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Carlotta

Eric Burbridge

    “Let’s build a state of the art trauma center on the Southside of town.” My identical twin sister Weena shocked us at the family dinner. “After all Jerry, that would crown your philanthropic desire, right?”
    “Right.” I said and waited for it to hit the fan.
    “Our funds will be released when we’re thirty five.”
    “Oh, really?” She snarled at my sarcasm.
    My lovely but uppity sister cleared her throat. “Let’s make it interesting, whoever has the most professions on our birthday wins.”
    “Wins what, Weena?”
    “If you win I’ll put my money in to build your hospital; you lose you forget that and help me get richer.”
    “OK, I’ll take that bet.” It was a dare, but I did it anyway.
    We have a family tradition that goes back to my great grandfather Harrison Dittle, the real first Black billionaire. Help the less fortunate. His wealth and accomplishments were hidden. A few Whites aided Harrison’s technological innovations to market and made them filthy rich and in return he prospered in secret. Grandpa was six feet tall, wide shoulders, thick black straight hair, medium features and light brown eyes. That East Indian appearance kept him from being lynched at times and from early photos my sister and I look exactly like him. His wealth was gradually released, but he still maintained a low profile. Act average, look average and your problems will be fewer. Grandpa’s words of wisdom.
    That one “OK” fifteen years later still upset me, but I shook it off and focused on my job. I scraped the side of the pot several times to make sure I got all the remaining pot roast. Nothing bothered me more than wasting food. It warmed my heart to serve the less fortunate, but there’s a dark side to my philanthropic efforts.
    Jerry Dittle has a sexual fetish for homeless females!
    The things they do when they think you have a little money.
    And speaking of homeless females, the one I’ve had my eye on for awhile slipped through the door. She wasn’t a regular that’s why it took two weeks before she told me her name. Carlotta sighed and looked for a spot to park her backpack. She preferred a corner view to keep her one good eye on the entrance. When I get to know as her I’ll recommend a plastic surgeon to reconstruct that side of her face. The patch she wore didn’t cover the scar tissue to my liking.
    There I go making plans for a fantasy I hadn’t slept with yet.
    She picked a table next to the wall where I hung new signs of encouragement for recovery. The other women paid her little attention. Their heads were buried in their plates; today pot roast, potatoes and carrots as much as you could eat virtually unheard of at the Southside shelters. Carlotta hurried in line before the last of the pots were removed. I caught her eye and beckoned her to my end where I took a chance and put a plate aside. I had to talk to her today. She could disappear at any time go to another shelter or whatever. I didn’t want to be pushy, but in a few days I’ll be thirty five. It will be time to leave this place and Weena will be blowing up my phone. She might forget, but I doubt it. My work at the shelter should stand for something if we tie. I closed the lid to her plate. “We need to talk, Carlotta.”
    Her eyebrow arched, “We do?”
    “Yeah, it’s important.” She smiled, nodded and went to her seat. Why she wore a 3X black sweatshirt puzzled the hell out of me. It was ninety degrees outside. It still sagged off her broad shoulders, but it did the job of concealing, what I figured, was a curvy waistline. Carlotta unwrapped her utensils, spaced them neatly next to her plate and refolded the napkin on her lap. Tedious with good table manners. I like that. She went to work on her food and didn’t notice when the others left. She forgot her peach cobbler; I went over and eased it across the bumpy surface of the table. “You forgot your desert; you can share if you like.” She sank her spoon in the bowl for a sample. She dabbed the corners of her small mouth.
    “Um...good, I can’t do it.” She had a soft childlike laugh.
    “You hurt my feeling, Carlotta.”
    “Jerry, you’ll get over it and I know what you are thinking, but say it anyway.” She gave me those bedroom eyes.
    “I want to see you away from here.”
    “She giggled. “I knew it...me too. Where are we going your or your place?” She tapped my leg under the table.
    “Uh, a nice room will do if you don’t mind?”
    “You married or what?” She asked.
    “No, but the what is complicated.”
    “OK, with me, I never had an East Indian looking guy before; can I meet you out back in an hour?” I nodded and she gathered her things and left.
