Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) (3 page)

As per the supplementary materials presented herewith, I
do solemnly swear to…

1. Get my body back! Leopold Sokolowski, our town’s foremost
Personal Trainer and Confidence Coach, has been procured to work with me one-on-one
until I meet the weight I was when I graduated high school. I WILL lose all
this flab! Generally, Leopold is booked solid, but he LOVES my sister and he
WANTS to help me.

2. Create! I will take at least one art class. [And then
a handwritten note in pink sparkly Sharpie:] (Remember how you love to paint?
My clients say doing art is so, so healing, like a mani-pedi for your mind and
soul!)

3. Have more fun! I will go out and have a good time. I
will no longer be content with my boring life, never leaving the house, waiting
for my low-down-dirty-dog of a husband to get home and tell me what to do next.
I will go out. Every day!

4. Say yes! I will welcome and embrace new opportunities,
whether in the form of employment, volunteer gigs, or social adventures. No
more hiding from life!

5. Rediscover the wide and delicious world of men! ([More
Sharpie]: I have OODLES of ideas. I mean, you’ve been with the same man since
college. Zoiks!  

I’ve discussed your situation with each of my clients and
they ALL want to help YOU! So let’s get your transformation on!”)

Charlotte’s face felt hot, and she wished that she could
step back in time and not drink that last bowlful of wine. She didn’t want to
rediscover any men, particularly not any that Fiona might find delicious and
particularly not with Hannah and Gracie watching her every move.  She wasn’t divorced
yet. Caleb was their father, and he was a good one. A shitty, philandering
husband, maybe, but a good father.

She imagined, then, Fiona brandishing her scissors in her
glittery salon, telling each person what Charlotte had walked in on. Yes! Caleb
MacDougall. The novelist! What a low down dirty stinking rotten dog!

Everyone in town would know what Fiona was doing to save her
sister. She could imagine them, in the salon, clucking their tongues and
nodding, their heads crowned with silvery foils. Their skin perfect and their
lips painted in that moist-looking orange color that Charlotte could never
quite pull off. And Fiona would tell them about her mission to save her sister
and she would poll them for ideas on what she should include. An art class? Who
had come up with that one? She had once liked to paint, but it was only to pass
the time as a kid. It was only to have an excuse to go into a room by herself.

Have more fun? Yeah, Fiona had always told her that she was
kind of a stick-in-the-mud. But she needed to lose weight? Huh. She thought she
looked pretty good. Maybe that was why Caleb had …

The room spun a little. Damn wine. Charlotte took another
sip, and the quiet of the room blared in her ears. She thumped her head on the
table, a wee rest. She stayed like this a moment and she may have dozed off. When
she raised her head again, she was unsure of the time and her tongue felt
fuzzy, much like the interior of her mind. She focused on the wall in front of
her and then picked up the packet once again. It was thick with documentation.
There was a curriculum vitae and a head shot of some guy named Leopold, the
personal trainer and “Confidence Coach.” He had a shiny shaved head and a
series of pimples on his cheeks. A pair of small ears stuck straight out on the
sides of his head, which, she decided, made him look a bit like Shrek.

She clenched inside. She had come all this way to escape
attention. To escape the shame she felt in their small Missouri town. And now
this
whole town knew. Her sister had publicly consulted scores of people on how to
best yank her sister’s self-esteem from the yawning chasm where it now lay.

Caleb would enjoy this. He would think the whole thing was a
riot. Truly he would. But he wasn’t here. Would never be here.

She was drunk. She knew that she was, if she was wishing Caleb
was by her side.

***

Caleb had to call three or four old classmates before he
remembered her full name. Rachael Whitmore. And then, just like that, she was
on the line with him. Like it was meant to be. 

She remembered him instantly. “I
know
I could set
something up. Hell, Caleb, if the college doesn’t want you, I do,” she said,
laughing.

“Pardon?”

“I just mean, we could host these things on our own. But I’m
sure the college will go for it. I’ll bring it up right away. It’s a small
school. And with all of our town’s summer visitors, they are certain to relish
the idea. You have made quite a name for yourself since I’ve seen you.”

“Thank you. Yes, it has been quite a ride.” The hardest part
for him was handling the attention and the compliments, especially from women.
He was never quite sure how to respond, particularly because he suspected their
zeal had something to do with his books’ rather steamy love scenes.

“This will be glorious for the college. Glorious for you.
And glorious for me,” Rachael was saying.

“Oh?” He had to laugh at her eagerness. He couldn’t even
really remember what she looked like.

“It will be so wonderful to get reacquainted. After all
these years.” 

