Looking for Charlie
A Short Story in the Style of Film Noir
(Another incomplete scrap from the on-line storytelling workshop I completed last winter. It's just a few days before the Thanksgiving holiday here in The States - my favorite holiday - so I'm not in the groove for crafting anything particularly insightful, witty or, frankly, work related. If you're familiar with any of the writing from Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, or Blake Edwards then you might kinda sorta maybe appreciate this little opus.)
Chapter One
The hand slipped up underneath my arm from behind and gently tugged me to the side.
"Is there some place we can talk?", the voice whispered.
I recognized the voice. It was Charlie. Smart guy. Too smart. Over the past few years he'd fallen into believing one conspiracy theory after another. Problem was, he collected them rather than swapping them one for another.
"Hey, easy on the tux, Charlie! It's a cocktail party. We can talk right here. Ya know, that's what we're supposed to do at these things."
Well, I asked for it. When Charlie's on a role you'd better be ready to listen. I was going to need a surgical team to cut in and make this an actual conversation. Charlie droned on about a half dozen theories involving, kittens, highway paint, cellphone towers, and the president's robot eyes. I'm never too sure how many screws are left keeping the hinges in his mind securely fastened.
"I dunno, Charlie," I finally managed. "Look, did you ever stop to consider that all these 'friends' you have on Faceplant and Blither are just nanobots masquerading as real-life friends?"
He looked indignant. Puzzled.
"Maybe you should just turn your back on all these theories and walk away."
His jaw was moving but nothing was coming out. It's cold here in Minneapolis this time of year but I had no idea my comment could freeze the words in Charlie's mouth faster than a thirty below breeze. I turned to find another drink while thinking maybe it's time to leave. Charlie had that effect on people. He seemed harmless enough, but only in small doses.
My debate was interrupted by someone bumping me shoulder to shoulder. It was Marlena, the party's hostess. She had all the right curves in all the right places and wore a dress that showed just enough of every one of them. A guy could get seasick if he scanned to quickly. Marlena threw the best parties. Daddy's money and all that. But that was college. Unlike the rest of us slugs, Marlena graduated college and built herself a real estate empire turning unusual junk into even more unusual homes. A few years ago she tried to hook me into buying a "luxury condo" in a converted wind turbine blade. She eventually sold it for a million bucks.
"Well, hello, stranger. Where have you been hiding all evening," she asked slyly.
Now this was a happy turn. I returned Marlena's engaging smile and glanced back to where I left Charlie chewing his words. He was gone.
"Daaaaalink. You look Maaaaavalous! Bless your devilish heart. You've rescued me from the clutches of Charlie's master mind. Someday you'll have to tell me why you invite him to these shindigs of yours."
"Reasons, daaaaalink. People ask me all the time why I invite you," she countered.
"Ouch."
"Besides, Charlie's cute."
"And me?"
"You're mysterious. Everyone here lands an invitation because they spin in a different way. I like the mix."
Now seemed like a good time to surrender. "Ah hem, well. Thanks for the rescue, anyway," I acquiesced.
"Thanks not necessary. I didn't invite you to be tortured. I like interesting junk, but if it doesn't fit, I rearrange it. So help me out. Why do YOU accept my invitations to these shindigs?"
"Well, it's not you, baby. It's the single malt scotch. You run out of that and I run out on you," I winked.
"Denver's a long way to come for a drink, soldier." She nodded as she turned to mingle with the rest of the high class junk in the room and left me there, slowly shaking my head.
The next morning, both coffeed and sobered up, I had a vague uneasy feeling about Charlie. But I brushed it off and set about the day's business. Weekends don't come every day, after all. When I didn't see him all day at work come Monday I thought to my self "Well, it's a big place and it's not unusual to go days without seeing each other. Apposing assignments and all that." By the end of the week, still no Charlie. I was only in town for a couple of weeks with this gig and had a plane to catch the next day so I started asking around our circle of friends.
"Nah, I haven't seen him for weeks."
"Nope. Not since I transferred upstairs last summer."
"No. I thought he quit a few months ago."
Oh, bother. My snarky comment about nanobot friends wasn't supposed to be true. I remembered he had a sister, Carly. It took some work, but I tracked her down and rung her phone. "Yes, I heard from him. He sent a postcard."
A postcard?
Carly didn't have it in front of her and she couldn't remember where it was sent from. All it said was "Hope you're well. Talk soon." A laconic Charlie was about as believable as a unicorn rodeo.
So Charlie was somewhere out in the world and that's all I needed to know. We'd all been ghosted. It's the way of things these days. I finished my gig in Minneapolis and was glad to be heading home. I hated this town in college and hate it even more since leaving my client very unhappy. That's happens when you hire someone like me to find answers. I usually do. Clients always seem to be surprised by that.
Months passed and I moved on. Charlie slipped from my mind.
It was the weekend again and I was walking up to the entrance of the my hometown's latest and hottest night spot, "Indulge." I'd been roped into joining in on something called "Lightning Speed Dating." Eight seconds to impress the potential love of your life. It sounded dangerous but a favor is a favor and so decided it would be a good opportunity for one of my infamous social experiments. This one involving surprising one liners.
Walking up to the door, my eye was captured by the surprising but lovely sight of Marlena. That vision snagged on the fact her arm was wrapped around the elbow of some guy. The three of us met at the door and stared at each other for a few seconds. I had an unsettled feeling, like the ground I was standing on had turned out to be the back of a hippopotamus.
"Hello, Marlena. Visiting from the frozen tundra of Minneapolis, I see."
Instead of flashing her signature smile, she shot a nervous glance at her date. I extended my hand to the gentleman and said, "Hello, Charlie."
We shook. His grasp was firm and direct. Gone were the deep set and gaunt eyes. His face was fuller. He looked rested. And tanned! How is that even possible mid-January in Minneapolis?
"Where HAVE you been?"
"I took your advice," he said.
"How's that," I queried.
"That night at Marlena's party. You said, 'Just turn around and walk away.' So I did."
"Charlie, that was a year and a half ago. Must of been a hell of a walk. Where did you go? Chicago?"
"San Diego."
"California?" I blurted out. As if there might be some confusion with San Diego, Minnesota. After an awkward silence, I cleared my throat and asked, "What did you do when you got there?"
"Turned around and walked back."
I squinted and glanced back and forth between the two of them. Whatever happened here didn't happen at lightening speed. I nodded in the direction of "Indulge" and said, "Let me buy the two of you a drink. I'd like to hear how you kids met."
To be continued...maybe...
Photo by Denise Jans on Unsplash