Charlotte's Sexy Web

[The Albion Bar is fictional although in 2018 there is a bar in another part of the city with that name. Michelle Hanley is in several other stories including the one

here

.]

Motor City's burning

Charlotte De Havilland was another student at the City College of New York in 1974-75 but it was difficult to say whether she was a junior, a senior, or whatever. She had begun working on her degree in psychology in 1967 at the University of Connecticut at Storrs. Her take on her academic career was, "They were still hosing down the ashes in Newark and Detroit when I started on this."

One of the delays was caused by her spending some time in a hippie lifestyle in the East Village in Manhattan for a year starting in 1968. Being a hippie was actually more work than it might have seemed because she had to take a number of waitressing and other kinds of jobs. "I would have starved if I had to depend on most of those people," she said.

By the time I met her she had transferred to City College. Jobs in publishing companies supported her walk-up apartment in the neighborhood of Chelsea. She had been in one of my classes for three months before she spoke to me and we hit it off. I was honest with her from the very first about a couple of other girls I was dating but that didn't bother her.

At that time she was twenty-six and I was still nineteen. From the beginning I was in awe of her and I found myself relying on her for advice. She was about five-foot eight and she had dark, almost black hair. Charlotte somehow always looked right regardless of what clothes she was wearing that day. Yet the only thing she seemed vain about was her glasses. She was constantly taking them on and off as if she wasn't comfortable being seen in them.

Most of the time she was polite and sort of reserved without actually being shy. I assume this had something to do with her upbringing in the suburban town of Darien, Connecticut. Yet when she started role-play games with me some very intense and even disturbing emotions emerged from her. Then she could be unsettling and scary but I was fascinated to see what that side of her was like.

It had to happen eventually - my complicated love life would get even more tangled. Charlotte and I were getting iced coffees in the lounge in the basement of Finley Hall. It was a warm day in June during final exams. We ran into one of my other girls, Michelle Hanley. I had known Michelle for nine months at that point and Charlotte for seven. They knew about each other but had never met.

I know I had either incredible luck or very laid-back girlfriends because no drama resulted from this chance meeting. Or maybe it was the anything-goes, open relationship ethos of the era. The three of us had a conversation at one the tables for a short while and then Michelle had to leave to deal with an upcoming exam.

Charlotte and I stayed at the table for a bit longer. She looked cool and poised, with a short-sleeved white blouse, black - what were they called, clamdiggers or Capri pants? - white sandals, and a yellow hairband. As usual she seemed well put-together. Even though I was enamored of her, I still felt a bit awkward when in public with her. What was a guy like me doing with a lady like this?

I often wondered why she didn't have some man more suitable for her. If she did have someone else then, she certainly kept it well hidden. I speculated that she found my age and inexperience unthreatening, and that's why she had gotten involved with me for the time being.

I guess my inexperience had also caused me to blab to her about Michelle a lot. Our role playing games had been a topic of conversation and Charlotte had listened and commented on them. She had been struck by Michelle's knack for costumes, settings, dialogue - and the amount of time she could roll along in character.

Now in the lounge after Michelle had left I decided to go into some difficult territory. I said, "I should never have talked about her so much, I mean the things I told you about her." She took my hand and held it; I think she wanted to reassure me. I may have been a naive twenty-year old but for the moment I was

her

naive twenty-year old.

She said, "Well it's too late now. Besides, I love hearing about those scenes."

I said, "I think you like her."

"And she likes me too."

I was about to ask about the implications of that but I let it pass.

She said, "It's obvious that you and Michelle . . ." She let the sentence hang, then continued, "I'm sorry, maybe some other time." I feel pangs of guilt going in two directions and I thankful when Charlotte changed the subject, "You have some free time this afternoon, didn't you say that?"

"Sure I do."

"Well this New York weather is oppressive sometimes." It was already as hot and humid as July. "I want to go someplace with air conditioning. Like my apartment." Then she said, "And yes, you are invited too."

I leaned forward and said something quietly to her. I wouldn't have been able to do this a year earlier with any woman, but now I was willing to take chances, "I'd love to see you with just your hairband and sandals."

