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

  1. #1
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    <center>CM

    We held hands on the last night on earth.

    Our mouths filled with dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees,

    screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves.

    It was empty on the edge of town but we knew everyone floated

    along the bottom of the river.

    So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea

    and the shattered seasons lay,

    and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease.

    In our cancer of passion you said, "Death is a midnight runner."

    The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide.

    We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes

    of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress.

    The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn

    as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.

    The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime.

    I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked

    if you would accompany me in a quick fall,

    but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't for two.

    I rode alone.

    You said, "The cinders are falling like snow."

    There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty,

    bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.

    Of blue and grey.

    Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city.

    The sun was stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon

    and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines.

    Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward,

    and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched

    into the earth like a message.


    I cannot leave here, I cannot stay.
    Forever haunted, more than afraid.
    Asphyxiate on words I would say.
    I'm drawn to a blackened sky as I turn blue.

    There are no flowers, no, not this time.
    There will be no angels gracing the lines,
    just these stark words I find.

    I'd show a smile, but I'm too weak.
    I'd share with you, could I only speak,
    just how much this hurts me.

    I cannot stay here. I cannot leave.
    Just like all I loved, I'm make-believe.
    Imagined heart, I disappear.
    Seems no one will appear here and make me real.


    I'd tell you how it haunts me,
    I'd tell you how it haunts me,
    (Cuts through my day and sinks in to my dreams.)
    I'd tell you how it haunts me,
    (Cuts through my day and sinks in to my dreams.)
    You don't care that it haunts me...

    </center>

    (afi : this time imperfect)

    <font color="#000000" size="1">[ July 08, 2006 03:01 PM: Message edited by: fishhook grief (i'll catch you) ]</font>

  2. #2
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    <center>("why lie, i need a beer" posts)

    He climbed up the concrete steps, extending his arm out the other older man in from of the door.

    A letter sealed was held tightly between his finger tips.

    "Excuse me sir, can you give this to Margaux?"


    ---


    ( Three hours later )

    Charlie's forehead was stamped to the leather steering wheel while he was parked outside of her building. He had fell asleep to the sound of Beck leaking for the audio system. Aside from the two whistle blowers who walked by earlier, no one bothered him. People were pre occupied with their own matters. And so was she.


    ----

    </center>
    Margaux,

    My father said there's people who like to work for others and people who work for themselves. I never liked working for the man and if I had my way I'd live the rest of my life without ever having to put on a suit.

    I didn't really enjoy our last episode. It wasn't your fault, I just didn't really like that James character. In fact I didn't like him at all, I thought he had some nerve telling me to go fuck myself. I'll slit his face if I ever see him again. However, I think James is a better match for you. I'm not a good person, honestly but I'm trying. I just thought you should know.

    This is probably my darkest hour right now. My mother died and I lost my job. I've been staying in a motel for five days and it won't be before long until I run out of money. You'll probably find me prostituting myself on one of these corners, just waiting pick up a case of HIV. Ha, I'm absolutely pathetic.

    I don't need for you to feel bad for me. I just felt that I should tell you all this. You're possibly the only person I can talk to and it's a shame that you think I'm cruel. I knew you would be important that night I met you in the lobby. I don't think I'll ever forget that night.

    Love,
    Charlie

    She didn't know what to think. Jimmy told her he slept with some girl after he left the day he met Charlie. They were both angry, Margaux watching her own reflection in the window while she smoked a cigarette. He gave her an ultimatum (she was expecting one sooner or later). She said it didn't matter, he was probably going to leave her apartment looking for a cheap fuck anyway. She didn't even bother looking for the disgust on his face when the door slammed behind him. It was all boring heartbreak to her, and she didn't feel like dealing with it.

    She drank the whole bottle of expensive French wine he brought over (some celebratory bullshit for the three new cars he bought, impractical accessories for New York City or maybe just a nice way of trying to get laid). She wasn't crying. No. She wasn't drunk enough.

    She was watching a rerun of Friends in that wondrous bend of her white sofa, waiting for Charlie to come home.

    But she didn't have to wait too long.

    Charlie stumbled up the steps leading to her door. He was completely sober and completely aware of his surroundings. If he leaned over the banister he could see that same neighbor of hers muttering into a phone. The two glanced at one another and exchanged the common gestures of "hello." Her neighbors really made him nervous.

    Wrestling with the brass door knob, the man of the hour finally slipped inside. He saw Margaux doing whatever it was she doing, with her attention on the television.

    "Are you hungry?" He landed in the kitchen, organizing the dishes in each cabinet.
    "I've already ate, but if you were I'd go and get you something." Once finished with his evening chore he took of his jacket, tossing it aside over the arm of the sofa. Upon approaching her he noticed that bottle of wine that had not been there before he went about his day. He climbed over her lap and sat down beside her. She was never sober.

    "I'm gunna take a shower. Try to think of something."

    "No. I can't even think about food. I feel sick. Fucking James came over. We got into some stupid argument. He told me I had to choose. It's either him or you."

    Her mouth was stained and she put a bitter-wine kiss on the side of his head. There was no time for sobriety. She barely missed it, especially during a winter like this one. She craved normal weather, whatever the fuck that was. The French wine was starting to beat down on her brain -- the migraine slowly aching it's way in through the membrane.

    "I missed you. Why do you always have to leave? Why can't you always stay right here with me?"

    She was so sad, green eyes melting into their lids. Her head lulled back, thank God for the backrest. She felt like she'd be happy if her neck snapped, happy if she was in a hospital bed like Pamela; the handful of people who knew Margaux saying a couple nice things just in case she could hear them.

    She wanted to laugh. Almost. But she held it all in, not even wanting a cigarette as she leaned into Charlie, nuzzling his arm, wanting him to tell her he'd love her forever (a sick fantasy that replayed in her head). Did she have any leftover Vicodin in the medicine cabinet?

    Hearing his name would not send him in some sort of jealous rage, that was not his style. Afterall, Charlie did suggest she reconsider bitter feelings for the poor child. He watch the program cut into a string of commericals: Car insurance, Dennys, cheap attornies, Tide, tampons, etc., etc. His eyes fell on too her pitiful face.

