MAYA AND CHARLIE are done. They’ve swore not to speak to one another, much less see each other. But when Charlie’s new assistant neglects to book him a hotel following his appearance at Maya’s political rally, she has no choice but to bring him back to her place. After all, she owes him. With the unexpected visit, she neglects to hide her Mischief memorabilia.
I’ve done everything I could to prolong Charlie’s presence at my candidate’s rally. He’d held up his side of our deal, now we were supposed to say goodbye and go back to being just friends. So why was there a knot in my throat?
“Are you waiting on a ride to your hotel?”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, my manager should be sending a car.” There was a small duffle bag on his shoulder.
I could've left right then, went home to try and relax before being back on the campaign trail in the morning. But it seemed rude to leave after the kindness he’d shown me. We leaned against the brick of the building, chatting. Though my confusing feelings about him had complicated things, talking to Charlie remained easy.
Charlie looked at his phone, frowning. “I’m not sure my ride is coming. I’ll call an Uber.”
“I can drive you,” I offered.
“That would be amazing.”
We ambled out to my car, our bodies unfamiliar to each other once again. I didn’t know how to be around him without being near him. I wanted to touch him, even now, when my coworkers were probably still hovering around, half watching me and my movements while basking in the glow of the representative’s successful event. All thanks to Charlie.
I thought I’d feel proud in this moment: it should be a major step on my path to clearing my name in D.C. Instead I’d let a tiny (large) inconvenient and childish teenage crush derail me, pushing back my timeline to getting the career I love back.
Looking at Charlie out of the corner of my eye as we climbed into my car, my political future quickly became one of the last things on my mind.
“Thanks, Maya. I really appreciate the ride,” Charlie said, buckling his seatbelt.
“Yeah well, she’s no limo.” I patted my car’s dash affectionately. “But she's mine.”
The drive to the St. Regis goes by quickly. I want to sit there with him all night.
I pull off the freeway and park right in front of the St. Regis and toss my hazards on. I watch Charlie unbuckle his seatbelt. There is no stopping the words from tumbling out of my mouth.
“Thank you, for everything. Maybe this town has just made me cynical as hell, but that kind of kindness isn't easy to find around here. I appreciate you showing up. And it was good to see you again.”
“Everytime I see you Maya, I enjoy it. I’ll keep showing up when I can,” he said. He smiles weakly and that’s how I know it will be some time before Charlie will be able to stand my coldhearted presence again.
“Bye Charlie.” I wave him off before I do something stupid like cry. Charlie waves and walks into the hotel lobby, where he’s quickly greeted by an employee.
I turn away and try to take a deep breath. My eyes are stinging a little. I'm pulling off, already imagining the shitty movie and freezer burnt ice cream I was going to have when I got home. A knock on the window stopped me in my tracks. I slammed on the brakes, looking out.
Charlie.
I rolled the window down. “Hey, what’s up?”
“You said you owe me, right?”
Looking at Charlie out of the corner of my eye as we climbed into my car, my political future quickly became one of the last things on my mind.
Charlie’s new assistant bungled the hotel reservation. Between a big political democratic donor event at the National Portrait Gallery (the kind I would have been invited to, in the past), welcome week for interns on the hill and my own event meant that the place was booked to the gills.
“Even for world-famous-singer Charlie Blake of the brand Mischief?” I asked, incredulous.
“I told you. Without a mic in front of my face, unless you were into the band as a teen or frequent Nordstrom for overpriced mohair sweaters no one knows who the hell I am. Think I could crash with you? I’m too tired to call around to other places.”
My heart was about to explode out of my chest. “Of course, get in.”
For this leg of the drive, I selected a playlist themed ‘indie sleeze’ of songs I loved in my early years on the hill that I knew was devoid of anything Mischief-like. I’d been treated to more than enough of Charlie and the other boys tonight. Instead, the mythical voice of Fiona Apple filled the car.
I never expected to have Charlie over. I shut my eyes for half a moment, prayed hat I hadn’t left a bunch of bras still damp from the washer out in the living room where he’d see them. I barely trusted myself next to him in the enclosed space that was my beat up old car, I wasn't sure how we’d fare in the confines of my apartment.
“I love this song.”
“Me too.”
“Tell me about the music you want to make more of.”
