Red Charlotte

Just because I have a pathetic job where I have to dress like I work at a psycho ward, and serve filthy rich people instead of being served, doesn’t mean I am not a decent guy. I hate watching Charlotte, the woman I have loved for so long, be with another man. They usually come in about three times a week, but tonight they saw a show at the theater across the street, so Charlotte looked especially beautiful. She wore a red pencil dress, black pumps, and her red hair looked perfect—I have always loved her hair. Charlotte’s cheeks were a peachy pink, and her lips were a matte nude color. As she looked up at the menu on the wall, I admired her eyes, which I hadn’t had the chance to really gaze at in a while. I had forgotten how beautiful they are; hazel green with a bit of gold surrounding the pupils.
“We’ll have two martinis on the rocks,” that sleaze, who goes by ‘Ricky,' said. When he said that, Charlotte looked at him with confusion. He didn’t even ask her what she wanted- he ordered for her. I hate those kinds of guys; the kind who think for their women. If Charlotte was with me, I would let her make her own decisions.
Charlotte and I grew up together. We were neighbors from grade school to high school and we have dated each other, we’ve seen each other date other people, and we were always there for each other through heartbreak. Once we graduated high school, she left to California to attend some Ivy League school that her parents paid for while I was, and still am, stuck here in Chicago washing dishes and cleaning up after wealthy people. My parents never had the money to give me everything I wanted, as Charlotte’s parents did, but Charlotte never judged me for that, she accepted me. But when she is with Ricky, it’s as if she doesn’t talk to me because she’s not allowed. Ricky was the jealous and possessive type. Every time I tried to spark a conversation with Charlotte he would interrupt by kissing her neck, which made her laugh, or by loudly telling her something which overpowered what I was saying. Charlotte looked at me like she did when we were kids, with a spark of fascination in her eyes. It makes we wonder, Does she love me like I love her? I wish Ricky would have gone to the Men's Room or something so I could have had a chance to talk to her.
After 30 minutes, Ricky paid the bill without a tip, and possessively said “C’mon babe, let’s go” to Charlotte. As she gathered her purse and coat, Ricky went to the car and, finally, Charlotte and I were alone. She got up, walked to the door to leave, and then she stopped, as if she forgot something. She turned around, and said, “I…I really miss you Wally-Woo.” Wally-Woo is what she called me when we were kids. I wasn’t expecting that… I replied, shocked, “I miss you too.” We both smiled, and she walked out the door.
At that moment, I was happier than I had been in a long time. I turned to the man sitting alone at the bar and said, “That was the woman I love,” and he said back to me, “Well, if you don’t go get her, you are going to end up alone, like me.”
So... I went and got her.