Mrs. Charlie Williams
by Liv Albright
Elsa logged onto the dating site “Love After Sixty.” On the home page, an older woman with grey hair and high cheekbones threw her head back laughing as she gingerly touched the arm of an older man. The man had pin needle eyes and a sensuous mouth, and he gazed back at the laughing woman adoringly.
Elsa rapidly clicked below and to the side of the text box and started typing. The screen showed up blank. Oh! She realized. She clicked inside the text box and typed. The first thing she put: IVY LEAGUE GRAD, SUMMA CUM LAUDE in caps. Then she deleted the caps and filled it in lower case. The words would speak for themselves, she thought. Heck, just the sight of her name–Elsa Johnson, in a glittery pink font–on the website would suggest to potential suitors that she was a bonafide genius. Why list her credentials anyway? Elsa deleted her credentials, and wrote instead “It’s all in the Elsa.”
Next was the selfie. She surveyed her image in the mirror. Her face was full, her hair bushy and short. The skin on her neck sagged like loose fabric. But what Elsa saw in the mirror, or what she desperately wanted to see, was different–she was young, with chocolate brown hair and smooth skin. She felt the skin on her face and her neck. Yes, this was her. She still was this beautiful. Elsa snapped a picture of herself, but only captured her elbow.
She beat her phone against the face of her laptop, before she remembered she could send the pic to her email. As she uploaded it to the site, she hoped that things would be different with “Love After Sixty.” Elsa had been kicked off of her previous dating site, “Mature Passion,” when she sent obsessive emails to several older men she believed to be in love with her. She had seen that they viewed her profile and thought it was meant to be. But the men had complained, because she threatened them when they didn’t respond to her amorous poetry inspired by their profile pics. Elsa wasn’t offended. She simply thought the men were intimidated by her beauty, too afraid to open themselves up to rejection.
Elsa stared at the selfie she had managed to upload. It was a beautiful elbow. Surely the men would view the pic and request to see her in person. She rubbed lavender lotion into the crook of her elbows, then rubbed both arms together as if she were a cricket making songs in the night. At her first date with one lucky admirer, she would greet him with this gesture.
A knock at the door. Elsa smoothed her hair back from her face. She looked down at her distended stomach. She hiked up her shirt above her stomach and tied it in a knot in the back. There was Charlie, the forty-year-old community maintenance man. Elsa took in the sweat on his defined jaw, his shirt sleeves that were rolled up past his muscular forearms. His white toothed grin, the same he always gave her, along with a compliment or some reassurance. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to use the site, maybe her right man was here, at her door. Elsa had developed a crush on Charlie after seeing him around the apartment community, always ready with a wave and a smile. Now, it was true that Charlie waved at everybody, but Elsa felt that it was all a ploy to make her jealous, to cover up his true feelings for her.
Elsa opened the door for Charlie. As she stood in the doorway, she rubbed her elbows together above her head.
“Woah there, Ms. Johnson,” he said, stepping around her. “Why don’t you put your shirt on now?”
“You don’t like it?” Elsa said, sucking in her stomach and bunching the shirt higher.
Charlie shook his head and scanned the debris behind Elsa. Piles of papers and knickknacks cluttered the floor. Dead TVs, laptops, and iPads circled her coffee table like a robotics shrine, and empty Starbucks bags and takeout containers sat on the couch cushions.
Charlie side-stepped the mess, barely missing an overly full centipede trap as he made his way to the kitchen. He bent over by the dishwasher, and startled fiddling with the mechanisms inside.
Elsa stared at the skin above Charlie’s waistband, wanting to run her tongue across it.
“This dishwasher is broken,” Charlie said, turning to her. “But you’ve got to clear out a path for me first before we can bring in a new one.”
Elsa wrung her hands, shuffled back and forth. She thought that Charlie was just trying to get her attention, converse with her longer. Why not give him what he wants? She thought. “It’s not that bad in here, is it?” she asked. “I try to be tidy, but I’m getting older.”
Charlie stood up, put his hand on Elsa’s forearm. “It’s not terrible, don’t you worry. But it needs to get dealt with, that’s all.”
Elsa swayed against him, pretending to be faint. Her eyes zeroed in on his pectorals that she could make out through the cotton.
“Woah, steady there. Let me walk you to the couch, Ms. Johnson.” He took her hand and helped her sit down.
Elsa sat, and Charlie picked up a copy of Moby Dick on Elsa’s coffee table. “You like to read, Ms. Johnson? My own mother loved to read.” He put the book down. “I miss her.”