He supposed it was good she was so enthusiastic. For this to
all happen, to just fall into place…it was fate. And, honestly, the universe
owed him one. To have Charlotte walk into the office just as Loopy Lisa slipped
off her dress and ruined his life. Loopy Lisa was always doing that for professors.
She wasn’t even supposed to set foot on campus. But that day, he was going to
finish his pot of coffee and he was going to hide out; make some final edits on
the manuscript; mail it off and head home, to celebrate the finish of novel
four. He and Charlotte would drink some wine and snuggle on the couch and
probably fall asleep watching something or other, his face buried in her hair. But
then Lisa had come in. And then, of course, Charlotte.

The thing that made his breath catch was the fact that it
felt like Charlotte had been waiting. Waiting for him to mess up so she could
leave him. She hadn’t even looked back. She was just…gone.

And it was a shame. Because they had already done the hard part.
For years, they had pushed and worked and persevered. Years of
sleep-deprivation and student loans and his measly teaching salary and tiny
advances and him working all the time. But they had made it. Charlotte had
pulled him through. Had pulled them all through. When he was exhausted, and he
didn’t know if he could do it any longer, Charlotte would come in and add a log
to the fire and bring him coffee and maybe a slice of pie and she would stay to
rub his shoulders and, if he asked, to proofread his pages. While his friends
were having affairs and sleeping around, they were solid and Charlotte was
content. Wasn’t she?

He would get her back. He had accomplished many, many things
in his life, and he would accomplish this, too. They belonged together. He
would pluck her from the mountaintop one fine summer day, just the way he had
in his dream the night before. He would go to her, chase her if he must, and he
would prove his devotion.

He had all but promised Hannah and Gracie that he would get
their mama back. He would mend their family. And he would. He had a plan.

Charlotte woke in a room of yellow. The walls were the color
of daffodils and she lay beneath a pinstriped bisque coverlet, puffy and airy
like that of the finest hotel. She kicked the covers aside and sat up.
Goodness, her head was heavy. Fiona had warned her about drinking too much at
high elevation, but Charlotte wasn’t accustomed to drinking too much at any
elevation.

She tiptoed across the white oak floor into her private
bathroom. In a porcelain dish lay a series of fine soaps in miniature, tied
with amber ribbons. Along the sink, the finest face products from Provencal.
Even the linens were perfumed with lemon. Who did Fiona think she was?

She could do this herself. Everything on that list. She
would lose weight. It wouldn’t be hard. And it would probably be good for her.
She didn’t need a personal trainer or some confidence coach to help her.

In fact, maybe she would take a run. Right now. She knew
that Fiona had a full fitness room, a stationary bicycle and two ellipticals,
plus a treadmill and free weights. But she would do this herself. She was
Charlotte MacDougall, for heaven’s sake.  

Charlotte had packed workout clothes. Not intending,
perhaps, to wear them, but she had packed them. She groped through her suitcase
and found her black nylon pants, shoved somewhere near the bottom. They fit a
bit narrower than she remembered and maybe they were a little threadbare. The
fabric stretched tight on her thighs and took on a sheen. No big deal, you had
to start somewhere. The close-fit made her underwear bunch up and poke out from
underneath, so she slipped it off, pulled on a t-shirt and set out, before
anyone could see her. Before anyone could make a big deal out of her going for
a run.

As she tied her laces in the foyer, she could hear the girls
in the dining room. The clink of forks against porcelain. Muted, nervous titters
and giggles as they listened to Fiona’s exclamatory remarks about what the
morning might have in store for them. Then the holler of a child. The pounding
of his steps. Coming this way! She ran now to the door, opened it and released
herself into the glittering light of day.  

Her heart pounded. A burst of adrenaline. She had done it. She
had accomplished her mission. Granted, this mission was simply to leave the
house unseen, but success was all about baby steps. See? She didn’t need no
stinkin’ Confidence Coach. She knew all the maxims by heart, for she read
O
Magazine.

She set off on a jog, down the asphalt driveway, which was
littered with splats of mud from Linda’s Sweet Peas, whom she was sure would
return. No batch of minions could plant four thousand plants in a single day, could
they?

The sun dazzled and warmed her skin and she turned onto the
main road in front of Fiona’s subdivision. How long had it been since she had
run? Was it really before Hannah was born? No, it was before
Gracie.
Why
was this so difficult? Was it the extra weight she was apparently carrying? The
high elevation? Her side cramped, and she leaned forward, grasping at her side.
The urns of wine?

A car cruised by, and a young man leaned out the window. “Hey
lady!” he yelled, giving her an exuberant thumbs up. “I can see your butt!”

Shit. Maybe her pants were more threadbare than she thought.
She turned to take a look, but she found that she lacked the flexibility to see
beyond the top of her shoulder. How long since she had done yoga? Oh yeah…never.
She tugged at her t-shirt, but it wasn’t long enough to cover more than her
waistband.

