The Organization Read Online Free Page B

chosen a table with a view of the sidewalk, so she might see when Erin arrived. She had been sitting in the booth, with its high backs and sticky wooden table, long enough to watch a half dozen people finish their drinks and leave while double that number entered the pub.  She wished that the beer she was drinking had alcohol in it.
    Erin rushed into the pub, her frizzy hair styled into tight braids on one side of her head but blowing wildly in the air on the other side.  Charlotte recognized this as a fashionable look, although fashion in general had swung back toward the conservative end of the spectrum.  Designers were showcasing styles that were nearly a century old, a throwback to the 1940s and the previous World War.  She had wondered if these styles were themselves propaganda, relying on nostalgia to make the masses more patriotic and to convince them that more stable times were ahead.
    Erin sidestepped into the booth, leaning over the table to kiss Charlotte on one cheek and, in the process, giving her friend an ample view of her cleavage.  Erin was not oblivious to this exposure, as evidenced by her adjusting her silk blouse as she settled back against the booth.
    “Have you been waiting long?” Erin asked.
    “About a half hour,” Charlotte answered.  Back when everyone had mobile devices, she would have expected Erin to let her know she was running late.  But since the government had banned the use of such devices, citing them as a security risk, Charlotte – and the rest of the population – had adapted to the lack of connectivity.  Maybe it made everyone more patient, Charlotte wasn’t sure, but it certainly seemed to make them more present.
    Erin had abruptly gotten up before returning from the bar with a beer. She sighed dramatically and asked, “Where were we?”
    “We weren’t anywhere yet.  How have you been, Erin?” Charlotte asked.
    “I’ve been doing fine, my dear.  But I’m better now that I see you.  It’s been too long and I blame you entirely for that.” She pursed her lips and squinted sideways to let on that she was teasing.
    “Oh really?  Well, you know where to find me,” Charlotte defended herself.  “I haven’t heard any knocks on my door lately.” She smiled to soften her comment.
    “And would I be welcome?” Erin asked.
    “Of course,” Charlotte responded lightly.  She drank her beer, relieved to break eye contact.
    “By the way, did you see that disgusting poster about one block north?” Erin asked.
    “I didn’t come that way,” Charlotte replied.  “Why?  What was it?”
    “Oh, it was just that typical ‘anti-septic’ filth,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Who knows who even plastered it up there.”  Erin referred to the Cockney rhyming slang of septic, short for septic tank, which was a play on the word Yank.  To be anti-septic was to be anti-American.
    “That was funny.  You know, pairing the words septic and filth, like you just did,” Charlotte replied, not commenting on the substance of the matter.  There were any number of groups who could have put up anti-American posters; the government not only allowed it but also tacitly approved.
    Erin’s hand reached across the table and rested on her friend’s, preventing Charlotte from drinking again.
    “You don’t have to pretend for me, Charlie.”
    “I’m not pretending.  Anyway, I’d like for you to come over sometime.  You’re right that it’s been too long,” she responded.  “We could…” Charlotte searched for words, “cook something, or play cards, or…”
    “Sit and talk about Maggie?” Erin probed, although her tone was kind.
    Charlotte swallowed hard and pulled her hand away. “You know, I never hear her name anymore.  Everyone I knew – that we knew together – has moved on.  Literally.  They’ve mainly moved to other parts of London or even up north, and we don’t ever seem to cross paths.”
    “Maybe it’s good to hear her name, to