That worked well. She said, "How about my sunglasses too?" She took them out and put them on.

"I won't be able to see your eyes."

"That's the point. I'll look more mysterious that way."

"Do you have a hat you could wear?"

"I have a couple of straw summer hats. Would one of those do?"

"That would be great."

Often when some idea would strike her she'd push her glasses up or just remove them and drop them on a table. Right now she pushed them up. Her hand went back on mine.

She said, "Speaking of role playing, I just had an idea for one we could do, I mean today. It's pretty simple, not one of those grand dramas that Michelle stages. You want to hear about it?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"All right, the basic idea is that we pretend we've never met before. You'll go down to Chelsea and we'll have an arranged place where we run into each other. There's like, for example, that Duane Reade [a drugstore chain] near me."

"How about a bar? Wouldn't that be better? At least we can sit down."

"Okay, there's one near me, the Albion on Seventh Avenue - that would be good." She looked at her watch. "It's only two o'clock. I don't really want to be in a bar until at least five something." She gave it some thought, "I think I'll go home first and take a shower, then just hang out there for a while."

"Will you put the same clothes back on?"

"Oh, you like them?" I nodded.

We went over a couple of details about how I would get to the bar. She decided that 5:30 PM was the time to meet. I knew the place; it was an unassuming neighborhood kind of tavern.

She said, "This is how I see it going. When you come in I'll be having a drink at the bar. A couple of ground rules: First, you have to initiate the conversation and get it rolling."

"So I'm trying to pick you up?"

"Exactly. Now we'll have the same basic personas, we'll use our real names. You'll still be a student at City College. I'm not going to be a student here, so you won't have that as some kind of - we just won't have that in common."

"I admit, I'm not sure how to do this. I've never, you know, picked up a woman in a bar or in fact anywhere." The campus itself was where I had always met girls.

"Well this will give you a chance to learn by doing. It's sort of a dry run."

I wasn't sure why I had to learn this particular skill but maybe I would need it someday. A discomforting thought came to me; was it possible that Michelle or even Charlotte might dump me some day in favor of - well, somebody else, it didn't matter who it was.

Charlotte continued, "What you'll have to deal with is that I will be acting as if this is the first time I've ever seen you. I'm not going to be deliberately nasty or something, but you will be coming in completely cold."

Somehow this didn't like as much fun as I had originally imagined it.

She said, "Maybe we will wind up in my apartment, but then what happens there? Maybe we'll arrange for a more elaborate date on another day. Maybe I'll just give you my phone number. Or maybe you'll just get nothing."

Why had I agreed to this? But if I got nothing, then so would Charlotte. I was pretty sure she didn't want it that way.

She said, "Oh, and don't offer to buy me a drink because I'll already have one and you should come up with something more creative, more personal. So, are you up for this? Because I certainly am." I couldn't really turn her down. She wasn't at all reserved now; she was smiling in anticipation of what was coming.

She continued, "I can see why Michelle does these. You're really thrown back on yourself, how you handle a situation." She must have noticed how quiet I'd become. "Cheer up, there's always tomorrow." She stood up. Before I could do the same she put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You can stay here - I'm going downtown first. I'm not going to kiss you goodbye - we can start getting into the mood of this."

Michelle, the natural-born method actor, would have approved of that tactic.

Charlotte got said, "See you down there, okay?" She seemed unusually happy - bouncy I would say. I watched the back of her Capri pants as she walked away. I had taken for granted that I would be getting into those pants this afternoon. Now I was not at all sure.

Perfidy at the Albion

When I arrived outside the Albion I was feeling better. After all this was still going to be Charlotte I was meeting. I had known her for months and I couldn't remember her ever saying a truly harsh word to me.

As I opened the door and walked in, however, everything seemed to be suddenly wrong. She was indeed there at the bar to my right, I could see her in profile. But what I first thought about was my clothes, my college guy hot-weather sloppiness right down to my no-name sneakers. She had seen me in these exact clothes a few hours ago but now I felt abashed.