    "Me or him, me or him?" Charlie slouched in the seat, biting down on his thumb. "I guess that'd all depend on who's better in bed." Maybe that wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. Maybe she wanted Charlie to spit out a list of reasons why he was worthy of having her, she was a wicked little thing.

    He slid off each shoe, one by one, placing the sneakers below him.

    She smirked. "It comes down to who's better in bed? What a male thing to say." She laughed, not sure if it was the comment or the wine. She touched his face, her fingertips were almost a bitting cold. She was so glad she wasn't alone to fend another night by herself. It got rough sometimes -- having all these lovers and no one to stick around.

    "We can only take each other for so long. But I'm here with you right now, right?"

    "What do you mean, we can only take each other for so long?" Her green eyes filled with suspicion. "You're going to leave me, aren't you?" This was a piece of history, this conversation. Her mother had once said those words. Margaux pushed herself off the couch, wrists cracking. "Once you get back on your feet, you're going to leave me behind." She was mumbling, looking through kitchen drawers for something, but what?

    "I didn't say that, did I?" The tone of his voice made it obvious that he was short tempered. At least when it came to silly accusations. But were they actually silly? Charlie didn't plan on leaving, or did he?

    He lazily lifted himself, meeting her at that counter. "Look," he swung her around, wrapping his hands tightly around her forearms. "I didn't say I was going to leave you, okay?" He couldn't look more sincere. "You're twisting things. I meant...look...when I get a new job we'll move some place better. I'll still be with you. You liked Pam's? We'll find some place better but you gotta promise me something. Just don't be like your mother."

    "With the secret hiding place and everything?" She whispered, hipbone uncomfortably jabbing the corner of a drawer. She didn't move, not one inch. Charlie always seemed to get her attention and hold it (at least for one long moment).

    "The secret hiding place and all."

    With a sigh she closed to drawer full of utensils. What was she looking for? ... Her eyes ached across Charlie's face like he was her best work of art yet. "Don't be like my mother? I can barely remember what she was like." Oh, she knew what he meant, but she was no good with promises and she couldn't afford to lie. Not right now, not with his fingers digging into her forearm.

    The wine made her taste buds cringe. Made her entire mouth sour.

    "What if I can't stop it from happening?"

    When he felt her eyes on him, his were sealed shut. He brought his hands down and shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. His forehead was stamped against hers, and there was a sudden outburst of laughter.

    "Well I don't know. But I don't think I'd be too happy."

    "Oh yeah? Would you cry if I drowned in a bath full of my own blood? Would you call nine one one and tell them you didn't suspect I'd do such a crazy thing? I bet no one would have anything nice to say about me at the funeral."

    She meandered over towards the kitchen sink. Why was there always a window here? Why did she see her devious smile cut into the glass? The baby's breath in a blue cup on the sill was crispy with death, and she finally took the time to throw them away.

    Charlie hopped onto of the counter, rubbing his index finger across the smooth surface. He paid no attention to her reflection in the window, rather, the refridgerator facing him.

    "Well I don't know about that, I didn't cry when my own mother died. But I'd certainly call the ambulance." He played with the faucet, turning both the hot and cold water on and off. "People would come to my funeral just to make sure I'm actually dead. You too right?" He could imagine Margaux smuggling blow in her purse and snorting lines in the bathroom while the sad mothers tried to quite their crying babies.

    "I'd go to your funeral, maybe even say some kind words. You know, something like -- He was an asshole, but I loved him more than anything. Something like that." It scared her to think of looking down at his waxen face, trying to remember what he looked like when he was happy but failing.

    He looked at her profile and her tender lips. He wondered what she'd look like in pearls. He wondered what she'd look like in labor. No not now, his food hadn't settled.

    "What would you do if you found out you were pregnant?"

    This talk of pregnancy made her feel a little uncomfortable. Why was it that no one ever remembered to use condoms in the heat of the moment? Why did people still believe in the pull-out method? Were they just sick in the head? Was it a glitch?

    "I'd coax a 9mm into my mouth and hope for the best."

    She was kidding. Really.

    He pinched the brown, furry patches that had formed along his jaw line. Charlie made a vow that he'd never shave until he found it absolutely necessary. He thought back to what she said and hadn't said about her mother's death.

    He smiled, in agreement. "I think I'd do the same." He knew she was kidding.

    They wasted the last hours before sunset discussing the future and he thought it was all pointless. He prayed that she never asked him again if he thought about leaving, because he'd have to lie. Truth be told, he loved her enough to keep a distance. The sex was better when they missed each other. That was a selfish way of thinking but that was what their relationship solely relied on. It had in the beginning. No Charlie, don't believe that.

    He glided across the floor and walked through her bedroom and inside the bathroom. The showerhead squeeked as the water came blasting out. He examined himself in the medicine cabinet, slowly touching his cool flesh.

    "Margaux," he called. "I think I'd take the bullet train if you were carrying my child. It'd be the anti-christ."

    She was leaning against the doorframe, appearing like a haunting dream in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. She was breaking apart pieces of a baguette. The brie was left in the fridge. She gave him a thoughtful glance, a shrug of shoulders. "I hope you don't really think that." Softie.

    "You know what I think? That we should shut up, and then you should undress me. And we can forget about funerals and the anti-christ." Her voice laced with those most vulgar of intentions.

    It was just a suggestion.