Elsa stared at him, her mouth open. So it was true, wasn’t it? Charlie wouldn’t betray his intimate feelings to just anybody. He adores me, Elsa thought. We’re going to get married. “My own mother loved to read too,” she said after a minute. “My husband, he hated that I read, he was always mad that I knew words he didn’t.”
“He doesn’t sound like a real man, Ms. Johnson. You deserve better than that,” he patted her hand.
Elsa gripped his hand, felt his rough palm against her own. “You know, Charlie, I’m on the lookout for Husband No. 2.” She gripped his hand tighter.
“Hey hey,” Charlie said, peeling Elsa’s hands from his grip. “You’re a good lady, Ms. Johnson. Don’t you worry, good things are in store for you.”
Charlie patted her hand and stood up. “I’ll come back to check on you in about a week. It’ll take as long for the dishwasher to get shipped. I’ll see you later, Ms. Johnson. Remember, the sun comes up every day. We have a lot to be thankful for.” He exited through the front door.
Elsa touched her armpit, then sniffed the oniony odor on her hand. She stiffened and sat up taller–Charlie must like her natural scent. Then she smiled, big and wide—Charlie liked her. He really liked her. He would be the man she would marry. There was no mistaking the way his hand lingered on the small of her back, how he had brought up his former marriage, how he had reassured her that she needed a real man. A man like Charlie. He had even brought up their shared interest, a love of books. Who would have thought?
You know, Elsa thought to herself, I bet Charlie made that piece up about the books just to get my attention. He lied so that someone like me would notice him.
Elsa lay on the couch on her back, hands folded over her stomach. She imagined Charlie feeding her wedding cake, wiping the icing off her lips with his finger and putting it in his mouth. She imagined their honeymoon—a five-star hotel in Italy, where he would screw her until they both were spent.
Elsa sat up with a start. She reached for her cell phone and dialed her psychic, Raindrop Smith. Years ago, before her previous marriage to a two-timing attorney, she had met Raindrop while walking down by the Baltimore Harbor, miles away from where she lived. Raindrop had been sitting before a mangled tarot deck on the dirty ground. Her syrupy voice detailing predictions for Elsa’s future left Elsa utterly in Raindrop’s grasp. “You’re going to have good fortune,” Raindrop had said, tapping The World tarot card with a long grimy pointer nail. On the card, two angelic beings held up a multicolored world in the palms of their hands. When Elsa’s new apartment was rented to her at a discount, she knew that Raindrop had a gift. Since then, she had the psychic on speed dial. With no daughter and no husband, Raindrop was the closest thing to family Elsa had, except that she charged 50 dollars per 15 minutes.
Upon hearing Raindrop’s tired “yello,” Elsa responded: “Hello, Raindrop? I met someone, well we’ve known each other for a while, but we’re getting married and I think he could be the actual one, not the oops I married twenty-five years ago.”
“Yes, Elsa, of course. I had warned you about Richard, remember that. It’s always best to listen to me, Elsa.”
Elsa sighed. “I know that now, Raindrop. You predicted the whole fiasco. But I need to talk to you about this man, my new husband.”
“Hold on Elsa, I’m connecting with the spirits. Yes, yes, I’m getting a reading—”
“What does it say?” Elsa inched forward so that she was on the edge of the couch.
“Does his name start with one of the letters from the first half of the alphabet?”
“Yes, that’s him! It starts with C! Charlie.”
“I am getting the sense that you will be very happy together.”
Elsa leaned back against the coach and curled her toes in the air like a cat. She didn’t need any more proof. Not only would Charlie and her get married, but Elsa would entice him with her feminine ways until the day one of them croaked. Now it was time to buy an outfit that would take his breath away, make him grateful for choosing her.
Elsa realized she couldn’t order from her favorite European clothing stores, plus she didn’t remember her passwords. A week just wasn’t enough time. She would have to use Amazon, where she was permanently logged in.
Over the next week, Elsa ordered thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes. She was conscious that Charlie hadn’t responded to her makeshift crop top, so she thought nothing fit quite right. She tried on jeans, but her stomach hung over the top. The T-shirts bulged at her armpits. Elsa thought that the only solution was to order maternity gowns. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself. All these Amazon brands must be mismarked, but she had to think fast if she wanted to impress Charlie, and maternity gowns seemed to be the only gowns made for a woman of a normal size.
