The Alchemy of Noise

by Lorraine Devon Wilke

  Once hugs and kisses were dispensed, Sidonie nursed her usual latte while Marian, donned in Florida-ready white pants (“Even this early in the season!” she’d chortled), lit into a yogurt parfait with a side of croissant.

  “I hate to say it,” Marian remarked sotto voce, “because I know I should be supporting our local business owners, but I’d rather eat here than that Greek joint down the street.”

  Beige, Mom, so, so beige. “Papa Yanni’s? Have you actually eaten there? It’s really good.”

  “One time and that was enough. Everything tasted like olive oil. Anyway, enough about food. How are you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m fine. Busy. The club’s crazy, I’m working in a new sound manager, so there’s a lot going on.”

  “And I have no doubt you’re handling it like the pro you are! Is anything new happening with your restaurant?”

  “Patsy has a prospect on the line. They’ve got us jumping through some hoops, but it’s still early.”

  “You look tired. I worry about you, honey. Are you making time for yourself? You time? So important not to let that go!” Marian was a big believer in the self-sustenance school of discipline these days, not surprising given her twenty-plus years of servitude to a demanding family.

  “I’m working on it, Mom. I take walks when I can, I eat okay, whatever. But today is about you. Big news, this Florida thing!”

  “Isn’t it?” Marian’s grin lit up her entire face. Sidonie noted that her mother looked younger than she had in years, manifesting as a remarkably fit, gently aging matron who would blend perfectly in the Sunshine State.

  “I’m excited for you, Mom, but I have to admit: I never thought both my parents would end up out of state. We’re truly orphans now,” she remarked with a wistful smile.

  “Well, I can’t possibly speak for your father, but I plan on getting back here often enough. And won’t it be fun for all of us to have a new place to spend time together? As you know, I’ve never been that fond of the state with all its retirees and that crazy weather, but I decided— for Steve’s sake—to jump in full steam ahead. But I told him I don’t care what it costs, I want a big place near the water. After sixty years of snow and ice and tornadoes and all that baloney, I want warm ocean breezes and coral shells. Though I do worry about hurricanes, so we’ll just see. But wherever we end up, it’s a new chapter for the whole family!”

  Sidonie reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand. “Mom, just know this is all yours—you deserve it, and I couldn’t be happier for you. And yes, it’ll be fun to have a reason to get to Florida. I’ve never been and it’s about time. I’ll miss you, but we’ll set you up on Skype, maybe even get you a Facebook page so you can post all the photos you’ll be taking. We’ll probably end up knowing more about each other than we do now.”

  “Oh, honey, that would be so nice. And Steve really is the most wonderful man, that much I know.” Again, she beamed.

  Though Sidonie and Karen had spent little time with their mother’s boyfriend in the two years they’d been dating, what time they’d spent had been pleasant enough. “He seems like a pretty great guy.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Because if he didn’t pass muster with you girls, I wouldn’t have a thing to do with him!” She laughed, then leaned in with a tender expression. “And when does Sidonie have a happy relationship again?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Are you even dating anyone?”

  “No, but honestly, I don’t have time.”

  “There’s always time for love.”

  “Very romance novel, but I really don’t have time—not even to find someone, much less wrangle a relationship.”

  “There must be at least some nice men who come into your bar!”

  “It’s not a bar, Mom, it’s an event venue.”

  “Whatever it is, isn’t that a possibility?”

  Sidonie immediately flashed on Chris, then shoved the thought right off her mental screen. “Never a good idea to get involved with customers. Or employees. So it’s tough. You need opportunity and right now I don’t have any. But don’t worry about me, Mom, really. It’ll get sorted out. Now, what exactly is the timeline of this big move?”

  They got back to discussing Florida and by the time Sidonie was in her car maneuvering rain-slicked roads back to the city, she made melancholic note that her mother’s life was far more exciting at the moment than her own.