  3. #3
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    <center>( European Holiday )</center>

    [ day three ]

    The apartment had been vacant since last November. Last she heard the couple that moved in had a very messy breakup. Margaux was upset to hear that one of the original doors?had?been broken, splintered in the midst of a brawl. Boyfriend walking in on girlfriend with so-called school project partner partaking in red wine and more than just healthy flirting.?He was Italian, she was spoiled. Or so Gregory had written in a short letter to her when the couple decided to lease the apartment for a year. Now, don't get this place confused with any other -- this was THE apartment. THE apartment that Margaux's mother tragically met the blade. THE apartment that she hated and loved almost equally; the clawed tub, crown molding, white distressed furniture, maple hardwood floors, French country charm all found in a sweet Parisian haven.
    ?
    Margaux brushed the curtain aside, smoke dancing around the French doors rather than adventure on the narrow balcony. Cold daylight flashed across the right cheek, she caught a glimpse of Charlie.
    ?
    They had shared a calm Valentine's Day together. She took him to the Eiffel, although he seemed generally unpleased to be swarmed around dozens upon dozens of Americans seeking romance on this landmark. Margaux attempted to cook dinner (but ended up overcooking the chicken), they shared creme brulee and coffee at a cafe that played live jazz until 2 am. The inevitable Hallmark Holiday sex in the cafe restroom (typical Charlie-Margaux). More importantly, Margaux had gotten reacquainted with her hometown, and loved how everything was in this moment.
    ?
    His eyes slowly drew away from the television, half-focusing on her, mostly intrigued by the disarray of clouds that sponged up any blue sky outside.
    ?
    "What?"
    ?
    "I don't want to go back to New York." She seemed withdrawn, small, voiceless (she almost didn't want to admit these thoughts that led to darkness between them). Leave it up to Margaux to ruin everything.?Silence fell between them for several moments, only the sound of cartoons and the bustling city life reverberated against the walls.
    ?
    "What are you going to do,?sit here in this depressing apartment, soaking up depressing memories?"?They?already had this conversation before in Miami. There was the same edge in his voice, the same scoff. "Or better yet, be only?four miles instead of the Atlantic Ocean away from George."
    ?
    "Gregory."
    ?
    "So, that's it! You still love him."
    ?
    "I adore you. You know that." A good way to dodge to the accusation. She had almost flown across the room, cigarette still in tow, wrapped into him, nuzzling the vein at the side of his neck. [love me, love me, please love me.]
    ?
    He looked detached. She suspected he was ready to shove her off his lap. Margaux slowly peeled herself from him (there was no more room for rejection here anymore), blowing smoke in his direction.
    ?
    "What about George?" His face was twisted in an angry pout (too cute for her to ignore).
    ?
    "Fuck him. I love you. I fucking love you."
    ?
    He stared her down. Charlie had a way at looking at Margaux that felt like a hard slap on the face. But she knew how to handle it now, smoking her French cigarette with a?grave upward tilt of her mouth (a woman's smile is a secret thing). "Don't ever forget it," she murmured before leaving to draw herself a bath.

    ( day four )

    That morning call from the alarm clock hollered in his ear. Their time in France was more than half way over. Charlie was more than thrilled about the day they?d finally be able to pack and continue their trip in Europe. He slid his narrow torso from underneath the sheets, resting his bare back on the oak headboard. Margaux laid to his left, forcing him to wake up on the wrong side bed. Typically, they faced the window, wrapped in each other?s arms. However, the morning after a heated argument, an invisible blockade had been cemented through the middle of the spread.

    He flipped through the channels from the television hanging about the dresser. Margaux would sometimes interpret everything out for him. He studied the language in High school, only that had been more than eleven years ago. The most French she taught him consisted of filthy words and suggestions. Aside from the bakery and the Louvre, the city of Paris was tad overrated. Somehow Margaux was gradually falling in love with it more each day. It was a place for those romantic at heart; something Charlie just was not.

    ?I?m going to France.?

    ?What??

    ?I?m going to Paris, France. The tickets are on the counter.?

    ?I don?t know how I feel about that. You?ll be going to a place where men named Pierre and Jean-Claude seduce whores like you with art.?

    ?Don?t be silly Charlie. I want you to come with me."


    It seemed like a bad idea from the beginning. And he was stuck.

    ?Sweetie, why don?t you flip that TV off and go back to sleep. At least for me.? He looked down at her, resting peacefully. He could?ve smacked her across the face the remote control.
    ?What?? He asked, sarcastically turning up the volume.
    ?I said quit feeling bad for yourself.? Charlie cooperated with the woman, turning the television off at once.
    ?That?s not true. I?m not feeling bad for myself.? He muttered.
    ?Okay Charlie.?
    ?Honestly,? He?d pound his clinched fist onto the nightstand before tucking himself in those satin sheets.
    ?In fact, you can go to hell. You and George for all I care.? He shut his eyes.
    She rolled over, interlocking her fingers with his, playfully planting a kiss on his nose.
    ?That?s nice baby. I?ll see you there along with my mother.? She dropped her head onto his shoulder while she curled her cold leg round his. ?You seriously have no idea how much I?m hating you right now.?

    [ day five ]

    The metal felt slippery in her palm, cold and unsettling. Charlie was complaining how she wasn't holding the umbrella high enough, and Margaux tried to compensate for the height difference (no stilettos today) but Charlie took over. She was relieved. Hands struggled for a moment before they settled in her pockets. She was afraid that she'd get too wet if she leaned against the green rail (there was so much to see). Rain fell in peaceful sheets, the bridges were magnificent and she entangled her chilled fingers with his.

    "Charlie?"

    "Yeah?"

    "I don't want to stay here."

    "Lets take off then. I need to buy some smokes." Paris had that affect on people.

    She shuffled through her bag, setting a cigarette between his lips. He had his own lighter. "No. I mean...I'll go wherever you go. Nowhere else." In all seriousness. She was looking out in the water, and then she felt him.

    He rested his forehead against the side of her head, closing his eyes tightly. Silent appreciation. He kissed her temple before stealing this moment of affection to take a crisp drag. "I like you in flats."

    "I feel short."

    "You are short." He pulled her from the waist with one arm, and she snatched the cigarette from him for her own gain. Before she got a chance to exhale, the umbrella was dropped to the pavement. He pressed his mouth against hers, small whisps of smoke seeping out from their embrace. Her head lulled back, smoke rising from the cave of her mouth before she smiled up at the grumbling sky. She laughed and Charlie grinned as they soaked up Paris rain.

    ( Au revoir . )

    Charlie waited patiently for his date while she took a quick body rinse in the bathroom. He occupied the maple rocking chair facing the blank television screen. It was their final evening in Paris. The evening before they experienced Amsterdam when it poured; two nights before they met Collins and in London. There was a reason he hated France.

    ?What time is it?? Margaux asked from the shower, hollering over the bullets of water.