The night before Charlie was to come back, Elsa donned a pastel pink maternity gown. She flinched at the sight of her protruding abdomen against the light fabric. It’s amazing that Charlie loves me, wants to marry me, she thought. I guess I am beautiful. I guess I really am.
It was then that she heard Charlie’s whistle from outside her window. Elsa hurried over to her balcony. She saw Charlie sitting in his golfcart, one hand on the wheel. He was flirting with her neighbor, Eunice Fingers. Elsa clenched her jaw as she watched Eunice laugh and stick out her ample chest.
“Charlie, you flatter me,” Eunice said, brushing his shoulder.
“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Charlie called to Eunice with a politician’s wave as he drove away in his golf cart.
Elsa gripped the balcony railing hard enough to chip off paint. “Eunice,” she muttered. “That old hussy, always running around with her camel toe showing.”
Elsa sat on the couch, arms crossed, pouting. She opened her laptop and searched for her email. She couldn’t find it. Elsa felt sweat trickle down the back of her neck. Finally, about an hour later, she found her email portal through Google. She reset her password, and wrote it down on a scrap of paper she found on her desk. She started to type an email to the leasing office:
Today, I witnessed completely inappropriate behavior today on behalf of Eunice Fingers.
She shut the computer with a huff.
It wasn’t Charlie’s fault. He had to be nice to Eunice. His job depended on it.
She decided to distract by signing on to “Love After Sixty.” She found her password on a scrap of paper wedged between the couch cushions. On the site, an older man who called himself TheRealJeeves had commented on her elbow profile picture: “Hey lady, do you have a face to go with that elbow?”
Elsa’s heart hammered in her chest. She clicked on TheRealJeeves’s profile picture. A picture of Jeeves golfing, his massive stomach protruding over his sailboat belt. She clicked on another picture. This one was a closeup–the man had yellow skin and three layers of jowls against his meaty neck. Definitely not a first choice, but what if Charlie died? Elsa had to have someone. She sent Jeeves one of her love poems that had originally been meant for one of the men on “Mature Passion.”
She bit her nails, ran her lips across her knuckles, imagining what Charlie’s lips would feel like there. She grabbed her breast with both hands and tongued her nipple. Eunice’s laughing face crashed into her mind. She had to Google Charlie, had to find out if he had any pictures of him and Eunice on the internet. Elsa didn’t know about Facebook, so she tried to visit his Linkedin profile–it was protected, but she could still see his portrait. A sassy goatee. Penetrating blue eyes. Elsa leaned forward and kissed the computer, moving her tongue back and forth against the glass.
“Oh, oh,” Elsa sobbed, beating the glass with her fists. Then she sat there, head down on the keys, listening to the computer jump and whirr as her face pressed different buttons.
—
At 12 midnight, Elsa poured wine into a glass and painted her face with beige foundation that had turned orange brownish over the years. She swiped red lipstick onto her cracked lips. Inserted pearls into her ears. She poured herself another glass, rested her face against the couch pillow. “Mrs. Charlie Williams,” she whispered to herself. “Mrs. Charlie Williams.” She imagined Charlie standing below the balcony, offering her pink maternity lingerie. She pictured herself acting coy. “Don’t look, Charlie,” she would say as she slipped the panties over her silver bush. “No need to hide from me, baby,” he would say, “you’re perfect the way you are.”
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she woke to someone banging on the door. Elsa hobbled into the foyer, past ceiling-high piles of clothes from her ordering spree. She stuck her hand out and twisted the doorknob, but could only open the door about a foot.
Charlie put his leg in, trying to budge the door open with his weight. He stepped back outside, shook his head, and started as he took in Elsa’s appearance. Her pastel dress was hiked up and wedged into a pair of Depends disposable undies. She had smeared lipstick from ear to ear and into the fleshy folds of her neck.
“The tables have turned, haven’t they?” Elsa said. “Now I’m the one playing hard to get.”
“Ms. Johnson, can you step outside?” Charlie asked.
“You’re not in your suit and tie,” Elsa said. “How are we going to get married if you don’t have on your suit and tie?”
“What is she talking about?” asked Charlie’s partner, who stood out of view.
Charlie just shook his head.
“Well, we can’t just get married in here, no we can’t,” Elsa clawed at the doorknob, but she couldn’t open it wide enough for her to pass through. She tottered back inside.
“You fellows want some wine?” She tripped and fell headfirst onto a packed pile of online tummy tuck lingerie. “I need to sit down for a minute first.”
