The Organization (5 page)

“Fabulous,” Geoff said, smacking his thigh for emphasis. The two men rose and Thomas awkwardly walked over to the bed, pecked Harriet on her cheek, and soon the two men were gone.

Joanna finished her mug, and seemed to be silently evaluating something. She feigned a yawn and said, “Well, it’s been a long week at work, so I’d best be getting home.”

Charlotte glanced nervously at Joanna, pleading with her eyes that Joanna would not leave her alone with Harriet, although at the same time that was exactly what she wanted.

Joanna gave her a close hug and whispered in her ear, “Be careful.” 

Charlotte felt confused, a little worried, and muddled by the champagne as Joanna pulled away and slipped out the door.

#

After clearing the mugs away to the sink, Charlotte made her way back to the bed. The room seemed too quiet and too small. She thought about moving to one of the chairs, but Harriet had settled back onto the pillows; her face and body relaxed. Alertness showed in her eyes.  She held herself in a way that made Charlotte think she could command the attention of a room full of people just by giving them a certain look.  She was captivating.

Charlotte sat down gingerly on the bed, slouching and managing to shove her hands into her cargo pants’ pockets. She considered Harriet, feeling incredulous that Thomas would leave a woman like Harriet to go seek the cheap thrill of a prostitute, and asked, “So… you don’t mind? – That Thomas goes to the salons?”

Harriet gave a short laugh and said, “No, I don’t mind. I don’t own him.”

“Of course not, but… it’s just… I usually think of the salons as a place for singles,” Charlotte defended herself.

Her words hung in the air before Harriet replied thoughtfully, “No, I understand. But, it’s something he’s always enjoyed, and he’s free to do as he likes.” Harriet spoke as though none of it fazed her.

Charlotte swallowed and looked pointedly at the other woman, asking, “And you, are you free to do as you like?”

“I’ve always done exactly as I like, Charlie,” Harriet replied, a secretive smile playing at her lips, that same smile that Charlotte had noticed before.

Charlotte didn’t know what to say in response.  She wanted to kiss away that smile, to find the passion underneath, but she couldn’t summon her courage.  After a moment she blandly asked, “So you work in media?”

“Yes,” Harriet replied and then asked, “Do you always wear your hair pulled back like that?  It’s the only way I’ve seen you, but you seem to have such beautiful hair.”

Her hair, like most things in her life, was arranged in the most efficient manner. By growing it shoulder-length, she could get away with infrequent haircuts and could easily pull it back into a ponytail, where it stayed out of her face. She hadn’t given much thought to how it looked. “I… suppose I do.  Wear it back, I mean,” she replied.

Harriet leaned close to Charlotte, so close that Charlotte held her breath in anticipation of what would happen next. Harriet gently pulled the elastic band out of her hair, releasing her auburn waves. “Yes, I was quite right. You do have beautiful hair,” Harriet told her.

“Thank you,” Charlotte replied, her gaze on Harriet’s face, her mind utterly distracted by how Harriet looked in the low lighting, shadows playing on her features and making her high cheekbones and the sharp cut of her jaw seem even more dramatic. Her eyes fell to the low neckline of Harriet’s shirt, pale skin showing above the thin, sapphire material, as Harriet’s hand went to her hair. She brushed it back behind her ear, her hand trailing down her arm.

“And thank
you
, Charlie, for a lovely evening.” Harriet kissed her cheek, her lips lingering for a split second longer than appropriate for a simple, friendly kiss. Charlotte stared dumbly as Harriet rose from the bed, smoothing the wrinkles out of her trousers, adding, “I’ll see you soon.”

Chapter Nine

One of the streetlights flickered, clinging to its last few moments of illumination before it would go dark for good. 

Charlotte sighed and remarked, “I wonder when they’ll get around to changing out the bulb.”

Joanna sipped soup from her thermos and responded, “I wouldn’t count on it happening anytime soon.”

“I know.  I can only imagine the red tape involved,” Charlotte commented.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see what we’re going through to try to get a new layer of anti-bacterial paint applied to the treatment tank room.”  Joanna sighed.  “Just think about it.  The whole sector of the city get its water treated with chemicals from our tanks.  If I were in charge, I’d be a tad more careful about making sure we aren’t contaminating the tanks with bacteria.”

