Grandma Myrtie sighed. “That bathroom situation. It frightens me.”
Charlotte wanted to say “me too,” but she hated the worry that made her beloved Grandma’s voice sound suddenly old and tremulous. “It doesn’t scare me at all. I’m just going to go in, get gas, and then get back in my car.”
“After you check to be sure no one’s in the backseat?”
“Grandma Myrtie, if I have to leave my car, I promise I’ll lock my doors. I have to go. I’ll call you when I get back on the road so you know I’m okay,” Charlotte said as she pulled up to a gas pump marked by a faded number seven.
“That would give me peace. Thank you.”
“Bye-bye, Grandma Myrtie. I love you!”
“And I you,” Grandma Myrtie said, followed by two soft kissy sounds, which was how she always said good-bye to Charlotte, whether she was kissing her cheeks or kissing the air at the other end of a telephone.
Charlotte quickly checked herself in her rearview mirror, fluffed her blond bangs, and straightened the spaghetti straps on her little sundress, taking a moment to appreciate the way the blue embroidered flowers on the bodice brought out the turquoise in her ocean-colored eyes. She was checking to be sure her pepper spray gun was easily accessible in the side pocket of her red Kate Spade purse when there were two sharp raps on the car’s window. Charlotte jumped and turned to see a youngish guy in a faded uniform. She rolled her window partway down.
* * *
“Fill ’er up?”
“Y-yes. Please,” she said.
“Okay, but ya gotta go inside and pay.”
Charlotte’s stomach felt suddenly queasy. “All right. Yes. I can do that,” she babbled. Then she drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and opened the door. She smoothed her sundress and nodded to the attendant, who was already undoing her gas cap, before hurrying toward the door of the little truck stop.
“Tell Floyd it’s pump seven,” he called after her.
“Thank you. Will do,” she said.
The door chimed as Charlotte opened it. She was instantly overwhelmed by the scents of overcooked hotdogs and underwashed humans. Taking shallow breaths she went to the island that held the cash register. Behind it was one of the underwashed humans whose nametag read FLOYD.
Floyd was tall, somewhere south of middle age, and his gut said he liked beer and disliked exercise. A lot.
“Hey there, missy. What can I do you for?” he drawled as his small eyes scanned up and down her body, without once stopping at her face.
“Please fill it up. Pump seven.” Charlotte opened her baby blue wallet and handed him her credit card.
He took it, and finally looked at her face. Floyd grinned, showing dirty yellow teeth. But instead of running the card he twirled it through his fingers.
“Haven’t seen your pretty face ’round here before. Where you from, sis?”
“North Carolina. Um, is that the key to the ladies’ room?”
He glanced to his left at a key on a block of wood stained with peeling pink paint. “Well, it sure ’nuff is.” He took it off the hook and held it out to Charlotte, but as she reached for it he jerked it back. “Not so fast there, sis. How ’bout a smile first? You’re pretty—I’ll give you that. But you’d be lots prettier if you’d smile.”
Charlotte’s stomach roiled. She wanted to tell him to keep his damn key, and she’d keep her smile, but she knew she couldn’t. The stupidest thing she could do was to make a scene—or piss off this bubba. So, she steeled herself and smiled, saying, “I’ll take that key now, sir. And my credit card, too.”
But he didn’t give her the key. Instead he glanced down at her card. “See, I knew your smile would be pretty, and it sure is. So, let’s see if your name is as pretty as your smile.” He paused, staring at the name on the card. When he looked up at her, his expression had hardened. “You don’t look much like a Charles, sis. I’m gonna need to see your driver’s license.”
Charlotte tried to keep her hands from shaking as she held her license up for him to see.
“What the hell? That picture do look like you. Kinda. And it says your name is Charles Mason Davis, but that there’s a boy. And you don’t look like no boy to me. You’re gonna have to explain yourself.”
“Charles was the name I was given at birth. This is who I am today. That’s all there is to explain. May I have my card now, sir, and the key to the ladies’ room?”
“You can have your card back, sis.” This time he sneered the word. “But you don’t need no key. The boy’s room ain’t locked. It’s the dirty one, just to the left outside there.” He flicked the card at her and it fell to the grimy floor.
“Thank you,” Charlotte retrieved the card from the floor. When she stood she saw that the man had obviously been trying to look up her dress when she bent over.
His smile was cruel as he rubbed the bulge in his crotch. “I’ll bet you give one hell of a b.j.”
Charlotte fled with his mocking laughter following her. She didn’t want to go to the men’s room, but she was certain she was going to be sick. She rushed inside, closing the door after her. The stench of the urinal hit her and she doubled over, puking into the full trash can. With hands that shook, she went to the sink, running cold water so she could rinse her mouth and as she straightened, Charlotte caught her reflection in the mirror.
Her makeup was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Her dress was perfect. Everything, everything about her was perfect. Everything except that name on that card, and that name did not define her.
“Don’t let them win, Charlotte,” she told her reflection. “Don’t let them break you. You’re on your way to the rest of your life. You’re going to be Charlotte by the Sea, not the butt of someone’s joke.” She smiled through her tears—a real smile. One meant for herself and no one else. “Remember, you’re priceless, Charlotte Myrtle Davis.”
Bastien
“Hey! You can’t sleep here.”
Bastien’s eyelids snapped open and he grimaced at the sand being kicked onto his naked back.
“Move it along!”