Charlotte, Part TwoJan 10 '04 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line ..... keep reading....... Part one was here: http://www.epinions.com/content_3706953860 --------------------------------- My stomach felt sore as I left her behind. I must have eaten something disagreeable. I didn’t understand why I felt the way I did. I was stammering, if only briefly. I accepted her car keys, without so much as a grimace. I began to feel something for this nameless woman, who existed only for me to pay the bills. This was quite frankly too much for me. I wanted to be the emotionless, efficient contract killer that I modeled myself on becoming. But I was weakening. It wasn’t right. I came here to Charlottetown so I’d have some space to breathe, some room to push away my soul, my emotions. I didn’t want to care anymore. An impossible feat. Watch me hiccup. Or develop a twitch on my nose. Crap. The car. She had parked it a few streets away. Having given me the license plate number and where she left it, she made it simple for me to pick up my fee for my services. As I unlocked the driver’s side door, I began to feel guilty, damn it! I wished that I didn’t have to take her car. This was her’s, wasn’t it? No, scratch that. It was her ex-boyfriend’s, the person whom I was to rub out. I suppose I had already perpetrated the first half of my deed. I stole his means of transportation. I had disturbed his social status. He worked for so many years to sustain it, by cutting down people that weren’t him. His coworkers. Innocent women. His own girlfriend. I suppose I ought to feel good about doing what I am doing. And I did. Going to the club was not a new thing for me. It did require a bit of play-acting, however. I actually had to make myself a bit more presentable, more appealing to other living people, drunk or sober. Remember those kids at the mall, who assumed that I was forty? Well, now they’d probably take me for 35. Not that it should matter. A woman shouldn’t have to reveal her age in the first place. Others may start to worry about my condition if they realized how old I really was. The woman told me where my target would frequent. She suspected that tonight would be one of the nights where he’d be here. I did not capture him in my vision, but I did recognize some of the others. I had been an acquaintance of a number of the regulars at this particular bar. Yes, I had a bit of a life besides slipping into shadows and disguising my transgressions. But, even so, the women that I’ve spoken to in this bar had different lives than I. They contented themselves with legitimate occupations, and blandly ordinary lives. They had boyfriends, husbands, lovers. All of the things that I deliberately avoided, so as to free myself from complication. That lack of complication, however, surely complicated the acquaintances’ view of myself. I did not fill my life with many subjects, and what my life did consist of, was kept only to myself. As far as they were concerned, I was probably a poor slob on welfare, or maybe a poor slob on EI, who couldn’t find a job for the past five or six months. Sex life was definitely not complicated. But they didn’t need to know that. They probably assumed I had so much time on my hands to f*ck anything that moved. They probably pitied me for the sad, sordid life that I am supposed to have led. My life may be sad or sordid, but it’s not the sort that these bar patrons would expect. The faces that I scanned at the bar were nameless, void of personality. They were only figures blocking my intended target. I did not care about anyone else in that bar tonight. I only cared about my job. My job. It was the most important thing in my life at this very moment........ ....... there was one table. Occupied by two men. Neither one of them were exceptionally attractive. If I required a sex life that was complicated, I certainly wouldn’t bring home either one of these guys to make it so. But that wasn’t the plan. I found a table beside the pair, close enough for me to listen to their undoubtedly intense conversation. “Look at all the tail around here.”, said my potential victim. “.... it would be great to get a hold of one of them tonight.” “Yea, as long as that don’t smell too skanky.”, said the other. “I don’t want to have to use a scouring pad in the shower tomorrow.” As you can see, this is the Charlottetown intelligentsia. These are the people who influence the next generation to be as good as these two guys right here. And despite my seeming detachment from the world at large, I was well and able to attract myself to the upper-class of this region, if I so choose. I allowed my eyes