Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  ‘Of course we are in the business of making money,’ he clarified, gesturing everyone should reclaim their seats. The uproar subsided slowly, the crowd giving him the opportunity to explain.

  Charlotte quickly realised she was about to lose whatever tenuous advantage she could claim. If Craig resumed control of the room again, he would have them eating out of the palm of his hand. She had to take action and cut him off before he could say any more.

  She stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. The people around her paused to see what would happen next. Craig studied her cautiously.

  ‘I think Morgan Carmichael have made their point quite clear this evening,’ Charlotte said clearly, ensuring her voice carried across the room. ‘And I, for one, refuse to be patronised any further. It is obvious, that for all of your rhetoric about caring what the community thinks, none of that will matter if there's a profit to be made. Well, I have some advice for Morgan Carmichael: you will not profit from this community and you should take your development elsewhere. Because if you don’t, you will have one almighty fight on your hands.'

  The crowd erupted in support. The locals loved nothing more than a call to arms. Charlotte glared at Craig for a few seconds more and took the time to take in Keith’s red face. Was that steam coming out of his ears? She suppressed a triumphant smile and made her next crucial move. Nudging Emily and Ben with her knee to indicate they should follow, she strode out of the room. As hoped, more than half of the crowd called ‘Hear, hear!’ and trailed behind her into the warm summer evening.

  Chapter six

  Barb’s Showtime Boogie House was pumping as usual for Thursday’s swing night and for the first time since coming home, Charlotte was unwinding. Every blast of brass belting out of the PA system unknotted a muscle in her shoulders and lower back, steadily relaxing her, bit by bit. She was getting loose and getting ready to dance.

  The room was gradually filling with dancers she knew from her swing class and the regulars, who liked to come along, and watch them perform on the informal stage that was the dance floor at Barb’s. The venue was a long and narrow 1950s throwback with booths lining one wall. Along the other, an unused vintage jukebox held pride of place at the end of a long Formica bar. At the back of the club was a small stage for the bands, and tonight it was already occupied by a drum kit and several amps.

  But the main draw card in Barb’s was the dance floor. It filled half of the venue and provided the booths with a bird’s eye views of the Boogie Woogies, Charlestons, Balboas and other swing styles that whipped the club into a weekly frenzy. Tonight the big bands were trumpeting out of the speakers, and the gathering crowd was getting into the groove. The club lights were low, though the dance floor was lit up with multi-coloured spotlights, in preparation for the imminent skirmish.

  Charlotte needed to dance off three things that were stressing her out: Monday’s sinister one night stand, the pending loss of her gallery and the fact that she couldn’t stop recounting the electrifying sex she’d had with the source of both problems.

  But she was buzzing, and tonight was going to be a good night. In a West Coast swing kind of way, she was dressed to kill. Her hot-pink, knee-length, red polka-dotted skirt overlaid a full and flouncy petticoat. It was perfect for twisting and turning and underpants-flashing. Her matching lipstick-red top was cut low to hint at her cleavage. It fit snug enough to hold her tight. She wore her favourite swing shoes, black pumps with a short heel - perfect for clacking across the dance floor. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, to ensure it whipped, but didn’t whip her face while she danced up a storm. A red ribbon added the finishing touch. It looked like a costume, but to Charlotte it was a disguise. Dressed to dance, she was free to be herself, to cut loose and throw herself into something she loved.

  The band would take to the stage soon, but for now Charlotte was content with the DJ. Her feet were tapping and hips wriggling in anticipation. Uh-huh, she really needed a good dance. So much so that she didn’t mind Jackson Phillips chewing off her ear and moaning down her cleavage about how much he missed her.

  ‘I think we made a mistake, Charlotte,’ he whined, his long dark brown fringe flopping over his eye. ‘We’re great together, you and I.’

  ‘Come on, Jack. You’re in the break-up fog. We were pretty average,’ Charlotte reminded him, lifting his chin with her finger so he looked at her face. She glanced over her shoulder to locate Emily, who’d gone to the bar for drinks. The bartender was flirting with her, so she’d obviously been served. Salvation was on its way.

  ‘We’re not average on the dance floor.’