    ?Six?seven, no six.? He kept forgetting that his watch was an hour fast. The telephone on the nightstand began to ring. Once. Then twice.

    ?Charlie get that. Bonjour.? Charlie slowly brought himself from the chair to take the call. He brushed her off.

    ?What??

    ?Hello, who is this?? The anonymous voice on the other end was bold and European. There was a slight hesitation upon hearing Charlie.

    ?Excuse me?? Charlie glanced at her vague image through the thick glass. He wondered if she?d been expecting such a phone call. ?Who are you??

    ?Gregory. Who is this??

    ?Hm.?

    ?Who?re you??

    ??Patrick.?

    ?Patrick?? The Frenchman repeated.

    ?Yeah.,? Charlie sighed. ?Patrick.?

    ?Happy Valentines day, Patrick.?

    ----


    ?Oh! Keep up, sucker.? Margaux taunted Charlie--defeating him at a round of tic-tac-toe--as they sat at the station. Finally they had escaped from that pathetic city once known to her as home. Their last night was Valentines. They walked to the balcony. They kissed in the rain. They made love on a train. They made love once they got to the house. Charlie had a word with Gregory over the telephone. That was another reason he hated Paris.

    ?Charlie,? Margaux crossed her legs, hooking her arm with his.

    ?What?? He dropped the ink pen into his coat pocket.

    ?Who is Tonka??

    ?He works with Collins.?

    ?Are they lovers??

    ?No. Tonka?s straight. British, but straight.? What were they talking about, Charlie thought.

    ?Why do they call him Tonka??

    ?They called him that during his rugby days.?

    ?How old--?

    ?Twenty-five. Where does Gregory live?? Charlie abruptly asked.

    ?Why??

    ?Because. He called you last night you know. While you were in the shower. He--?

    ?Oh. What did you say??

    ?--told me happy Valentines day. Don?t interrupt me please. That?s rude.?

    ?And that?s why you?ve been so short this morning.?

    ?No,? He hissed. ?It?s not. I?m pissed because I left my burgundy sports coat in Paris.?

    ?It really looked nice on you.?

    ?You bet it did.? Charlie slouched down in his seat. ?And Gregory. You can ask him in person why he won't be giving you anymore phone calls.?

    [ Day Eight ]
    ?
    The city built on water. Margaux had somehow managed to convince Charlie to go on one of those ridiculous boat rides around the city, where both locals and tourists greet you alike -- drugged smiles, leisure waves. Amsterdam, like most places around the world, was relatively cool in temperature. Margaux was bundled up in her peacoat, Charlie smirking from the corner of the boat.
    ?
    "What did you say to him?"
    ?
    "Don't worry about it."
    ?
    "You didn't threaten to kill him or anything, right?"
    ?
    "And if I did?"
    ?
    "Then I'd love you forever."

    That got a smile out of Charlie before the tone in her voice shifted.

    "I don't want to go to London."
    ?
    "It's too late. We're taking the Eurostar."
    ?
    "I don't like that Collins fellow."
    ?
    "He's a good enough guy."
    ?
    "He likes you."
    ?
    "Are you jealous?"
    ?
    "I'm very jealous. You're mine."
    ?
    "Did you forget that I'm straight?"
    ?
    "That doesn't make me feel any less threatened."
    ?
    "Get over it."
    ?
    "You obviously don't know women."
    ?
    "Not really, but I do know you, and I think that's good enough."
    ?
    "Oh yeah? What do you know, smarty-pants?"
    ?
    "That you're extremely jealous for no reason."
    ?
    "Is that it?"
    ?
    "No. I know more. You like it when I bend you over an--"
    ?
    "Shhhh!"

    They were starting to catch the attention of a few Americans huddled on the same end of the boat, especially when Margaux pulled out a joint with a "Tada!" Charlie plucked it from her fingers. After some whining and putting her cold hands up the back of his shirt, he surrendered and lit it up for her. It is Amsterdam, after all.

    ( day eight )

    ?Well keep up, sucker.? said Charlie, looking over his shoulder at Margaux as she trailed far behind him. Charles stopped at the newsstand, right outside where they had been staying. They were doing a pretty good job avoiding the grimier parts of town, though Margaux insisted they went somewhere wild.

    ?You walk too fast.?

    ?You walk too slow.? Charlie looked down at the girl, breathing heavily beside him. Each of them grabbed a magazine, scanning through the pages. Charlie picked up one of the smut publications, scratching his nose as he flipped over the imagines.

    ?I swallowed my gum,? Marguax nudged him, sticking out her hand. ?Give me a stick.?

    ?Your breath doesn?t stink. Besides, I?m all out.? He looked thoroughly through the magazine, licking his lips at what was flattering.

    ?You?re really into that, huh?? She stood on her toes, anxious to share his excitement.

    ?Nah--? He paused, coming across a photograph of healthy girl with short, albino blonde hair. She wore a velvet robe and sported a pistol in each hand. Her cheeks were flushed and he could see the innocence in her eyes. Above her in bold letters were the words: AMERICAN BEAUTY: An inside look on Nora Palmer. Charlie desperately search for change in his pocket.

    ?Charlie, you?re going to buy that?? Margaux gasped, patting him across the wrist.

    ?Come on, how much do you have?? Glancing at the owner, money no longer seemed to be an issue, as he was distracted by a phone call.

    ?What is it?? Margaux asked, snatching the magazine from him. Charlie looked around, preparing to split.

    ?On second thought, never mind.? He hurried away, the magazine still at hand.

    ?That girl, ?Nora Palmer?,? he said while they walked swiftly up the sidewalk. ?That?s my sister.?

