Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) (20 page)

“Okay! Open!”

Charlotte had to blink a few times before she could take it
all in. Her bangs swept to the side in jagged clumps. Edgy. Edges were
everywhere, in fact. Each roll and curl and tumble had been replaced with a
tip, a fringe, a bite.  And it shone with a luster.

The color was a deep scarlet, with highlights of glowing copper.
She had to move her mouth and wiggle her nose, then, to reassure herself that
it was indeed her reflection. It was a new Charlotte, staring back at her.
Where Old Charlotte was soft, New Charlotte was hard. Where Old Charlotte was tousled,
New Charlotte was ordered and kempt.

She blinked again. Maybe she should give this New Charlotte
a chance. If Old Charlotte was soft and bored, then New Charlotte was strong
and spicy. She felt a soaring sense of pity, suddenly, for this New Charlotte,
who would have to step into the life of the old one. New Charlotte didn’t look
like a mother, nor did she look the type who would chase after men because they
smelled like bread, or who would shy away from a romp in NYC with a sexy author
just because she was married to him. This New Charlotte would never pee in
restaurants or run down the road in see-through pants. She closed her eyes and
opened them again to her reflection. How did she get to be this old and still
not know who she was?

All these thoughts were racing through Charlotte’s mind as
Fiona bounced on her toes and teased the tendrils that were particularly edgy
and severe, creating still more spikes and edges. She sprayed aerosol as she
talked. “Red is hard to maintain, ordinarily, and I know you are just the
eensiest bit low maintenance, no offense, so I did a deeper copper at the ends,
and a brighter shade at the root. It’s exactly as I had envisioned. Exactly.”
Fiona clapped her hands together, then spun the chair away from the mirror. She
bounced from foot to foot and let out a throaty laugh. “Let’s go show the
girls.”

***

“They are somewhere in the forest, fishing.” Charlotte said,
as they neared Fiona’s home.

“Oh, you must have that wrong. My boys don’t fish.”

“They are fishing for toys.”

“Oh. That sounds right, then.” Fiona scanned the landscape
as she drove along.  

“Let’s just get out and find them. They can’t be far.
Probably around the back of the house.”

“Someone with hair like that doesn’t just go walking off
into the woods. Her heels would get stuck.”

Charlotte lifted her face toward Fiona. “You don’t get to
change someone’s personality based on her hair color.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m going to put my old jeans back on, you know.
Probably my sneakers, too.”

“Not if I burn them first.” She winked at Charlotte.
“Seriously, you hardly look like yourself. I have done a pretty amazing job. If
I do say so myself.”

Charlotte stepped out of the car just as Hannah and Gracie
burst up the hill, each wearing a different colored cape marked with silver
duct tape in the shape of her initials.

Hannah’s face was flushed. She stopped short, just in front
of Charlotte. “Woah. Mom. You look different.”

 “Isn’t it hot?” Fiona squealed, popping up and down in the
soil with her tiny heels, where they sunk in suddenly and nearly tripped her.

“Like, really. You hardly look like yourself,” Hannah went
on.

“What do you think of it, Mom?” Gracie asked in a steady
voice.

Charlotte leaned forward and blinked a few times. She tucked
a piece of hair behind her hair. Fiona gave it a slap. “Stop that! it looks
perfect before you do that ‘Mom thing.’” She laughed again, in that throaty
way.

“What do you think, Gracie?” Charlotte wanted to know.

“It makes you look… different. Like, really different.
Like…someone else.”

Charlotte stood there, looking at them all judging her hair.
She felt a thickness in her throat, which she smiled through.

“It really does,” Hannah said. “I guess your plan is really
working, Aunt Fiona.”

“I know!” Fiona clapped her hands together. “C’mon. I’m
taking us all to lunch. Arturo’s!” she said, “So go round up the boys and take
off your capes and dress-ups.”

Then she turned to Charlotte. “People will hardly recognize
you. This is the start of something great.”