“I think she might need to go somewhere,” Charlie said. “She doesn’t seem right.”
“Don’t you threaten me!” Elsa yelled, turning around to face him, a metal serving spoon clasped in her hand like a weapon. She tapped it against Charlie’s pectorals. “What have you done with my Charlie, my innocent man?”
“Innocent man!” Charlie’s partner snickered to himself.
“Don’t you laugh at me!” Elsa beat Charlie’s partner in the head, then in the chest. He backed away from the door.
“Hold on, I’m calling 911,” Charlie yelled.
“Elsa,” he said. “Ms. Johnson, we’re going to take you somewhere safe.”
“You’re putting me away!” Elsa screamed, clinging to his shirt.
“No, no, shhhh,” he whispered. “It’ll all be alright, baby, we just need to pick up a few more things for the wedding, that’s all.”
Inside the ambulance, the paramedic strapped Elsa onto a stretcher, while Elsa craned her neck hoping to get a glimpse of Charlie, who had walked away once the ambulance arrived.
“Do you know your name, ma’am?” the paramedic asked.
“Mrs. Charlie Williams,” Elsa replied dreamily. “Limos really have changed, haven’t they? Seatbelts too.”
The paramedic sighed, checked her watch.
Elsa pulled against her restraints. They must have me strapped down, so Charlie and I don’t go at it before the wedding. Then the ceremony would get delayed and who would want that?
“I’d like a glass of wine,” she said, tilting her neck to look at the paramedic, “to calm my nerves before the big day.”
The paramedic clicked her tongue. “They’ll take care of you once we reach our destination, Ms. Johnson.”
Elsa looked at the paramedic as if she had cussed her out. “It’s Mrs. Charlie Williams,” Elsa scoffed.
The paramedic stared at the wall of the ambulance, her mouth grim. “We’re almost there,” she said, more to herself than to Elsa.
A few red lights later, the ambulance pulled in front of the hospital.
A male nurse rushed to join the paramedic. The nurse was stocky, in his fifties, with close cropped brown hair. “How is she?” he asked.
The paramedic whispered to the nurse. “She’s about as far gone as it gets.”
Elsa smiled at the paramedic. She must be jealous, she thought. Look at me, beautiful, young, and a bride-to-be.
With the paramedic holding one of Elsa’s arms and the nurse holding the other, they positioned Elsa into a wheelchair. The nurse wheeled her down the hall toward the elevator.
“All these people here for my wedding,” Elsa exclaimed. “Hi,” she waved to a man in scrubs, fast-walking past them. “Hello now,” she said, pulling up her skirts past her Depends to curtsy at another nurse.
“Elsa, keep it tucked in,” the nurse said, pulling Elsa’s skirts back over her nether regions.
“What?” Elsa turned left and right, confused. “You’re right. Of course. It’s all for my husband, now, isn’t it?”
Once they reached the geriatric psych ward, the nurse helped Elsa stand. He looped his arm through her elbow. “Come on, Ms. Elsa, let me walk you to your room.”
They walked down the hall. Elsa stepped slowly, elongating each stride to show off her calves. She hummed “Here comes the bride,” and rested her head on the nurse’s shoulder.
When they reached her room, the nurse said, “Alright, Elsa, you can rest in here for a little while.”
“Thank you, father, for walking me down the aisle,” Elsa responded. She put her hands on either side of the nurse’s face and stared into his eyes. “You look wonderful, father, you really do.”
In the corner of Elsa’s bathroom was a piece of floss with a small kernel of food at the end. Elsa wet the floss with her tongue and threaded it through her ear, so that the food debris hung from her ear like an earring. She stared at her own face in the mirror, but she could only see the face of Charlie Williams.
Elsa heard the wedding bells chime. She couldn’t believe her good fortune.
“Do you, Elsa Johnson, take Charlie Williams to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Elsa heard the priest say.
Elsa leaned forward to touch her lips to the mirror and wondered why Charlie’s mouth tasted like cold metal.
“I do,” Elsa whispered. “I do.”
Liv Albright‘s creative nonfiction is forthcoming in Permafrost and Hippocampus magazines. Her essay for After the Art was nominated for The Best American Essays as well as a Pushcart Prize, and her book reviews and author interviews are published in Harvard Review, The Millions, Chicago Review of Books, and Electric Literature, among others. She is a graduate of Goucher College’s Nonfiction MFA Program.