. One moment I am in the grip of a distant memory and just as quickly it would gave way to a deep depression, and eventually back to some degree of normality. I dropped the wash cloth and slowly slid down the soapy tiles to the floor of the shower, pulled my knees to my chest and sobbed uncontrollably.

  Randle, I love you, but you’re not here, why do you keep haunting me? Stop, Damn it! Let me go, please. I’ve got to move on with my life. I just don’t know if I can or if I really want to!

  Sitting on the warm tiles reminded me of the time I had spent crouched similarly on the floor of my room at The Grace Medical Center’s psych ward. If possible, I wanted to stay on the shower floor, and cry for the rest of the day. But as tempting as it was to lapse totally into that unrealistic world, I resisted.

  My years of therapy finally took hold. Quietly, but firmly, I repeated the mantra Dr. Cox had instilled in me over and over.

  I will pull myself together. I will not live in the past, I will live for today, I will be happy.

  Slowly, I began to relax. I straightened out my legs and took a deep breath, and sat there on the floor of that shower with the water still falling on my head. Actually I felt a little foolish.

  I am a thirty-two year old woman, get a grip. I’ve got a problem and tonight, I have a solution. Get up; you’ve got a man to see tonight!

  A few minutes later the mood was completely broken by a knock on the shower room door.

  “Charlotte, Charlotte? Are you in the shower? I came up to help you dress. We need to get your hair done.”

  Chapter Three

  The voice belonged to Wilma Watson. She was in charge of the waitstaff, and generally ran the front end of the restaurant. Wilma was a female version of Ronnie. She had been with Jimmy Brewster almost from the beginning. Some people had rumored that she and Jimmy were having an affair during the last years of his wife’s life. No one ever confirmed it, but Jimmy and Wilma were as close as any couple ever was. When Randle and I started dating, Wilma assumed the role of chief chaperone and mothered us to death. And we loved her for it.

  After a long pause, I pulled myself together. “I’ll be out in a minute, Wilma, just finishing up.”

  I grabbed my favorite body lotion; the one that gave my body a soft vanilla-scented silkiness. “Pick me something sexy to wear.”

  Wilma wasn’t there to help me dress, she never had before. Wilma was there to talk about tonight and her message would be the same as Ronnie’s had been earlier. Wrapped in a towel, I stepped into the domain of Mama Wilma.

  “I hope you picked out the pastel pink wrap-around shirt and the white silk blouse.”

  “I thought that would be your choice, I’ll get them in a minute. Come over here; let’s get your hair dried.”

  As Wilma brushed the tangles out of my hair, I could tell she was trying hard to be casual, but it was obvious she had other things on her mind.

  “Wilma, Ronnie has already talked to me about tonight, but I suspect you have something to say, don’t you?” I teased. “You’re not going to be like my mom, are you? One time, she forbade me to leave the house because she didn’t approve of a boy I wanted to see. You’re not going to lock me in, are you? I can leave the apartment, can’t I?”

  Wilma reached for the hair dryer and continued to brush my damp hair. “Be serious, girl, we’re just concerned for you.”

  “I know. But this is something I need to do.”

  “What do you need to do, honey?”

  “I need to get on with my life; I’m mired down. When Randle and I married, we had such high dreams. When he got involved with that damn Leonard Martin and got himself killed, my life fell apart. You knew I was pregnant when he was killed. Did you know we had just found out it was a boy? We were going to name him Jimmy.�
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  I hate losing control, but I couldn’t keep the tears from damping my eyes. “And three weeks later, I lost our baby! Wilma, in three weeks, I buried my husband and our baby and our dreams. Everything good in my life was gone, just gone.”

  I almost couldn’t get the words out between the sobs.

  “There, there, child everything will be okay.”

  “My life is dead now, I have the Bar and you and Ronnie, but I go to bed in that huge condo and don’t have anyone to hold me. I get up and there’s no one to eat breakfast with. I don’t have anyone to tell me I’m pretty or I’m sexy. I can’t let my guard down with anyone. I don’t have anyone I can build a future with.”