Each morning, Charlotte tied her deep scarlet hair into a
high ponytail, she munched two Musclebars in the car, and she worked out with Leopold.
The day of the race was fast approaching, so they lifted weights only on
alternating days, and then they ran. And ran. And ran some more.

Then she would go to the preschool and she would sit with
the children who sought her out in what was coming to be known as The Quiet
Corner.  

On the days when she had class, she would sit and talk with
Special Ed. He hadn’t even noticed her hair. Or at least he had never said
anything. When she arrived, he would smile at her, and she would smile back,
and they would paint and chat about the dreams they had the night before or
which brand of dishwashing detergent they each preferred, or what, exactly, was
the meaning of their starry existence. Typically, the rest of the room was more
or less quiet and she felt as though everyone was listening in on their
conversations. But when she was with Ed, she found that she didn’t particularly
mind. After class, he would take up her hand, and he would squeeze it, and he
would ask if she would like to drink more hot cocoa and walk with him along the
river, and she would say yes.

Rachael Whitmore hadn’t appeared in class since Caleb left
for his publicity tour and the professor who had taken over didn’t seem to know
many details of her sudden disappearance, leaving Charlotte to feel just fine
about these evening strolls with her Adonis of Gluten. Whenever she began to
feel a little guilty, all she had to do was imagine Rachael sitting somewhere
off to the side of the camera,  or making remarks to the interviewers, or lying
naked in a hotel room waiting for Caleb to return, and she regained her stamina
for a simple stroll with a simple, kind man.

As they walked along one evening, she moved closer to him.
The mosquitoes flitted here and there, and she turned to smack one off his forehead.
He gave her a shy smile, and it all suddenly came clear. She burst out, “I know
who you remind me of! God. It’s been driving me crazy. But I’ve got it.”

“Who?”

“My husband.”

“Oh.”

“Not now. Not now. At all.”

“Oh.”

“But when we first dating. He was so, so…goofy.”

“Thanks.”

“No, no. that’s not what I meant. Not that you’re goofy.
Now. It’s just that he was. Then.”

“Go on.” Ed smiled at her, hesitatingly. “I think.”

“He was so goofy and sort of awkward, but also so supportive
and kind.”

“Ah. That’s the part that reminds you of me, right? The
supportive and kind part.”

“Oh. Absolutely.”

Ed shuffled his feet on the asphalt, and Charlotte went on.
“When Caleb and I were first together, he was so…funny. In that dry, wry way
that comes out in his novels now. But, back then, it was a side that only I got
to see. My private Caleb. Each day, he would teach and write, and I would help
him and we’d make love in our tiny, tiny apartment.”

Ed cleared his throat.

“Sorry. And then in the morning we’d blast this really dumb
music, I don’t even know how we got this CD, but we would dance around to it. Banjos
and silly guitar riffs. He used to say that I danced like a Peanuts character.
Just swinging my head back and forth and hopping from one foot to another. And
that’s the Caleb you remind me of. Silly and fun and kind.”

She remembered, then, the way Caleb would hold her face
after they made love. “Eskimo,” he would say, brushing her nose with his nose.
Then, “Butterfly,” and he would sweep his long eyelashes along her cheekbone. And
then she thought of that first night they had spent in the first house they had
bought together. All of their possessions were stacked up around them in
cardboard boxes and they sipped champagne from tall skinny glasses, clinking
them each time they thought of something new to be happy about or thankful for.
 

This first home was a fixer-upper, with a leaky roof and
peeling floorboards and a wood burning stove. It smelled like tuna and mildew
and the sweat of an older man, and yet she remembered thinking, that first night
they spent there, that she had never been happier in her life. Swept away by a
sense of limitless possibility.

And then she fast forwarded, a decade or so into their marriage.
Maybe he forgets to shower. And she starts to wear socks to bed. And when she
sees him cooking, she knows exactly what everything will taste like. The pork
chops will be nice and peppery, but a little dry. She knows what it will feel
like when he starts making love to her. What it will feel like when he
finishes.