  It was true. Jackson was a great dancer. He was the only man who came anywhere near matching her technique and pace. And for that reason she did enjoy dancing with him, despite his constant attempts to out-dance her; which did his talent little favour. As her partner, it was his job to make her dazzle. Instead, he was flashy and attention-seeking. It was irritating, but Charlotte tolerated it for the lifts. He really lifted her, and that was fun.

  He looked fantastic tonight, suited up like a hipster in a three-button brown corduroy jacket with matching slacks. For a fleeting moment, Charlotte recalled what had led her to his bed in the first place. And then, trying to pay attention to what he was saying, she remembered why she'd wanted to leave once she’d been there.

  He might be slightly irritating and too showy for Charlotte’s liking, but there were plenty of ladies who rubber-necked him on and off the dance floor. Luckily for her, not many other women could move like her. Charlotte got to monopolise his dance card whenever she wanted to; whenever she needed to - like she did tonight. And because the shirt he was wearing under his suit coat tonight was as red as hers, making them look like a pair, she suspected she wouldn’t have a hard time of it.

  Emily reappeared; drink in hand just as the band walked onto the stage, greeted by a cheer from the crowd.

  ‘What do you say?’ Jackson asked Charlotte, offering her his hand. ‘Come for a spin?’

  She looked at Emily. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Emily obliged her. ‘I’ll get us a booth.’

  Charlotte eagerly followed Jackson out onto the dance floor where a few other couples were congregating, ready for the band to begin. She grinned at the familiar faces, which all looked rather intent on putting themselves through their paces.

  The band started a steady rockabilly beat.

  ‘Well, looky here, ladies and gentleman,’ announced Sanjay, the band’s lead guitarist and singer, eyeing Charlotte and Jackson on the dance floor. ‘Looks like a reunion of our favourite couple. Whaddya say we get ‘em warmed up boys?' The tempo picked up slightly, and after a friendly glare at Sanjay, Charlotte allowed Jackson to pull her into a deceptively loose hold, his hand firm on her back and hers solid on his shoulder.

  ‘Go easy for this first one, Jack,’ she warned. ‘This will be my warm up.’

  ‘Take your time. I’m not planning on dancing with anyone else tonight.’

  It may have been unwise to ignore the suggestion in his words, but that suited Charlotte very well.

  After three fast songs, she needed a breather and a little refreshment. She dragged Jackson unwillingly off the floor and left him at the bar to go in search of Emily. She found her sprawled out across an entire booth, saving the space with their handbags strewn, and sneering at anyone who approached.

  ‘Feeling better?’ she asked as Charlotte bounced into the adjacent seat.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Charlotte agreed, claiming her Pimm’s and lemonade. The ice had melted, but it was still refreshing. She took a long thirst quenching drink. ‘I’m a bit out of shape though,’ she added, rubbing the faint stitch on her side and making a mental note of the perspiration finely coating her skin.

  ‘That’d be all that Italian food you guzzled while you were away.’

  ‘Possibly. I did have a bit of a carb overload.’

  Changing the subject she asked after Geoff. She wanted to get ba
ck on the dance floor soon, but Emily was obviously having trouble holding the fray back from the seats, and Geoff’s appearance would make her night easier.

  ‘He texted me ten minutes ago to say he’d be five, so not far I guess,’ Emily answered.

  ‘I haven’t even seen him since I got back. He is working too hard.'

  ‘Tell me about it.' Emily pouted faintly, slouching over her vodka and cranberry, lazily scanning the room.

  Suddenly, shooting upright, she exclaimed, ‘Oh no, don’t look now!' No sooner had she said it, than she was withdrawing, shrinking into the back corner of the booth and feebly attempting to shield her face with her hand.

  Without a second thought, Charlotte spun around in her seat, following Emily’s furtive gaze.

  ‘Shit,’ she said, and stared.

  The source of the unforgettable, electrifying sex was at the bar with Cassette. Good God, he was gorgeous. Charlotte was rocked by a wave of heat and a flood of memories best forgotten.

  At the community forum last night, she’d had the luxury of being blinded by her fury, which helped her believe he was nothing more than a slime ball. But tonight she was loosening up and feeling charitable with it. Tonight, the rage had abated and, in a more appreciative mood, she was transfixed by the man he was.