    In an hour? Where was she going? There’s nothing but empty warehouses and a scrap metal place in the area. I waited a few minutes and peeked out the back door. I’m not nosy by nature, but something about a cat dying came to mind. I couldn’t remember the saying, but I looked for Carlotta anyway.
    The alley was full of abandoned cars with flats. The majority sat on chipped and broken concrete blocks. I walked between the vehicles and the buildings. I called myself shadowing her. If she came back around the corner I was busted and that would blow the date. I looked around the corner and saw her push an old shopping cart full of scrap sheet metal and cans. She made a left down another alley toward Acco Metals and the neighboring junk yard. She’d be back soon. I sat in my early model Honda Accord and waited.
    A tap on the window woke me. I wiped my mouth, popped the locks and she jumped in. “Somebody’s really tired. Sorry it took me longer than I expected...take me to the motel down the way about a mile. It’s cool and the ceiling is mirrored. I’m ready for serious lovemaking.” She gazed at me and studied my reaction.
    I smiled and pulled off. “You don’t waste time do you?” She shook her head. “I’m not complaining.” She leaned and put her hand in my lap. I smelled her sweaty skin and hair. It turned me on. I couldn’t get to the Southeast Motel fast enough. I ran across Torrance Road to the convenience store and picked up a six pack and sandwiches.The place was a step above a cheap flop house for whores and drug addicts, but it did have plenty of towels. The covers on the queen size were cheap but clean. The lamp on the night stand looked like something out of the forties, a new table in front of the window and an inexpensive flat screen TV was bolted to the wall. Tolerable for forty bucks a night.
    I hadn’t put the bag down good when I found myself lifting off her sweatshirt and she unbuckled my pants. I pulled her dusty jeans down to her ankles. Those worn dirty clothes revealed a bronze colored sculptured body with no stretch marks. Carlotta, to my surprise, didn’t have kids. I pulled her in the shower and our lips locked. I tried to adjust the water while we kissed; we screamed from the blast of cold water. “No soap honey, I’m allergic.” She laughed. We were locked in passion until satisfied. I dabbed her face dry and avoided the scar tissue that surrounded her missing eye. The patch was wet but stationary. She was an inch shorter, perfect to smell her hair while I cupped her behind. Her flesh had a distinct aroma that I’d never encountered. She satisfied my fetish; she wasn’t offensive, but natural. Earthy was the term that best described her.
    We lay on the bed wrapped in bath towels, drank beer and channel surfed. Carlotta organized the 16oz cans in order and portioned the chips in cups. She didn’t approve of the ice bucket and used it to hold the neatly folded paper bag. “You might want to take a can or two home. She changed the channel. “TV’s better in a clean orderly environment, don’t you think?”
    “Yeah, I guess, I never thought about it, but it doesn’t hurt.” Her diction and mannerism said she’d been exposed to the finer things in life including formal education. In a roundabout way I questioned her about the past. She placed her finger tip on my lips.
    “Those baby butt soft hands of your tell me we don’t do the same type of work. I almost had an orgasm when your palms clutched my backside. If I’d followed the advice of people who cared for me I wouldn’t been influenced by the wrong crowd. That’s an issue you didn’t have.” She ran her callus palms across my chest, kissed me and we became one, again and again. We talked about everything and she skillfully avoided her past. I didn’t want to irritate her. I’d timed our encounter right. But, I had feelings for the stranger who called herself Carlotta. She intrigued me. Several types like her took my money and ran and never returned to the shelter, like I couldn’t have them found. Carlotta didn’t do that. When I woke she’d made her side of the bed and cleaned the room. I sleep sound and snore like a bullfrog. I didn’t hear a thing. Her integrity and tedious nature was an aphrodisiac. I had to see her again.
*
    For days I waited for her to walk through the door. The work got monotonous; a first for me. She left a residue on my heart I couldn’t shake. My curiosity overwhelmed me and I went to the metal recycling company. A tall overweight white guy stood by a scale with huge bags on it. “What do you need, sir?” His high pitched voice shocked me for a rugged looking guy.
    “I’m looking for Carlotta, she been around lately?”
    He hesitated, gave me the once over and slap the weights on the scale. “You got cans to be weighed or what mister?”
