A Proper Charlie

by Louise Wise

  ‘I’m stock control,’ she said. ‘But I’m aiming to be a writer.’

  ‘Good,’ he glanced up. ‘Very good. Well, it was nice to meet you, Ms –?’

  ‘Wallis. Charlie Wallis,’ she said, but failed to take his hint and leave him in peace. She pointed to the picture of the earthrise. It wasn’t on the wall, but leaning against it. ‘That inspired me.’

  That was quick, he almost said. Instead he said, ‘How long have you been at the paper?’

  ‘Six months,’ she said with a beaming smile.

  ‘Is that all?’ He was surprised. ‘Not many people would ask me to delay my speech for a person who’d been here for such a short time. You certainly have everybody’s respect.’ He was genuinely impressed.

  She grinned, looking pleased. ‘That’s Melvin. He’s taken me under his wing.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Melvin?’

  ‘Yes. The new senior rewrite editor,’ she said with evident pride in her voice.

  ‘Ah, Melvin Giles. The ‘it takes balls to be a fag’ bloke. There isn’t much of a dress code here, is there?’ he said looking at her crumpled skirt and stained blouse.

  Charlie began to smooth the creases out of her skirt. ‘I’m normally better attired,’ she said. ‘I had a heavy night last night, and slept in my clothes,’ she ended on a laugh.

  Ben really didn’t want to know what his staff got up to away from the office.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean a heavy night as in a heavy night,’ she said flapping a hand, as if realising his displeasure. ‘I was…’ she stopped and bit her lip.

  ‘You were what?’ he asked, now enthralled with what this mad woman had been up to last night.

  ‘I was visiting a sick nephew,’ she said quickly, a little too quickly, Ben thought. Maybe it was too painful for her to talk about? ‘I fell asleep across his hospital bed, and before I knew it, it was morning.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you have any other family to help you with the burden?’ It wasn’t nice to deal with a sick family member, and he should know.

  ‘Family? Oh, no I’ve no family. I never knew my parents, and they had no known rellies.’

  ‘Rellies?’

  She laughed again, and Ben wondered if she was nervous or generally happy – or on drugs. ‘Relatives, of course!’

  ‘Right,’ Ben frowned, and began to feel the beginnings of a headache. He made a mental note of her name, and decided he’d avoid her at all costs in the future. With any luck, she was only here on a temporary contract. ‘Is your, er, nephew very ill?’ he asked, politely.

  She nodded her head sadly. ‘He won’t last another night.’

  ‘How is he ill?’

  Charlie blinked at him. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  Her eyes moved heavenwards for a moment. ‘Varicose veins,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Varicose veins,’ he repeated slowly. ‘Deadly, so I hear.’

  ‘They aren’t ordinary varicose veins,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t suppose they could be, Miss Wallis.’ He really should be annoyed that she was wasting his time like this, but instead he felt amused. It was the first stirring of humour he’d felt in a long time.

  ‘These are a new kind of varicose vein that… oh bugger!’ She grimaced. ‘He isn’t in hospital.’

  ‘And not dying?’

  ‘No, well yes, maybe no…’ it was the mad woman’s turn to look flustered. ‘I mean, he doesn’t exist so I suppose he is dead. But then, maybe not,’ she frowned thoughtfully.

  ‘I guess that makes him neither. I’d wondered how you had a nephew considering you’d just told me you’d no family.’

  ‘I lied. I don’t normally lie,’ she said. ‘But my heavy night isn’t like the heavy night as in drinking and clubbing. Mine was totally different.’

  Ben could imagine. It probably involved Class A drugs and jumping off buildings. He stood up, this time he was taking no chances; he was going to have her out of his office before he became as mad as she. He went to the door and opened it.

  ‘Thank you for coming to say hello, I appreciate it.’

  ‘You do?’ she looked pleased. ‘Good, because somehow I always make a bad impression the first time round. It usually takes three or four first bad impressions before I make a good one.’ She sat there chatting away while he held open the door. She looked at her nails and began to push up a cuticle with a nail from her other hand, then inspected her work, before folding her hands back in her lap. ‘You know, Mr Middleton, I really think we’re going to get on really, really well. What’s the B stand for?’