  FIFTEEN

  WITH TROY AND HIS CATALOGUE OF MISERIES REMOVED from the equation, life at The Church glided toward something smoother and less dramatic, allowing productivity—and morale—to soar. There was a frenzy of high-profile events booked, five different celebrity performances, and one unexpectedly viral publicity campaign (with a magazine cover and interviews inclusive of Sidonie and “the new sound manager”). Concurrently, the process of working Chris into the mechanics of the operation was ongoing and remarkably seamless.

  He and Jasper immediately fell into a rhythm that was efficient, good humored, and, particularly from Frank’s and Sidonie’s points of view, refreshingly dependable. Chris’s talent was evident from day one, when he worked with Jasper to rehang and recalibrate the sound system to maximize the room’s acoustics. The improvement was immediate and Frank, once again, admitted the folly of his complacency with Troy. There were nights when Andrew, the young and capable standby, was required when Chris had no choice but to work a Sound Alchemy gig, but the overall trajectory of his induction was uncomplicated.

  Sidonie felt as if the assembled team had coalesced into something they’d never actually had before: a fully functional workforce. Even Al took a liking to Chris, who, unlike most other staff, found the barman’s bombast “pretty damn funny,” as he remarked to Sidonie. The managerial unburdening that resulted from all this collegiality allowed Sidonie to participate more effectively with Patsy on the proposed blueprints. Which was good, since Patsy frequently mentioned her desire for more help. Their next pitch was coming up in three weeks.

  Sidonie cautiously considered that she might be entering her own new chapter.

  It was Thursday morning when Frank stopped by her office, a remarkably tidy space of calendars and band posters, with an unwelcomed announcement. “Hey, Sid, I’ve got a meeting in Evanston and I wanted to give you the heads-up. Troy’s coming by this afternoon to pick up his last check. I should be back in time, but wanted to let you know in the event I’m late.”

  Sidonie looked up from her computer, brows knitted. “Why did he leave it sitting here for so long? I thought he was broke.”

  “I guess he—”

  “And why didn’t we just send it to him? Wouldn’t that have been easier for everyone?”

  “Slow down, kiddo! I wanted the chance to talk to him in person. As you know, our last call didn’t go so well. All I’ve gotten since then was a text saying he’d be out with a band for a couple of months and would get in touch when he got back. He’s back, he got in touch, and he’s coming by today. In and out.”

  “Well, that sucks for me, Frank! I don’t want to deal with him. Why didn’t you set it up for a time when you could be here?”

  “Because now, apparently, he does need his check. And relax. I should be back in time, but either way, I left it behind the bar so Al can take care of it. You won’t even have to see him.”

  But she did, it turns out, have to see him. Because at approximately two thirty in the afternoon Troy was standing at her office doorway, leaning on the jamb, check envelope in his pocket and smirk on his face. He looked exactly like he’d been on the road for a couple of months: everything about him was rumpled and reeking of alcohol.

  “Hey there, Sid,” he drawled. “Long time no see. How ya doin’?”

  “Just fine, Troy.” She gave him a terse nod. “And you?”

  “Better now that I got another gig.”

  “I’m glad you found something. Hope it goes well.” She kept her eyes on the computer screen but felt a low hum of threat
in his posture.

  “Do you? I kinda doubt that. I don’t think you give a fuck how it goes. You don’t give a fuck about me at all, never did.”

  “Troy . . . let’s just keep this civil, okay—”

  “Always sabotaged me with Frank, always tryin’ to make me look bad whenever you could—”

  Sidonie’s heat finally rose. “Oh, I didn’t have to try too hard, buddy. You managed that just fine on your own.”

  Suddenly he was in the room, the door shoved closed behind him.

  Her alarm was immediate.

  Swaying at the side of her desk, he leaned in with a sneer. “You’re a fucking bitch, you know that? I’ve wanted to say that to your face for a long time. I know it wasn’t Frank’s idea to fire me.”

  Her adrenaline pumped, Sidonie got up from the other side of the desk and moved stealthily toward the door, but before she could get there, he lurched in her direction, grabbed her arm, and yanked, hard. He leaned in close, his breath fetid, eyes red-rimmed and hazy.

