Charly's Epic Fiascos (16 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Charly's Epic Fiascos
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22
C
harly sat in a restaurant across the street from the bus station. Her luggage was in the booth next to her, and Marlow was under the table, asleep in a bag. Her eyes shifted from the big window facing the street to the restaurant customers and employees. She was trying to spot Pee-Wee before Pee-Wee saw her, but it was proving useless. Either the sidewalk in front of the station was too crowded or traffic was too busy for her to see. Still, though, Charly was going to wait her out. She had to see what Pee-Wee was up to, if anything, and she wasn't certain that Nicole wasn't behind the call.
“All you gon' have is water?” a waitress asked in a dry tone, her eyes on an order pad.
Charly looked at the girl, who couldn't have been any older than she. She took her in part by part, starting with her feet. The girl's shoes were dirty, tights too big, and her skirt and sleeves of her blouse had seen better days. Even though the girl was wearing an apron, Charly could tell her shirt was a mess. Charly bobbed her head. Someone had turned on the music, and it was a song that she knew. An old Chaka Khan hit that DJ used to spin at Smax's. For a second she warmed, thinking about her older friends from home. Wow, she missed them. Smax and his finger waves, Bathsheba and her always pinning money to bras, Rudy-Rudy Double-Duty and his no one can cut corn muffins like you, and Dr. Deveraux El and all his knowledge. Yes, Charly missed them all, but she'd see them when she went back to get Stormy.
“So?” the waitress said, tapping her dirty shoe on the linoleum.
Charly looked at the girl's neck. Ropes and ropes of gold necklaces hung there, way too gaudy for her uniform. Her eyes went up, and she wished she hadn't looked so closely. The girl's hair was awful. Barely able to be pulled back in the ponytail the girl unsuccessfully tried to wear, it jutted here and there, sticking out, haphazardly through a torn hairnet. “You hear that?”
The girl finally looked up from the order pad. “What?”
Charly smiled. “The music.”
“Oh, you mean that old mess. I keep telling 'em don't nobody wanna hear that.” She looked back down to the pad in her hand. “So, what'chu want?”
Charly didn't know why she did it, but she did. She grabbed the girl's hand. “Listen. If you want to make more money at what you do, I need you to look at me when you talk to me. Be polite . . . even if you have to pretend.”
The girl stiffened, then snatched her hand away. “Put your hands on me again, and see what happens. I don't go that way.”
Charly's eyes looked at the clock on the wall. She still had fifteen minutes before Pee-Wee was to arrive across the street. She turned her attention back to the girl. She laughed, shaking her head. “Trust me, sweetie. I don't go that way either, and if I did, it wouldn't be you. Not looking like that.”
The girl's eyes turned into saucers and her neck snaked. “What?” she asked, dropping the pad to her side. An incredulous look came over her face. “What did you just say?”
Charly, more daring than ever, slid out of the booth. She'd been through so much, and had suffered so much disappointment that she'd learned to expect the worst, and had even prepared for it. She no longer cared. She didn't consider herself crass, just honest. But she was never above helping people, no matter what she'd had to endure. And this waitress needed help. “I said you look a mess.” She held up her hands as if surrendering. “I'm not trying to offend you.”
“Somebody needs to tell her,” another waitress said. The lady was older, around Bathsheba's age, Charly guessed. “These youngins don't know no better 'cause they don't care.” She straightened the condiments on another table.
The girl rolled her eyes at the elder waitress. Then she sucked her teeth. “And who are you to tell me anything?” she said to Charly.
Charly perked, and bobbed her head harder as Mary J. Blige's new remake of Chaka Khan's song filled the air. A thick baseline was underneath, making even the elder waitress tap her feet. “I'm Charly. Charly St. James, television star and waitress of the year, three years in a row,” she announced, as if it meant anything. She was the only waitress at Smax's who wasn't related to the owners, so she was the only one who qualified to win. Still though, it meant a lot to her.
The girl looked down at Charly's feet. “How are you going to tell me what's wrong with my clothes when you're wearing brown combat boots with red laces? That don't even match.”
Charly nodded, then shook her head. “Chocolate. My boots are chocolate. It's all about perception.”
“And black striped tights?” the girl asked, eyeing Charly's wide-striped tights.
“Funky. They're absolutely funky,” Charly said. “Everything doesn't have to be color-coordinated. Totally matching everything, now that's outdated. Okay? It's okay to be yourself. I'm always myself. Loosen up.” She grabbed the girl by the shoulders and moved them up and down. She smiled, then laughed hard and long, still bouncing to the music.
The young waitress finally broke, and a smile widened her face. “You know you were about two seconds from catching a beat-down.”
Charly shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. There's a lot more to me than meets the eye, so you never know who you're gonna get if you mess with me. And I can tell there's a lot more to you too. Let me give you the game on how to make money in this joint,” Charly began, then gave the young waitress the rundown on how to be the best waitress on the planet.