  Craig Carmichael was tall enough that he was a head above most of the other people at the crowded bar, and his sculpted cheekbones and delicious lips transfixed her like a fireworks display. His clothes hung on him like decorations on a Christmas tree; simple cargo pants and another button-up checked shirt – a little bit of tinsel over something remarkably beautiful.

  Charlotte gulped, and then managed to tear her eyes away and slink back to join Emily against the wall. She concentrated hard on the drink in her hand and tried not to remember him without said clothes. Nor was this the time to recollect the feel of those lips travelling over her. What the hell was he doing here? What the hell was he doing here with her? Damn, this was going to ruin her night.

  From across the table and behind her hand, Emily started verbalising the questions running through Charlotte’s mind. ‘How do they know each other? What are they doing here?' ‘How are we going to avoid them?' And finally she exhaled heavily, ‘I am really not in the mood for her tonight.’

  ‘I am really not in the mood for him. Bit audacious showing up here after last night. I wonder if this is part of his community consultation,’ said Charlotte, casting a scornful, but empty, sidelong glance in Craig’s direction.

  What was he doing here with her?

  ‘Hey, she asked Emily, ‘what’s Cassette’s surname?’

  ‘Umm, it starts with an ‘M’ or something, I think. Her dad is that property…developer. Oh.’

  ‘Cassette Morgan,’ Charlotte said, watching her and Craig at the bar. Was Craig involved with his boss’s daughter?

  Oh God, did he cheat on Cassette with her? The thought made her feel sick. There was nothing less classy than being a cheater’s one night stand.

  Charlotte sucked on her rapidly emptying Pimm’s some more. The need to get back on the dance floor was suddenly more urgent. As much as she'd love to hide here in the corner all night, she had to get on that floor, which meant there was no way of avoiding Craig and Cassette for the entirety of the evening.

  But for now, where was Jackson?

  ‘Oh God…Oh no!’ Emily suddenly cried.

  ‘What, what is it?’ Charlotte demanded, determined not to look around this time.

  ‘Geoff just walked in, and he’s heading for Cassette at the bar.’

  ‘Traitor,’ Charlotte declared. So typical of Geoff to be friendly with every single acquaintance he even vaguely knew. It should be an admirable quality, but tonight it was nothing more than an annoyance. Particularly given he was seemingly oblivious to his wife’s issues with the recipient of his pleasantries.

  There was every chance Geoff would invite Cassette and Craig to join them, and Charlotte’s palms were clammy at the thought. She scrambled to come up with some witty remarks to show Craig Carmichael she was made of tougher stuff than he might imagine.

  ‘It’s alright. So far they’re just talking,’ Emily assured her. Charlotte looked at her sister and hoped she read her distress as nothing more than anxiety over the gallery’s impending demolition.

  Emily continued, ‘Geoff hasn’t even looked around for us. Do you want to sneak out? I could text him from outside.’

  ‘Nuh-uh. No way.' It was tempting, but Charlotte was adamant. ‘I came here to dance tonight. It’s been weeks. If Craig Carmichael has the audacity to venture out in this neighbourhood, he can just face the music.'

  ‘Do you think it’s safe?’ Emily asked. ‘What if Cassette launches into a performance and searches the crowd for someone to humiliate? You know she’ll come after me.’

  Cassette certainly did seem to have a penchant for embarrassing Emily Evans, and Emily disliked her with good reason. At the opening of the Evans Gallery five years ago, Cassette had unexpectedly launched into one of her famous performances. Caught by surprise, Charlotte and Emily watched as, during a particularly theatrical moment, Cassette threw herself against a wall and knocked one of Emily’s paintings off. Unapologetically, the ‘accident’ was incorporated into the act. She lifted the piece and threw it across the room. It collided with a startled member of the audience, shattering the glass of wine in his hand, which simultaneously slashed the canvas, stained it with red wine and destroyed it.

  Unhealthily, Emily still had the piece propped up against a wall behind others in her home studio.

