Charlotte lived in the Village, where the buildings shared narrow courtyards, so it was not a matter of neighbors seeing. Of course they saw. She sometimes waved. The uptight spinster across the street who pulled her curtains. The young men whose kitchen window was adjacent to her bedroom. They did not stare. They smiled giddily and waved and went about their business. Who knows what they said when they ducked out of sight? Charlotte didn\u2019t care. Her days of giving a damn were long gone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
One afternoon, the police came. The knock was polite. Charlotte answered in her robe. She could have been their mother. They hardly looked old enough to drive, let alone carry weapons.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cGood afternoon, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the bearded officer. His nameplate read: Finn<\/em>. He seemed to be in charge. \u201cThere\u2019s been a report of a disturbance.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n She clocked the shaven one eying her figure, which she maintained with water aerobics.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cA disturbance?\u201d Charlotte said. \u201cHere?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d Finn said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Charlotte wondered if one of them always spoke, if their roles were set, or if they sometimes traded.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0\u201cI make a real effort to keep to myself,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cIt has nothing to do with noise, ma\u2019am,\u201d Finn said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The clean-shaven young man adjusted his belt. His radio chirped. His name was Bradford.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThere was a call that you\u2019ve been going about your apartment in the, ah, nude and whatnot.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Charlotte bit her cheek to keep from laughing. In the nude!<\/em> For such a progressive city, New York\u2019s sense of civic propriety was practically Victorian.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI see,\u201d she said. \u201cIs it illegal? This is my home.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNot exactly, but if it continues to be a public disturbance\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWho was it that complained?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWe can\u2019t divulge that information, ma\u2019am,\u201d Finn said. But Charlotte knew. In some ways, she\u2019d been waiting for it. She didn\u2019t know the woman\u2019s name, but they\u2019d passed each other plenty of times on the street. In another life, they might have been friends. In this life, her neighbor was stoop-shouldered and severe, and she pushed her chaotic hoard of belongings around the neighborhood in a rolling cart.<\/p>\n \u201cAll we\u2019re asking,\u201d Finn continued, \u201cis that you cover up.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Instinctively, Charlotte released the clutch she held on the collar of her robe so that it fell open at her throat. Bradford stole a glance at her cleavage. Finn dropped his hand to his taser.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s a simple request.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n She thought of Donald. How could she not? His mustache. His overcoat. Always layered. Their marriage was full of love. Over thirty years. Toward the end there was no sex, not because they didn\u2019t want it, but because of his condition. It worsened precipitously in the final months. He was hollowed out, hunched over. Clothes hung about him as though they\u2019d been donated by a much bigger man. It was awful to see. Yet Charlotte had felt an undercurrent of liberation. An unburdening, a shedding of skin. She waited until Donald passed to express it. To do otherwise would have been cruel. She sold the house, bought the studio in the city. She began to paint, went for cocktails. It wasn\u2019t even a year before she brought a man half her age back to the apartment. She was taking control of her grief. Of her life. She knew Donald would have understood. She\u2019d given up her career at McCann to make their home, raise their boys. This was her time. Yes, he would have understood. She was certain. She was the only woman he\u2019d ever loved.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cLet me ask you something,\u201d Charlotte said to the officers. \u201cHave either of you tried it?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Finn cleared his throat. His hand twitched on the taser. \u201cMa\u2019am?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWalking around the house,\u201d she said, \u201cin the nude.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Bradford swallowed. The arrowhead of his Adam\u2019s apple dipped.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cMa\u2019am, this doesn\u2019t have to be difficult,\u201d Finn said, losing patience. \u201cThis isn\u2019t a negotiation.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOh, it\u2019s not difficult at all,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019d be surprised how good it feels. The world is constrictive enough.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve tried it,\u201d Bradford said, seeming to startle himself. \u201cSleeping naked, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cSee?\u201d Charlotte grinned. She clapped involuntarily. Heat rose to her face. \u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cIt was okay. Little chilly.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cEnough,\u201d Finn snapped. He\u2019d been undermined.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOh, give it another shot, Bradford,\u201d Charlotte said. \u201cYou too, Finn. Your wives or girlfriends or boyfriends, whatever, will notice the shift, trust me. Especially after a long day in those uniforms. Don\u2019t they itch?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWives,\u201d Finn said, flustered. \u201cListen, if we get another complaint to this address? We won\u2019t be so cordial.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Charlotte looked Finn in the eye and smiled. He flinched, and she saw his guard drop. It was all very silly. The roles we convinced ourselves to play.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThat won\u2019t be necessary,\u201d Charlotte said. \u201cMessage is loud and clear. All I can say is that I hope you gentlemen find comfort in your own skin before it\u2019s too late.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cAnd I hope this is the last we see of each other,\u201d Finn said. One of their radios crackled. \u201cGood afternoon.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Finn turned and made his way from the threshold. Bradford lingered a moment, and, ever so slightly, smiled, as if to say, Thank you<\/em>. Then he ducked out of sight.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Charlotte closed the door, went to her nightstand, leaned against the bed. She picked up the framed photo of Donald, touched his face through the glass. He was squinting in the direct sunlight, ballcap pulled low, one of their last journeys to the desert.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cMiss you, love,\u201d she said. \u201cWe would\u2019ve had fun. I\u2019d\u2019ve loosened you up.\u201d At least she would have tried. But had he never passed, would she have arrived here, at herself? It was impossible to know.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n She went to the window and looked down on the street, the slow-moving traffic, the bustle and flow of a Manhattan afternoon. The spinster was not at her window, but Charlotte could see the tunneling squeeze, the decades of accumulation. She decided she would get dressed and go over there, try the third-floor buzzers until she found the right one. Maybe all the woman needed was someone to talk to, or, more likely, someone to listen.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n For now, she closed the curtains against the glare, dropped her robe, studied her figure in the mirror. It was something you had to work for. Not the body, the love for it. That alone was worth the heartbreak.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOh, I hope you\u2019re watching,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then she danced to the song in her head, the one Donald loved most. A slow bolero, a languid ache, an invitation to the rest of your life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Brendan Gillen Charlotte lived in the Village, where the buildings shared narrow courtyards, so it was not a matter of neighbors seeing. Of course they saw. She sometimes waved. The uptight spinster across the street who pulled her curtains. The young men whose kitchen window was adjacent to her bedroom. They did not stare. They […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":8363,"template":"","categories":[9,48,49],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8361","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-fiction","category-literary-features"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n