“So, I should dress up? You mean like Halloween?” Her elbows rested on the table now, but she was still standing.
“Yes and no. If Halloween is your thing, yes. If it isn't, no. But fit the atmosphere, make yourself a theme. And don't ever ask a customer ‘what'chu want' again . . . unless you don't want tips.” Marlow shifted in the bag underneath the booth, and caught both Charly and the waitress's attention. Charly held up a finger to her mouth, then mouthed,
Please, don't tell.
The waitress raised her brows. “What's that?”
Marlow's head pushed out of the top of the bag, and the girl's eyes widened in fear. “Don't be scared. She's not gonna do anything to you. She's barely three pounds.”
“Okay,” the waitress calmed herself. “I won't say anything. So, Charly . . . what can I get you on this fabulous day?” she asked, a huge smile on her face.
“Very good. But I only want water.” She shrugged. “Me and my puppy here are going to New York, and I don't have money to waste,” she said, but thought,
I'm broke
. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, pulling her attention. “One sec,” she said to the waitress. Her eyes shifted to the clock on the wall. She had to go. “Hello,” she answered Pee-Wee's call.
“I'm almost there,” Pee-Wee said. “Meet me in the waiting area by the second set of buses. It's just past a store. . . .” Pee-Wee began rattling directions that made no sense.
“Hold on, Pee-Wee. Let me write this down. You're confusing me.” Charly picked up her bag off the floor, trying to keep Marlow out of view of customers and employees, and rifled for paper. She took out her wallet, the Android box, and makeup bag. Finally, she saw something she could write on. Nodding her head, she took down Pee-Wee's directions. “I'm there. I'll meet you in ten.” She disconnected Pee-Wee's call, then automatically shot a group text to Stormy, Lola, and Mason, alerting them to her next move. She'd made it a habit to keep them updated. “Done! Sorry. Where were we?” she asked the waitress.
The girl's mouth was on the floor. “Is that the new Android? The one they're calling the Ultra?”
Charly looked at the purse's contents sitting on her lap. Immediately, she began returning things to the bag. She took the Ultra Android box, held it up to her face, then nodded. “Yes.”
“But it's not out yet. I've been scouring the Internet looking for it. Saving my money up for it, and they won't even let me preorder it. No preorders until next week, I think.” The girl was sitting across from Charly now.
Charly tilted her head. “Really?” She felt the girl's excitement, and knew what she was feeling. She'd been in her shoes, wanting and saving for something, dreaming about it and working for it. “How much is it retailing for? I mean, I know. I'm just curious what the stores are telling you. You know most people can't be trusted,” she added, not wanting the girl to be able to one-up her.
“Four-forty-nine with a contract. Seven without. It'll drop after a couple of months, but you already know that,” the girl said as if neither price was too high.
“So you're going to wait for it to drop?” Charly asked, knowing the girl's answer would be a direct no. “I mean . . . are you old enough to enter a contract?”
The girl shook her head, and a look of defeat covered her face. “I'm still trying to talk my mom into putting me on her plan. She won't do it, though. I know she won't. So, I've been saving to straight-out buy it. I won't be tied to a contract that way, and can pay month to month.”
A huge smile spread Charly's lips. “If you can pay for it today. I'll let you have it for five hundred.” She proffered her hand over the table, waiting for the waitress to shake it.
23
P
ee-Wee had a suitcase in one hand and Petey in the other. Charly's eyes widened. She hadn't expected Pee-Wee to be traveling too, but decided to act like she didn't notice. She couldn't be responsible for anyone else. Getting herself and Marlow to New York was enough worry as it was.
“Hi, Pee-Wee,” Charly said, approaching her. She wheeled her bags close to her body so she could keep an eye on Marlow, who she'd put in the carrier.
Pee-Wee stood up and smiled. “Charly!” She let go of her suitcase long enough to give Charly a gentle hug. “I'm so glad to see you.”
Charly nodded, her brows high in an okay-for-hugging-me-and-I-don't-really-know-you look. She looked around, a little paranoid, then finally sat. “What's up, Pee-Wee? What can I do for you? And what did you want to warn me about?”
Pee-Wee sat next to her and leaned toward her. “Well, it's about Nicole.”
Charly nodded. “I got that on the phone. What is it?”
Pee-Wee looked around, more paranoid than Charly had been. She cut her eyes back to Charly. “You promise not to say anything? I mean nothing. I could get hurt for this.”
Charly sensed Pee-Wee was being honest. She was just too scared to be dishonest. She nodded.
“Well, you know the mean girl on the porch. You remember her? The one you were gonna fight?” she blurted in one long breath, then inhaled.
Charly nodded. She had nothing to say. She was here to listen. Listen, then get on a bus to New York. That was it, she had to remind herself.