    [ Day Ten ]

    It was getting old fast. Charlie and Collins and his colleagues and round after round of cocktails, beer, whatever Englishmen drink on chilly afternoons. Stupid jokes, politics, subject after subject that she didn't have a single opinion on. Margaux had made the stupid mistake of coming along, although Charlie didn't sugarcoat it for her -- "You'll probably be bored out of your mind."
    ?
    "But I want to be there with you."
    ?
    "Whatever you want."
    ?
    They didn't have champagne, so she settled for beer on tap. After three forced sips she ended up sliding it over towards Charlie. He shrugged, not necessarily minding the adoption of her brew. Then there was the overly strong cosmopolitan and the bartender smirked and said "A wot?" Most likely just to tease her. She didn't look pleased and then man mumbled, "New Yorkers" under his breath and she replied in French. He didn't understand (or maybe he did) -- the fucker --because he smirked and said "French bitch." Damn straight.
    ?
    She downed the drink (it was stronger than she would've liked), staring the bartender in the eye and nearly braking the martini glass on the counter when every last drop was gone. She whirled around and strutted up the Charlie. "I'm leaving. I'm fucking bored of Englishmen." There was no time for response (Charlie's big grin frozen), she was out of that dark creepy place and out in London streets, dialing Gregory's number.
    ?
    "What did I tell you about Canadians?" His voice shaking with laughter, "But I got to go mon cherie. Au revoir." Click. A moment of weakness shut down.
    ?
    It was getting old fast, Margaux alone and weaving between buildings, kicking the empty pack of cigarettes down the street. A cab ride, a British souvenir at the bottom of her purse. It was getting old until she met Anderson. She was laughing (it was lightly flirtatious), and he was telling her the fourth British joke of the evening. "So... There were two--"

    It happened so quickly, Margaux didn't have time to think. Anderson's eyes wide open. Anderson against pavement. Blood. Fists. Grunts. He wasn't moving, his limbs still. Her head was spinning and Charlie extended out his hand to her and she took it. His lungs were burning, his knuckles stunned.

    "Lets go," he said and they walked hand in hand back to the hotel.

  4. #4
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    <center>[ logs of charlie and margaux. new york, new york.]</center>

    Fallen ashes from the cigarette piled up in the glass tray planted on the nightstand. Mr. Doherty had been sitting there in bed all day. He watched television, he browsed through a couple of catalogs. Margaux stepped out to take care of her duties. That was good, they needed a break.

    The shattering rattle of keys in the door swung open, two bags held in her arms like twin toddlers. She kicked the door closed, completely forgetting about seven jagged pieces of metal and a weed leaf key chain (Charlie had bought that for her in an Amsterdam coffeeshop). The bags leaning like Pisa on the island, Margaux broke into a box of gushers (it was over now, the box would never close properly).

    His eyes were quickly drawn onto her, making such a speedy entrance. "...Hello." He returned to the television, flipping through the stream of ESPN channels that came with their cable package. "I didn't even notice you---" college hoops, college hoops, "--didn't even notice you leave. Where'd you go by the way?"

    The package almost exploded. Watermelon (it doesn't really taste like that red treat, but it was still good) drizzled on her tongue, over tastebuds in delight. "Post Office. Grocery store. A hotel by Central Park." Listed off with minimal enthusiasm, more gushers stuffed in the cave of her mouth.

    He snarled. "A hotel, really?" Charlie tossed his pillow at the edge of the bed, then pulled himself up to rest against the wooden headboard. "Who'd you visit?" He was careful not to show too much concern, though the idea of her escaping for an 'afternoon delight' upset him greatly. "Someone special? Anyone I know?"

    "I wouldn't call him special unless I was maybe looking for a bone marrow donor." She smiled dryly, setting the leftover gushers on the dresser. Fingers struggled to unhook her hoop earrings. She kicked off her discount Manolos, looking like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. But it was calm, so calm.

    Should he feel relieved? "When'd you become such a comedienne?" He reached over for his sweatshirt, draping it over his torso (once again, she had left the windows open). Charlie still hadn't shaved. "Join me. Take a--load off." he snickered, patting the space occupied by loose papers and magazines.

    "There's no room in the web you've created." Her tired mouth tumbled into a faux-pout. She threw her hair up into a messy bun, with little help from the mirror of the vanity. She almost tripped on her sling-backs, finding the pack of Gauloises. "It smells like a fucking ashtray in here," she complained, a strike of a match and the inhalation of foreign smoke.

    Charlie frowned. "You know, Margaret---excuse me---Margaux" He chuckled (Margaret was the redhead he supposedly had an affair with in London) "how would you like it if I slammed your face into it?" his tone was cool and casual. Everything was casual. "Your attitude is has been so---nasty lately. I don't know if I want to pound you or pound you."

    "Margaret?" She was standing by the window, darkness shuddering through her apartment. "Margaret? WHO THE FUCK IS MARGARET?" She was screaming. Cigarette between index and middle, she wanted to burn his eyes out (this would be the first time she ever thought this). She kept her distance, nostrils almost flaring, eyes narrowed in a nice little glare.

    "Whoa, whoa." he raised his hands into to protect himself. "Relax, she's Lincoln's niece. She's like, I don't know, fourteen (seventeen, but Charlie did like them younger). "Can you uhm...please have a seat or something. You're making me nervous." He knocked the books out of the way, though sitting next to him was probably the last thing she wanted to do.

    She didn't budge an inch, she could feel the cold glass through her long coat. Her fingers were shaking. It wasn't just the slow drip of winter -- no, it was this moment. It was Lincoln's niece. The smoke drawn out of her mouth in slow angry swirls and streaks. "You're a fucking asshole, do you know that? I was counting on that fact to always get the truth from you. And now you're a fucking asshole with no backbone. That's really great, Charlie. This is just a wonderful day." She paced back in forth for a moment before standing still once again.

    "Weekend at Bernies's" Charlie muttered. He really loved that film (he was in love with John Cusack and Andrew McCarthy---in a completely hetrosexual sort of way). The spotlight would shift on Margaux. He wanted her to remove her coat. She was probably packing a pistol. He had no bullet proof vest. "What do you want me to say? She's Lincoln's niece, I bummed a cigarette off her at the GQ party and I played tennis with her. That was it." That was all though they planned for more. He planned for more. He wanted more. "Margaux, that girl is like, sixteen years old." He choked. "---fourteen years old."

    "Yeah. Right." Her cigarette was one long stem of ash, the tears in her eyes were burning bright, her vision nearly tarnished. She blinked them back, or at least tried to, rubbing a few that strayed with the back of her hand. She turned so that all he could see was her profile. "You know, I told my father about you today. He asked if you made me happy. He bought me a drink at the Four Seasons, and he asked me the stupidest of all questions." She shook her head and headed to the kitchen to chop some celery.