to widen a bit, and flicker the eyeballs in their general direction, hoping that the two drunk men would be dumb enough to consider me as their next piece of meat. But, it was to no avail -- they were still absorbed in their conversation. “Oh, you should have been working with me when I was the office manager.”, said my victim. “There were all sorts of hot things there......” “When were you office manager?” “Oh, about a couple of years ago... until 2002.” Oh really? “So what happened exactly?” “Oh, one of those s!uts got me fired after what happened at a staff party. She actually sent me up to the boss, telling him that I attacked her in a hotel room. I was drunk, I couldn’t help it!” He laughed incredulously. “... and besides, she seemed to enjoy it when she was up there with me. Well, she didn’t scream and beat me around, at least!” “Ah, why are they always like that? So you messed around a bit. We’re men -- we should be entitled to it. I’m beginning to believe that we’re just pawns in a game where women control the stakes......” “They make us believe that we, the men, are in charge, when in reality,they control us....” Unfortunately, I was only allowed to dispose of one of these individuals. “Like maybe......”, the victim’s friend smirked. He then leaned over to whisper something, covering his mouth with his hand, making sure that I could not read his lips. I felt more bold to tilt my head in a more direct direction. They both responded in turn. “Are you speaking about me?, I grin, wearing my mask of clueless playfulness. The two men laughed heedlessly. “That depends,”, spoke my victim, “on what you want to hear.” “Well, I was hoping I’d hear “Let’s buy that fine young lady a drink””. The other guy returned his line of vision toward my victim. “Sorry. I’m broke.” “You bastard....”, the victim grumbled, somewhat bemused more than upset. “I have my eye on that chick over there anyway......”, pointing vaguely toward the left section of the room. “I only have enough change for me... and one drink for her, of course.” “If you’re lucky! What’s her name?” “Who cares! As long as she loosens up when she starts drinking from my generous offerings” “Good luck my friend!”, patting his friend on the forearm, like a really swell buddy would do. The friend rose from his seat, and moved on to other, more fruitful adventures. My victim, having lost his friend, turned his attention to myself, the kind, giddy young woman who brazenly proposed a drink at his expense. He grinned, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he wasn’t sure if he were in control. “So.... what shall I call you , my darling.” He was a hypocritical charmer, wasn’t he? “The last woman you’ll ever see.” “Oh, really! You’re that confident, are you?”, he laughed. “Yes. Yes, I am!”, I spoke firmly. “Well... I must say that I like women who speak their mind.” Yea, when they fawn over you, is more like it. “So.... do I get that drink?”, I ask, my lips curving upwards. “Sure.... any preference?” “No.... just as long as it is one drink and one drink only. I don’t want to make ... a complete fool out of myself.” “I’ll fix that.” Oooo, he really was clever, wasn’t he? I got up from my former seat, and shifted myself to the seat across from where he sat, as he went up to the bartender for the drinks. I would not take my eyes off of my victim, especially his hands. I wanted to be sure that he wasn’t doing anything secretive -- like slipping a date rape drug inside the bottle. This type of fellow, if the woman were to be believed, would not find it too psychologically difficult to insert a poison pill in my drink. I would grow lethargic, became confused, and he’d take me back to his place and have his way with me. .... and as he turned around, the look in his eyes changed. No, he apparently did not have any artificial means of making me succumb to his charms. He hoped his own natural personality would do that for him. He was looking me over, more intently this time, like one would over a new car at a dealership. He wanted to see if I was put together well. If I had any scratches or rust. Sooner or later, he would probably be expecting a test drive, to see if I rode well. “Here’s your drink.” “Why, thank you.”, I sigh. “And a pitcher for yourself?” “This is nothing.”, he said. “I already had half a pitcher with Ed before you came here.” So we talked. I sipped on my beer, and he inhaled his pitcher. It is quite intriguing to observe such a counterfeit human being in its natural habitat. Every word that he says is openly fraudulent -- the words aren’t even a flawed attempt at being genuine. Rather, he tries to give to you a convincing