Her head spun again. She should have had at least a bite of
breakfast before starting out. Then she’d have been able to run just fine. But
the last thing she wanted to do was pass out in Fiona’s neighborhood, or in her
driveway.  What would Linda and her Sweet Peas think? And did they know about
Fiona’s plans for her, too? Her cheeks burned hot.   

Charlotte made her way back toward the house. She moved
slowly and deliberately through the subdivision, her arms crossed behind her
backside. At the base of Fiona’s driveway, she began to jog once more.

“Hallo!’ she called cheerily as she burst through Fiona’s
massive front door. She hated when she had to resort to false enthusiasm. It
made her feel so fake and shallow, but it was necessary, sometimes, especially
when visiting her sister. She remembered, just in time, about her nearly bare
butt. She yanked Gracie’s hoodie off the hook by the front door and tied it
around her waist.

“Mom?” Gracie was just emerging from the dining room hall.
“You missed breakfast.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, it was quite the spread.” Gracie narrowed her eyes
and glanced down toward her sweatshirt. “We thought you were sleeping. Where
did you go?”

“I was out for a run.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh!” Fiona called, joining them in the foyer. “You should
have told me. I would have joined you.”

“No big deal. I just wanted to get a nice workout in before
breakfast.”

“Where did you go?”

 “Oh, just around.”

“Well, I really wish you would have told me before you
went.”

Charlotte nodded and looked away.

“I’ll plan your route for you next time,” Fiona said,
motioning them all back down the hall to the dining room. “It’s no problem at
all. I have these little maps of the estate, and the surrounding forest service
land, from Kamal’s real estate agent. I can show you quite a course.”

“Are you a runner?” Hannah asked.

“No, I find it a bit undignified, if you want to know the
truth. I prefer to exercise at the health club or in the privacy of my home. In
the climate-controlled fitness room. Do you remember how to get to the fitness
room, Charlotte?”

“I remember.”

“Get some breakfast.” Fiona ordered. “You must be half
starved. We have a variety of fruit cut up in the kitchen.”

“Bacon, too, Mom,” Gracie offered.

Fiona cleared her throat. “Cantaloupe. Watermelon. Grapes. I
think there’s some nonfat Greek yogurt, as well.”

“So how far did you go?” Gracie asked when her mother
returned to the dining room with a plate of three cantaloupe wedges and several
blueberries.

Charlotte shrugged.

Fiona fanned her hands toward the girls. “Why don’t you two
get ready? We’re going to the salon this morning. All of us. You can be in
charge of the boys and then you can decide if you’d rather work with me…making
people beautiful.” She waggled her French-manicured fingertips. “Go, go!”

The girls disappeared and Charlotte considered her plate.
How she wished she hadn’t just sat down to eat this, so she could go off with
her daughters.

She shoved the cantaloupe into her mouth. The melon was so cold
that it bit back on her, on the sensitive parts of her teeth. She suddenly felt
very old, like she was falling apart. Like she was on some inevitable decline
that ended in complete physical decay and boys making fun of her butt from
passing cars.

Fiona poured her a glass of coffee from a stainless steel carafe,
again, comically oversize. “Sugar? Creamer?” She gave a slight shake of her head
as she offered. Charlotte took the hint and declined.

Charlotte cut the remaining piece of fruit into bite sizes
with the edge of her fork, which felt heavy in her hand. Her instinct was to
blow on the chilled melon, but she knew that wouldn’t make it any less cold.
She sucked on it for a moment before chewing.

“So?” Fiona began, in a throaty whisper.  “Did you get a
chance to read through the pact…the
transformation
pact?”

“I did.”

“So? What do you think?” Her eyes dazzled. “I’ve been
working on it ever since you told me the news about Caleb and what he did.
Everyone in town wants to help you. All my clients do, at least. And they have
enlisted the help of their friends and relatives. Everyone just wants to help
you get back on track.”

“So my failed marriage and my gradual weight gain is now the
community project?”

“It’s not like that.” Fiona stared at her. “It’s not like
that at all.”

“Well.” Charlotte looked at the table. “That is what it
feels like.”

“I thought you’d be happy.” Fiona dipped her head to look
Charlotte in the eye.  “I really did. Like you would come here…with no hint of
your past or your old shyness problems, or your other hang-ups and you could
start over and you could…you could get your mojo back, so you could go back and
really stick it in Caleb’s face.” Fiona leaned in toward her. Her breath smelled
of French Roast mixed with Listerine. “I’ll even pay for a boob job, if you
want, Charlotte. They are fantastic. Guys love ‘em. You can stick
those
in
Caleb’s face. Wave ‘em around and say ‘You. Messed. Up!’” Fiona popped her
chest forward as punctuation.

