...But Home is Nowhere: Charlie & Margaux.

[charlesdoherty]

I meet her at her father?s brownstone. He is either in Paris, France or Paris, Texas. I figure they?re both the same. While I wait on her, I rummage through the cupboards for a pre-party snack. The items in the cabinet are mostly foods I?m allergic to, so I settle for a bag of unsalted pretzels.

?Charlie,? Kim calls from the back. She spends a lengthy amount of time prepping herself for tonight and I?m about to say ?screw it,? and hail a cab back to my place. Instead, to kill time, I phone Margaret to see if she answers since the call will be made from The Mackie?s line. After three rings she picks up.

?Hello,? she says. Her voice sounds exhausted and I wonder why.

?Margaret,? I whisper.

?Who is this??

?Guess.?

She sighs, ?Charlie, now?s not a--?

?It?s never a good time when I call you. How come you never answer when I call from my cell??

?I never answer? I wonder why.?

?That hurts, Margaret.?

?Where are yew?? she asks. I smile because I know things are starting to get interesting.

?Paul Mackie?s.? Kim?s father. ?I?m in his bedroom.? I was actually standing in the center of his kitchen.

?Charlie, yew dog. He?s a married man.?

?Ha-ha, very funny. Actually, I?m standing at the foot of his futon, watching Kim--?

?Okay,? she cuts me off, ?I really have to go. It?s not a good time.?

?I?m joking.?

?Right. But actually, Kimberly is a fine catch for yew. I mean, if only ye didn?t have a girlfriend.?

?Stop saying that. I don?t, she left me.?

?I wonder why.?

??I wonder why, I wonder why.? Margaret, you spend a crucial part of your day going back and forth with me.?

There was a momentary pause.

?Well Charlie, yew better tend to Kim before her high wears off. I don?t think she?s as loose when she?s sober.? Kim being sober was a rarity.

?Oh Margaret, you?re such a funny girl.?

?I know. Have fun Charlie.?

[Noir City]

New Jersey : Margaret and Geoffrey

It's too soon to say it's love, right?

I mean... we've been dating for three, maybe four weeks.

But we've been friends since freshmen year.

Best friends.

That's how it became so easy.

"Why doesn't he just leave you alone?" I ask. I have the right to know.

We're at her dorm room.

She's cradling her face in her hands,

I'm pacing the room.

"Who is he, Margaret?" I ask with more force.

I love her. God, I love her. It's never been so clear,

even angry, even pissed off that this guy keeps calling.

This man. This Charles Doherty. He and his name is a plague.

"He's just... someone."

Not a very smart answer from a very smart girl.

"Come on. I know you can do better that that."

I'm kneeling in front of her, begging her with my eyes.

God, I love her.

I love her enough that if she had cheated on me with this

Charles Doherty,

I'd forgive her. I'd take her back in a heartbeat.

"He's... it doesn't even matter anymore, Geoffrey."

"It doesn't matter anymore." She says again, more convincing this time.

"I'm going to marry you one day."

She smiles, but it seems so weak.

I wonder if she's thinking about that punk Charles.

I kiss her.

I'm a bleeding heart.

I'm Geoffrey Newton, a psychology major.

I quote Freud all the time.

I play badminton and tennis on the weekends.

"Hold me," she whispers into my shoulder. "Please."

Margaret says she's saving herself for marriage.

I pull her into me, so tight, so close, I feel as if I'm going to crush her.

Margaret is the best thing in my life.

But sometimes I wonder,

when Charles calls after midnight,

if she ever had...

Nevermind.

[charlesdoherty]

<center> Brunch at noon. </center>


"These french fries are horrible," I mutter, pushing the plate aside. I'm having brunch with Mr. Wilson, my cousin. Mr. Wilson looks like a cross between Gwyneth Paltrow and Woody Allen. The cheeseburger the waitress places at the table's edge sits on a saucer. How cute, I think.

"You bet they are. We should've got the onion rings. The onion rings are pretty good."

"No, no. Their onion rings are shit in a bucket." An enormous glob of ketchup lands on the center of my turkey pattie.

"Yeah, shit in a bucket."

"Stop."

"Sorry."

The waitress stops at our table and asks, "How's your meal?"

"Terrific." I wink at her then look a Mr. Wilson. I call him Mr. Wilson because we're all professionals here. "How's Harriet?"

"Heather," he corrects me.

Same difference.

"I haven't had a decent amount of sleep. What is they say, eight hours."

"Yeah, seven, nine."

"I'm hitting five on a good day. Last night, I think I got in three."

"Club?"

"No. No, Hunter, I'm thirty-nine years old, do I look like I'd go prance on the fucking dance floor?"

"It was jus--"

"The lady. The artist. We had dinner and such. We slept together." But we didn't make love.

