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Chapter 1 – The Caterpillar and the Hunter
The clouds had broken and the snow had eased for the first time in two weeks. Kids who had spent weeks cooped up in their apartments surfing cable and playing Nintendo were finally released from their urban prisons. Free to roam the neighbourhood again, to seek out their friends and stretch their legs.
For Charlie the weeks had burdened her even further than for the locals. Her father had bought her here to the city on a business trip. While he left each morning to fulfil his busy work schedule, Charlie was left alone in an alien city with little more to do than watch mid day television on the hotel rooms aging TV set.
He had promised her snow, a novelty in her home town, and the delights of a large vibrant city. All she had seen so far were repeats of MASH and Judge Judy and the grey sombre drifts of slush mounting up outside the lobby of the modest hotel her father and her were lodging in. Although he could afford far more upmarket lodgings Charlie's father was a firm believer in watching every penny, an approach that had amassed him a reasonable nest egg but left him a far stretch short of filthy rich.
He had left again this morning for a meeting, but had brightly commented that the snow had eased and the weather girl was predicting a fine and sunny day. Charlie had looked in askance at his overly optimistic remarks, but had kissed him on the way out the door and contemplated on to spend her day.
There was no way Charlie was staying in that little shoebox for another day to be tormented by mind numbing mid day television. Resolving to explore the neighbourhood and possibly find some other folk to play with, she ventured out into the city.
Clad in her favourite sneakers, that had admittedly seen better days, her favourite jeans, baseball cap and an LA Lakers sweater. She made sure to let the sweaty overweight hotel manager know where she was going in case her father returned early. Despite his obvious problems with presentation and general hygiene the manager was nice enough to let her know the whereabouts of the local basketball courts.
The pavements where still surrounded and heaped with greying snow, Charlie picked her way carefully and followed the manager's directions. Snow was supposed to be festive and soft. Not this grey depressing sludge that seemed to be slowly infiltrating her sneakers. Turning the corner she came to the basketball courts, the bequest of some inner city philanthropist, they sat in an older, but still relatively respectable, part of town. Someone had kindly taken a snow shovel to them and heaped the piles of sludge over the sidelines.
For the first time in weeks Charlie felt excited – there were other girls and guys over there, just shooting hoops at the moment. But just like most congregations of teens, once a few more came along and a critical mass was formed, a full blown game would likely ensue.
Charlie had always loved basketball, baseball and football (although her father drew the line at her playing football, when he found out at any rate). Charlie's mother had passed away giving birth to her parent's short-lived second child. Her father had never remarried as he still carried a torch for Charlie's mother and in his darkest moments admitted to Charlie that he could never love again… except for Charlie of course.
Deprived of many female influences and doted on by her father, Charlie had reached the age of 16 without ever having played with a Barbie, experimented with makeup or even thought about "boys" as anything other than fellow competitors. Some of her female teachers at home had tried to fill the void by offering advice to her or her father. The two of them though were fiercely independent, and neither Charlie nor her father thought there was much of a problem in her boyish pursuits.
Charlie scoped out the courts and spied out a boy around her own age shooting hoops at the far end of the court. Sporting a New York Knicks jersey he was slotting three pointers and working his way around the circle. Quietly impressed, Charlie's cheeky nature got the better of her. She darted in as he was bouncing the ball preparing for a shot, stole the ball in mid bounce, took four steps, and jumped up to put the ball expertly through the hoop.
"Swish – nuthin' but net!"
The taunt and the steal bought the boy out of his focussed reverie.
"Not bad – for a girl…"
"Yeah – 'wanna go one-on-one prissy-boy"
"Sure, I'll put you on that cute little ass of yours in five seconds flat!"
And in that way the challenge was issued. Kyle, she found out his name after he slammed the ball through the hoop with a sweet move, clearly had the height advantage being almost six foot. Charlie on the other hand, standing at just over five and a half feet, had to make up for his advantage with her speed and skill.
Up and down the half court they ran, dodged, jumped and stepped, dancing the dance that is basketball. The ball wove in and out, rebounding off the board, swishing straight through the net innumerous times as Charlie and Kyle pitted their skills against each other. They had attracted a small crowd, watching on with envy as the two obviously accomplished amateurs strove to master their opposite.
The game reached a crescendo when Charlie attempted a steal only to be thwarted by Kyle with a deft bump of his hip, Charlie lost her footing and felt herself falling backwards – at the last moment she grabbed a hold of Kyle's Knicks jersey and dragged him down with her…
Breathlessly she hit the concrete, narrowly avoiding smacking the back of her skull on the hard surface. Kyle fell awkwardly on her chest – and for a moment, with his body pressing down on her she felt something. A brush of something more powerful, more seductive than anything else she had felt before. Here on this court with this boy – no man, she corrected herself – pushing onto her, holding her, pinning her down – she felt flutters in her stomach. She sought after the feeling, and then looked up at Kyle's face.