A related detail was that I had a loose-leaf notebook and another book under my arm. It was the custom for males in college then to continue the high school practice of simply carrying these things under one's arm. Nowadays everybody from nursery school students to Ph.D. candidates has some kind of bag or backpack. Back then there was something not quite macho about bags, although one ever spoke about it. We were all too cool for school I suppose.

During the few steps to the bar I felt like I was fifteen-years old again. I knew my appearance was indeed similar to what it had been five years earlier.

Charlotte had told me to sit on either side of her but to be in the second chair along the bar. It wasn't crowded so I had my choice; I went to her right between her and the door. I had no choice about the books; I had to put them on the bar. That made me feel like I should be ordering a milk shake.

I glanced at what Charlotte was drinking. I guessed it was a gin and tonic or a vodka and tonic so I ordered a vodka for myself. The drinking age back then was eighteen and even though I looked young for my age I almost never got carded.

When I had my drink I tried to look at her again without being too obvious about it. I knew then that Michelle was a genius in her understanding of these games. It really seemed that I was looking at Charlotte for the first time. She was wearing one of the straw hats that she had talked about and her sunglasses were perched in the band. She didn't have her regular glasses on but I knew she was always ambivalent about wearing them.

This lady two stools down from me didn't look at all delicate. She was tall and she had a solid pair of hips (which I had always liked). Beyond that she looked poised; she seemed completely confident that her barstool was the place to be at the moment. She had not acknowledged my presence in any way. She looked straight ahead and seemed engaged in her own thoughts.

I had prepared no options to approach her; I had wasted the previous three plus hours without doing any planning for this. I then had the unnerving thought that even if I was into bar pickups I wouldn't have tried to talk to his particular woman. I remembered that last fall we had been in the same class for months and she finally was the one who had come up to me.

The seconds were ticking by and I had nothing to say. Well I had to come up with something, so I tried talking about my real situation.

"I have had a lot of final exams to deal with this month but I decided to take a break this afternoon."

That seemed really weak; I was already boring myself. She glanced at me and I expected her to say, Are you talking to me? Instead she said, "Yeah, really?" It seemed to be a noncommittal response as if it would have been rude to completely ignore me.

I tried, "Ah, I go to City College, it's up in . . ."

"I know where it is." Again, not unpleasant, just a flat statement of fact.

What kept me going was that we both understood that if she blew me off the game would end. No matter how inept I was she would want to amuse herself and see exactly how bad I could get.

The ball was in my court again, "So I figured I'd go downtown and get a drink. Originally I was going to this place called Googies, it's on Sullivan Street."

"I've been there. It's such a dump. Their unisex bathroom is really a mess."

Wow, I got three sentences out of her. I said, "So I happened to be passing here and it looked like a good place." I offered no explanation of how I gotten off the train in Chelsea instead of the Village. Then I realized the details of that probably didn't matter.

She said, "I like coming here."

That was good; I wouldn't be tempted to say, "Do you come here often?" I thought of asking her if she lived nearby but it was too early for that.

So again the ball was there to hit. The tennis analogy had come to me during one of Michelle's games, although the ball always seemed to be in slow, or at least slower, motion. Unlike an actual tennis match I did have a second instead of a half-second to think about my move.

"My girlfriend was too busy to get down here today."

Oh that was a blunder. Mentioning a girlfriend would make an impression in guy-talk. In this situation no good could come of it but it was too late to take it back.

She said, "I suppose she doesn't know you're out here bar-hopping."

Yes or no? "I told her I was going downtown for a while."

I saw that Charlotte had indeed taken on a role here. There was a subtle difference in the way she was speaking and acting, a few degrees change from her real self. She was less polite than usual - that's the way I grasped it. I wondered what had been expected of her during her upbringing in suburban Connecticut.

I noticed that she had turned slightly in my direction. It seemed she was looking at me enough that she was prepared for some kind of conversation, no matter how silly or brief.

She said, "So of all the bars in this town you had to walk into this one."

"Oh yeah, Bogart."

She just nodded. I thought, please Charlotte, don't make me work so hard on this.