imitation of someone else, but fails. “Baby....?” “Please, call me .... call me Charlotte.” Please don’t call me anything else. “Charlotte! Charlotte.....I’m just looking for a shoulder to cry on.” He smirks as he pretends to make an emotional connection. “Oh, really?”, I sigh, humoring him. “Yes...”, he nodded, with exaggeration. “I really need it. Life hasn’t been good to me.” “Oh, you poor poor dear. “, I chuckle. It takes me a few grams of willpower for me to brush my palm upon his forearm. He grins, while his voice grows even more confident. He naturally suspects that his chances of pinning me against an unsuspecting mattress has increased exponentially. “Oh, I’m so misunderstood, Charlotte.”, he grinned. “I’m looking for a job. I’ve been on welfare for the past few months now, and I can’t find any other work. Nobody will hire me. They are all afraid of me. I am just too good for them.....” Whoa, this was too much! “You see, I got fired. Because... because some crazy woman thought I was harassing her. You see, we had a little fun one evening... and she obviously regretted it, because she accused me of raping her in a hotel room.” His laughter was twinged with anger, with hate. “Goddamn that stupid dog. She obviously just hates sex so much, and besides, she was so ugly, she probably never got enough to realize how good it was..... I was a savior to her.” Holy sh*t. Did he talk like this to the woman? My hair would be standing on end every time he uttered a single word to me. He turns to me, with his drunken eyes, hiding all manner of twisted demons. “You like sex, don’t you?” “Sex...... it’s .... oh, sure, absolutely!” I wasn’t going to get into any specifics. “You really ought to wear some makeup once in a while.”, he said to me, with a sternness settling on his voice. “Maybe you’d look attractive to men, you know. And have sex more often!” I could not decide whether to feel personally slighted by his comment. The truth is that I don’t wear any make-up. And I don’t desire to attract the types of men that this person seems to represent. “Oh really. You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”, I jibe. “Obviously, I’m not all that hideous if you’re sticking around.” “Well...... nah.”, he slurred. The liquor was getting the best of him. “Actually, your tits are fabulous! They’re the biggest things I’ve ever seen!” Scratch that. The liquor didn’t get the best of him. There wasn’t anything that was of best quality in him to begin with. My neck tingled. I intuited that there were many eyes around me. Not just the ones that I could see in front of me. I suspected that a couple of strangers were tempted to approach us. Some of them would have surely wanted to see for themselves if my breasts were indeed the biggest they’ve ever seen. Others would have probably wanted to ask is this man bothering you, miss? Strange things happen in people’s minds “I want you to come home with me, baby!” His voice slurred in a nasal whine that he surely considered to be seductive. He sounded like a horny nerd from high school, however. “Are you sure now?”, playing the air headed fool. “I don’t want you to take advantage of poor ole me, now.” “No, why....” He belches. “.... why would I take advantage of a sweet girl like you. You have such a pretty name, Charlotte. Charlotte. Just like this town. Charlottetown. Charlotte. It’s so late tonight..... well, I’m sure that a tough gal, but I know that you need company out in the shadowy evening.” Do I now? He had his hand on my knee, rubbing it like it was the magic lamp. “Actually,”, I tease. “You may be right. Take care of me for a while.” I let him muzzle my neck. I move my head around so his hole will miss my lips. I didn’t want to taste what he tasted. Liquor, possibly smoke, and surely the DNA of other wounded women were on his breath, along his taste. * * * * I walk astride him as we exited the club. I was aware that, yet again, certain patrons were observing us -- not wanting to focus on us, but unable to completely ignore what they believed was a moral issue. They assume that I was a victim. A victim of a drunken lout. Little did they know who the real victim was........... “So where would you like to go?”, he asked. “How about we go to the park?”, I claimed, hoping he’d take the bait. “The park? What are we going to do there?” “You can always use your imagination.”, I giggle. The man had a fascinated look in his eye. His imagination did not have to be exercised for very long before he was satisfied with what it wrought. We were on the sidewalk; he had his hand settled on the curve of my back. Already I was his girlfriend, or at least his sex