A lot of people were glad to see Simpson go. Especially after Russ’s last picnic in the park. Curtis knew one thing for certain: he’d be a dead man if Al Simpson ever knew he’d hooked Russ up with the smack that killed him. He felt a stab of guilt which he shook off. Russ wouldn’t wait for him that day and had given himself the shot. It wasn’t his fault and he told Russ’ bitch what to say.
Curtis hopped off the bus and meandered around in the fading evening light looking for a mark. The crowds were thinning since the History Museum had closed. Maybe he could panhandle some change. Stores in nicer neighborhoods were a bit more lax than in his neighborhood. South Loop had been gentrified years ago by moneyed singles making loads in finance and real estate. From the looks of things, hard times had hardly touched the area. Younger men and women jogged by in designer workout clothes. Riders on titanium bikes weaved in and out of traffic. Young mothers pushed their kids in designer strollers. He thought maybe he’d jump the gate and get onto el platform. He could grab a bag from a north bounder and jump on a southbound just in time for the doors to close. But the timing was too difficult. He didn’t want to wait around for two trains to stop at once. He put his hand on the twenty two in the band of his sweatpants. Piece of shit might not even fire. Not that it would come to that. It would sure scare the hell out of someone. He needed to get some money and get the hell out of town. He could find a place to knock off and disappear into the dark. He hesitated for just a moment when he saw the gas station on the corner of Prairie and Roosevelt.
Cherisse sipped her wine and looked at the disappearing sliver of lake. “They tell you about that before you bought the condo?”
“No, and the building association is considering a lawsuit. No builders are allowed to block the lake view for other buildings with existing views but some builders are friendlier with the mayor’s office than others. They already tried to stop it but up it goes. Unfortunately a few of the tenants think I can just go arrest someone.”
Cherisse leaned on the steel rail with a giggle. She smelled a whiff of reefer. “Guess you get that sometimes. People think I ought to be able to get them autographs of big stars that come to town. Go figure.” She watched him turn the steaks and admired his muscular arms. “So you like bein’ a cop?”
“Loved it once, now I’m not so sure. Just a phase probably.” She was beautiful in a pin up girl kind of way and clearly ready for a night of playing not so hard to get. He glanced at the fishnet top that exposed everything except what little her black bra covered. She leaned on the rail and eyed him over her shoulder with a sultry pose while pushing her exquisite ass out until the short tight skirt pulled up to the tops of her thighs. She raised a stilettoed foot and posed it toe out. Her edges of her fishnet stockings were held by garters. She looked like lunch down on Racine. Cheap and yummy and be sure to bring your Tums. He liked a good, cheap lunch every now and again, but he was steadily losing his appetite. The steaks may have well been plastic for all the appeal they had. His wine, a good brand for Jewel, had no taste. Even bitter would have been better than the flatness he felt on his tongue.
Worst of all he had a feeling dessert wouldn’t be going down well at all. Not when Mo flashed into his mind nine out of every ten seconds. So he’d feed and take her out. Maybe if he danced he’d loosen up and get in the mood. This was supposed to be taking his mind off of that woman who flew like a bird as much as any human was able. For all Cherisse’s blatant sexuality, all he could do was make comparisons with Mo. Nothing against the actress. In his mind any woman would pale in comparison with Monica Whitman. Maybe he could just feed Cherisse and beg out of clubbing or whatever she had in mind. Struggling actress might just be happy with a meal.
“So Vikram said I would be great for the role but they got some beanpole who the director said had character. I can do character.” She turned and raised a perfectly styled eyebrow. Her cherry red lips pouted. “Where did you go?”
“So you liked this Vikram but he pulled the rug out from under you.” The steaks were on the platter. “Hungry?”
“Thought you’d zoned out for a minute.” She looked at him from beneath lowered lids. The sparkles on her fake lashes caught the light. “Hungry? I’m ravenous. That’s a word from the play!”