Ed spoke now. “You think I’m silly?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not silly.”

“Oh.”

“I’m pretty freakin’ serious. Dead serious.”

Oh, he was kidding. Special Ed really was special.

“No. I think it’s just a way about you, really. Maybe no
trait specifically. Just a way I feel when I’m around you.”

“Hmm.”

“Also, though this isn’t like Caleb, you have the most
delicious aroma.”

“Would you stop with the bread stuff? You’re going to have
to tell Leopold to let you have some more carbs. Because I can’t explain
anything about this, other than the fact that maybe you are missing something
in your diet, and you are projecting your cravings onto me.”

“It is peculiar. And I haven’t been cutting back on carbs.
Not at all.”

“So do you long to go to bed with a guy who reminds you a
little of your husband? When he was younger? And who smells of baked goods?”

“Nice try,” she said, but as she looked at him, something in
her shifted. She felt a blooming inside her. Something quiet but magnificent.

***

Finally, it was the day before the race and Charlotte’s
stomach twisted each time she thought of it. She and Leopold had skipped the
workout this morning, so their muscles would be rested for the run. This put
her at work a little early, and, as soon as she pulled in, she wished she had
stopped for coffee to kill some time.

As soon as she entered the purple doors of the preschool, Tabitha
skipped toward her, and then gave a final leap, landing just inches from
Charlotte’s shoes.

“I just got off the phone with Grandpa, and he gave me an idea…a
way to really figure out what to do with you.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said, but she already knew what they
should do with her. It was called
The Quiet Corner with Miss Charlotte.

“We are creating a whole new room. For you.”

“Oh.” Great. Maybe The Quiet Corner would be in a room of
its own now. It could cordon off the craziness that was permitted to go on in the
rest of the school.

Tabitha was talking fast now. “So you know how each of our
rooms is named for a different animal species…one that is ingenious to the
area.”

Indigenous,
Charlotte thought, but she didn’t correct
her. This was actually an aspect of the preschool that she considered clever
and sweet. The babies were in the River Otter Room. The two-year-olds were in
the Jackrabbit Room. The three, four, and five-year olds were in the Black Bear
Room.

“Well, we’ve added a new room, starting today, and you’re
going to be in charge of it.”

“Okay.” Please let this new room be called The Silent Ermine
Room. Or the White-Tailed Deer Room, she thought. Something peaceful.

“We have you scheduled to work the Children of the Corn Room,
effective immediately.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. It was Grandpa’s idea. We take the kids out who just
can’t…thrive…in these other rooms. And we put them with you. Grandpa says what
these kids need is someone with more experience. Someone who is a little more
upti….” She flicked her eyes upward. “rule-oriented.”

“Does your grandfather know you’re calling it ‘The Children
of the Corn Room’?”

“That’s what he called it. I don’t even know what that
means.”

“Um. We can’t call it…them…that. That’s a horror movie from
the…Look, never mind. Let’s just call them the Grizzly Bears. Or the
Wolverines.”

“Okay. Whatever.” She shrugged. “So, I’ve already started
dividing them up. Your class is waiting right in there.” She pointed to the
room just off the office where Charlotte sometimes huddled to eat her lunch. It
was just a small bit of space. No windows. A door that was always closed.

Tabitha turned with a flounce and then snapped back to look
at Charlotte once again. “Oh, and Grandpa wanted me to ask you…Are your shots
up to date?”

“Yeah. I think so. Why?”

“Because some of these kids bite. But just some of them.
Two. I think.”

“Are
their
shots up to date?”

Tabitha shrugged. “How should I know? Probably.”

So Charlotte began as lead teacher of the Grizzly Bears, but
what she should have called them was the bees. A great swarm of them,
attacking, retreating and then attacking again. Charlotte found herself
adopting that too-calm-teacher voice she disliked and saying things like. “We
don’t eat the pages of our books,” “Let’s not lick the carpet,” and “Oops. That
might make me bleed.”

