You Fit the Pattern

by Jane Haseldine

  Charlotte looked down at her hands and accepted the fact that she had become a follower. She knew the competitiveness among the parents about their kids’ sports, grades, and extracurricular activities was getting out of hand. For her son Steven’s sake, she should speak up. But if she didn’t go along with the pack, she might run the risk of no longer being part of it.

  That’s why Charlotte liked Julia. Her new friend wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and didn’t care what people thought of her.

  Charlotte got out of her car when a moment of clarity hit. Women, no matter what role they chose, would be judged. And the cruelest reviews would come from each other.

  Two women about her age passed by and Charlotte lowered her head, not wanting to make eye contact, lest they start judging her, ranking her looks, clothes, and body on a scale of one to ten. Whether they critiqued Charlotte aloud or silently in their heads, it was all the same. Charlotte turned onto The BELT alleyway and knew she was just as guilty for picking apart other women’s faults and vulnerabilities at times, probably in an attempt to prop up her own self.

  At thirty-five, Charlotte had lived long enough to realize women could be each other’s greatest soul sisters. But just as quickly, some could turn into ravenous vultures, ready to eat their own alive.

  A painful memory surfaced that summed up everything she had become. Charlotte felt her throat tighten as she pictured the event so vividly, it was like she was a poor, unpopular misfit again, hoping to God someone would notice her for being anything other than a loser.

  There she was again, eleven years old, on a class field trip to Lake Michigan. Right before the students boarded the school bus home, the boys began to chase the girls on the beach. Charlotte recalled the strange and wonderful sense of belonging she felt, running with the pack of fifth-grade girls, laughing amidst their collective squeals of protest. For once, Charlotte didn’t feel stupid in the church hand-me-downs she wore, since her single mother couldn’t afford much else on her Dollar Store cashier’s paycheck.

  That fleeting moment of childhood joy was snatched away by a female classmate looking for a chance to be cruel. The girl had grabbed Charlotte by the arm, her mouth a tight little bow as she told Charlotte she didn’t need to run because no boys were chasing her.

  She had stopped to find out if the girl was telling the truth. After standing for a minute like a statue, unmoving and unwanted in the sand, not one single boy had even attempted to chase her. In that moment, Charlotte could’ve disappeared, and no one would have even noticed.

  Charlotte tried to take hollow comfort in the fact that she was part of the in crowd now. A cool girl.

  And the boys always loved the cool girls the best.

  Charlotte spotted the landmark of where she was supposed to wait for Sophiah: a giant white mural of a man’s face on a distressed brick wall next to the bar. She was right on time, but, of course, her friend would be fashionably late. Charlotte thought about going inside, but she hated being alone as a single woman in a bar. She could pretend to watch what was on the TV or act like she was engrossed with something on her phone, but the entire time, she’d feel like she was being sized up as a woman wanting to get lucky or a desperate loser. She always admired the single women she saw reading a book on their Kindle while they were at a table for one, dining alone in a restaurant. Just a woman alone, with a book, and feeling no shame about it.

  She felt silly, standing by herself waiting. She considered pulling the plug on her plans and instead calling Julia to see if she could bring over a bottle of wine or watch her boys while Julia unpacked in her new place. But Charlotte wasn’t one to break plans. She’d have just one drink and then check in with Julia to see if she could help. That would be the right thing to do.

  Charlotte lifted the lapels of her coat up around her neck and caught a sideways glance of a nice-looking, tall man with sandy-blond hair walking out of the bar.

  The man turned in her direction and seemed to look through Charlotte, until his eyes focused on her face in vague recognition.

  “Hi. I think I know you. Hold on, don’t tell me. Your name is on the tip of my tongue. It’s . . .”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Charlotte. That’s right. Sorry, I forgot. But I definitely remember your face. A face that lovely would be impossible to forget.”

  “I know who you are. And it sounds like you’re trying to flirt with me. Aren’t you married?” Charlotte asked, and looked down at his empty ring finger for confirmation.

