40:Happy

“What the hell was up with Luke downstairs?  He isn’t usually such an ass.”  Izzie was leaned against the headboard of bed while Charlie was sitting at the foot with her legs crossed Indian-style in her old bedroom. 

Things had returned to normal during dessert, with everyone yammering about things that had nothing to do with Charlie’s vacation or that threatened to reveal the very enjoyable vacation activities she enjoyed.  There was much talk about Vince and Anna’s granddaughter Gracie learning her name, and the upcoming start of school for Izzie and Aaron’s crew.  It was a little nauseating to think of her own two legal adults boarding a plane in three days and Charlie was afraid the airport scene wasn’t going to be a pretty one.  She was going to be one of those moms.

Today she wasn’t dwelling on it, though.  This moment was slated for a self-indulgent visit with her old friend.

“Jesus,” Charlie huffed.  “He’s an idiot who thinks I need to dump Owen and marry a ‘decent guy’ like Jon.  We got into the biggest fight over it a few days ago.”

Her friend silently regarded her for a long moment before apologetically commenting, “I hope you’re not waiting for my outrage because, although I don’t know Jon or how well suited the two of you might be, I wholeheartedly support dumping Owen.”

Eight million, five-hundred thirty-six thousand, seven-hundred and thirty-two.  That was an approximation of how many times over the years that Charlie had almost told Izzie the truth.  At least a third of those times, she’d had the phone in her hand to make the call, but had ultimately put it down without doing so.  The only justification that Izzie had ever been given for a marriage lingering far beyond its expiration date was that Charlie was a good Catholic girl that didn’t believe in divorce – just the occasional adultery which she compensated for through confession.

God Himself only knew why such an intelligent woman – who knew Charlie as well as anyone – would accept that answer.  Charlie could only assume it was love, and found it a pity that her brother didn’t show his love in the same way.

“And since that horse has been dead for at least fifteen years, can we move on to a living thoroughbred stud?”

Expressive eyes rolled at the analogy, but Izzie sighed, “I hate that I’m curious enough to be deterred, but yes.  I’ve been dying to know if you went back the second time and did him for me.”

Grinning widely, she tossed one of the decorative bed pillows at her friend and waggled her eyebrows.  “Second time for you, third for me, fourth for you, fifth for me, sixth for you, seventh for me and eight for you, because that's how much I love you.  We're even.”

That drawn out count of times she and Jon had sex carried exactly weight she wanted it to.  Izzie’s jaw had dropped around number four and by the time Charlie got to eight, eyes that had been rolling were now as wide as saucers.

“Eight times?  EIGHT?  How did that happen?  Did you start stalking and raping him or was this a mutual thing?”

“Totally mutual.  We can barely carry on a civil conversation, but our hormones didn’t seem to care.  We were sneaking around like teenagers, doing it in the pool, the glorified pool house and…”  She bit her lip before throwing out the encounter that seemed too farfetched to be real.  “One night, he borrowed a yacht and took me to dinner on Martha’s Vineyard.  After, we spent the night arguing and having sex so good I could orgasm just from the memories.”

The civil conversation thing might be a bit of an exaggeration now.  They had managed to be normal people while having dinner on the Vineyard and even that last event at his house hadn’t been bad – except for whatever trouble Luke caused.  She would still like to know what that was all about.

“Well, I’ll… be… damned.”  The brown decorator pillow was thumped down onto the bed.  “Are you going to see him again?”

Charlie’s dark waves swished when she shook her head in denial.  “No, although his sister-in-law invited me to Jon’s brother’s birthday party.  Turns out we share a birthday.”

That prompted a whole conversation about Jon’s family, particularly Lilah and her peculiarly amusing relationship with him.  She also shared her love of the Lily Pond Lane house with Izzie, waxing poetic over the white lilac trees along the drive, quaint portico and beautifully restored interior. 

Having a flash of inspiration when she arrived home on Friday, Charlie had actually decided that the white lilacs hiding his portico would be perfect for her blank kitchen wall.  The preliminary sketching was done last night and she would start painting this evening. 

“It kills me to think I used that gorgeous house and property to gouge him one last time.  I knew all along that he was justified in disliking me, but meeting the family who calls it their vacation home and seeing how much they love it there…  It made me feel about an inch tall.  If I could take it back, I would.  Hell, if I had the money, I'd almost be willing to reimburse what he paid his ex for it.”

“Well, unless you’ve discovered Mr. Peabody and Sherman’s ‘Way Back Machine’ or Al Capone's lost bank heist, it isn’t happening.  If you can find a way to make amends, do it.  If not, let it go.  You hold onto too much shit as it is.”

“Mm.  Anyway, that’s my grand vacation adventure.  It’s definitely one for the Chiara Del Vecchio history books.  Did I tell you that, by the way?  He refused to call me Charlie.”

“Then what does he call you?”

“Usually, ‘Counselor’.  Occasionally – mostly during sex – he used my given name.”  The memory of that still had the power to stir a tiny shiver.

“Interesting.   Did he say why?”

She mugged a face of disgust, recalling his refusal to call her “that butch name”.  He had been so adamant that her rigid personality was the result of feminism in the beginning.  After his repetitive and irrefutable proof that she was a woman and enjoyed feeling like one, she couldn’t recall if he’d mentioned it again. 