Halfway through the day, Tabitha pushed another child in,
gently, by the back of his head. “Please don’t let this one near any spoons, or
anything with a scoop, really, because he likes to drink the toilet water.
Okay?”

Charlotte rubbed the back of her neck.

“This is going to work out great, don’t you think?” Tabitha asked.

At the start of the day, Charlotte had six children. By
midday, there were fourteen, of varying ages and manic tendencies. She tried to
imagine who was left in the other rooms. And she tried to imagine what her
quiet kids were doing just now. Sitting alone, probably, she thought. Looking
for Miss Charlotte.

 “I think the ratios are off here,” Charlotte said, before
Tabitha could disappear.

“Oh, you are so funny,” Tabitha said.

“No, really. State law says there must be a teacher for
every, like, six kids.”  

“I think that’s just for two-year olds. You have all kinds
of ages in there,” she said. “So the laws don’t apply.”

 “I’m sure they do. Why don’t you call your granddad and ask
him.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll do that.” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “That’s
why we like you. So rule-oriented. But, truly, you should lighten up a little.
You’d have more fun. And your ex-husband might even come back around. He’s got
a great sense of humor. I’m reading one of his books right now. The one about
the…”

Charlotte interrupted. “Will we be joining you in the big
room for naptime, as always? Because I’m not sure there’s room in here for any
cots or for the kids to stretch out.”

“I think it would be best for the other children if they
stayed in here with you. It’s really making things go so smoothly out there.
Really. It’s wonderful. It’s the best day we’ve had in….well, since I opened
this place.” She clapped and hopped a little, and then launched herself toward
the door. Just before she left, she turned. “Oh, and I know these kids all walk
on the wild side, but Grandpa says you aren’t allowed to put Sominex or
anything like that into their sippee cups for naptime. One of them could have a
reaction or something and that would be bad.” 

Charlotte gave a quivery smile. “Duly noted.”

“What? What does that even mean? Why do you have to talk
like an old lady?”

“Sorry,” she said, “I meant, ‘Gotcha’… ‘Straight up.’”

Tabitha winked and shut the door, just as one of the
cackling two year olds chucked a toy at the doorframe.

What would New Charlotte do here? Because even Old Charlotte
wanted to bail. Oh yeah, New Charlotte wouldn’t have set foot in here in the
first place. She would still be in bed with the hunky guy from painting class.

Charlotte opened the door and let the craziness spill out
into the other rooms. Then she sat on the floor in the main room and said
goodbye to the little friends she had made. The boy with the puddles for eyes.
The girl with the rash on her forehead. And then she walked out the double
front doors.

Would New Charlotte call Child Protective Services? She
wasn’t yet sure. New Charlotte would have to think about that.

***

Charlotte was met, at the entry of Fiona’s home, by a
towering basket of cinnamon rolls, bagels, and even some sparkly pastries for
the boys. The package was wrapped in yellow cellophane and emblazoned with the
name of some Los Angeles bakery.

These were all of the things Old Charlotte loved. Gooey
sticky buns, cinnamon twists and curls. Tins of coffee and tea. At its side, an
advanced copy of Caleb’s new book and a note, in black Sharpie, in Caleb’s
hurried scrawl: “I’ve made some changes to the book. Desperate to know what you
think. Call me.”

It was a slapping reminder that she was no longer his lover
but his proofreader. It all seemed to be the work of a New Caleb. A man who
could dash off an autograph without breaking stride. Who flirted with talk show
hosts. Who would take a lover on a publicity tour if his wife declined.

She missed Old Caleb then. The mewy, not-so-smooth Caleb.
The one who wore flannel shirts and who would wrap his legs around her so she
couldn’t get out of bed. The one who forgot to shave. Who needed her to remind
him to zip his pants before heading out into the wide, wide world.

New Charlotte stood and dumped the entire basket, along with
its note, in the trash. She had a race the next day.