Charlotte laughed, but not at Fiona. She laughed at the
image that burst into her mind of Caleb’s surprised face. Caleb would hate breast
implants. Fake boobs represented everything the man didn’t like. At least she
thought.
But then she thought he would never, ever cheat on her, no matter how famous he
became. No matter how many women threw themselves at him. And if he ever did,
she thought he would be man enough to admit it. Not deny it and make a fool of
her.

Charlotte sighed and untwisted her hair from its elastic.
“But you’ve been talking about me to everybody, Fiona…It’s embarrassing. It’s
why I wanted to leave home. To come here to visit. I wanted to avoid all of
those little klatches of women, watching me and whispering. It’s shameful and
they are everywhere. All over the campus. The grocery store. The kids’ school.
I was trying to escape that.”

Fiona gasped. “That’s what you have had to endure? Oh, you
poor baby!”

“Well, not yet. I was trying to escape the possibility of having
to endure that. I mean this thing with Caleb really only just happened.”

Fiona bobbed her head up and down, her eyes round and
watery.

“You know how I don’t like to call attention to myself,
Fiona.”  

“Oh, I know, sweetie.”

“Actually, I
hate
to call attention to myself. I
despise it.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you do that? Why did you tell everyone in
town?”

“Honeybunch.” Fiona sighed. “You can be whomever you want to
be here. You don’t have to be Shy Charlotte. You can be Charming Charlotte. Or
Confident Charlotte. Or I’ll-Take-My-Sister’s-Help-and-Be-Grateful-For-It Charlotte.”

Charlotte nodded, mostly because she knew it was pointless
to disagree with Fiona at this moment.

“And not
everybody
knows, Charlotte. Just my clients.
And they want to help you. Out of kindness. Everyone loves a good makeover. If
you’re not getting one, you might as well be part of giving one. Really.
Besides, you don’t know any of these people, so what do you care what they
think?”

Charlotte shrugged. Then she said, low, “And do you really
think I need to lose weight? I mean, yeah, I’ve gained some. A little. But I’ve
given birth. Twice. I’m okay.”

“I’ve given birth, too, honey. Twice.”

Charlotte considered her sister’s flat belly, her tiny
waist.

Fiona sighed. “You just look like…like you’ve given up.”

“Oh.”

“No offense.”

Charlotte remembered just then a time, years ago, when Gracie
had come home from school saying she didn’t like when people started a sentence
with “No offense” because they thought it gave them permission to say whatever
they wanted afterward.
“No offense, but your face looks like a canned ham.”  “No
offense, but you are dumber than a box of hair.”

Fiona was looking at her expectantly, so Charlotte nodded
without being entirely sure why.

“No offense,” Fiona continued, “but living in the Midwest…I
don’t know. Maybe it has changed you.”

“It’s not because we live in the Midwest. We love the
Midwest.”
Don’t be dogging on the Midwest, Ms. Snobbity-Snob-Snob,
Charlotte
thought.

“I mean, what do you people out there eat?  Corn dogs. Corn
chips. Corn syrup soda?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“It’s revolting. Do you know that my kids have never had a
Coca-Cola, a Snickers bar, or a doughnut? Not in their entire lives.”

“Huh.”

“All I was saying by the pact is that you should clean up
your diet and start working out. It will make you feel better, I can promise
you that, especially when you rid your body of all that poison. And you will
simply adore Leopold. I mean, you will love him. You will want to eat him up.
And it will be like taking care of Pact Item Number One and Pact Item Number
Five, all at once.”

Charlotte strained to remember through the haze of her hangover.
Oh yes, pact items one and five: lose weight and enjoy delicious men. She
wondered what flavor a personal trainer was. Sweat and balls came to mind. Decidedly
not delicious.

“So, let’s get started. What do you say? Today?”

Charlotte was silent.
No offense,
she thought,
but
you’re sort of controlling and bitchy.

“Come on! What do you say? Can we help you?” Fiona pleaded.

Charlotte took a deep breath. She ran her palms along her
shiny black jogging pants. She wondered if any of Fiona’s neighbors or clients
had seen her pathetic run, which had become a walk, which had become an amble,
punctuated by shouts of public humiliation. She wondered if any of these
neighbors or passers-by would be reporting to Fiona later in the day.

“I can help myself,” Charlotte said, mostly to herself.

“I know. But that’s what friends are for. That’s what
sisters are for.” She took a deep breath. “Plus, no offense, Charlotte, but
you’re not super into
action.”

“What does that mean?”

“You just…you would rather
think
about things than
do
them.”