The sound of Charlie’s voice soothed my worries much more than it should for someone I barely knew. Soon we were approaching my apartment building, pulling into the parking garage.
We took the elevator up to my floor, walked side by side to my door. I could almost imagine us under different circumstances, coming back after a nice candle lit date instead of as two people leaving a sweaty political event who probably shouldn't touch.
I shakily unlocked my door, breathing a sigh of relief when things seemed mostly in order. There were newspapers on the table, a couple mugs in the sink. All manner chargers for each of my devices were twisted up on the counter and a few records were strewn across the credenza. But my throw pillows were straightened and there was no underwear in sight. I considered that a small win.
Charlie wasn't phased. He slipped off his shoes and put his small duffle bag right below the entryway table with the mirror above it where I often swiped on lipstick. It was the same spot I deposited my own bag after a long work trip, when I was too tired to be bothered to bring it all the way into my room.
“So this is home sweet home, huh?”
“Its no Ritz.”
“The Ritz is probably booked. And I like this better anyway,” Charlie said.
Amused, I waved my arms around as I put my own bag down. “You like how small it is?”
“It's cozy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my realtor.”
“Maya. That's the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Charlie pulled out a chair at the bar and settled in, wordlessly moving a stack of back copies of The Washington Post out of the way. “Are you hungry? The least I can do is order something.”
I was glad he asked. My fridge was embarrassingly empty. I kept the door as shut as possible when I reached inside for the water filter. “Yeah, I am. I’ll eat whatever you want.”
“Sushi?”
“Definitely.”
Though I was particular in many aspects of my life, sushi wasn’t one of them. Whether it was from Nobu or the grocery store I would enjoy eating it. While Charlie submitted the order I popped a bottle of white into the freezer to chill. I pulled down two glasses, plates and napkins from the cabinet.
We chatted about our upcoming travel plans. Charlie was heading to L.A. in hopes that proximity to the studio would inspire him to record a new song. Then it was home for a bit. My own travel plans were much blander, and closer to home. A lot of them depended on Teresa’ performance in the primary.
The bell rang and Charlie went downstairs to get the food. I pulled the wine out and popped the cork, finishing pouring it into glasses just as he returned to the apartment.
He unboxed the sushi and showed me what he’d picked. I grinned like an idiot, passing Charlie the chopsticks and wine.
“If you weren't here I’d be eating straight from the container.”
I was giddy. From the food and the wine, from Charlie next to me. Even the domesticity of the moment, which I haven't craved or even had really since long before my divorce, felt good. We stuffed our faces, arguing over the last ball of ginger. He let me have it.
Once I thought I'd be sick if I ate another bite, we migrated to my living room with the bottle of wine. I was tipsy and full and Charlie’s eyes were beautiful. With every passing moment Teresa’s words of warning were further from my mind.
The wine is probably why I said yes to letting Charlie peruse my record collection when asked, forgetting all about the trove of embarrassing moments just inches from his fingertips.
He called out some artists he was happy to see on my shelf like Modest Mouse, Sharon van Etten and The Strokes. Then he began to laugh.
“Maya. You've been holding out on me.”
I scrambled up quickly, nearly dropping my wine all over me. Charlie was holding a framed photo of me and Kate, from around the time our love for the band led to our years-long friendship. We had our arms thrown around each other and were beaming, dressed in matching t-shirts with the boy’s faces on them. ‘MISCHIEF’ was printed in all caps across my chest. Kate’s said ‘MANIAC.’
I felt sick. “Stop. Charlie. Please step away from the photo. Oh my god.”
“Is this your Mischief shrine?”
“What? No. I mean, the shelf is alphabetical. But no.“
“Wow, a box set of all our EPs, in mint condition. I don't even know if I've seen this before.”
“My mom was just being nostalgic when she got it for me! It was on sale.”
I thought I was literally going to die of mortification. I buried my head in my throw pillow.
“What?” His amusement was plain on his face.
I could cry. I was so embarrassed. “I'm a 30 year old woman,” I groaned, muffled by the pillow. “I shouldn't still have this stuff.”
Charlie smiles, finally putting the photo down. I snatched it up out of his hands before he could do something horrible like take a photo with his own phone. “I’ll admit, it's a little strange seeing you with pictures of me and my friends on your shirt. But you're allowed to enjoy things,” he said.