  I leaned on Wilma’s shoulder and hugged her tight. “Wilma, I’m thirty-two and I’m dead … dead and alone.”

  “What about that young lawyer you’re seeing? Terry something or other isn’t it? He seems nice.”

  “Terry Weldon. He is nice Wilma, but I need a man I can depend on, who can make decisions, who can take charge. I need someone who is affectionate and who needs me. I know it sounds stupid, but he’s always asking me what I want. Sometimes, I wish he would tell me what he wants. Terry is just too nice, too clinging; he always seems to be holding back something. And on top of that, he’s lousy in bed.”

  I laughed a little through the tears.

  “We’re just good friends. I know everyone else in town and they know me. My best friend from high school, Bobby Wagner, is married to my best girlfriend, Debbie Wilson. Everyone else is either married or moved away or gay. There’s just me. Confident, successful and, dammit, I’m alone, all alone! Wilma, when the Bar closes I either come up here, or go back to the condo, and I shower and put on an old ragged shirt and panties and I climb into the bed, a King sized bed meant for two! Do you know how lonely that huge bed makes me feel? I need someone to hold me and ask, ‘how was your day?’ and listen to me and rub the tension out of my shoulders and make love to me.”

  “Sweet baby.”

  It had been seven years since that three month period when Randle, the baby, and Jimmy Brewster, had been murdered. I think when Jimmy was murdered, it was the last straw. My Mom and Dad were gone, my husband was gone, my baby was gone and then the only family I had left, Randle’s Dad, was taken from me as well. I was all alone, no one to support me. I just lost it.

  I spent six months in the hospital, slipping in and out of reality; one minute I would be talking to Randle or changing the baby’s diaper and the next I would be crying. Everyone thought I was crazy. Visits with Dr. Cox and medication had done little to soften the trauma of those three months, but they had made me functional. Occasionally, just like now in the shower, small things tended to bring the memories back into focus. Dr. Cox reassured me my depression would disappear when I found a new person to love. I’ve been trying; Lord knows I’ve been trying. Maybe that’s why Ronnie and Wilma want me to be careful with Coach. They know what has happened in the past between me and men; my need for love clouded my judgment.

  “But why this man, this coach, why now? You don’t know this man. He might be a killer, or worse, a sexual pervert or anything.”

  I had to laugh at Wilma’s imagination. “Could be, but I doubt it. Wilma, when Randle and I lived in Memphis, we went to most of the Grizzles games. He was the leader of that team. We met him occasionally at various civic functions and knew him enough to wave at him across the room. Randle liked him and I thought he was a hunk, as well as a good basketball player.”

  “But you don’t know anything about him since he retired. No telling what he has become.”

  “A couple of months ago, I was rummaging through my things looking for something, who knows what, when I found an old program from a Boys and Girls Club benefit we attended. Apparently Randle saved it because he signed it for us. The autograph said, ‘Til We Meet Again’. I remembered him and I just sat there and cried. Wilma, it was like a sign from Heaven — this is the man for you — flashing in neon blue and red and yellow lights. Is that silly?”

  “Sweetheart that was just an autograph. It didn’t mean anything.”

  Dr. Cox and I had numerous talks about my being careful in new relationships. I tended to jump in feet first and generally got burned. And I had already started this relationship in my mind. “I know, I know. But two months later, Sports Illustrated had him on the cover. The cover no less! He’s the coach at a small college in Ohio, and they had just beaten Indiana in the first round of the NCAA Basketball Tournament. Wilma, I’ve always dreamt of Randle, I still do. But I started having dreams about Coach McCoy as well. God knows, I don’t plan them, they just happen. At first the dreams were simple and meaningless, and after a while some of them became pretty sexy. I mean real sexy. At first I was ashamed my mind was thinking and dreaming about someone else. Even today, I feel uneasy thinking I might have dreams about someone other than Randle. But I keep having dreams about the coach, and honestly now I look forward to them.”