  “It was you who wanted me out, wasn’t it? You never liked me, I don’t know why. I gave my all to this place, but you had to wiggle that cute little ass, which is probably the only reason you got this job—”

  “Take your hands off me, Troy, right now!” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You think it’s cool to fuck with someone’s life? Fuck with someone’s job, just cuz he had a bad night or two?” He was wheezing now.

  Though he still held tightly, it was clear he was flagging. Sidonie tensed to make another run for the door when it abruptly swung open and Chris charged in. Without a word, he grabbed Troy by the back of the neck, applying just enough pressure to change the dynamics of the situation. His instructions were calm and cold as ice.

  “Take your hands off her, Troy.”

  “Fuck you, man, I—”

  Chris squeezed harder, until Troy howled and let go. Sidonie stepped quickly to the corner of the room as Chris shoved his blubbering predecessor out the door and toward the front entrance. By then Al had leapt from behind the bar.

  “Troy, man, what are you doing?” He was dumbfounded. “This is not the way to handle things! Have some dignity, man!”

  “Fuck you, asshole!” Troy slurred. “You’re a joke and everyone knows it.” As quickly as Al’s face dropped, Troy rolled it back. “Aw, Al, buddy, I’m sorry. I’m just real fucked up right now and that bitch needs some—ow!”

  Still clamping Troy’s neck, Chris maneuvered his charge through the lobby, where Jasper stood with the door open.

  “You fucking traitor!” Troy hollered at Jasper. “I should’ve never—”

  A quick shove from Chris and Troy was out the door; he stumbled and almost fell to the sidewalk.

  “You’re done here, you got that?” Chris’s voice was hard as stone. “You know goddamn well why you were fired, so don’t come in here blaming the woman who runs the show. I don’t know you, you could be a great guy when you’re sober, but if I ever see you or hear of you harassing or bothering or, God forbid, laying another hand on her again, I will personally kick your ass so hard you won’t sit at a soundboard for a year. You got me?”

  Al and Jasper looked at Chris with a mix of shock and admiration.

  Troy gave him the finger and shuffled down the sidewalk.

  Al yelled out: “Get a cab, buddy. Do not get in your car.”

  Troy repeated his hand gesture, then turned the corner, out of sight.

  SIXTEEN

  THE ENSUING NIGHT PROCEEDED AS PLANNED, BUT TROY’S incursion, with its threat and reality show trashiness, provided drama worthy of wild analysis and conversation. Frank was mortified when he heard the news, offering to intervene in some legal way, but Sidonie absolved him of fault, asking only that Troy be officially banned from the club, which he was. Al and Jasper reiterated the story to every employee (and patron) within earshot, and with energy pumped and events still fresh, the place was abuzz.

  Chris, however, just went about his work with no further discussion. At one point before the show started, he took a break and walked to Sidonie’s office, where he found her on the computer.

  She looked up and smiled. “My knight in shining armor. Come in.”

  He sat down. “You okay? No residual shakes?”

  “Some. My arm has a pretty nasty bruise, but I’m okay. That scared me.”

  “It should. The guy’s got a mean streak.”

  “Thank you for saving me. From what, exactly, I don’t know—I don’t think Troy would have actually hurt me—but still, you saved me. That’s the second time since we met. I’m going to have to start granting wishes or something.” She laughed.

  “Just did what any sane person would do. I saw him at the bar, saw he was wobbling, so when I noticed your door closed, I figured we had a problem. I’m sorry that happened, Sidonie. No one should have to put up with that kind of bullshit. He might be an okay guy, but he’s got some serious stuff to deal with. Good to keep him away.”

  “We will. He already sent a text profusely apologizing, for what it’s worth. I told him to get into a program and get his life straightened out, then blocked his number. Who knows if he’ll pull himself together, but he is basically a good guy. Just seems to have lost his footing since the divorce.”