“He has it in his head that I want to be a man and doesn't want to be an enabler or something.”

The silence in the room prompted Charlie to look away from the portrait of her and her brothers that hung on the wall, finding that Izzie was watching her with a psychiatrist’s demeanor. 

“What?”

“He completely exhilarates you,” her friend observed bemusedly.  “Talking about him – both good and bad – has colored your cheeks and put a sparkle in your eyes that I haven’t seen in eons.  Hell, Charlie. You say you can’t get along with him, but it’s obvious to me that what I told you on the phone after that first night is true.  He makes you happy.”

“No!  Hell, no!” 

Exhilaration she would buy but his making her happy?  No.  Not possible.  They argued, they bickered, they fought, electricity sizzled between them and they had explosive sex.  None of that included happiness.  The only thing that could even come close to being called happy was the ecstasy of orgasm, and that was fleeting.

Lithe shoulders lifted in a slow shrug, indicating that Izzie clearly didn’t believe her.  “If you say so.  Humor me and ask yourself this, though.  The way you feel with him.  When’s the last time you remember feeling like that?”

Charlie tried to do that.  She really did.  She quickly flipped through her emotional inventory to review the early days of her marriage, her first time having sex with Owen and even her “groupie” stint.  There had to be a time in there that had been as exciting, thrilling or stimulating.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t pinpoint a single instance that came even close, so she returned Izzie's shrug and confessed with brutal honesty, "I don't."

J J J J J

August 17

“Charlie Girl,” Millie greeted, accepting her cup of coffee as Charlie discreetly parked the bag of bagels on top of her cart.  “You’re simply glowing.  The Hamptons must have treated you well.”

In the wake of Izzie’s remarks, the casual observation came across far more pointedly than it should have and Charlie found herself bristling faintly.  Had she really been that bad before?  So unhappy that everybody and their brother not only noticed a post-vacation/Jon improvement but they had to comment on it?

“A little sun and sand can work wonders,” she murmured, pushing the defensiveness aside by telling herself that Millie was just making small talk.  “How are you?  I sent my brother to bring your coffee last week, but he said he didn’t see you.”

Since Vince was working at the 17^th Precinct in Manhattan every day, she'd recruited him to ensure that Millie didn’t go without her weekly supply because of Charlie’s vacation.  He told her yesterday at dinner that he’d looked everywhere around Grand Central for an old lady in a red beret with no luck.  Another homeless man had ended up with coffee and bagels as a result.

“Oh?”  Watery blue eyes radiated surprise as she lowered the Starbucks cup from her mouth.  “With you on vacation, I wasn’t expecting visitors, but I was here and there on Monday.  What does your brother look like?”

“Dark hair and eyes, about six feet tall and wearing an NYPD uniform.”

“That explains it, then.”  The crackling chuckle was almost lost in the bustle of commuters passing by.  “I make it a point to keep a respectable distance from the men in blue, as they tend to frown upon my gypsy ways.”

Of course she would.  That made perfect sense and Charlie was an idiot for not thinking of it herself before sending her cop brother on coffee delivery duty.  Next time, she would ask Izzie or, even better, let Millie in on the plans beforehand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was coming.  That was stupid of me.”

“Pish posh.”  One frail hand fluttered in the air before coming to smooth the flyaway silver locks that peeked from beneath her beret.  “A cup of coffee isn’t the end of the world, and it’s worth it to see you looking so happy and refreshed, my dear.  It always seems as though you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.  Life’s too short for that shit.  Live happy.”

Only Millie could use “pish posh” and “shit” in the same breath while making it seem perfectly normal, and it delighted Charlie into laughter.  The incongruity was one more example of the ying-yang existence of the woman who was well-heeled yet homeless and uncaring about the fact. 

“I’ll try and remember that,” she smilingly assured her elderly friend and reached into the outside pocket of her briefcase.  “But I did think of you while I was gone.  I saw this little bauble in a shop on the way out of East Hampton and it begged to come and replace the Fourth of July star on your beret.”

“Why thank you, lovely girl.  That’s very kind.”  Yellowed teeth smiled over the white enamel seashell pen.  “I love it, as you knew I would.  Just so you know, though, patriotism never goes out of style.  There are always huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

How many people would still be so staunchly supportive of a country in which they lived without a home?  Millie herself was one of those huddled masses but wouldn’t admit to it. 

“You’re something else,” Charlie admired with a gentle one-armed hug.  “Is there anything you’d let me help you with?  Necessities or whatever else you can think of?”

“It’s very thoughtful of you to offer.”  The seashell pin disappeared into the pocket of Millie’s black wool coat that would prove too heavy by day’s end.  “But your little visits are more invaluable to me than anything you might bring along.  It is my fondest wish to one day repay you for all your kindnesses during this year.” 

Her heartfelt sincerity touched a soft spot in Charlie’s hard heart, making her wish that the old woman wasn’t so stubborn as to refuse help.  Independence was an admirable quality, but it was so difficult to watch the struggle.  It was her fondest wish to see Millie in a stable, climate-controlled environment, but she had no idea how to make that happen.

“Don’t give it a second thought, my friend.”  Today, she would have to simply be content to provide a smile and a bag of bagels.  “Your shining personality is usually the brightest spot in my week.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.”