  “But those are just dreams Charley. They’re not real. You need a real live flesh and blood man.”

  “Maybe you’re right Wilma. When Nashville secured the NCAA Regional Coach’s Convention, I decided to put an end to this madness. I’m going to meet this man, and see just how close he is to my dream man. If he is the man for me, I want to know it. If not, I need to know that too. Wilma, something is just pulling me to see just how close this dream man and the real man really are.”

  “It all sounds pretty unrealistic and dangerous to me. Dream man! Huh!”

  Suddenly Wilma put down the hair brush and the dryer and turned me around to face her. I could tell she had to voice what was really on her mind. “You’re planning on having sex with this man, aren’t you? Damn girl, you think sex can get you whatever you want. I know you, you probably see this man as a challenge, someone to conquer. Honey, Dr. Cox warned you to be careful with men. You tend to lose control, don’t you; admit it.”

  “Okay Mama Wilma, I admit, I don’t have a great record romantically. But, we’re just going to have dinner. I promise I will be careful. But if the real Coach is half the dream Coach, and I hope he is, would it be okay with you if I messed around just a little?”

  “And watch how much you have to drink, it doesn’t mix well with your medications. Be sure you have protection, and don’t go out of the Bar with him. You stay close. Be careful, honey, please!”

  “Ok, Ok, I will be careful, I promise. Now go on back downstairs, I’ve got to get ready.”

  I hugged Wilma. “I love you, thanks for loving me and listening, it makes me feel so much better.”

  I sat back down at mom’s antique vanity and finished brushing and drying my hair. I finally decided to fix it in a French twist to expose my slender neck. I picked the pastel pink wraparound skirt and white silk blouse to provide just the right flair, a bit of modesty and a lot of sexy. I fastened the stacked chocolate pearls around my neck, so they dangled just to the top of my breasts. The pearls were tasteful, but inviting.

  My makeup for the evening took a little longer; slightly brighter cheeks, inviting lipstick, nice base powder and blush, lined eyes, and finally a hint of perfume behind the ears. I’ve always loved getting ready for a date; men are so visual. Use the right hair style, show a little cleavage and wear the perfect makeup and perfume, and you can get them to do anything you want. I wonder if I am going to be able to get Coach Mac to do what I want tonight. I couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of the challenge.

  After a few whirls before the mirror, I breezed out of the apartment and descended to the Bar to begin my routine of greeting patrons and ensuring everyone was having a good time. And I waited patiently for my dream man.

  Chapter Four

  The plan was for Roberto, the Summit’s doorman, to direct Coach to Jimmy’s. He told me later he and Coach had developed a little routine where Coach asked him what to do for the evening. Roberto assured me he had told Coach about Jimmy’s, every evening of the four day conve
ntion. Each night he told him a little more of the history of Jimmy’s, and finally got him to agree to come here on Friday night. I had every confidence in Roberto.

  So I made my rounds, greeting the regulars and talking to those I didn’t recognize. There seemed to be more first timers this Friday than usual. Probably the summer tourist crowd coming to gawk at the gangster’s bar, and sip the 1920’s homebrew ‘Speak Easy’ beer we featured.

  I settled into the owner’s booth in the rear of the lounge area to wait. I was so pumped with anticipation, I wanted to rush to the Summit and grab Coach McCoy out of one of those stuffy educational meetings he was leading.

  But I didn’t.

  I waited, and I waited, and my anxiety built up with each passing minute. I am not a patient person. The longer I waited, the more I thought about the sexy dream dates I had with Coach. One time we met at a basketball game in New York City, and he bought me cotton candy. In another dream, I walked in on the whole team showering after a game, ripped all my clothes off and they all laughed. I didn’t say the dreams made sense! But there were occasional dreams where we sat on the floor before a roaring fire and just held each other. In those dreams I wanted something to happen, but Coach resisted my advances.