"Isn't she married? Isn't she pregnant?"

"Relax, nothing happened. And she's not married. Not even close. She's a sick puppy. She looks out the window, expecting one of her ex-lovers to arrive with a dozen roses." I was just getting started.

"That's...tragic, Luther."

"She laughed at my bowtie. She says she won't kiss me because she thinks my whiskers might poke her. She doesn't sing. She's learning how to cook. She'll tell me certain things but not everything. Did I mention she can't even cut her salad properly?"

"No, you didn't."

"She's an interesting girl."

[Noir City]

"About Charlie."

Madame Raina ran a tight schedule, appointment only. Her reputation was impeccable; she had celebrity clients and extended her services only by word of mouth. She had been an exotic beauty in her heyday, jet black hair and Indian Ocean blue eyes. Now she was a little worn down on the edges and released a generally snappy flair. She was in one of her moods, staring down the girl that say across from her. A pregnant girl, nonetheless, cute as a squirrel.

"So, what do you want to know about Charlie?"

No crystal ball here. She was a better psychic than that. She didn't need props to dress up her talent. The table was rectangular and made of a fleshy dark wood. A deck of tarot cards unintentionally fanned at the edge of the table, and the girl's two hundred in cash.

"Whatever you'll tell me."

She paused.

"The game will never end. You alone cannot feed Charlie's ego, and it's the same way for you. Don't take this the wrong way, but you shouldn't ever have children. I would suggest you put it up for adoption."

"What?"

"Put it up for adoption."

"It's the antichrist, isn't it." She asked almost jokingly.

"What?" Madame Raina seemed shocked. "God. No, child. The baby is anything but that. If you keep it, you'll end up just like her."

"Her?"

"You don't want history to repeat itself, do you?"

"Not... really."

"That night you found her... it was intentional. You were supposed to learn something from it. Stay away from him. He'll only kill you. Slowly."

That, Margaux had to silently agree with.

"Fine." It seemed to weigh her down.

"You want to know if he still loves you."

"I do."

"He'll never love you as much as you love him."

"So, he does love me..."

"You're missing the point." Madame Raina was getting impatient. "Let him go. I don't know what really has gone on between you two, but I strongly advise that you listen closely. Let him go."

[charlesdoherty]

The pregnant lady asks me if I want to smoke some weed but I say no.

We sit on her bed and she's eating Twizzlers while I'm watching this movie on television with Kevin Bacon. The telephone rattles on her dresser but she doesn't pick up because she's too busy smiling at me.

"Where were you before when I was in Miami?"

"I was getting a divorce," I reply, sarcastically.

"Very cute."

"We just came back from dinner and you're eating those things?"

"I'm eating for two," she says. She doesn't look like it. When neither of us answer the phone, the machine picks up the call. We both turn and look at the blinking red light as the voice plays.

"Margaux, it's me. I'm not in New York right now, I'm in Europe with Lucas. Remember him? Anyway, I...I hear you've been seeing that guy uh...Luke...Lou...Luther. He's so lame. Anyway, I...I'll be home next week. We should talk. We need to talk, it's important. Uhm, so yeah...goodbye."

[Noir City]

I'm the kind of girl that cries and the mascara runs.


"... Who is this?"

"Shut up, bitch." I'm down to a whisper: "You ruined my life."

"Uhm. I think you have the wrong number..."

"This is Margaret, isn't it?"

A long pause. An unnatural painful pause.

"Margo?" She says my name like I'm a dirty slut American like her.

"Is he there?"

"Who?"

"Who the fuck else?"

She chooses her words carefully. She's scared, I can tell.

Well, that's what she gets for playing big girl games.

High school whore.

"We don't talk anymore." She says it too quickly.

"I don't believe you."

"I.. don't..."

I DON'T believe her.

I hang up, and I walk down the hallway.

It's past curfew, all the little school children are tucked into bed.

I knock.

I knock again.

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ August 05, 2006 08:17 PM: Message edited by: a xxxholic's affair. ]</font>

[Noir City]

She was feeling too sober as she dialed his number. She was out to dinner with Luther again, and had excused herself to use the pay-phone. The music and ambiance was muffled yet still apparent, and she was becoming more nervous every ring... should she just hang up and go back to the mango cheesecake Luther and her were sharing? She was relieved when his machine picked up...

"Hi. It's me. Margaux. I'm just..."

Charlie sat at the edge of the bed, flipping through the television channels. The A/C was on blast, causing his skin to crackle. The apartment had always seemed so empty since her departure. He hardly invited anyone over and when he did, their tour never went beyond the kitchen. The phone rattled on the dresser and he thought nothing of it, as usually, until her voice played. "I'm just.." Charlie pushed himself from the bed, darting for the cordless.