  ‘Bee?’ Somehow, Ben felt like he’d just stepped off a fast carousel.

  ‘The ‘B’ in your name,’ she pointed to the nameplate lying on his desk ready to be placed on his office door. ‘No, don’t tell me,’ she laughed and tapped her chin. ‘I’m good at guessing people’s names. Hmmm, Barry? Boris? No, of course not, hang on, I’ve got it…’ she scrutinised his face, her eyes half shut. ‘Bill? No, no, that’s short for William. Hmm how about Basil?’

  In two strides Ben was across the room and with one hand on her upper arm, he had her up and out of the office in less time than it took her to realise. In fact, she was too busy guessing his name to realise she was standing on the wrong side of his office door and he the other.

  ‘Brad?’

  ‘It’s Ben.’

  But she appeared not to hear. ‘Brian? Oh, I know, Burt! Got it haven’t I?’

  Ben nodded, grinning inanely with her. Anything to get away from her before she reduced him to a rocking wreck in the corner of his office. ‘Yep, clever girl. Goodbye.’ And he closed the door in her beaming face.

  He sat down at his desk feeling as if he’d done a week’s work in a few short minutes of meeting her, then looked out of his window and saw a blue sky and a blazing sun.

  *

  Charlie made herself walk normally when all she really wanted was to sprint and hide in the stationery cupboard for the rest of the day. She had tried her hardest to act normal in Mr Middleton’s office as soon as she recognised Frank Sinatra.

  ‘You’ve been ages.’ Melvin looked up from his computer and fixed her with a look of pure guilt. ‘Doll…’

  She raised a hand to silence him, bypassed him and sat at her desk. Melvin swivelled round on his chair to watch her.

  Oh my God! Mr Burt Middleton had been Frank Sinatra! Charlie buried her head in her hands. She had ruffled his hair! Arghhh!

  She heard Melvin roll his chair over towards her, and felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry babe. I was about to tell you that you’d already met Mr M last night, but… sorry, doll. What happened?’ he asked.

  Charlie shook her head that was still in her hands, and muttered, ‘Don’t want to talk about it. Too embarrassing.’

  ‘Babe?’ Melvin lifted a mop of her hair so he could peer into her face. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Oh, Melly.’ She looked up. ‘He saw my nipple!’

  The rest of the day passed with the usual activities of office life. Charlie sped through her work, keeping a watchful eye out for Mr Middleton. She planned to dive beneath her desk if she saw him. The morning’s meeting with him seemed to have burnt into her brain. His Frank Sinatra suit hadn’t been a fancy dress. He dressed like that ordinarily and wore his hair forties style. Thank goodness he hadn’t seemed to recognise her. That would have been awful.

  She cringed when she remembered how she’d ruffled his hair and asked if his bow tie spun. What a stupid thing to say! And all with one boob hanging out! Thank God for her Spice Girl disguise, but damn… even if he didn’t recognise her, she still made a hash of introducing herself. Why didn’t she enter his office more carefully, instead of barging in and practically dismantling his desk? Why’d she try to guess his name? She groaned.

  Melvin brought over a cup of coffee from the vending machine.

  ‘You’re not rushing home after work, are you, babes? I
’m being wined, dined and theatred at the weekend and I want your help in choosing me something suitable to wear.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ Faye swivelled round on her chair. ‘Charlie can barely dress herself. It’d be like pissing on a bonfire!’

  Ah, it was so good to have the old Faye back. Her ‘niceness’ since Andy broke up with her was becoming irritating. ‘At least I do dress myself. Who dressed you this morning? Some guy you picked up at last night’s bar?’

  Faye gave a wounded gasp. ‘You – you bitch! I’m classically dressed,’ she looked down at her tight fitting dress, the zipper resting smugly against her straining breasts. Then she looked up at Charlie and with a curl of her lip said, ‘Hang on a minute – are you calling me a slag?’

  Charlie calmly sipped her coffee; her eyes met those of Melvin’s over the rim. She was laughing. ‘Honey,’ she said to Faye, ‘if you can’t take it, don’t dish it!’

  ‘Well said,’ came a deep voice from behind.