partner. He began massaging that section of my body, hoping that I would curdle from the sensation. “Here’s my truck......” He had his own vehicle, apparently. So what was up with the car that the woman gave me, the one that was in his name? Obviously, he wouldn’t be crying for it, if he had a pleasent-looking gray truck of his own to play with. Or maybe he would be crying over it. This truck. That car. The woman who wanted me to kill him. The women whom he attacked. All were signs of his perceived power. All were trophies in a cabinet, visible to all, yet blocked by a sheet of glass feebly attempting to keep unwanted hands away. “Mmmm, quite a sleek little thing, huh?”, I tease. “Little? Nothing of mine is ever little!”, he boasted. Size wasn’t everything. Except to him. We got in the truck. He turned the ignition, in the dawn of his final ride. “So.... the park.”, he muttered, hopefully. “Yes, sir... the park.” I was such a good tease. We drove down every street that brought us closer to Victoria Park. He was drunk. A cop could have pulled us over, and he would have been screwed. Clearly, he’s forgotten how unacceptable drunk driving was nowadays. But why would he remember something that would have hindered his narcissistic disposition? He ran through a number of yellow lights, and even a red one. But nobody was paying attention, except for one disgruntled soul who drilled on his horn to little avail. Such driving activity was common, even when sober.......... Ten minutes later, we settled on a private spot, overlooking the edge of Hillsborough River. The moonlight traced out the edge of the river’s opposing side, and of the buildings that sat there, in the town of Stratford. It took the truck’s indoor light, however, to illuminate both of the passengers who sat inside. As soon as he shut off the truck’s engine, he unhooked his seat belt, and moved his body closer to mine. “So....... we’ve made it.” “Why, yes, yes, we have.......” His breath went up my nose; he was that close. “Do you prefer the front seat ... or the back seat?” “You don’t really get to see much back there... unless you’re into leather.” He laughed. He probably thought that there was an innuendo buried in that leather statement. What a one-track mind. “You’re quite a funny girl.... I like you.....” He managed to kiss my hair. I have to wash it anyway....... His damn hole wanted to kiss my mouth, however. I wasn’t going to let that happen. “We ought to take it slowly, my dear.”, I comment. “I am. I’m only kissing you.”, he said in a slick tone of voice. “A little slower than that.........” I said. Slowly, I let my hands be outstretched, on either side of him. My fingers delicately attached themselves to the seatbelt; the shoulder strap, to be precise. Quietly, I extended it, awkwardly moving it over his head. “.... what do you mean, slower?”, he muttered. “You invited me over here..... you should enjoy what is about to happen.” “Oh, I will... I will.......” “You’re going to like what is going to happen, you tease.” I grin. “Oh, really?” “You slut!”, he growled. “You’re nothing but a prick-teaser. Has anybody ever had a chance to screw you before.........?” Then he sputtered. Before he could comprehend, I had tightened my makeshift noose around his neck. I had gained one of those bursts of energy that was required when I knew I had to finish the job, quickly. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t able to put up a fight. I’m sure that this wasn’t the first time that he struggled with any of the woman in his life, even including the one that he pretended to be faithful to. He was struggling against the nature of these women, the nature that demanded that they were real, living human beings. He desired to insinuate himself into their very auras, and destroy them from within, to deny them their individuality........... The pen hesitates as it writes this words. I cannot say that I blame the poor fellow who is holding that pen, documenting my words and actions. After all, he isn’t just trying to write a story in my own voice, a voice of a woman, but he’s also trying to write in a voice of a woman who uses callous violence against people, for a mere fee. He must be shaking within his clothes with every line he completes. But he must press on. I demand that of him........ ..... my victim swatted me around. He struck a lot of blows against my face. I felt pasty stuff below my nose. I must have been bleeding. But I never, ever, let go of his neck. And soon, he stopped fighting back. ---------------------------- PART THREE http://www.epinions.com/content_3707084932  |
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