I said, "It is sort of a nice place." Well she had already said that, so I needed to continue. I decided to lunge for it.

I said, "Really the best thing about it is that you're here." What would she do with that?

She looked up and down the bar and said, "I noticed it's not at all crowded and yet you placed yourself two chairs away from me."

"I guess I walked in and I liked your - hat?" That was bad; it had come out as a question.

"You have a thing for women's hats?"

I was aware that the less I had to lose the more willing I was to take chances. Maybe that was a good lesson to learn.

"Of course there is more." She was obviously thinking, like what? I had seen her from the side when I first came in. It was not yet time to be praising the shape of her ass.

I had an inspiration, "I like what you've done with your hair." Compliments seemed good as long as they were plausible. I continued, "A lot of girls just grow it out and part it in the middle." Maybe I should have said women, not girls, but I had a fix for that. I said, "Besides, I like dark-haired women."

So there, I had served or volleyed or whatever the correct term was. I was curious about how she'd hit it back.

She said, "So have a better look." She took her hat off - sunglasses and all - and put it on the bar. She put both hands up and fluffed her hair even though it didn't need that. Simultaneously she crossed her legs and put a sandaled foot against the panel under the bar. Was she being flirty or just messing with me? Maybe both?

But she said have a look, so I did. Her hair was short only by the standards of the time. It went down just below her chin and it was neatly cut with bangs so she had a Louise Brooks/flapper thing going. She still had the yellow hairband I had noticed and liked so much when we were uptown earlier.

I was again aware of the two Charlottes, the real one and the "Charlotte" playing the game. And I was hit with an intense pang, an emotional and physical need for her today, not some other day. Which Charlotte I wanted didn't seem to matter. This was one of those weird moments I had been through a number of times with Michelle - the moment when it didn't feel like playacting anymore. I had barely touched my vodka and now I took a deeper draft of it.

I was grateful that she had something to say, "I assume you must be - what, a sophomore?"

"That's right."

"You should know that I'm twenty-six so I must have a few years on you."

"I sort of knew that when I first saw you."

She looked me up and down, assessing me, "You're not the most snappy dresser I've ever seen."

Don't apologize. I shrugged and said, "Hey, I'm a student."

She nodded. She choose this moment to uncross her legs. "It's so obvious that you don't know how to do this - it's almost endearing."

That couldn't be a compliment; damnation with faint praise seemed more likely. I decided on my next two moves.

I said, "I'm Paul, by the way."

"Well hi, I'm Charlotte."

Pleased to meet you? No, don't say that. But now that I had her name dropping it into the conversation seemed worthwhile.

"Charlotte, I guess you must work near here."

"No, I'm up in Midtown."

"So then you must live around here."

"Oh, I get it."

I just kept plowing ahead, "I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to afford a Manhattan apartment." Irrelevant, your honor. Sustained. "But you like you're apartment, right?"

She shrugged, "Yes, I do."

That seemed like an important junction. I said, "I'd like to see it, I mean your place."

"Are you planning a career as a real estate agent?"

"Maybe I will, maybe I will go into real estate."

She chuckled. It had been my first attempt at a joke, albeit a feeble one. But even if I hadn't killed with it I hadn't completely bombed either.

I said the line I should have added a few moments earlier, "We could go there, have another drink, chat for a while."

"So you expect some free liquor and an air-conditioned place to hang out." That was a statement, not a question.

"No, I want to talk to you."

She could have said, why not talk to me here? Instead she thought about it for a few seconds. She turned the stool so she was really facing me for the first time.

She said, "You could use a few extra pounds." True, I was quite thin. "And you may be twenty or so but you look younger." That was true too. She moved forward on the stool and leaned towards me; she had enough reach to flick the hair on the side of my head. "You could use a decent haircut too." Like most guys my age back then I didn't cut my hair until it had turned into a messed-up tangle.

I thought that perhaps it was the real Charlotte, the one I was naming Charlotte No. 1, who was giving real opinions about me that she had never expressed before. However, she had always been a very pleasing lover to me so I had little to complain about.