  All three swung round. Ben Middleton was on the point of leaving the office, judging by his coat that hung over his arm, files and laptop in the other.

  He nodded to them, but on leaving, Charlie caught his eye and for a moment, their gaze held. Her entire body filled with warmth, and her breath became trapped in her lungs and even though it must’ve only been a mere second since their eyes locked, to Charlie it seemed like hours. His chocolate eyes melted into hers, and Charlie could almost see the electricity that held them. But then the moment was gone, and so had Mr Middleton, and Charlie was left staring at the door, feeling confused.

  ‘He’d be good looking if he didn’t dress so nerdy,’ Melvin said regretfully. ‘He needs a stylist.’

  ‘Are you going to offer yourself for the job?’ Faye teased, her anger as usual never lasting for long.

  Charlie glanced up at the door where Mr Middleton had been, and in her mind’s eye she could still see him standing there. She fanned herself with both hands, and tried to mentally picture Andy but somehow he had chocolate eyes and neatly combed brown hair instead bottle blond spiky hair.

  ‘He’s not my choice of beverage,’ said Melvin. ‘You fancy a shot, don’t you Faye? I can tell.’ Melvin turned to Charlie. ‘What about you? I thought you were going to throw yourself under your desk if he came in?’

  Charlie gaped at him, wondering where her voice had gone.

  ‘Not for me. Anyway,’ Faye said. She stood up and with a hand on one hip, she sauntered over to Melvin. ‘I like my men pretty looking. A bit like you,’ she drawled. Her lips formed into a pout and she looked Melvin up and down.

  Melvin preened beneath her flirtation. ‘Princess, you can thrust your melons at me all you like, but I’m afraid I’m as bent as a Curly Wurly.’

  ‘What about you Charlie, do you fancy Middleton? I saw the way you both were looking at one another.’

  Charlie flushed hotter, took a sip of her drink too quickly, and coughed. ‘Of course I don’t fancy him!’ she said hoarsely. ‘What a stupid idea.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Faye said, drumming her chin with her fingers theatrically, ‘but I saw! You see it too, Melly?’

  He shook his head, looking baffled. ‘Charlie and Sir? Are you mad?’ He glanced at Charlie and said, ‘No offence, babe.’

  Charlie continued to sip her drink, trying to hide her rosy cheeks behind her cup and wondered just what had passed between her and Mr Middleton?

  SIXTEEN

  It was when she plumped up the cushions for the fourth time that she decided she would go out for more research on the prostitutes. She grinned, brightening as a plan pinged in her mind. ‘I’ll approach it differently this time,’ she said aloud, feeling ingenious. ‘And I’ll be a hooker for the evening. I’ll get information undercover!’

  She rubbed her hands together, warming to her plan and picturing Melvin’s face when a publishing house took on her book and elevated her up the best-selling list. She would be sending Fanny to the canteen for her lunch and not vice versa; she imagined sending him for lattes and Sushi as Mr Middleton looked on in admiration.

  ‘Obviously I won’t be sleeping with the clients, unless Orlando Bloom or Will Smith pulls up, but that’s not very likely. Hell, I’d settle for Terry Wogan at this rate! Hmmm what to wear…’ and she danced off towards her bedroom and pulled out a pair of stockings and a red garter from her drawer while humming to herself. In her over enthusiastic mind the dangers she might encounter were completely submerged.

  On nights out makeup was usually just a slick of lip gloss, and so the hunt was on for her makeup bag which contained cosmetics not worn since her schooldays, unless you included the hideous occasion where she embarrassed herself in front of Mr Middleton at the fancy dress party. She found it after turning her bedroom and bathroom upside down, and emptied the contents in the bathroom sink.

  She picked up a red lipstick and pulled off the gold lid. Before the sensible side of her talked her out of her mad plan she applied the lipstick to her mouth. Smacking her lips together she looked at herself critically in the mirror. It was amazing how a little makeup changed your face. She wiped it off and set about making up her face properly using foundation, lip liner and black kohl to line her eyes. She viewed herself in the mirror again: sparkly purple eyeshadow, pillar-box red lips and cheeks. Her makeup would match her red mini skirt and garter that she’d planned to wear.

  She wrinkled up her nose in the mirror, saying with a grin, ‘Oh, I’m such a slapper!’