  “I was. Wait. That’s not exactly true. To be technically correct on the verb tense, I’m still married, but I’m going through a divorce. No need to bring out the tiny violins, we’re both okay. What is it the celebrities say when they break up? ‘We’ll always be friends and have the greatest respect for each other’? I know. Major eye roll. But in my case, it’s true. My ex and I got married too young and people change. I’m sorry. Too much information, right?”

  Charlotte heard her cell phone chime and took a quick look at her incoming text message from Sophiah.

  “Damn.”

  “Bad news?” the man asked.

  “The friend I’m waiting for, she has a flat tire. She just called AAA. She’s going to be late.”

  “Sorry, but her bad luck may be your good luck. The Standby is packed. There’s a place around the corner, Vincent’s, that has much better food and it’s not going to cost you fifty dollars for a minuscule appetizer and a drink. I hear they’ve got a good band tonight. Tell you what. I’m willing to fall on the sword and have one more cocktail for a beautiful woman. How about you do me the honor to be your in-between guy while you wait for your friend? It’s not like I’m a complete stranger.”

  “I’m not familiar with Vincent’s, but thanks anyway.”

  “Come on. The night’s young. I swear I’ll keep my hands to myself and then deliver you right back to this spot when we’re done. I promise I won’t be the weird, creepy guy who spends the whole time talking about his ex. One drink. What do you say?”

  A warm, engaging smile spread across his face and Charlotte made her decision. After all, it’s not like it would kill her to have one drink with a handsome man.

  “Okay. But just so you understand, I don’t blow my girlfriends off, no matter how cute the guy is. One drink and then I’m back here, holding up the side of this bar until my friend shows up.”

  “I promise I’ll return you back to this very spot before your carriage turns into a pumpkin.”

  “Where’s Vincent’s? It must be new.”

  “I think it’s been open for about a month. The Freep reviewed it a couple of weeks ago and made it sound like the next big hot spot in Detroit. It’s just a five-minute walk down Library to a side street. And Charlotte . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m really glad I ran into you again.”

  Charlotte felt herself smiling as the man locked his arm around hers and led her toward the street.

  “Sorry you’re going through a divorce. If you need any pointers, mine was a year ago,” Charlotte said.

  “I knew you were a woman of vast knowledge. But I made a promise, and I’m not talking about my ex. I wish her well, but we’ll leave it at that.”

  “You’re a gentleman. I couldn’t say the same thing about mine. But I don’t want to be the creepy girl who talks trash about her ex the whole night.”

  “So we’re both in competition now, trying not to horrify each other.”

  “Maybe we could teach a class to help the newly separated or recently divorced,” Charlotte said. “We could call it ‘The Top Ten Taboo Topics On A First Date.’”

  “Our own survival guide to being newly single. I love it. Okay, so my top ten would have to include no talking about religion, politics, or why you’re so screwed up because you think your mom didn’t love you enough.”

  “That’s a good start, but we also have to have no talking about health problems, medications you’re on, and absolutely no talk abou
t sex,” Charlotte said. “No preferred positions, past experiences, and definitely no idle chat about deviant behavior. You know I had a date once—”

  “You’re about to violate one of our first-date commandments.”

  “This isn’t a first date, but I see where you’re going with this, so I’ll shut it down. Where is Vincent’s again? I feel like you’re taking me to no-man’s-land.”

  “It’s just another few blocks. I think the owners of the bar wanted to be understated cool. It looks like a hole-in-the-wall from the outside, but I promise, it’s urbane and hip and filled with beautiful people, if you like that sort of thing. I think you do.”

  The two hooked onto Library Street and walked down two blocks until they reached another alley.

  “Charlotte, I need to confess something.”

  “Do I need to be scared here?”

  “I hope not. I think you’re lovely.”

  “Thank you. But just so there aren’t any misconceptions, I’m going home to my own bed tonight. Alone.”