“Well, that girl works for Nicole. She used to go to stores to check on accounts, to see what people in the community needed. Then she went to schools in a rundown district to see what kind of books they needed. After that, it was clothes, jewelry. You name it.” Pee-Wee looked intently into Charly's eyes while she spoke, pausing in just the right places. All Charly could do was nod. “Well, Nicole was roping her in. She gave her everything, material stuff. And the girl was it. I mean I-T it, but then she had to pay Nicole back for all the things she bought and gave her, and the girl never made money because Nicole only paid her in merchandise and room and board. Long story short, Nicole put her on the row.”
Charly reared back her head. “The row. I heard Nicole mention that. What is that?” she broke her silence.
Pee-Wee laughed in disbelief. “I guess you ain't from around here. Think streetwalkers. Nicole takes runaways, homeless teens—people who don't have anyone else, and she does them wrong. She has money, people who'll do stuff for her. . . .” Pee-Wee gulped. “That's why I just left. I'm moving to Philly.”
Charly tilted her head. “What do you mean that's why you left. Nicole did something to you?”
Pee-Wee smiled, then waved a bus ticket in Charly's face. “Because of this, no. But she planned to. She dropped by the other day and asked if I wanted to help her build people and the community. Said all I had to do was find out what people needed so her charity could give it.”
Charly nodded, then got up from her seat. “Good for you, Pee-Wee. Go to Philly. Go somewhere.” She paused, then remembered what Pee-Wee had told her when they met. She didn't have anyone. “What's in Philly, Pee-Wee? I thought you didn't have family.”
Pee-Wee smiled. “Not in the blood sense. But you know what, Charly? Sometimes chosen family is better. I have an older foster sister who lives there, and she told me to come. She aged out of the system when I was twelve, and she'd kept in touch with me ever since. She just graduated college and has a room for me and Petey.” She looked at Charly. “And where are you going?”
“New York to find my family,” Charly said honestly, remembering she needed to give her aunt a call.
 
The line for a bus ticket was long, but Charly didn't care. The waitress had come through with the money, and Charly had given her the phone of both of their dreams. A part of her ached for the phone she'd once saved so hard for and left home because of, but now her vision was wider than a smartphone. Her aunt had been happy to hear her voice, and had begged Charly to visit her once she arrived in New York, then made sure that Charly wrote down her address. She'd had so much joy in her voice, Charly was sure she'd let her live with her, but for some reason—probably because she wasn't close with her father's side of the family—she couldn't summon the courage to ask.
“Next!” a woman called from behind the glass.
“A one-way ticket to New York for me and my dog,” Charly said, holding up Marlow's kennel to show it to the cashier. This time, she wanted to make sure nothing stopped her from traveling, so she decided to let the bus people know about her canine companion. “Is that okay? I mean, to bring her on the bus.”
“If you have her records. Prove she's okay to travel,” the lady said, then waved her hand like
child, please
. “Don't worry about it. Just keep her on your lap or on the floor in front of you.”
 
Charly walked down the bus aisle. She had her purse crisscrossed over her shoulder and Marlow's kennel in her hand. All the tension she hadn't even realized she had melted from her shoulders the second her feet connected with the floor. She'd had a hard journey and, possibly, the worst experiences ever. But that was over now, she told herself, settling into a seat located in the middle of the bus. She closed her eyes, ready to sleep and ride, then remembered to power off her phone. As soon as she reached for it, it vibrated. A text from Mason. She shook her head at the thought of leaving him behind. He wasn't really even her boyfriend yet, at least not in a certifiable way, and she'd left him. Now she had to work on keeping him. She just had to figure out how to do it while he was in Illinois and she was in New York. The phone buzzed again because she hadn't checked the message.
MASON: I'll be in NY soon. C u there.
Charly smiled. Yes, she'd see him. She'd see him and find a way to keep him. She wondered if he was bringing Brooklyn along and was powering off the phone when she heard Pee-Wee's voice.
“We get to ride together!” Pee-Wee exclaimed. Charly looked up, and hoped her not being happy about it hadn't registered on her face. She didn't feel like chitchatting most of the ride. She wanted to sleep. She needed the rest. “Goody,” she said, mad at herself for not realizing that Philadelphia was on the way to New York.
Pee-Wee hopped in the seat next to her. “No one's sitting here, right?”
Charly looked at her. “No. But we can't sit together because we both have dogs. Some policy they have,” she lied. She didn't want to be mean to Pee-Wee, but she was tired and didn't feel like talking. She wanted to sleep. She smiled. “But it's a good thing you got on when you did. They only allow a certain number of pets on board at a time. You did check Petey in?”
Pee-Wee got up, shaking her head. She hopped in the seat directly across the aisle from Charly. “Nope. But it'll work out. It has to.”
Charly shifted her purse until it was wedged between her and the bus, turned Marlow so that she was facing her, then closed her eyes. Pee-Wee may've been taking the ride with her to the Northeast, but that didn't mean she had to talk to her. All she needed to do was dream and plan and plan her dream. New York was only a few stops away, and she intended to be rested enough to deal with it head-on.

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