  She straightened her hair and added the blond hair extensions she had used at the disastrous party, only this time she used all she had instead of just a few. When she’d finished she looked like a blonde bombshell from a 1980s budget movie.

  ‘Goodbye Wallis,’ she told her reflection, ‘Hello Charlotte.’

  *

  Charlie slowed to a saunter on reaching the red-light area. She itched to pull her red mini down over the tops of her stockings, but resisted. Keeping close to the kerb and fixing a smile to her face she walked slowly along the pavement – had to walk slowly. It was a wonder she was walking at all in the four-inch red stilettos. She’d bought them in a sale a year ago and they’d never been worn until now. She wondered how Victoria Beckham coped with heels; she wondered about David Beckham…

  A woman in the distance was leaning against a lamppost, puffing on a cigarette, and Charlie headed towards her. The woman watched her approach, and as she drew near said, ‘Bloody cold, ain’t it?’

  Charlie couldn’t disagree. Already her feet were numb, although she couldn’t be sure if that was the style of the shoes. ‘Been here long?’ Charlie asked. ‘I’ve just started my shift.’

  ‘Shift?’ The girl laughed. ‘Never heard it called that before. I’ve been ‘ere a couple of hours. Had two shags and made fifty quid. I might go soon.’

  Charlie slipped her hand unseen into her bag and clicked on her tape machine, carefully aligning the microphone so it would catch the girl’s words but still remain invisible.

  ‘I suppose the cold must be a problem standing out in all weathers. How long do you normally stay out?’

  ‘Depends on how well I do. But it ain’t the cold, it’s that posh twat driving around and getting off on abducting us. T’ain’t worth it.’

  ‘I think the police are onto him.’

  She snorted. ‘The police are probably loving him. He’s helping them keep us off the streets after all. They call him The Gentleman Abductor because he’s posh apparently. Probably stabs you with a diamond encrusted knife or something,’ she muttered and took a deep drag from her cigarette.

  This undercover interviewing malarkey wasn’t as easy as it looked. She wanted to talk about pricings, punters, sexual positions ... well maybe not that, but things that a prostitute got up to in the evenings.

  ‘My name’s Jan, by the way.’ She stuck out a hand and Charlie was forced to drop the microphone to take it. ‘Sorry ‘bout me going off on one. He’s got me spooked, I guess.’

  ‘I’
m Charlotte,’ she said. ‘I think he’s got us all spooked.’ The girl didn’t look very old. Probably in her late teens. ‘You look very young to be out here doing this,’ she fenced.

  ‘I’m seventeen,’ she said without blinking.

  ‘Jesus – seventeen? The only things on your mind should be boyfriends and spots – Christ – seventeen!’

  The girl chuckled at Charlie’s horror. ‘Been doing it since I was fourteen. Best job I’ll ever have. I bet I’ll be able to retire in two years,’ she said.

  Watching the women from a café window was certainly different from actually meeting them. Charlie was scared for Jan. She was a vulnerable girl, who was clearly over confident or stupid or both.

  ‘If you’re still alive. Can I give you some advice?’ At Jan’s noncommittal shrug, Charlie went on, ‘Do not get into punters’ cars, and do not take them back to your house.’

  Jan laughed again. ‘I’ll not do it in some back alley like an animal. I’m all right,’ she said and tapped her nose, ‘I can smell danger.

  ‘You’re new at this, aren’t you? C’mon,’ Jan said and hooked an arm through Charlie’s. ‘Let me introduce you around. Networking it’s called, and the more people you know in this game the better you’ll do.’

  Charlie had to bite her tongue. Networking whores? Do they have conference meetings and team building conventions too? Anyway, wasn’t networking to do with the Internet?

  ‘Just one thing, though,’ whispered Jan as they approached two chatting women, ‘go it alone.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Jan touched her finger to her lips then whispered, ‘No pimp.’ She turned to the two women. ‘This is Sally and Max.’

  They eyed Charlie up and down and looked at each other askance and smirked. Charlie didn’t know whether to feel insulted or amused.

  ‘This is Charlotte,’ Jan said. ‘She’s new to the game…’ Jan laughed at her unintended pun.