  “Of course,” the man said, and leaned in so close, Charlotte was sure he was going to kiss her. “You need to get up early to go running.”

  Charlotte stopped and took a step back, trying to figure out how the man she barely knew had intimate knowledge about her personal schedule.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because it’s the weekend. You run at the RiverWalk every Saturday and Sunday mornings at seven. You usually park on the second floor of the Port Atwater Parking garage. Spot G-Four, Level Two, when you can get it. You’re a creature of habit, Charlotte. That’s not always a good thing.”

  Charlotte felt outside of her body and tried to keep her expression even, thinking, if she acted like everything was normal and played along, maybe she could get away.

  “You must run at the RiverWalk the same time I do,” Charlotte said, trying to retain her cool, but she heard a tremor in her voice. “You know, I should probably head back. There’s another girl in our group who’s supposed to meet us, and I don’t want to leave her all alone. I totally forgot she was coming.”

  “Oh, Charlotte. You poor thing. I know you’re lying. You’re just not that smart. You’re nice enough and very pretty, but you’re like an unfinished paper doll with only half a brain.”

  The Magic Man Killer took a quick glance over his shoulder to the empty street, gave Charlotte a hard shove into the alleyway, and sealed his hand around her mouth.

  Charlotte felt something sharp press against her spine and her scream got muffled against the killer’s clamped fingers over her lips.

  “You make bad decisions, Charlotte. You shouldn’t go places with a man you barely know.”

  Charlotte started to cry as the killer pushed her forward, deeper into the alley. When her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, Charlotte could make out the lines of a car parked at the end next to a Dumpster.

  “It’s your turn now, Charlotte,” the man said, and began to whisper in her ear: “ ‘Hold me close and hold me fast . . . The magic spell you cast . . .’”

  The Magic Man Killer continued to hum the song, all the while pressing Charlotte farther and farther into the alleyway, until they reached the rear of the vehicle.

  “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth now. If you scream, I’ll kill you right here. Do you understand?”

  Charlotte moaned when the Magic Man Killer pushed the knife harder against her back.

  “I asked you a simple question. Do you understand?”

  Charlotte nodded her head, her mind frantically trying to come up with an escape plan.

  The Magic Man Killer released his hand from Charlotte’s mouth and then jerked both her arms behind her back. Charlotte felt pieces of hard plastic latch around her wrists and then fasten so tightly, it made her skin burn and started to cut off her circulation, causing pins and needles to shoot up her palms and fingertips.

  “That hurts. Please!” Charlotte begged.

  The man popped open the trunk, and Charlotte knew if she went inside, she’d never have a chance.

  Charlotte felt completely helpless until her cell phone rang in her purse. Sophiah had to be at the bar, and when she didn’t see Charlotte, she’d know something was wrong.

  The killer grabbed Charlotte’s bag from her shoulder and dug inside. He retrieved the phone and studied the incoming caller ID.

  “Julia Gooden. Two minutes too late. I win this time,” he said, and tossed the cell phone and Charlotte’s bag to the ground.

  “Why are you doing this?” Charlotte cried.

  “For her. Everything is for her. And for me, too. She’s going to make me famous,” he said, and then pointed to the tight confines of the open trunk. “Come on. Get in. We’re going to take a little ride.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Julia pulled into the loading dock of the Sugar House and jerked her SUV to a stop. After she got her boys and Helen safely situated in the new apartment, she snuck out the front door while the patrol officer who was assigned to watch her family made a brief pit stop in the bathroom. She wasn’t trying to give the officer a hard time, since she knew Navarro had laid down the hammer and dictated strict instructions to the officer to make sure Julia stayed put for the night.

  But right now, that was something she surely couldn’t do.

  From experience, Julia knew the police had already gone to the bar, Charlotte’s home, and were now trying to track down her last-known whereabouts through Charlotte’s friends and family. Julia didn’t know if she could do any more than the police had at this point, but she couldn’t sit idly by in the apartment, knowing she was probably the reason Charlotte was in the crosshairs of MMK.

