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She submits fully to her brother's control.

" That was true too. She moved forward on the stool and leaned towards me; she had enough reach to flick the hair on the side of my head. "You could use a decent haircut too." Like most guys my age back then I didn't cut my hair until it had turned into a messed-up tangle.

I thought that perhaps it was the real Charlotte, the one I was naming Charlotte No. 1, who was giving real opinions about me that she had never expressed before. However, she had always been a very pleasing lover to me so I had little to complain about.
I decided to be quiet because I sensed she had her own follow-up ready. She did, saying, "In some strange way you are completely sincere."

I thought that just a smile was enough here; I'd didn't have to fake that.

Then she turned back and said, "You might as well finish your drink." Was I going somewhere, somewhere with her? If she was truly tired of me, she'd be the one going somewhere, even if it was only the other end of the bar.

About half my vodka was still in the glass. I didn't want to gulp the rest but neither did I want to linger in there. I took a couple more sips and just said, "Ok."

She said, "Let's go." I wondered if I had really been convincing or if she merely wanted a change of venue. We left our tips on the bar and a moment later I was holding the door for her. I had an unpleasant vision of her throwing a curve-ball at me; maybe she'd get to the sidewalk and say, It's been nice meeting you. Bye!

She turned up the block and I fell in next to her. Even though it was hot and humid on the street I was glad to be outdoors again. We started a fairly unforced and natural-sounding conversation about the neighborhood - the selection of stores, the easy commute to other parts of the city.

In our real lives we would hold hands maybe one-third of the time. Obviously we didn't now. I wondered what passerby going in the opposite direction would think of us. Were we a couple or just two co-workers out socializing? Probably the latter. They might be thinking, he doesn't have a chance with her.

I looked over at her, this Charlotte No. 2, as we walked along Seventh Avenue. Her hat was on, the sunglasses still up on the rim. I thought, what a fine lady that is. When I used the word lady when describing her, it was never in a tongue-in-cheek way. Michelle was a girl perhaps, although she seemed to be rapidly moving out of that stage.

Into her web

We reached her building on a side street, an old walk-up place. The phrase "pre-war" here would mean pre-World War I, a New Law Tenement to use the exact New York term. However it was well-maintained for a Manhattan building of that vintage. When we got into her apartment on the third floor I was struck by the feeling that I had never been there before. What was that called, reverse d__j__ vu?

There were two sofas in the living room, facing each other, and each had its own coffee table. As I was standing there looking around, she said, "Have a seat. Don't make yourself at home, but you can sit down."

Now I had figured out something else about Charlotte No. 2; she could be sarcastic, she could have a real edge to her. I had heard Michelle use sarcasm too but it was usually in a good-natured and funny way so I was rarely bothered by it.

She said, "You wanted a drink right?"

"Do you have some wine?"

"I've got a bottle of white that I opened."

"That's good; white is best for a hot day." I didn't know if that was actually true but Charlotte was not a wine expert either.

She came back from the kitchen with a glass for herself too although she had lost her hat somewhere in there. She placed my glass on a table in front of my couch and then she placed her drink on the other table but she didn't sit down yet.

She said, "Oh, I forgot to turn on the air-conditioner." It was indeed uncomfortably warm in the apartment. She turned on the window unit, which was to my left, and hit the high button. Her apartment was in the back and her windows faced an interior courtyard.

Then she started to move things along.

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