The Organization (8 page)

Joanna was quiet for several long moments before she said, “Like I told you before, just be careful.”

Charlotte made herself take a deep breath before responding.  “Oh, of course.  You have nothing to worry about,” she replied in what she hoped would pass for a casual tone.

Chapter Fourteen

With her canvass bag full of glass and scrap metal, Charlotte waited in line with the other scavengers.  The day was similar – hot, humid, crowded – as the last time she had stood in this line.  She thought back to the strange series of events: the papers fluttering down, landing in puddles and disintegrating as everyone scattered, then the man asking if she were a friend of George and telling her an address to seek out.  She still didn’t know what to make of it all.

She made it through the line, her bag emptied, without anything out of the ordinary happening.  She half-expected to see the man in the tan overcoat and plaid hat, but he was nowhere to be found.  She wasn’t sure if she were relieved or disappointed.  She walked for only a few blocks before the mood around her changed considerably, where the passersby wore visibly more expensive clothes and walked at a more leisurely pace.  The shops looked more like boutiques and sold luxury items: chocolates and candies, loose tea and coffee beans, and flowers of all varieties.

The shop that Charlotte entered was full of flowers of every color that she could imagine and in at least a dozen varieties: tulips, roses, daffodils, lilies, daisies, orchids, peonies, and more for which she couldn’t immediately come up with the common name although she knew the scientific names of some of them.  She hadn’t been in a flower shop since she had last bought flowers for Maggie several years ago.  She tried to remember if it had been for Maggie’s birthday or their anniversary, but she couldn’t place the memory.  She silently asked for Maggie’s blessing or forgiveness, whichever she was willing to offer from wherever she might be, as she picked out a white orchid.  At the register, the clerk debited far more credits than she had earned that morning.

Charlotte had misjudged how long it would take to run her errands.  She looked up at the sky with some concern as the sun’s intensity seemed to grow.  By the time she reached Harriet’s door, it was nearly noon, and sweat ran down her back and darkened her shirt in multiple places.  She rang the doorbell a second time, wondering if Harriet wasn’t at home, when the door swung open.

“Charlie, what are you—” Harriet began to say but stopped short upon seeing the orchid.  “Is that for me?” she asked.  She looked dressed in her usual attire, her clothes perfectly neat and pressed, her hair combed with every strand in place, but her face registered a hint of anxiety.

“Yes,” Charlotte said.  She handed the potted flower to Harriet, who accepted the gift but didn’t move aside to let her into the house.  The feeling of not being welcome was not lost on Charlotte.  “I’m sorry, I just –” she started to say.

Harriet’s eyes had darted over Charlotte’s shoulder before she cut her off mid-sentence.  “Thank you.”  She added quickly and quietly, “Listen, you have to go.  I’ll come by your place later.”  With that, she closed the door.

Charlotte turned to go, befuddled and feeling hurt.  She looked across the street to where Harriet had looked and saw a man, presumably a neighbor, setting out his garbage bin for collection.  He openly stared at her, sending a chill down her spine.  After a moment, she broke eye contact first and walked swiftly away.

Charlotte took the long way home, needing the time to clear her mind and talk herself down from being angry with Harriet.  By the time she returned to her apartment, it was halfway through the time when she’d normally be sleeping.  She stripped down to her white underwear and faded black tank top, and climbed into bed. 

A knock on the door woke her from her dreamless sleep.

“Just a moment,” she called to the door, pulling on the pair of dirty cargo pants she’d taken off earlier.

Opening the door, her first thought was that she was happy to see Harriet.  A second thought quickly followed, one of
Why doesn’t Harriet look apologetic?

“May I come in?” Harriet asked.

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte said, moving aside and then closing the door behind her guest.

Harriet crossed her arms and asked, “Can you just tell me what you were thinking – coming to my house this morning?”  Her face looked calm but her voice betrayed her and hinted that she was trying to maintain control of her emotions.

“What?” Charlotte felt her hurt feelings begin to arise again.  “Was Thomas home?  I thought he was gone still for a few more days.”