  “No excuse for a man to get physical with a woman.”

  “No, definitely not. Hopefully he’ll figure it out. Just know I’m grateful you stepped in. Thank you.”

  Chris smiled, stood to leave. “You’ve now thanked me more than once, and you don’t need to again. People do for each other. I was just doin’ for you. Maybe someday you’ll do for me.”

  She walked him to the door and was about to say “thank you” again, but stopped just short. She reached out and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and walked off.

  Once more, as if on ridiculous cue, Officer Mike Demopoulos appeared with a drink. “I promise I’m not stalking you! Al suggested I bring this over. Said you could probably use it.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Al was clearly trying to be sweet, and Mike, with his mopey eyes and goofy grin, was all good-hearted intentions. “Thanks, but I’m not quite ready for cocktails.”

  “He said you wouldn’t be. It’s sparkling lemonade. Said that’s your early drink.”

  “He’s right.” Interesting that Al knew, since she usually poured them herself. She gratefully accepted the offering. “Thanks, Mike. And thank him too.”

  “Will do. And Sidonie, honestly, if you ever find yourself in a situation like that again, don’t hesitate to call me.” He handed her his card. “Guys like that sometimes come back, and if he knows where you live or how you get to your car at night, he could be a problem waitin’ to happen.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it, but I don’t think Troy’s going to be any further problem. But I’ll hang on to your card. Hopefully I’ll never need it.”

  “Well, you could always call if you wanted to grab a bite or something.” His grin was somewhere between shy and crafty.

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty busy these days.” She smiled. “But I will hang on to it.”

  They stood awkwardly for a moment, then Sidonie walked into her office and shut the door.

  SEVENTEEN

  THE TIME HAD COME WHEN SUMMER AND ITS ONSLAUGHT of weather-related torments dominated every conversation. Chicago heat, as one learned early in Midwestern life, arrived with its own character, a particular weight and density that bore down like an oppressor, rendering one enervated and sticky as a matter of routine. It allowed insufficient air or space or room to move, at least not without raising one’s body temperature, which was always, always, to be avoided.

  Weather, in fact, had been a persistent plaint of Sidonie’s adult life. Every summer she fantasized about moving to Maine or someplace where humidity was nonexistent and temperatures remained temperate; every winter she longed for snow-free terrain and the absence of Lake Michigan’s tundra winds. And every year she stayed put, reve
ling when autumn leaves turned or spring renewal left her conveniently amnesic about four-foot drifts or core-melting heat . . . until one of those weather events rolled in again.

  The hot one had rolled in. Even with air-conditioning at peak output, sheets kicked to the floor, and a cool washcloth on her forehead, she was in full swelter and incapable of sleep. The curtains were wide open, as they always were, her bedroom high enough off the street to allow privacy, and as she looked toward the sky and noticed it shimmering in the heat rising from below, the sensation of being parboiled was fierce.

  She got up and lurched downstairs to the kitchen, grabbed a diet root beer, and enjoyed the sixty seconds it took to quaff, the only sixty seconds she’d enjoyed in the last couple of hours. A broken latch on the glass cabinet that had dangled from its hinge since last week suddenly provoked her attention; she grabbed a screwdriver and remedied its disrepair. Once done, and heated by the activity, she threw herself on the couch to try reading, but the light, ridiculously, felt too much like sun. Exasperated, she clicked it off and leaned back, closing her eyes in a valiant effort to quiet her mind, which allowed the most recent of dramas to swim into focus:

  Theo had finally caught up with her. Despite her ex-husband’s relentlessness, she’d been able to duck him by simply never answering his calls, but when she picked up the landline in her office that morning, it was his voice on the other end.

  “Sidonie, please don’t hang up. I know you’re avoiding me and I completely understand, but—”

  “If you completely understand why are you still calling? I’d think the message was clear.”

  “It is, and I respect that, but—”

  “Not enough to keep your distance.”

  “Sid . . .”

  “What do you want, Theo? You’ve got me on the phone now. What do you want?”