    He laughed---at the movie. What a cinematic masterpiece. "Margaux, that wasn't a stupid question. But I'm sure you lied. You said yes because he's your father and you hadn't seen him in ages and saying you're happy with your current boyfriend is like...so expected. My father asked what I'd been doing with myself and I told him I was fixing to get engaged." He paused. "Margaux, you wanna marry me? Now don't get me wrong here, this isn't a proposal---but you wanna marry me. Seriously."

    It was a beautiful thing -- a studio apartment, being able to shimmy out of her coat and chop celery and still look up to see Charlie watching his movie, talking about marriage. She chopped harder, she chopped faster. "Are you bringing up marriage right now to get my mind off sixteen year old, no wait, excuse me -- fourteen year old Margaret? It's not working, Charlie. It's not fucking--" Someone was knocking at the door. Margaux with sharp knife still in tow, swung the door open to see one of the other tenants jingling her keys, smile melting off his face. Bad time? She put on her best fake smile. "Thanks, Eddy." Door closed shut, dead bolt in place, knife pointed at Charlie. "It's not fucking working."

    "Margaux. I can not believe you. Do you have any idea how many women from here to California would drop their panties for me? I don't think you do. I mean, I know that sounds like the most cockiest thing to say but---it's so true." He began twirling his beard. "Now, I know I could use a good shave but you could still find a few toothless broads in the most southern parts of the U.S that are just waiting to meet a guy like me. Margaux, I will buy you all the pearls and diamonds in the world. You're so lucky to have me. Heck, how many ties do I own? Refresh my memory, we counted a couple of nights ago. That's right, three-hundred and fifty two. Fifty three if you count the Paul Stuart one I ordered today. So baby, buttercup. Please snap out your jealous fit and put the knife down. Come give pookie some kisses and a nice backrub. You should be happy to have me."

    "You're a sick joke." She muttered through an awkwardly blooming grin. She went back to chopping, little cubes of stringy green already too small. "Since I have no idea how to appreciate you, why don't you go back to Europe and marry Margaret. I'm sure she'd be really happy to have you. She could tell you all about high school and you can give her pearls and diamonds." It was true, she was in the middle of a jealous fit, a borderline jealous rage. Serrated blade looked quite friendly two seconds ago, pointed at him, at that beautiful pulsating vein at the side of his neck. Chop. Chop. "I hate you. God, I despise you. Yet I'm obsessed with you, and love you, and I'd rather kill you than share you. Shit, Charlie. I'm completely fucked."

    He folded his arms, giving her a long hard stare. He was actually trying to imagine her carrying the name Mrs. Doherty. Somehow, she was starting to fit the part. "Of course you're obsessed with me." He lit a cigarette. "Margaux, Margaux, Margaux. I can see your face. You're so beautiful when you cry. And by the way, I love you too."

  5. #5
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    Charlie dried his hands and walked back out into the dinning area. As usual, as expected, a few he received smiles and winks from passing waitresses. He returned to their table located in the front of the restaurant. Charlie slid in the booth, removing his brown sport coat. "Cigarette?" he offered Margaux. The two hadn't exchanged a healthy amount of words since the mention of Margaret, and Gregory. Charlie tried to make their evening more pleasant, placing his hand over hers for comfort. She looked beautiful in the pearls he asked her to wear. "You look beautiful." He squeezed her wrist, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.

    She glowed, oh how she glowed (and it wasn't particularly for her sake as much as it was for Charlie's). She worried sometimes that he would wake up one morning and stop loving her. Pearls drawn around an index, nearly choking off circulation. "Thank you." Elbow propped on the table (where were her good manners?), she seemed to alert to lean back into the plush booth. She held her breath for a moment, giving him a good once over. "You aren't looking so bad yourself." Amusement seemed to shine and fade, green eyes darting over to the approaching waiter. He barely had time to greet them (he did manage to squeeze in a 'how are you doing tonight' and a 'can I start you two off with anything?') before she was ordering a "glass of house red wine, please."

    His eyes widen, noticing a middle aged couple--both men--making an entrance through the front doors. One wore aviator shades, with the same sport coat as Charlie. The other, had platinum blonde hair with a deep tan. "Christ," Charlie muttered. He brought the menu above his face, tapping nervously on the mahogany table. "don't look now, but it's Collins. And--his son. The one by his," he counted with his fingers. "fifth wife. Five wives before the moron realized he was a faggot." He brought his hand back to hers, palms sweaty, legs bouncing. He had no idea why he had grown so nervous. He sunk in the seat, still with the menu covering his face. Collins knew about the affair in London. Charlie prayed he wouldn't stop by.

    She half-ignored Charlie's rambling about Collins, managing to also order herself a "Bellini, keep them coming..." before turning her head back to her lover. "It took him five wives before he realized he wanted to fuck you?" The waiter seemed to be puzzled by their topic of conversation. "And how did five women marry him without knowing every bone in his body is queer? What's wrong with their gay-dar?" She laughed, nearly throwing her head back. The waiter didn't know whether to excuse himself or not. It worried her how blank he starred at the two lovebirds. "Get him an apple juice and a tranquilizer, thank you." Blinkblink, and with that, he nodded and went to retrieve their order like a good dog. She leaned into the table. "Maybe we should call him over, no?" Not another moment to waste. She waved her hand frantically in the air. "COLLINS! Collins! Over here!" Sure enough, Collins eyes grew large with the sight of Charlie as he meandered his way over, son following him like a sheep.

    "Margaux!" Charlie hissed. He was ready to snatch her up by the back of her neck. Drag her across the carpet, legs knocking against the tables. He wanted to toss her out over the pavement and stomp on her face until she had no more teeth. Until she could not see the pleasure in his eyes from torturing her. Instead, he smiled at Collins. The man invited himself inside their booth, wrapping his arm around Charlie's skinny shoulders. "Nice tie." Collins said, tugging on Charlie's article of clothing. "Thanks." Charlie replied, turning to look at the salt and pepper shakers. He released his hand from Margaux and placed it in his lap. His eyes shifted onto little Collins, timid to sit beside Margaux. Charlie noticed how incredibly handsome he looked. Nothing like Collins. "Whose pearls?" Lincoln asked, pointing at the girl.