    I pulled out a hundred dollar bill.” She been around or what?” His eyes lit up. He wiped his hands on his filthy overalls took the bill and shook my hand. “Thanks, you just missed ‘the perfect bum’. That’s what we call her, affectionately, of course.”
    “Of course.” I said.
    “She said she had to get wood before it starts to rain.”
    “Wood?”
    “Yeah, she works on that shit in the back.
    The sky darkened, thunder followed, it poured for a minute and stopped. “I’m not a cop I’m a relative, but I wasn’t here, right?”
    “Right.” He grabbed the bag of cans and went about his business. She worked with wood that explained why her dust clothing. I guess she did other things for money. Now that I knew she was still in the area how would I approach her? Don’t, not yet anyway. Leave now before she gets back.
    Once again Carlotta surprised me. This time she went straight to the back of the line. She got caught in the downpour. Rain made her clothing smell musty. I loaded her plate and whispered, “Meet me in the back after hours.” She nodded. The rain stopped when she got in the car. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”
    “OK, baby.” She agreed.
    “Let’s go to my place.” I trusted her enough to share my hideaway.
    “Cool with me,” she smiled and rubbed my leg.
*
    I rented a furnished apartment in a former transient hotel near the lake. I chose a one bedroom. I stayed here during the week and went home on the weekends. I slammed the gate of the elevator and punched three. And up we went. When we walked in I smelled the garbage I forgot to take out. Carlotta emptied the can and took it to the dump shute. In her angelic voice she said, “Lovemaking is best in a clean environment, baby.” My place was a typical bachelor apartment except for the 60" flat screen mounted on the wall. The kitchen had the usual modern appliances. A stacked washer/dryer combo was embedded in the pantry section. The brown wall to wall carpeting needed shampooing, but the cocktail table and dining room set were glass and chrome. I replaced the old wood pole lamps with contemporary brushed nickel ones. Carlotta worked her magic and insisted I remain seated. “I got this.”When she finished I ordered Chinese food from down the block. We peeled off our clothes and for three days we wore nothing but bath towels.
    She left me the same way when we were at the motel. My kitchen and bath were immaculate; the dining table settings were perfect as were the appliances on the counter. What was the purpose of her flawless organizational skills and her tacky appearance? I tried not to think about it.
*
    I unlocked the door at 6am for the first time. I arranged pots and pans and wondered, would I miss this place? An hour later the other volunteers poured in; good, I needed a break. I stepped out back to escape the heat. The sun struggled to break through the clouds, but the rainy coolness remained. Carlotta turned the corner from behind a delivery truck. She had a box eighteen inches square sitting on top of her shopping cart. She smiled. “Hey honey, I got a surprise for you.” Her jeans were holier than usual and her baseball cap was pulled down over a fresh perm.
    “It’s been a week, where have you been?”
    She ignored the question and adjusted the box. “Pop the trunk and help me put this in, Jerry.”
    “OK, OK.” I hit the button.
    She pushed a few things aside. “Good, now it’ll fit.” We placed it in the middle and braced it with other stuff. “What time do you get off?”
    “Now, if you like, what’s in here?” I shut the trunk and she gave me a don’t ask look. “OK, I’ll wait until we get to my place. I’ll be back in a minute.” I went and turned in my apron.
*
    Carlotta stood back from her surprise on the cocktail table. “Open it, Jerry.”
    I pulled back the flaps and lifted out a model of a floor plan.
    It was a replica of my apartment!
    The chairs and sofa were covered with black imitation leather. The tables, lamp kitchen cabinets and all appliances were painted with tiny books, magazines utensils and remote controls placed in their usual positions. “Jesus, Carlotta this is beautiful! Are or were you an architect or interior designer?” I wanted an answer; all I got was that don’t ask expression.
    “Don’t go there, Jerry, enjoy it and your welcome.”
    The sheets on the bed were folded with a piece of chocolate on the tiny pillow. “I like the bed.”
    She beamed. “You do?”
    “Yeah.” I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifted her and we went in the bedroom. “I’ll show you how much.”
*
    I had to remember to tell Carlotta, if I see her again, a surgeon who will work on her eye. I continued to take inventory of the linen closet when Big Wilma walked in and said, “A weird guy asked about your girl Carlotta, Jerry.”
    “My girl?”