Harriet closed her eyes for a long moment before saying, “It’s not about Thomas.  It’s about you being seen in my neighborhood.”  She sighed and unfolded her arms.  “Listen, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?  Are you embarrassed by me?  Don’t want your neighbors to know you’re screwing someone else?”  Charlotte could feel her pulse beginning to race.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.  Shit,” Harriet said, sighing and running her hands through her straight dark hair.  Charlotte was unaccustomed to seeing a crack in Harriet’s façade.  “I can’t attract attention, Charlie.  My neighbors see you and they know that you, well, you don’t live there.  They don’t recognize you.  And frankly, you don’t look like you belong in the neighborhood – you know that.  I can’t have any suspicions being raised… I can’t have my house being searched.”

Charlotte tried to process what Harriet was saying.  She tried not to focus on what Harriet meant about the way she looked, the way she was dressed, and instead focused on what Harriet was implying about her house being searched.  “Do you mean… you mean because of the books?  The American authors?  I don’t think the police care about that, Harriet.  With all the terrorism threats, they have more to worry about than banned books.”

“It’s not about the books,” Harriet replied.  She looked Charlotte in the eye, her face revealing intensity and anxiety, and then shook her head.  “I can’t tell you more.  The less you know, the better.”

“I’d like to understand,” Charlotte said.

Harriet said, “Please don’t.  I –” Her voice faltered.  She began again, “I like you too much for you to understand.”  A moment passed and Harriet said, “I’ll go.  I just wanted to explain.  Well, to explain what I could, anyway.”

“But you didn’t really explain anything,” Charlotte protested.  “So is this it?  Does this mean you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“I’m not saying that.  It just means we need to be careful.  All right?”  Harriet stepped closer and kissed Charlotte’s lips lightly.

Charlotte kissed her in return and said, “Okay,” even though she felt uneasy.

Harriet ran the backs of her fingers down the other woman’s bare arm.  “The orchid – it was sweet of you.  And it’s beautiful.  I put it on the sitting room table.”

Charlotte looked into Harriet’s eyes, lost in the blues and grays that reminded her of a turbulent sea, and said, “Well, I wanted to do something… sweet… for you.  I didn’t mean for it to be a problem.” 

“Let me worry about that,” Harriet replied, not moving away.

Charlotte could feel the heat from Harriet’s body and smell a trace of perfume.  Her hand went to the top of Harriet’s blouse, unbuttoning the top button.  “Will you stay for a little while?  I’m tired – exhausted really – but…”

“You’re perfect,” Harriet said, her lips finding Charlotte’s neck.

Chapter Fifteen

Charlotte was humming as she climbed the steps to her apartment.  Much to her surprise, when she arrived at her door she saw Erin sitting in the hallway, legs bent at the knees in a distinctly unladylike fashion, given her outfit.  Erin wore a teal-colored silk chiffon dress that complemented her warm-toned skin but also clung to it in sweat.

“Erin, I didn’t expect to see you.”

Erin made a show of stretching her limbs before standing up.  “Well, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you either.”

“What are you doing here?” Charlotte asked as she unlocked the door.

“I came to check on you, silly.” Erin replied.  “You don’t write, you don’t call… I was starting to worry.”

“No need to worry,” Charlotte said, hanging up her jacket and bag on pegs just inside the door.  “Want some water?”

“Sure,” Erin said.  “You know I must’ve been out there for twenty minutes at the very least.”

Charlotte pulled a liter of water out from the refrigerator and poured water into two mugs.  “You weren’t really worried, were you?”

“Are you kidding?  It’s been complete radio silence from you for weeks now.  Of course I was worried,” Erin replied.  She sipped her water, leaning back against the kitchen sink and observing her friend.

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I’ve just been busy,” Charlotte said, taking a long drink of water.

“So what is it?  Work?  Football?  Oh, don’t tell me, it’s that crush of yours – the coach!  What was her name?  Hannah?  Hailey?”

“Harriet.”

“Right,” Erin said, her lips forming an amused smile.  “So is it… Harriet… that’s been keeping you from me?”

Charlotte sighed.  “I’ve been seeing her whenever she can get away.”

“You’ve been seeing her,” Erin repeated.  “So is it serious?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte replied, setting down her mug of water.  “I really don’t.  I mean, it’s serious to me.  But to her?  I don’t know.”  Erin opened her mouth to ask something but Charlotte dodged the question, turning away from her and asking, “More water?”