It only lasted an instant – Kyle was back on his feet and offering a hand to Charlie – and the feeling fled. The onlookers must have thought her dazed as she accepted Kyle's hand and clambered to her feet.
"Good match – I'd have you on my team any day – even if you are a girl."
"Thanks, you too. But I think I'll sit it out a bit, I'm a bit winded after that." With that Charlie retreated to the gathered crowd, and someone kindly offered her their towel. She sat down on the bleachers, ostensibly to catch her breath – but privately to consider the feelings that had almost erupted inside her.
What was that, she asked herself, it wasn't like the stupid girls at school talk about. No heart pounding and throat swelling up or any of that. It was something stronger, she had enjoyed being pinned there for that moment, to have his body controlling hers, to be forcing her down…
She shied away from these awkward thoughts and resumed watching the new game. With her and Kyle's departure from the half court a full blown game had started between some of the kids. The critical mass had been reached and now the games would ebb and flow all day as people arrived and departed throughout the day.
She played a couple more games after that, alternating between taking a break on the bleachers and playing ball.
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There's always one – the local podgy kid whose sense of humour and all round good nature prevents him from being ostrasised and beaten up by his peers. They're the one's who know all the new jokes, the ones who are the first to sneak their Father's copy of penthouse to school, the ones who always come up with something interesting to do, and they are the ones who usually have about as much hand-eye coordination as a new-born with a spoon full of baby food.
This kid's name was Joey, and someone had made the shocking mistake of passing him the ball. Joey, true to his nature managed a shot that no-one could have replicated even if they'd tried it a hundred times. Somehow he managed to throw the basketball toward the hoop, which it missed, propelled by its power the ball bounced off the backboard, flew over the fence, took two bounces across the road and smashed through the window of one of the shops.
"Oh shit Joey – You're fucking dead – that's Campbell's place. He'll have you're guts for garters mate, rip your head off and shit down your neck!" This was one of the more reprintable exclamations.
The collected kids and teenagers promptly started jibing Joey into going and getting the ball. "You threw the thing – you go get it, you dick" The mob had formed and was gradually brow beating poor Joey into slinking across the road when Charlie spoke up.
"I'll get it, he can't be that bad, and plus I'm a girl, he's bound to go easier on me than you guys." Charlies offer was met with many thanks from an exasperated Joey and a few winks of good luck from Kyle and the others.
Charlie walked out of the court and towards the shop. It stood on the corner opposite the basketball courts. In classic turn of the century style the shop front wasn't squared off, but formed a gentle curve that stretched around the corner. "Thomspon and Campbell – expert tailors. est. 1845" the grim sign announced. The windows were filled with dark conservative suits and overcoats. Unlike most clothing stores, not a single promotional sign or price was visible, this was the sort of store where one didn't even ask about price.
Joey's deft aim had landed the ball straight into the middle of one display. There it sat, partially covered by a toppled suit jacket that had fallen from behind and in front of a display of cuff links and tie pins.
Charlie opened the old wooden door to the tingle of an old fashioned bell set to warn the proprietor of the store that a prospective customer had arrived. The stores interior matched its exterior perfectly. This was a shop out of an old movie Charlie thought, look at the classic light fittings, the polished wood, the neatly stacked shirts all arranged just so, the burnished bronze – all its missing is a balding old man with a set of pins in his mouth, a black vest, and a tape measure around his neck.
"I guess you're here to claim your ball?" The voice emanated from the back of the shop – there indeed was a man, pins in mouth, black vest, tape measure around his neck – but he was young, no more than 30, Charlie guessed. He was in the process of fitting a gentleman in one of the stores trademark conservative suits.
"Just wait there. I'll deal with you in a moment." He uttered as the tailor returned to his customer.
Charlie looked over the current possessor of the basketball – dark brown hair, neatly cut, a lithe firm body unbent from years staring at stitching, he had immaculate dress sense (as one would expect from a tailor). He worked quickly and efficiently, inserting pins here, making folds in the jacket there, and finally he announced: "Thankyou Mr Simes, I'll have the alterations done by Tuesday, you can pick it up in the evening if that's convenient".
"Thankyou Mr Campbell, I'll drop in after work. A pleasure again." Mr Simes began pulling on his own jacket as he continued "There's a reason why my family has been coming back to your fathers shop and now your shop for nie on a century, you do solid work. Thankyou again and I'll see you Tuesday". With that Mr Simes departed the store, leaving the tailor, Mr Campbell, to fix Charlie with a stern gaze.
"So, you're the one responsible for breaking my window, are you? I hope you have the money to pay for its repair, or else I will have no option but to call the police." Charlie withstood the well weighted barrage from the stern tailor and responded.
"I apologise if me and my friends broke your window. If I can use your phone I'll give my dad a ring. I'm sure he can fix you up for the window."
"I think you will find that it is 'my friends and I"; and indeed I hope for your sake young Miss that he can" With that Mr Campbell resumed his work and left Charlie with the phone, standing in the midst of the bleak conservative store calling her father's cell phone number…
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