Charlotte folded the wrapper to her sandwich and tucked it in her bag to reuse another day. Feeling a little embarrassed, as though she were ignorant, she admitted to Joanna, “I didn’t even know we had a tank room like that, or that we treated the water.”

“Oh dear God,” Joanna caught herself. She had paled to one shade lighter as she grabbed onto Charlotte’s arm. Her bottom lip trembled as she said, “Charlie, I shouldn’t have told you.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  Of course you don’t have the security clearance to know about it.  You have to promise me…” she started to say, taking a hard swallow.

“Joanna,” Charlotte said, placing her hand on top of Joanna’s. “You needn’t say another word.  I’ll forget you ever mentioned a thing.  It’s not a big deal.”

“But Charlie, you don’t understand.  If word got out…” Joanna looked around feverishly, and Charlotte thought she looked crazed, like she was expecting armed men to march up and arrest her at any moment. Joanna whispered, “If they knew I breached our security protocol… I’d be fired – or worse.”

“Worse?  What could be worse?” Charlotte started to ask and then stopped herself.  “I promise, Joanna, I won’t say anything.”

“Good, good,” Joanna said, “Thank you.”  She screwed the top onto her thermos, not finishing her soup.

They sat in silence for several minutes before Joanna said, “It might be none of my business, but Harriet… she stayed at your place after I left the other day.” Joanna’s tone was still serious, which Charlotte interpreted as a carryover from the previous topic of conversation.

“Yes, she did stay for a bit,” Charlotte replied. She felt wary of upsetting Joanna, and tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

Joanna said, “I’ve known Harriet for several years now.”

“All right,” Charlotte said,. “Is there something you think I should know?”

“Listen, it’s just that I’ve seen how she has this… allure.  And I’ve seen people fall for her before. And the other person… the person in your situation… always gets hurt when Harriet can’t give them what they want.  She won’t return your affections.  She’s a heartbreaker.”  Joanna grasped her thermos in her hands, absently playing with the lid.

“Harriet the heartbreaker – that has a ring to it,” Charlotte said lightly.

“I’m serious, Charlie,” Joanna replied.

“Well, nothing happened the other night.  And I’m really not expecting anything,” Charlotte said,.

“I don’t mean to assume anything.  But when Geoff brought up the salons – do you remember? – you said you were traditional, and that you wanted love.  I don’t know if Harriet will sleep with you, but she won’t love you.” She set her thermos aside and her hand returned to Charlotte’s arm once again.  “I’m sorry to be blunt.  I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Charlotte wrestled with conflicting emotions. She felt that Joanna was trying to be a true friend, but her good intentions felt intrusive. “Look, you’ve got it all wrong,” she said, not even believing it herself.

“Have I, Charlie?” Joanna asked, her voice lower and gentler than before.

The streetlight fizzled out, and the absence of its light meant they were cast in the shadows from the other streetlights. 

Quietly, Charlotte replied, “I don’t know.”

#

The team lost its first game, but they played well. Geoff gathered the team after the final whistle had been blown and both sides had shaken hands. They spread out in a loose circle, stretching our tired, sweaty limbs within easy earshot of their team captain.

“Really great job out there today.  I’m proud of you lot,” Geoff said. “Let’s hear it for Charlie, mates.  Brilliant playing today, Charlie – a goal
and
an assist!”

Charlotte said, “Thanks,” although she felt undeserving. One of her teammates had an equally open shot on the goal, but he had passed the ball to her to score instead.

“So what do we think?  Drinks at the Red Door?” Geoff asked.

In spite of their fatigued bodies, the team perked up at the mention of drinks.  Indeed, once the team settled into the generous booths at the Red Door, a new mood had taken over.  They recounted the plays of the game as though they were telling heroic war stories, teased each other about misplayed moves, and made friendly bets about the next game.  After a while, Charlotte could almost believe they were drinking alcoholic beer.

Thomas sat back against the booth, his arm draped over Harriet’s shoulders.  Charlotte kept avoiding looking at them, not wanting to spoil her enjoyment with jealousy.  She was losing the battle of willpower, though, and kept glancing over, hoping to catch Harriet’s eye.  Harriet didn’t look at her once, that she noticed.  Mercifully, Paul asked Charlotte to scoot out of the booth for him to use the restroom.