“No, I’m fine.  But listen, lend me some clothes, will you?  I got all sweaty walking over here, and then baking in your hallway really didn’t help.  I’ve got somewhere to be in an hour and I can’t show up like this.”

“And you think I have something suitable?”  Charlotte walked over to her trunk of clothes.  She started looking through her largely androgynous shirts and wondered what on earth she had that would appeal to Erin, who dressed in a far more feminine way and was blessed with curves.

Erin approached from behind, and she gently touched her friend’s shoulder.  “Do you have anything of Maggie’s still?”  Charlotte immediately stiffened.  Of course Erin hadn’t meant to borrow
her
clothes.  Erin hurriedly said, “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Charlotte quietly closed her trunk and stood up.  “You don’t need to apologize.  Maybe you’re right.  It’s probably… it’s probably not good for me to hang onto her things anyway.  The apartment is cluttered enough as it is,” she said, one corner of her mouth twitching into a weak, forced smile.  “And maybe it’s time, anyway.”

“Charlie, it’s okay, really –”

“No, I don’t know why I didn’t give you her things back then, after it happened.  She’d have wanted you to have them.”  She pulled out a second trunk of clothes, one filled with silky and satiny clothes, dresses and skirts, delicate blouses and scarves, and a well-worn cashmere sweater.  “Please, you should just take them.”

“I… I can’t right now.  I’m going to a dinner,” Erin said quietly.  “But maybe just a dress.”

Charlotte nodded and said, “Take what you want.”  She turned away as Erin hesitatingly looked through the trunk, pulling out a simple floral-print dress.

“Is this okay?” Erin asked.

Charlotte barely looked over her shoulder to say, “Yes, of course,” before walking back to the kitchen area and refilling her mug of water.

Erin pulled her teal-colored dress over her head and quickly slipped into the floral-print dress.  In wartime, a time of limited materials and expensive goods, she couldn’t turn down free clothes, even if they had belonged to her dead friend.  She returned to the kitchen and tossed her sweat-soaked dress over the side of the still-broken tub.  She walked over to Charlotte and squeezed her hand.  “Thank you,” Erin said.

“Don’t mention it,” Charlotte said.

Erin regarded her quietly for a moment before she said, “I should get going.  But let’s get together soon, okay?  I want to hear more about this Harriet.”

“Of course,” Charlotte said, giving her friend a quick kiss on the cheek and trying to avoid looking at her dress.

“Great,” Erin replied before saying goodbye and showing herself out.

Chapter Sixteen

The last game of the season took place on an uncharacteristically hot morning.  By the second half of the game, both teams were showing signs of fatigue and their movements were becoming sloppy and imprecise.  In the last ten minutes of the game, just when it looked like Paul might be able to score, he collided with a player from the other team and took a nasty fall, landing roughly on his side.

Paul growled and swore, saying something about his arm.  Play had stopped and members from the two teams gathered around Paul, who stayed on the ground in a seated position.

“Charlie, give me a hand,” Paul said through gritted teeth.  “I’ve dislocated my shoulder.”

Their teammates looked on, confused.  Charlotte could see in their faces that they were wondering what she could possibly know about a dislocated shoulder.  For those who knew anything at all about her work, they simply knew that she was a scientist in a laboratory, not a nurse or a physician.

“C’mon, mate,” Paul insisted, “I know you used to be a medic.”

Yes, she used to be a medic.  She had been one briefly during the war.  This information was sure to be in her file at work – the same file that Paul had perused to find out her shoe size.  She also knew for a fact that she had never mentioned it to anyone present.

Charlotte calmly walked over to Paul, bending his arm to a ninety-degree angle at his chest, and rotated his arm outward until a small pop sounded.  The relief showed instantly on Paul’s face.  “You’ll need a sling,” she told him quietly.  “And your shoulder will be sore for a little while.”

“Thanks, mate,” Paul said, getting to his feet.  He looked around to his team, “Well, I guess you’ll have to finish the game with one man down.”

“Aww, forget it,” Geoff said, extending his hand to the other team’s captain.  “We’ll concede.  Good game.”

It was a disappointing ending to the season. They were all tired and ready for refreshments.  As her teammates changed from their cleats into regular shoes, Charlotte took the opportunity to talk to Harriet, who stood alone by one of the goals, making some notes on a digipad.