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The Lover's Children novel Chapter 90

JAMES

Michael sniffs. “That could have gone better.”

“Yes, it could.”

Klempner remains silent.

Ahead of us, a woman lounges by a corner, cradling a cigarette, blowing smoke into rings as she watches first one way, then the other, then back again. Her dress, clingy and brief, glitters black under the lights. Tall heels display excellent legs.

From around the corner, a car appears, slowing to a crawl. She steps out, chin lifting, one hand set on her cocked hip. But the driver ignores her, passing and with a scowl, she drops back to her lounging spot.

Charlotte and Natalie quicken their pace, Natalie raising a hand to flag the woman’s attention. Michael and I match their pace.

“We should drop back a bit further,” says Klempner.

“I want to hear what they’re saying,” says Michael

“So do I, but we don’t want to scare off the women.”

Ignoring him, Michael and I keep walking. As we come into earshot, they’re already talking. “So, who are you? Social services or something?” A little further along, another pair of women watch, expressions wary.

Charlotte protests. “No, I…”

The hooker sizes her by eye. “Or are you from that new church place at the end of the block.” The hooker blows smoke in her face. “I don't need my soul saving, sister.”

“I’m not anything like that. I’m just trying to…”

“Beat it.” She inhales, blows. “Some of us gotta work. Shortest night of the year. So, go back to your own side of town, why don’t you. Wherever that is.”

Charlotte slumps, looking close to tears. Natalie takes her arm again, looking back over her shoulder at us. “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat and talk it over.”

“Just what we fucking need,” mutters Michael.

*****

Whatever Charlotte’s good intentions when we started this, it’s not working out and her confidence is clearly taking another hit.

Arms wrapped around herself, she hunches. Natalie says something to her, eye-flashing me to stay back. Shorter than Charlotte, she grips her by the shoulders, looking up into her face, speaking quickly and earnestly, but too quietly for me to hear what she’s saying.

Klempner cocks his head, assessing. “Words of encouragement, you think?”

Michael nods. “I’d say so, yes.” His expression is tight, his voice controlled.

What’s he not saying?

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “She's upset. This is having the exact opposite effect to what we intended. We're not learning anything. And Charlotte’s being rejected by the very people she thought she empathised with.”

Klempner snorts. “Ironic, wouldn't you say? Jenny’s being measured by what she’s wearing. If there's one thing she doesn't give a damn about, it's clothes.” Michael’s eyes narrow, but Klempner continues, “That friend of hers has it in hand. Let’s stay out of the way while they talk.”

Klempner’s making sense. After a minute or so, Charlotte nods and straightens up. Natalie throws a look our way, head-pointing a cafe a little further along.

They’ve drawn attention and hostile looks follow them, but the pair have only walked a few yards, when from across the street, bottle in hand, a drunk exits a bar. Swaying as he stands, he looks one way then the other, dismisses the hooker that just gave Charlotte the brush-off, but then spots Charlotte herself.

Beside me, almost imperceptibly, Klempner stiffens. “Could be trouble.”

Swaggering across, the drunk beelines Charlotte. Closer up, he’s badly flushed, definitely unsteady on his feet. “You…” He’s loud with alcohol… “How much for a blow?”

Charlotte’s voice is steady as she rakes him with her glance. “Not available. Try someone else.” She gestures up and down the street at the watching women. Some of the watchers strike poses, trying to attract the drunk’s attention. Others simply look curious.

The drunk doesn’t take the hint. “So why ya here?” His words are slurring.

“I'm looking for someone.”

He swings one way, then the other. “You’ve found me. I’ve got cash. How much?”

Charlotte’s words acquire an edge. “I said, no. I'm looking for someone.”

“Who for?” His voice grows louder, female heads turning from all directions to watch the entertainment. “There’s no one here.” He lurches forward, yelling. “My money not good enough for you?”

“I’ve said no,” she snaps. “That’s enough.” Charlotte turns to walk away, but the drunk grabs her from behind, wrapping both arms around her in a bear-hug…

Christ!

Michael charges forward, pushing past, almost bowling me over as I stagger back. I heave forward again, but Klempner’s ahead of me…

It’s a couple of dozen steps, a few seconds to cross the distance…

… And there’s just enough time to see…

… Charlotte stamps backward onto her assailant’s foot. Face contorted, screaming drunken fury, he loses his hold on her. He lunges back, but she’s already twisting to face him, grabbing him by a thumb en-route with one hand, wrenching down as she turns. The other hand strikes, heel first, into his solar plexus. Winded, silenced, he coughs out air and drops, gasping. As he goes down, Charlotte’s knee comes up, smashing onto the chin and knocking him to the side.

She lurches forward, following up, but Michael’s there, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her back. “It’s done.”

Charlotte whirls on him, face furious but, “You got him,” he snaps. “Self defence is one thing. Beating up the stupid bastard gets you arrested.”

She opens her mouth to snarl some reply, but then stops, staring around as, from all directions, come hoots and screams of applause. Whoops and yells echo down the street, the assembled women cheering and shouting. Running in, they slap her on the shoulders, punch her on the arm. “Good on ya!”

“Got the bastard!”

“You show them, girl!”

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