“That’s fine.  I need to make a stop myself,” Charlotte replied, climbing out of the booth and heading toward the unisex restroom.  Paul shrugged and followed her to the restroom.

After she relieved herself in one of the stalls, Charlotte emerged to find Paul at the sink, swallowing a couple of pills.  He grinned at her, but his cheeks immediately flushed and he looked chagrinned to be caught in the act.  He held out a small tin in the palm of his hand.  “Want one, mate?  It’ll make the evening go all the smoother.”

She peered into the tin, in which a half dozen glossy, translucent ruby pills clustered together.  They reminded her of pomegranate seeds, except that they were perfectly round.  She had never seen pills like these ones before but she knew enough that they must be illicit.

“Oh let me guess.  You don’t go to the salons, and you don’t take poppers either,” Paul said, a smirk forming on his otherwise handsome face.

“It’s not that I don’t take them,” she replied, struggling to appear nonchalant. “It’s just that I haven’t taken them before.  What do they do?” she asked, gesturing toward the pills with a jerk of her chin.

“Well,” Paul replied, “those ones speed things up, make things more amusing.  But you seem a bit ramped up already for those charmers.”  He snapped the lid closed, deposited the tin into his front pocket, and took out a second, even smaller tin.  “These lovelies slow things down.  Like alcohol.  Some people feel relaxed, and others feel depressed.  You aren’t the moody type, are you, Charlie?”

She stared at the swirling green and blue globes in Paul’s little tin.  “No,” she lied, as she took one of the pills and swallowed it back.

“There you go, mate.  You were probably the only sober one at the table – besides Joanna, of course.  She’s the straightest arrow I’ve ever met,” Paul said, chuckling.  “Oh, and Harriet doesn’t go anywhere near pills either, but well… that’s just Harriet.”

She wanted to ask what Paul meant by that, what she could infer about Harriet, but she thought it would betray her feelings.

When they arrived back at the table, the conversation had shifted to politics.  The pub was so noisy that Charlotte had to strain her ears to hear what Harriet was saying to one of her teammates.

“Why don’t you go ahead and accuse me of being Europskeptic?  Just because I’m not so quick to label everything American as being terrorist.” Harriet confronted the teammate, a young and embarrassed-looking man who showed up to the games but who no one seemed to know very well.  He was obviously out of his depth.

Joanna looked uncomfortable and said to Harriet, “I don’t really think this is the place.  There are a lot of people around and they could… misinterpret.”

Harriet threw her head back and laughed, but Charlotte watched the look in her eyes change as the false bravado died down and Joanna’s warning sunk in.  Charlotte couldn’t help but stare at Harriet, content to lean back against the booth and gaze at the dark-haired woman, and she wondered if partly it was the effects of the drugs she had taken.

“I know, Joanna,” said Harriet.  “You’re quite right.  We wouldn’t want anyone getting any preposterous ideas, thinking we’re sympathetic to the American cause.”  The last few words seemed to Charlotte to linger in the air as Harriet finally looked over at her.  She felt exposed, as though she were wearing an American flag stitched onto the front of her shirt.  At the same time, she felt a dulling of her emotions, a subtle slowing of her heart’s pace, a pleasant cloudiness settling over the world around her.  She knew she should feel frightened and that she should make an excuse and a quiet departure from the pub, but she felt like her body had grown heavy against the cushions of the booth.

The conversation at the table continued and no one was looking at Charlotte, except for Harriet.  Charlotte could feel Harriet’s attention on her as she sipped her drink and tried to chat with her teammates.  She desperately wanted to look at Harriet, to question her, but she knew no good would come of it.  Still, through the haze of her drugged state, she wondered what was going on.  Had someone revealed to the team that she, Charlie Parker, didn’t share their British heritage?  She had hoped they assumed her muddled accent, so far from Harriet’s perfect RP accent, meant she was originally from the continent, maybe from Poland or Albania. 

The night carried on and Harriet’s attention returned to Thomas, Joanna, Paul, and everyone except for Charlotte.  A smoldering resentment was building in her.  Why would Harriet have said such a thing?  Was she trying to expose her or was she just playing with her?

Chapter Ten

Charlotte’s antique alarm clock sounded as the hammer oscillated to hit the dual bells.  Turning the alarm off with one hand, she asked aloud, “McGuillicuddy, weather report for London?”