  Julia felt something slippery and cold stir through her soul as she did a silent inventory of her faults and the mess that she had likely created. Julia accepted the fact that she was stubborn, and driven, and relentless, when it came to finding out the truth. It was a trait that served her well as a reporter, but she had let it trickle into her personal life, putting herself, and now her friend, at risk.

  “Hey, lady. You can’t park there,” a man in a stained white apron said.

  “It’s an emergency. I’ll be in and out. I doubt you’re going to have any deliveries this time of night, so ten or fifteen minutes is all I need. Thank you for understanding.”

  Julia didn’t wait for the man to respond and entered the employees-only back entrance of the bar, which she quickly discovered led directly into the kitchen. Julia hurried past a sauté cook who had two plump crab cakes sizzling in a giant pan, and made it to the door to the dining room when a large hand grabbed her by the elbow.

  “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t be in here,” a man with a heavy beard and a chef’s coat said.

  “Sorry. My mistake. I was just taking a shortcut,” Julia said, and followed a waiter into the dining room, which appeared to be at peak Friday-night capacity. Julia pushed her way to the front, where a thirty-something man, who looked like he should be on the cover of GQ, was tending bar.

  “Excuse me,” Julia yelled through the din. “I’m looking for somebody. Have you seen this woman? Her name is Charlotte Fisher. She’s in trouble.”

  Julia shoved her phone in front of the bartender. On the screen was a picture of Charlotte that Julia had found on her friend’s florist website.

  The bartender barely gave it a glance and pulled a frozen martini glass out from a cooler. He then added a shot of vodka, a splash of vermouth, and a trickle of olive juice into a cocktail shaker. He lifted the shaker up, way above his head for what looked to Julia like dramatic effect, but Julia grabbed his wrist as hard as she could and wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m talking to you. A woman’s in trouble.”

  “Then call the police. They were here about an hour ago, asking the same question. The other bartender called in sick, and I’ve got a line twenty people deep on both sides of the bar who want a drink.”

  Julia reached into her wallet and handed the b
artender a fifty-dollar bill. “That should buy me two minutes. Have you seen this woman here tonight? Yes or no?”

  The bartender took a brief look again at the picture of Charlotte and then went back to shaking his dirty martini and slid the liquid into the frosted glass.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen her, but not tonight. She’s a regular. I think the last time I saw her was a couple of nights ago with some other chick. The woman in the picture was nice. Her friend was a bitch, a dyed peroxide blonde with fake tits. But a lot of guys around here, they like that type.”

  “Are you sure she wasn’t here tonight?”

  “I can’t be positive. But usually, she hangs out at the bar. You know I forgot to mention this to the cops. Your fifty probably helped, but the other night, she was here talking to a guy. It was Tuesday, so it was slow. I like to people-watch to kill the time.”

  “Who was the man?”

  “I don’t know. I’d never seen him in here before. He was older. I’d say early or midforties. Good-looking. But that describes three-quarters of the male customers who come here. We usually get a professional crowd.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Pretty boy in a suit, who looked like he had a manicure. Light brown hair, maybe. I remember he was hanging at the bar before he got a table and pulled out a pager. I haven’t seen one of those things since high school. I gave him shit about it, and he said he needed the pager for his job. He said something about how he’d pay more attention to his pager than a text because he’d know it was important. Your two minutes is up. Do you want a drink?”

  “No. If you see the woman in the picture, call me right away. I’ll double what I just paid you,” Julia said, and handed the bartender one of her business cards. “It doesn’t matter how late it is.”

  “No problem. But with all due respect, you’re kind of pushy.”

  “I know. It’s a character flaw I can’t seem to get rid of. What’s your name?”

  “Brad. Brad Jenkins.”

  “All right, Brad Jenkins. You have the chance to do the right thing if you see my friend or hear anything that gives you pause. If you decide that you’re too busy and don’t call me, trust me, I’ll find out and come back for you. And you’re not going to like that. Are we clear?”