    Short and wide, Wilma’s stomach bounced when she laughed and her mouth gaped open showing all her teeth. “Yeah, Jerry, we know you like her. I’m not surprised you added her to your list of conquest. People talk, remember? But, anyway that guy’s got a two day beard that not a guy’s whose down on his luck beard. He got a fresh manicure and his skin ain’t right. He ain’t one of us; he got military posture and analytical eyes. If he’s hit hard times it just happened. He don’t smell like cop; he wants to blend in for a second to find her. You’ll see him he’s still sitting at the book table; medium height, build, dark brother with jeans and ragged t-shirt and cap. He’s creepy. See you later.” She grabbed a stack of sheets and left.
    I finished that task and went to the food line. In the corner by the window was the creepy guy. I tried to be objective, but Wilma was right, he didn’t fit. If Carlotta kept to her erratic schedule she could walk through that door at any minute. We finished lunch and no Carlotta. Too bad she doesn’t have a cell phone. “I don’t need one,” she said. Who doesn’t need a cell phone? I scrubbed pots when my alarm indicator went off. Somebody bumped the car. It wasn’t worth stealing. I hit the reset button and went to the back door. No broken glass and everything appeared normal.
    I decided to start the weekend early. I pulled away from the building and saw a metal shopping cart sitting next to a white panel truck in front of me. It was Carlotta’s; she had the last of its type in the area she said. I recognized it because the flaps that covered the holes for the child’s leg were missing. Where’s Carlotta? Maybe she’s at Acco Metals? I drove slow down the alley and saw the big guy on a forklift with a towel wrapped around his head like an Arab sheik. When I pulled up he jumped off the machine to adjust a load on the forks. “Hey, big guy you seen Carlotta today?”
    “You the second person to ask me today, she got her tool box, flipped me the bird and left. I’m glad she gone.” He snapped.
    “I wasn’t here. OK?” He gave me a dirty look and got back on his machine and drove away. “Screw you too.” I shrugged it off and made a beeline home. She might stop by.
*
    Something told me to check the trunk. I opened it and there sat a box with an envelope on top. I rushed upstairs and cleared the cocktail table. What was Carlotta up too? Was she gone for good? Did this have anything to do with the weird guy? I pulled back the flap and lifted out a model of the Dittle estate. Amazing. The landscaping was accurate down to the row of hedges that lined the cobblestone drive. The mansion’s contemporary picture windows were detailed to perfection. It had the pool, tennis and basketball courts and an enclosed garden. How did she do this? Then it hit me Google Earth and our estate had been in several architectural magazines. But, none of the family was ever pictured and my address is not on my license or application for any jobs I’ve held. The letter was on beautiful pastel stationary with raised rose petals in the top corners.
    Jerry,
    We had a good time. I enjoyed you immensely. If I didn’t I wouldn’t say it, but now we’ve come to the end we know was close at hand. My world and past is not for you. This is why I will not share it with you. Do not try to find out. You’re a good one percenter not one of those snobbish Negroes. Stay that way, Jerry. Thanks, enjoy the models.
    Crazy about you,
    Carlotta

    I balled up the letter and threw it at the wall. Who was Carlotta? Why did she check me out? Did she see through me at first or what? It was obvious that weird guy made her run. Should I be concerned about my safety? No, he didn’t notice you and your eyes didn’t meet. I took a deep breath. Don’t worry about it, you know nothing. I felt strange; did she break my heart or what? I missed her, but do what she said, Jerry.
    I opened a cold one and flopped on the sofa. I stared at Carlotta’s creation, what a gift. When I get home I’ll find a special place for it in the library. A pedestal when you first walk in will do.
    What will I do about my fetish?
    It’s risky; there are the mentally ill amongst them. But, the smell and feel of them in bed overwhelmed logic. I need to join a support group before my luck runs out. First, a break would be appropriate in the form of a vacation in Monaco. I accomplished two professions to help the less fortunate. The knowledge and experience have been immeasurable, now I’m an RN and a teacher. Weena claims her three separate positions in medicine; nurse assistant, RN and nurse practitioner are different professions. “I win, Jerry.” I’ll let the lawyers work it out. Either way I’ll get the money Grandpa Dittle left one day in the future to help others. Now it’s time to enjoy myself.



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