    "He made me wear them." Margaux smirked, absently lifting her chin in Charlie's direction. The wine glass never rested on the white tablecloth, it was immediately cradled in her palm. "You know, it's hilarious running into you two, Charlie and I had a conversation about young Margaret last night. Now didn't we, Charlie?" She didn't waste any time at all -- taking a sip from her glass, eyes locking on Collins for some sort of initial reaction. She had a hard time letting Margaret go. She could barely sleep for longer than two hours last night. She seemed unnaturally calm about the situation which was exactly what gave her away.

    His eyes were focused on the damp napkin. His mouth was dry. The room was hot. He loosened his tie. He was thirsty. His mouth was dry.. Collins cleared his throat loudly, making it obvious that she hit a sensitive topic. "A fine tennis player, that Margaret. She's going to attend school here in the states. Brown I think. Right?" Collins asked, lighting a cigar. Princeton. Princeton was where she wanted to go. She told Charlie two nights ago over the phone. "Ha," Charlie laughed. "Well uh," he looked at Margaux, then back at the damp napkin. "I'm about as clueless as you are. We only talked for a few minutes after you introduced us. Nice girl." He looked across the table at the other young man. "I'm Charlie." He extended his arm, smiling. "I'm Charlie, and just fell six feet under."

    "Oh, Charlie. You're so funny," she gushed, tapping the top of his hand with her own. Her attention shifted back to Collins, almost burning holes through his skull. She cut off the introduction. "Anyway, Charlie is sometimes so forgetful. He was telling me that Margaret is fourteen? Or did he say sixteen? Ha. I can't seem to remember. I guess Charlie and I were made for each other." Her lips smacked together into a bitter smile. She picked up the butter knife almost in a threatening manner before spreading some of the sweet yellow substance on a slice of warm french bread. She had no intention of actually eating it, her nerves were shot and she needed to put her focus elsewhere before she would lunge at Charlie, digging into his core with the blunt object, ripping his guts and intestines apart until it made slow slurping sounds, grainy organs spoiling and slick muscles hissing.

    "Seventeen." Collins corrected her. Charlie sunk towards the ground even more. He began to crack his knuckles. He could feel a hand rubbing up his thigh. His smile faded, realizing that it wasn't the touch of Margaux, rather Collins playing underneath the table. He couldn't get over how handsome his son really was, and how he'd appreciate it much more if it was him trying to grab his crotch instead of Collins. The sneaky little shmuck. "Margaux." Charlie finally announced, changing the subject. "Is it just me or do we have a lousy waiter? I mean, how many times did he come by?" He glanced towards the kitchen. "Maybe you should flash a little cleavage and our food will be out before we know it."

    She politely set the piece of bread on the little white porcelain plate. "I don't want to fucking eat. You're a fucking liar and I want to know all that I need to know about you and this seventeen year old little bitch before Collins confesses his undying love for you or I have to hang you from that--" she pointed towards the ceiling. "--beam from your tie. I will watch you die with pleasure before I leave this table without any answers." Yes... it was safe to say there was a good amount of tension at this booth which seemed to get smaller and hotter by the second. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, but Margaux pressed on. "Was she at least a hot little number? God, I hope she isn't better in bed than me, because otherwise I'd say you made a grave mistake by saying we should get married." Would she ever just stop? Was this night going to get more hysterical?

  6. #6
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    <center>[million dollar red heels.]</center>

    The celery was already chopped, stirred into the tomato based sauce. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, hip jutting into the counter. Charlie's own protruding hipbone gently nudging against her, kissing her temple and resting a palm against the premature swell of her belly. She slowly turned to be embraced by him, her hundredth thousandth smile into a kiss. Charlie and Margaux had their moments, these quiet pieces that reminded them why they were still making this work. Otherwise, it was Charlie busy at work. Margaux painting and actually attempting to cook meals from scratch. She seemed to take a domestic dive and while it was somewhat fitting for her recent condition, it killed that free as a bird, champagne and sex kitten image she had supported for so many years.

    Fingertips slipped down her thighs before he released. "I'm starved."

    "It'll be just another forty minutes."

    "Why don't we order in?"

    "Charlie. I've been slaving for hours over this meal, and you want to get Chinese?"

    By the time she turned around, she got the last second of his lopsided grin.

    "You want me to believe you've been cooking for hours when you got celery and tomatoes in a pot?"

    She playfully snapped the dishtowel at the side of his arm. "Fuck off."

    "Baby...." Those eyes bled all over her,

    And it was truly sick what a sucker she was for him. God damnit! "Go watch the game and I'll order."

    He grinned gleefully. He won, after all. And right when he turned to leave the room, he paused and glanced at her again. "You're wearing your million dollar red heels."

    She hesitated for a moment. "Can't a mother-to-be look gorgeous once in awhile?"

    "Well... yeah, but--" Charlie abruptly stopped, shrugged, and went to go flip on the television. Margaux felt her face turn pink, and she turned on the sink to rinse off her hands. She had gotten so caught up in trying to get home to cook, she hadn't even thought about something as simple as shoes. Those million dollar red heels smirked back at her, and she kicked them off. These shoes meant business; why else would they actually have a four word title?

    These shoes that she had worn out to a late lunch with James Theodore. Yes, the ex-lover had seemed to inconveniently reappear in her life. But they were just friends, she swore. Just friends. There was another woman in the picture anyway, and from what she collected, he was serious about the singer called Brooke. There were a million reasons why it wouldn't happen... besides the fact that Margaux was a train wreck when it came to functional men with hearts of gold. That's why she and Charlie were so good for each other.

  7. #7
    Inactive Member charlesdoherty's Avatar
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    <center>Midnight Whisper</center>

    ?Don't yew have a fianc?e??

    ?No.?

    ?She's pregnant.?

    ?I don't have a fucking fianc?e, what are you talking about??

    ?The French girl. She's pregnant.?

