Charley; Inspired from the song, Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis

Hey Charley I'm pregnant
And living on 9th Street
Right above a dirty bookstore
Off Euclid avenue
And I stopped taking dope
And I quit drinking whiskey
And my old man plays the trombone
And works out at the track.
"excerpt from the lyrics of the song." I was introduced to Tom Waits and his musical world. I loved it, sat and listened to this song for over an hour, replaying the lyrics and then sat back to think of Charley. Here's to you, Charley.....

 

My own rendition of your tale.....

 

 

 

 

I held hard on the bouquet of roses while standing there in the shade. To the many who passed by me, I may be just another jerk with waiting arms for the lady, but I was not that guy. I was there not with waiting arms but also a heart for my favorite girl. They can smirked or laughed at me; probably seen many like me then doing about the same stuff, but this time, I made a big difference. I had the whole pavement lined with roses in the shape of a love with a box of valentine shaped chocolates in the Cadillac. She would be overwhelmed by all of it. It was the same when we met ten years ago; me a smart assed on the street and she was the innocent lass from Omaha.

 

I took her off from a rape attempt by the punks who thought anyone resisting was consenting approval. I kicked the three punks and pulled her out of the gutters. She had on the yellow gingham dress; torn at the left shoulder and her overnighter bag. She saw me and hollered even louder than my mother giving me birth, but I managed to assured her I was her savior. I led her out of the alley and into my home. It was not much, considering it was a decent room under the staircase but there was the bed and closet.

 

That was how we met, the slender lass from Omaha, clean and innocent trying her ambitions on the big city with just twenty bucks on her. I don't know why I bothered; I could had stood back and picked up the discarded doll before I pitched her to the corner stand, but foolhardy I was, then offering her a place to bunk. I was even the stooge to sleep on the outside of the door during those cold nights while she recovered from her trauma. The words out on the street then was I had a new girl but I was holding it for my own strokes. The one who told me that got a number on the chin that reshaped how he speaks from then.

 

Yes, I told Marilyn. The lass was with me and she was off limits to all of them. Marilyn chided me for being a pretender; but I was; I did not why, but I did for her. She stayed with me for over a week, fed on my food and drinks, and never a word of thanks from her. Then on the seventh day, she spoke to me.

 

Thank you, mister was all I got. I admit I was not expecting it, after such a long lull of silence, but I gave her my best smile. The one that took many dropped their vanity for but she took it for a simple peck on the cheek. When she did that, I recalled my first peck from my mother; it was the day she told me she was leaving me and my dad. But this time, the peck meant otherwise, my Omaha lass was here to stay.

 

On the ninth day, I brought her a rose and presented it to her. She was happy and broke into tears. I swore that I did it as someone left it on the bench and thought it would looked nice on her. From then, we started talking with her doing most of the telling while I listen. Guess what, till at that point, all she knew of me then was my looks and probably my scent; bath was a luxury in the place. And never once she asked my name but called me as mister. As for me, I just called her the Omaha lass.

 

It took us a month, before she would stepped out of the room below the staircase, and took the first walk with me. We walked the block; me next to her but our bodies never touched. She was in her mended yellow dress and myself in my work suit; jacket and leather slacks and flashy shoes. There were stares but none dare to mocked or there would be chin shaping looks soon. We had out first ice cream by the parlor at the street end and then back the room.

 

She hardly comes out and if there was it was me. Soon we were holding hands and cheeky pecks came to burst on our scene. I swore I never tried anything she would not approved, nor did she coax me to any. But it was near to our thirteen walk, when we rushed back in the rain. Both of us was damp and the only dry cloth was the blanket she had. She crawled in while I sat at the doorway doing squats to keep warm.

 

"Mister, would you want to come in?" I looked at her as she lowered the blanket. I nodded and told her my name.

 

"Call me Charley." Later she told me her's.

 

Minnea and myself became 'la paire'. Soon I had her a new wardrobe and moved her to a bigger room. There were choices to be made, and I sacrificed some. She was my companion and non others matter. We did the rounds in the city, dancing while doping or humping over the rails on the penthouse. But never once she asked me if I loved her. The lust or was it love soon flattened, or was getting bored, I asked if she would do the works for me. Unlike the others, there was no dramatic whimpering or classy kick in the balls acts, she just gave me the nod.

 

"Yes, Charley. If it makes you happy."

 

Of all the girls I have handed, never once had I it so easy. She was a natural; from me to them and back, there was just no fake cries or despair, only genuine reactions. Soon she upped Marilyn in the listing and if I had a carpark for her numbers, it would had filled the yard every night. But all numbers came with digits, and soon they dwindled. She was worn out with the newbies garnishing higher stakes, I had her off to the streets. She never complained but she asked me to drive her there every night in the Cadillac.

 

"I need them to see that I am still yours, Charley."

 

That was she asked even thought by then, all I had for her was my hand in her purse or a stroke on my odd days. Then came the sucker puncher; a drunk broke her well. He would not settled for a fuck but a fest. I gave him one of mine and he never walked without a crutch. Minnea was worse; she asked to go home. I bought her a ticket to Omaha, and left her at the station. Soon, I heard she came back, married to a grocer and holding some babes at her breasts. I longed to see her but in my line, attachments are as long as the twat generates cash. We parted for sometime, and it was my other bitch who told me the news.

 

"Minnea dunked into the pen. She was caught soliciting and knifed the officer in the balls. She got three years, with one for parole if good behavior."

 

Damned, that news hurt me bad inside. I trashed over my life; who deserved a bastard like me. I made her loved me and then discarded her like a used rubber. Yet, she shaped herself into that life and for once, I felt the pain that should had been there earlier. I looked to the walls and asked why were they blind to my deeds. It was Marilyn who woke me up.

 

"Charley, she did it for you. It does not matter what or who, as long as she know in her, you loved her."

 

Minnea came out in the same yellow dress with the overnighter bag. The dress was tighter at her curves but she had the smile. I gave her flowers while she walked over the ones on the pavement. She picked up the box of the chocolates and boarded the Cadillac.

 

"You missed me, Charley." I ignored the look and drove to the penthouse. We got some time before the street lamps come on.