"Hi," he answered quickly, feeling his heart race.

A waitress shoved her way past her, and Margaux gripped the phone tighter. "Hi Charlie." As a hormonal woman, she had a hard time suppressing any sense of emotion in her greeting. She tried to get a hold of herself, but she was shivering. "I'm..." She took a deep breath. "I'm returning your call." A pause. "You said it was important," she reminded him, as if that meant anything in this moment, anything at all. She drew herself close to the wall, trying to not get distracted by the fleeting kitchen staff.

"Yeah..." He slowly returned to the mattress, sitting far and deep against the headboard. "Yeah," his tone changed, more upbeat. "I uh, it wasn't that important. I just wanted to see how you'd been holding up and stuff. I mean, we haven't talked in like ages." Nerves were hardly hidden in his chopped laughter. He hadn't exchanged words with her in months, of course he felt awkward. "I hear, I hear you're doing well. The art show and stuff. And uh, with your new beau. Lance, is it?"

She didn't bother correcting his name. "He's a client. He bought several of my pieces." He's no one compared to you, she wanted to say, but she didn't. She was embarrassed that she was spending as much time as she was with Luther. "I've been..." She was fighting between telling the truth or lying. "I've been miserable. Pregnant and miserable." An inaudible sigh.

"Pregnant and miserable? I'm sorry to hear that. Why are you miserable, Margaux?"

"I'm miserable because I'm more than six months pregnant and still want to wear high heels. I've been eating ridiculous amounts of sweet and sour pork and the people at the restaurant down the block from me give me three fortune cookies, one for the baby, me and..."

She could see Luther's concerned smile from twenty feet away. "I miss you. I miss you like crazy." She rushed it, seeing Luther's dark eyes narrow in on her.

She missed him? "You don't miss me," he assured her. "You're better off without me, believe it or not. I'm not worth it. I'm not at all. I'm a lousy boyfriend and I'll make a horrible father. You should be with that one kid, James. He was a fine young man. You miss him, okay? But not me. I'm nothing. I'm trouble. I'm worthless. No."

He said it all with a smile, cleaning his nails because he was thinking -- he was certain she'd tell him the opposite. She really was a sick puppy, and he enjoyed teasing her.

"Maybe that's why I miss you and not anyone else. But--"

"Where are you?" he asked, listening to the dishes clank and music blare from the background.

"Atelier." She could feel her ear turning red from all the pressure she put on the receiver. She didn't want to miss a single word. "Enough about me. How are you? How was Europe?"

"Europe? Oh, it was fun, I guess. Lucas lives there. He lives in Spain but he doesn't know how to order food. He's been living there for--" Since he moved in with her. "I don't know, a grip." Charlie could feel his muscles twitch. He wondered what she was wearing, where she really was, if Luther was around, and how many times she kissed him.

"Lucas." That brought a soft smile to her lips. "That kid should learn the language. The Spanish get angry when you don't know how to say por favor and gracias." She wondered if Luther was starting to fidget in his seat.

She put her hand on the receiver as Luther asked who she was speaking to. "It's Mischa. I thought that I left some important paperwork at the gallery. Will you go order me some tea? I'll be there in a few moments." By the look on his face, it didn't look like he believed her, but he went back to their table.

She was back on the line. "But anyway, Charlie, I think you should know that I'm giving the baby up."

Charlie didn't care much about anything. He didn't care about love or family. Just himself and money. And giving the baby up, at least to him, seemed like a great idea. He was awful. "You're not giving it up. You're testing me to see what I'll say. And well, I think since you're having it, you should make up your own mind. Right?" He cleared his throat. "Who was that back there, Lance? He's a really nice guy and all but he's really...I don't know, weird? You must be having horrible time."

She pursed her lips to keep herself from boiling over into fury. A change of subject.

"I paid Margaret a visit the other day. Her dorm was really lovely and so was her boyfriend. I mean, really, the boy just makes her glow, and he is just hilarious! ... To think I came there to bitch her out, and after five minutes, I couldn't even manage to be mad at her. We had some British cookies, I forgot what they were called -- and we exchanged horror stories about you. We're supposed to have brunch next weekend. I didn't even realize how close New Jersey was..."

His eyes widen in shock. His mouth began to tremble and he could feel his hands grasping tightly around the phone. 'What did you say about me?" he asked, trying to laugh it off. "Well actually, why did you visit her, and who told you where she lived? Hm? That wasn't a nice thing to do, Margaux. You can't go around scaring innocent girls like that. She wouldn't deserve your shit. But I'm glad the three of you hit it off. Her boyfriend is funny. 'Ha-ha funny' and well, faggot, funny. Mhm."