    ?You're way in Jersey, how do you know this??

    ?My Uncle. Yew broke his heart, lover boy.?

    ?Stop it.?

    ?Well, best wishes. I have to go.?

    ?Go where??

    ?Out.?

    ?With??

    ?Good-bye, Char--?

    ?Margaret.?

    ?Wot??

    ?Why are you going out so late? What's his name? Is he tall? Muscular??

    ?Why are yew doing this??

    ?I just want to know.?

    ?He's average. I have to go, really--?

    ?Look, I wanna see you again. I have to go to Toronto and I?ll take--?

    ?Go to bed, Charles.?

    ?Stop doing this to me.?

    ?Doing wot??

    ?I want you.?

    ?Yew have her.?

    ?Pregnant women don?t turn me on.?

    ?This is disgusting. Good-bye, Charl--?

    ?Stop.?

    ?Charles, she loves yew. And she's gorgeous.?

    ?I love her too. But you--?

    ?Good-bye Charles.?

  8. #8
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    "I'm a little worried about the lack of weight you're gaining. You're on the lower end, and it's in you and the baby's best interest to start eating for two."

    "Yes, doctor." She seemed blank behind her nod.

    "Have you started to think about names?"

    "Charlie and I haven't really discussed it."

    "Really." Doctor Sandra Blaskovich glanced up from the file, concern fleeting across her face. "Well, Margaux." She cleared her throat. "So far, everything is looking good. Just make sure to eat multiple snacks throughout the day. Lean meats, vegetables, the same thing as we discussed last time. And it's okay to give in to the occasional ice cream craving, hmm?"

    Margaux nodded, feeling more naked than ever wearing that flimsy robe. Could the doctor see through her?

    "I would like it for Charlie to join us next time. It's important that he's part of the whole baby experience. Don't you think?"

    Margaux felt herself turn white. "Uhm. Yes. Well, he's been really busy at work, overtime has been killing him and..."

    "I'm sure he'd love to be there for the ultrasound."

  9. #9
    Inactive Member charlesdoherty's Avatar
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    "Charlie?" Margaux calls in a tired whisper. While it's mid-July, she rests underneath the covers because the air condition is on blast. The room is dark.

    "What? Hi." I remove my shirt, my watch, my shades. I place my key on the oak dresser, along with the lighter I carry (not because I smoke, because it's the best way to pick up girls).

    "What time is it?" She draws a yawn.

    "Eleven," I lie, it was actually a quarter after twelve. She wouldn't know the difference.

    "Oh. How was it?" Her head rises from the pillow as she turns on the lamp beside her -- our bed. She never looks at the clock. Her hair is unorganized but I find it hot. If only she wasn't pregnant.

    "How was what?" I play nice and crawl on the mattress beside her. She kisses my cheek.

    "Dinner."

    "I didn't go out to dinner."

    "I know," she replies, smiling weakly. I think she wants to cry.

    "Then why'd you ask?" My voice is very gentle.

    "How come you never look at me?"

    I look at her. "I do."

    "Not like you used to."

    "I look at you the same way I did..." I can't bring up a number so I recall a setting. "Miami. Beat me." I wink, and swing my legs off the bed so I can remove my pants.

    "No you don't."

    "Uh yeah."

    "No," I answer, once and for all.

    "Have you talked to her?"

    "Who?" I laugh it off. "I don't know what you're--"

    "Oh, Charlie." She buries her face inside her palms and I'm certain she's going to cry.

    "What?" While the light is on, I notice how the military presses improved the tone of my arms and chest. I think to myself,
    Margaret doesn't know what she's missing.

    "You make me sick to the pit of my stomach, I love you so much."

    I tuck myself between the sheets and reach over her body for the lamp. Dark again, I kiss her shoulder and say, "The feeling is mutual. Night-night, sweety."

    <font color="#000000" size="1">[ July 14, 2006 01:20 AM: Message edited by: fishhook grief (i'll catch you) ]</font>

  10. #10
    HB Forum Owner Noir City's Avatar
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    Six nights later.

    "Why won't you let me in?" to your heart.

    "What?" He yawned.

    "Nevermind."

    "You might as well just say it," he mused.

    "I don't want to talk about it."

    "Fine." He sounded relieved.

    Minutes passed. Charlie almost asleep, her eyes wide open. The hot July moonlight streaming through air conditioning in long ribbons. Her mind was racing, fingers tapping against the bulge under her shirt.

    She seeped open in the dark. It's so much easier in the dark.

    "You can't do this to me," she squeaked, thumb knuckle smudging the first timid tears.
    Words slow, like feeding crumbs to the birds.

    He stirred. "Do what."

    "Come home and pretend like everything is okay."

    "Lets talk about this in the morning."

    "Do you know how much this hurts me? Do you?" No one could see the accusing glare.

    "What do you want from me?" He seemed to be annoyed.

    A long pause.

    She was sobbing now.

    He handed her a tissue.

    "C'mon, Margaux..."

    "I'm leaving you."

    She turned the lamp on, flung the blankets off of her. Suitcase pulled out from under the bed. Charlie looked amazed.

    "How long have you been..." He seemed to be a loss of words.



    "The day I told you I was pregnant."


    She swung the closet door open, taking out some of her winter sweaters. There was no time to fold.


    "When you stopped coming home early after work."


    She emptied her jewelry box into her Marc Jacobs handbag.


    "When I had to start lying to everyone, not to mention myself."


    Two undeveloped rolls of film, her passport, million dollar red heels.


    "After looking at your cell phone records."


    She seemed to be on the verge of laughter, throwing some sketchbooks in before zipping up.

    He seemed to finally find his voice, still stunned in bed.

    "Where will you go?"

    "Does it matter?" She threw her hands up in the air. "Do you even fucking care? I'm doing you a favor, anyway."

    She was in four inch tiffany-blue heels (the first she could find), and stood at the doorway, the slow formation of a taunting and cruel smile, holding her suitcase handle with two hands.

    "Goodbye, Charles Doherty."

    <font color="#000000" size="1">[ July 14, 2006 01:26 AM: Message edited by: fishhook grief (i'll catch you) ]</font>

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