charles
Charles
This continues the “nowhere” story
The club front pulsed with activity seventy feet away, a crush of people waiting to get in and photographers waiting for someone important to come out. It was darker where Leigh was pacing and waiting for her Uber. There was a thick, dark mat of cloud that seemed to absorb the glow of a streetlight 30 feet further down on the corner.
A pair of strangers walked by, men, who eyed her, evaluated her, commented about her, as they slowly passed. She felt very visible, as a zebra might, if deprived of cover. She studied her Uber app, to look like she was doing something important - it estimated her ride would arrive in five minutes.
She heard a muscle car gun its engine, a deep, angry gurgling cry, like a caged lion’s roar to be released. There was something deeply reassuring in that deep growl - She knew that sound - it was Charles.
As he rolled to the curb, the electric window rolled down. He scrutinized her for any visible change. She’d already decided she wouldn’t tell him about her somewhat terrifying adventure, her dark night in the forest, which like any good storybook heroine, she’d managed to survive.
Charles was her lifelong security man. He’s been at her side since she was 12, old enough to go places “alone.” She’d introduce him as her escort or driver if asked, but he’s more of an uncle, a best friend. She’s not supposed to go anywhere without him.
Charles is an ex-marine and ex-New-York-City-cop. Her Grand-mère (Grandmother) pays for him to “keep my darling safe,” she says. Charles knows almost all of her secrets - you treat people differently when they know your secrets.
Over the years, if she was at a friend's house, for a sleepover, Charles was somewhere outside, all night, watching. He has drones, cameras and although he introduces himself to the parents hosting these events, he’s something of a ninja at prowling dark perimeters.
She’s sure he’s watched her make out at parties - from a distance, probably with military-grade night-vision binoculars - but if so, they’ve never talked about it. He’s like a priest, sworn to secrecy. “I can’t look after her if she doesn’t trust me,” she’d heard him tell her mom once, when she’d asked about Leigh looking a bit disheveled.
If Leigh goes out on the lake to ski, Charles drives the boat. If she decides to sleep on the boat, Charles sleeps on the boat. When she went roller skating with her girl scout troop, he was there, somewhere. When she started dating guys who could drive, he would follow in a car behind.
Once, Tommy Sinclair had the bright idea to lose him - she TOLD him not to - but he did. A couple of minutes later the blue lights of a patrol car brought their flight of freedom to an end. The cop took Tom’s drivers license and said, “Wait here,” then held them for thirty minutes, until Charles rolled up in his Mustang, waved, and they were allowed to leave.
Charles knows every patrolman, detective, trooper and civil servant on earth, or seems too. Maybe there’s a secret fraternity, with a handshake. Leigh was pretty sure Charles stopped for donuts before having them set free - just in time for her to make curfew - lesson learned.
The passenger door thumped to unlock, he lowered his head so Leigh could see his face, “Come on,” he said. In the moment she first saw his flat black, stealth-like Mustang round the corner, she’d cancelled her Uber and pocketed her phone. She was collected, in a way, returned home after an unnerving separation.
Ordinarily, Charles had a Nietzsche-like, simple acceptance of her doings - seemingly without judgement. Normally, Charles only spoke when absolutely necessary, generally he just hovered stone-faced in her vicinity. Now his silence was different.
Charles pulled into traffic.He was too relieved to be angry, and too angry to be relieved. They didn’t speak.
The windows were open and her hair went wild as the Mustang screamed onto the expressway. Beneath her relief she knew Charles would need an explanation but for the moment all she could think about was Leonardo. How he’d pinned her against the wall with his gaze, how he’d asked, “Who are you?”
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