"Why, it doesn't really matter anymore, Charlie. It's silly really. She told me a few interesting things about you... and her uncle. It gave us a good laugh." She worried that if she prolonged this too much, Luther would be back. "Anyway, I really should go, since you really didn't have anything important to say. You're just the same disappointment from a few months ago, right? Take care, Charlie."

[ log. ]

[Noir City]

11:13 a.m.

"Go away." She's begging, clutching the bottom of her hard belly, pain dripping through her bloodstream, she stifles a scream, magazine slapped onto the conveyor belt. She nearly topples over, she nearly crushes an old lady, thighs drenched with the splash of birth induced fluids. She wishes that this was happening to someone else, someone else who went to the grocery store for bananas, honey, and peanut butter. Someone else.

"Oh my God." That's not her, it's the man's saucer eyes watching sick liquid Margaux seeping past his shoes. He's a stranger, saucer eyes gone wild, gone pale. "Excuse me, I think she's..." Popped. The cashier almost look panicked, and they want to guide her to a less public place. But where? They look like they want to touch her, but they're frightened. Disgusted, maybe.

"Oh my God." She's the echo, she's the phoenix's cry, she leans she bends she gasps. She doesn't want to move, she's frozen. They call an ambulance like she's had a god damn heart attack in the narrow aisle of cashier number four. No. It's just a baby. "I'm fine, I'm fine..." She's wasted, completely muddled in her own mess, down on the linoleum squares until the paramedics take her away.

12:04 p.m.

The nurses were swarming, legs fixed up like some kind of specimen under surveillance, she's oddly calm as they speak of fetal distress, rushing her through bright blue hallways for an emergency cesarean. She wonders if she's willed it to die, and she closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the sense that this baby doesn't want her either.

12:48 p.m.

"Mister Doherty? I'm calling from The New York-Presbyterian Hospital. Margaux was admitted within the last half hour. She went into labor, and in for an emergency Cesarean. We tried calling her father who was first on her emergency contact list, but we were unable to reach him. So, we need you to come down and sign some paperwork for her. Oh, and Mister Doherty, there is a twenty-four hour window before she'll sign the final documents for the adoption. As I understand by the papers she's filled out, you're the father of the child, so if she is unable to sign for those due to further complications, she's given you the responsibility to do so. Thank you. Goodbye."

3:29 p.m.

They call it postpartum hemorrage. The doctors said she would recover, although there was a significant loss of blood. She had been falling in and out of consciousness in the first couple hours of recovery. The baby is wrapped tightly in a blue blanket, one of many September babies in a row, silent and calm. Unnamed. Six pounds and three ounces. Twenty inches. From outside the glass, the nurse points to him, row two, third one from the right.

"That one right there is your son, Mister Doherty. He's healthy and beautiful. The couple who are eager to adopt the child are in the waiting room, if you would like to visit with them."

Mister and Misses Goldbloom. He was in wool, she was in an old mink. Practicing Jews and quietly frugal, no doubt. They were waiting somewhat patiently, somewhat nervously, a basket of forget-me-knots for the mother. Obviously early to mid-forties, kind yet shallow eyes and hearts. It wasn't particularly clear why Margaux had picked them, although by face value, it seemed to be because they were financially stable.

"It's bad luck to adopt a baby that was born today," Misses Goldbloom said miserably into her compact mirror, dusting her nose.

"Don't be absurd, Jestinna."

"But it's the anniversary of a national--"

"Jestinna, please."

"Listen to me. For all we know she could be a drug--"

"I thought you liked her."

"Liked? She was the only decent looking woman with all her teeth who wasn't selling her child for more--"

"Are you having second thoughts about this?"

"We should've found a Jewish girl."

"Good Jewish girls don't give up their children."

"You're right. Only those artist types with loose inhibitions do."

"Be kind. The girl has probably been through a lot."

"What do you think she's going to do with all that money? She's probably a Central Park crackhead, for all we know. Shooting up behind a tree."

"You can't shoot up crack, darling."

[charlesdoherty]

It's six in the fucking morning. Day four of the worst day of my life. I'm paying hourly visits to the medicine cabinet, it's so disgusting. The phone is ringing but I let the machine pick up.

Beep.

"Hey darling, it's me, Luther. How's the baby. Ha, and when I say 'baby' I do mean Charl-"

"Charlie," I answer, so drained there's not even a hint of anger in my voice.

"Charlie!" Luther says. The bastard's so embarrassed now. Probably.

"She's not here. She's in the hospital."

"Still?"

"Uh, yeah." Idiot.

"Oh. Well, hey, how are you pal?"

"Fine and dandy. You?" I ask, though I really don't care.

"I'm doing all right, actually. I...do...congratulations Charlie."

"Thanks Logan. But I have to get going. I.. have something in the oven."

"Oh yeah, that's always important. Hey, could you do me a favor? Tell-"

Click.