  No apology was forthcoming from Cassette as she wrapped up her act in a flurry of spinning and moaning that culminated in her collapsing on the floor. Later, once the embarrassed murmurings of the crowd had moved on to other topics, Emily overheard Cassette dismiss the work as second rate and inconsequential. Her audacity blew the minds of the far more humble Evans sisters and she hadn't changed a bit in the five years they’d known her. Cassette was still executing unwelcome performances, with a tendency to dance around Emily if the opportunity arose, and she was still completely oblivious to the lack of audience appreciation that accompanied those performances.

  ‘Whether or not she comes after you might depend on her relationship with Craig,’ Charlotte remarked dryly, glancing towards the bar again. ‘If they are dating maybe she will have the good sense to refrain from performing.'

  ‘They don’t look like they're dating,’ Emily observed, dropping her hand for a second and looking across the club. Charlotte warmed slightly with the relief that comes with a second opinion confirming what you want to hear.

  Emily then plastered on her best fake smile and waved towards the bar. ‘Too late to make a run for it,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Charlotte asked, frozen. If they were coming over, she was running out of time to plan her biting remarks. An escape would be in order. Where was Jackson?

  ‘They’re still talking. Cassette and Mr Developer just got their drinks. Geoff’s waiting and they seem to be waiting for him.’

  ‘They’re definitely coming over, aren’t they?'

  ‘Uh-huh. Here they come.’

  Charlotte had barely enough time to get her breathing under control when seconds later, Geoff leaned across her seat to give her a belated welcome home kiss before sliding in next to his wife.

  ‘Hi, honey.' Geoff gave Emily a kiss on the forehead. He looked good tonight, like he’d taken the time to shower instead of coming straight from the office, but even in his casual gear, he screamed lawyer. With his top button undone and his crisp white shirt untucked from his dark jeans, he looked slightly uncomfortable. His obsidian short hair was long enough to part on one side, but not long enough to fall across his face. With his chiselled jaw line, he looked like Clark Kent posing as a barrister for a Levi’s advertisement.

  Feeling herself drawn slightly sideways, Charlotte determined Craig was standing just behind her. She
kept her eyes anchored on Emily. Cassette was there too, as she didn’t imagine the cloud of patchouli engulfing them was Craig’s.

  ‘Look who I ran into at the bar,’ Geoff was saying. ‘And this is her friend, Craig. I didn’t think you’d mind if they joined us.’

  She glanced up to find Craig staring at her, a hint of horror mirrored on his unjustly handsome face.

  ‘Hello,’ they both said at once, awkwardly.

  ‘Oh, I forgot you two must know each other,’ Cassette declared, performing badly as she slid across the seat, boxing Charlotte into the corner.

  Charlotte and Emily scowled at her. Geoff took the bait. ‘Really? How do you know each other?’ he asked innocently.

  Emily rescued Charlotte. ‘Craig works for the developer who is proposing to knock down the gallery.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Geoff, now gauche, his face straining in much the same manner as Charlotte’s and Craig’s.

  ‘Sit down, Craig,’ Cassette commanded, clearly comfortable with bossing him around. Charlotte looked between the two of them, wondering again what their relationship was. She noticed Craig noticed, then huffed slightly before throwing back the last of her drink.

  Before Craig could follow Cassette’s instructions, she stopped him in his tracks. ‘Oh, no wait,’ she interrupted. ‘Looks like I need a refill.' She waved her empty glass at Cassette, nudging her to let her out.

  Grumbling, Cassette slid out of the booth again. Craig stepped back to allow Charlotte to pass, watching her through hooded and calculating eyes.

  ‘Small world isn’t it?’ she murmured quietly, edging her way around him.

  ‘Indeed,’ he replied, and then slid in beside Cassette.

  Self-consciously, Charlotte made her way to the bar. After she ordered another Pimm’s, she slyly glanced over her shoulder to find Craig engrossed in something Cassette was saying. One thing she knew for sure, she wasn’t about to sit there and watch Cassette fawn all over him all night. Especially given Cassette seemed to have decided all she needed to wear tonight was a man’s handkerchief tied around her chest above a pair of denim hot pants. Sure it was hot in Brisbane, but really, couldn’t she wear proper clothes?