wasn’t sure of her reception. She’d turned her back on Dana and everyone else after she’d married Edward.
“In the office. Down the hall, first door on your left,”
he said, waving in that direction.
Charlotte walked down the back hall, the smell of cigarettes and pot lingering in the air, stirring up old memories. Those memories came to life as she stopped to look at the photographs on the walls. In one picture, she was astonished to see herself sitting on a man’s lap. Her arm was flung around his shoulders, her breasts practically bursting free of her skimpy costume, her legs encased in fishnet stockings, her feet in stiletto heels. The man wasn’t Johnny but another club regular, Peter Harrison, a local writer for the newspaper who always proclaimed he was doing research. Peter, like so many other men who came to the club, had a good explanation for why he was there. Not that she’d cared, not that any of the girls had cared. The men were customers. They spent money. It had all seemed so simple back then.
She put a hand to the photo, tracing the wide smile on her own face, hardly remembering that girl. She was laughing uproariously at something. The rest of the party seemed in equally good spirits, including Dana, a stunning redhead with the longest legs and the biggest breasts Charlotte had ever seen. There was a birthday cake on the table, as well as empty bottles of booze and more glasses than she could count. Maybe the alcohol had had something to do with their good spirits.
86
Barbara Freethy
“Are you looking for someone?”
Charlotte turned at the sound of a female voice. Her stomach clenched as she realized it was her old friend Dana. She was seventy-two years old now, but she looked more like fifty. Her hair was still red, her face expertly made up, and while she was wearing black slacks and a conservative jacket over her camisole top, her breasts still took center stage, the way they always had.
Dana was giving her the same once-over, recognition flitting through her eyes. “Charlie? Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
Dana gave a deep, throaty laugh and shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d see you again, and certainly not here.” There was a hint of cen-sure in her voice that Charlotte couldn’t ignore.
“I know I said I’d never come back, but I guess never is a long time.”
“You’re a little old to want a job, so what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere more private?”
Dana hesitated and then waved her into the office. It was a small room, barely big enough for a desk, two chairs, and a couple of filing cabinets. Dana sat down behind the desk. Charlotte perched on the edge of a hard wooden chair. “So you run this place now,” she said.
“You always said one day you’d be the boss.”
“I had to do something once gravity took over, and I’ve always been a good businesswoman.”
“That’s true. You look good,” Charlotte said.
“You look like a church lady.”
Charlotte smiled. “That’s nicer than what I thought you’d say.”
TA K E N
87
“Why are you here, Charlie? It’s been more than a few years.”
“It seems like yesterday now. I can’t believe you still have our photos up on the wall.”
“Not everyone is ashamed of their past,” Dana replied.
“And those were the good old days, for some of us anyway.”
Charlotte ignored that comment. She hadn’t come here to fight. “Speaking of the past, I need your help.”
“And what makes you think that after fifty years of silence you have a right to ask me for help? You turned your back on me, Charlie. You went off to live in your rich house with your rich husband. You were too good for me.”
“No, it wasn’t like that. I found a way out and I had to take it. I couldn’t come back because . . . Well, I couldn’t.”
“Sure, I know. I understand,” Dana said, bitterness in her eyes. “We were your secret past.
“In the office. Down the hall, first door on your left,”
he said, waving in that direction.
Charlotte walked down the back hall, the smell of cigarettes and pot lingering in the air, stirring up old memories. Those memories came to life as she stopped to look at the photographs on the walls. In one picture, she was astonished to see herself sitting on a man’s lap. Her arm was flung around his shoulders, her breasts practically bursting free of her skimpy costume, her legs encased in fishnet stockings, her feet in stiletto heels. The man wasn’t Johnny but another club regular, Peter Harrison, a local writer for the newspaper who always proclaimed he was doing research. Peter, like so many other men who came to the club, had a good explanation for why he was there. Not that she’d cared, not that any of the girls had cared. The men were customers. They spent money. It had all seemed so simple back then.
She put a hand to the photo, tracing the wide smile on her own face, hardly remembering that girl. She was laughing uproariously at something. The rest of the party seemed in equally good spirits, including Dana, a stunning redhead with the longest legs and the biggest breasts Charlotte had ever seen. There was a birthday cake on the table, as well as empty bottles of booze and more glasses than she could count. Maybe the alcohol had had something to do with their good spirits.
86
Barbara Freethy
“Are you looking for someone?”
Charlotte turned at the sound of a female voice. Her stomach clenched as she realized it was her old friend Dana. She was seventy-two years old now, but she looked more like fifty. Her hair was still red, her face expertly made up, and while she was wearing black slacks and a conservative jacket over her camisole top, her breasts still took center stage, the way they always had.
Dana was giving her the same once-over, recognition flitting through her eyes. “Charlie? Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
Dana gave a deep, throaty laugh and shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d see you again, and certainly not here.” There was a hint of cen-sure in her voice that Charlotte couldn’t ignore.
“I know I said I’d never come back, but I guess never is a long time.”
“You’re a little old to want a job, so what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere more private?”
Dana hesitated and then waved her into the office. It was a small room, barely big enough for a desk, two chairs, and a couple of filing cabinets. Dana sat down behind the desk. Charlotte perched on the edge of a hard wooden chair. “So you run this place now,” she said.
“You always said one day you’d be the boss.”
“I had to do something once gravity took over, and I’ve always been a good businesswoman.”
“That’s true. You look good,” Charlotte said.
“You look like a church lady.”
Charlotte smiled. “That’s nicer than what I thought you’d say.”
TA K E N
87
“Why are you here, Charlie? It’s been more than a few years.”
“It seems like yesterday now. I can’t believe you still have our photos up on the wall.”
“Not everyone is ashamed of their past,” Dana replied.
“And those were the good old days, for some of us anyway.”
Charlotte ignored that comment. She hadn’t come here to fight. “Speaking of the past, I need your help.”
“And what makes you think that after fifty years of silence you have a right to ask me for help? You turned your back on me, Charlie. You went off to live in your rich house with your rich husband. You were too good for me.”
“No, it wasn’t like that. I found a way out and I had to take it. I couldn’t come back because . . . Well, I couldn’t.”
“Sure, I know. I understand,” Dana said, bitterness in her eyes. “We were your secret past.
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