I peek up from my pillow I'd chosen to scream quietly into. “I am?”
“Hobbies make you well rounded,” he said, smirking. “Even the embarrassing ones.”
For a minute I thought I'd really die, would slip through the cracks of this old D.C. brownstone straight into the pits of hell. But then my strategist brain woke up. I’d heard a nugget of information I could use to get more. This wasn't a question meant to help or hurt any candidate, or for the good of furthering democratic policies. All the same, I had to know.
“What was your big band obsession?
Charlie made a low noise of amusement like he couldn't believe I’d asked such an invasive question even though he’d practically ran off with my stupid framed photo.
“I was a big Beatles kid in middle school, I did all of my book reports and history projects on them just so I could play Abbey Road for my classmates.” Charlie laughed at the memory.
“That’s sweet.”
“It was pretty dorky. I’ve seen a Beatles cover band in my time too.”
“None of that is embarrassing!”
“I can think of something else. Oh. I’ve seen Death Cab like 7 times.”
“What?”
“I was barricade for half of those shows. Even camped out.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Well see? We’re even.”
I downed the rest of my wine. It didn't really feel like it. Aren’t half of The Beatles dead? It wasn’t the same. The embarrassment was still rolling through me. I knew he could tell because Charlie put the records down and came up onto the couch to sit beside me.
“Want to watch something?”
I nodded, handing him the remote. I’d have to tell Kate about this. She’d tease me mercilessly before remembering that meant that Charlie had seen her prepubescent face painted for his show, too.
The TV flicked on and Charlie navigated over to SNL. It was Saturday night. Though I’d spent most of it working, my night had taken a big turn. Tomorrow, I’d wake up and Charlie would be gone. It would be back to practically killing myself on this campaign for nothing more than a pat on the head like I was a dog who’d lost her way. I felt myself tearing up again for the second time in one day.
Charlie’s voice interrupts my pity party. “Should we go to bed?”
“We? I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“Why would you sleep on the couch?”
I shrugged. “You’re Charlie Blake. I could never make a national hero sleep on the couch.” I flashed a smile but could feel its fakeness.
“Come on, Maya,” Charlie said, looking disappointed for the first time all night. “I’m sorry for teasing you. I never meant for you to use it as another shield to hide how you really feel about me.”
“Another shield?” My heart was pounding.
“You can hardly look at me.”
“Yeah, well look where looking at you got me,” I snapped.
The room went quiet except for the cheers from the studio crowd on SNL.
“This is going to hurt either way, no matter what we do. So why not let it happen?” By this, I think Charlie meant something like falling in love. That scared me.
“I can’t have any of this.”
“You can. You already have me, Maya.” Charlie stepped closer to me. “I’m right here.”
I let myself be pulled into Charlie’s arms. It felt far too comfortable. My head fit perfectly on his shoulder, I was the right height for him to rest his head on mine.
It's strange how you can’t always remember the start of a kiss. It's hard for me to say who went in first, who decided to put a moratorium on this excruciating game of will-we-won't-we. I relaxed into the kiss, my arms instinctively around his neck. Charlie pulled our bodies together, sending a wave of want through me. The anxiety that had built in my body began to dissipate. How could kissing Charlie Blake already be such a relief?
“We can go to bed,” I concede when we pull away, breathless. “But pajamas stay on.”
“Of course.”
Ever the gentlemen, Charlie disappeared in the bathroom for a bit. I sat on my bed and caught my breath, grateful I’d made my bed that morning. I tossed my clothes in the hamper and pulled on my biggest, comfiest t-shirt.
The bathroom door opened and when I looked up from setting my alarm Charlie was grinning at me. “You neglected to mention that your pajamas don’t include pants.”
“Um, you are literally shirtless.”
“I’m kidding,” Charlie said, climbing across me to the other side of the bed.
I was blushing like an idiot. I reminded myself that we’d slept together before but that had the opposite effect on my body temperature. Instead I flipped the switch on the lamp, plunging us both into darkness before we’d even turned back the comforter. We crawled in the bed and settled in next to each other like we did it every night.
The darkness let me be brave. I pulled Charlie’s face to my own for another kiss, our bodies curling up together. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“Come to L.A. with me,” Charlie whispered.
I laughed a little. We both knew my candidate would leave no time for me to get away. “After the election, I’m all yours.”