The more anxious Zack got to take the actress out on the town for a while then drop her off at home the more certain he became that she had an evening in on her mind. She rubbed her stilettoed foot against his leg and made verbal compliments on the cuisine along the lines of “Mmmm, nothing like a hot piece of meat.” Zack toyed with his food and wondered how to get out of this without hurting the girl’s feelings. Another not so subtle hint and he would start not to care.
What would Mo think if she walked in on this? And why could he not turn off the part of his brain that had become the Monica Whitman Theater of impossible possibilities. Somehow he had to break the loop playing and replaying in his mind. Mo doing this, would Mo do that? Mo in her leotard, in her costumes, in her bathrobe, in her sweats. Mo windblown in a White Sox cap putting her hand on his saying, “Hash it out with a friend.” Mo’s dark eyes like pools of passion and compassion. The souls of all women seemed to peer out of those eyes. Her eyes seemed to hold the history of their misery and triumph through the ages like a mournful dirge one moment and a joyful song the next. Her eyes were a direct contradiction to the control she held over her body. Her long, slim, strong body. Surprisingly soft. Surprisingly curved. Her lovely breasts not large but full and firm. Their wonderful peaks a man would climb Everest for. He toyed with his salad feeling lost.
“Not too hungry tonight, Detective Burnham? Maybe he was hungrier for something else. She liked going out but she didn’t mind an evening in. Yet he seemed distracted. Distracted from her was not something she was used to. She’d get his attention.
“I guess lunch is still with me. Not as hungry as I thought. You know, Cherisse…” Zack pushed his plate and started to stand but she was up and had her hands on his shoulders pushing him back down. Her teeth were on his ear as her hands slid down his chest. He felt an involuntary throb as he imagined Mo climbing onto his lap. If only they hadn’t parted on such bad terms. He should have talked to her. When he got rid of Cherisse he was going to call her. Enough was enough. Unwrapping Cherisse was like wrestling a determined python. She took it to mean he was ready to take the party into the bedroom. She let him rise but raised a knee up to his hip as she put her hands around his neck. She raised her lips to his and pulled down. He let her kiss him as his mind wandered to the terrace. The sun had gone down and the shadows of evening had been cast over Chicago.
The wind blew in the open terrace door bringing in the first cool of evening. He looked in the direction of the terrace and wondered how long it would take to drop to the ground. Keeping public safety in mind, he decided on another course. “Cherisse.” He tried to pull her hands from his neck. Her large breasts pressed against him. He managed to push her back and hold her by the wrists. “This is not a good idea.” His brows crinkled with the sensation of déjà vu. His voice echoed back to him from a few nights before. He had been in this same situation. He had said almost the exact same words. The difference was he was feeling not the least sensation from the woman in front of him and had felt everything, all desire possible, for the apparition that was Mo. For now she seemed like a figure in a dream. Yet what he’d felt had been as real as anything he’d known before. She had flown away and taken some part of him with her. He stood before the puzzled Cherisse, the shell Monica Whitman had left behind.
“Why don’t we go have a drink, it’s early. Maybe we can find someplace to dance.” Zack slowly let go of her wrists. “I’ll change my clothes.” It was the least he could do.
“Well, a little delayed gratification never hurt, I guess.” She furrowed her brow and pulled her pout to the side. “You got something on your mind?”
“Ah, work stuff. You know how it is. Have some more wine. It’ll only take a minute.” Zack we
nt into his room and shut the door. He clicked the lock in case she decided to follow him. He felt so tired. How could he cut the night short and not have to hear Mrs. Powecki scold him for dumping her dog walker. Sudden headache? Sick stomach? Police emergency? He just wanted to get rid of her and call Mo. Surely she was in Montreal by now. She said she had an afternoon flight, though he wasn’t clear on the time. He just didn’t want his memory of her sullied by the manner of their parting. He thought of his foolishness and the insult that must have cleaved her to the core. It was a situation with no remedy. He wouldn’t see her again but maybe he could live with it if he made amends and genuinely wished her well. If he could hear her voice saying goodbye to him as a friend he’d feel better. Maybe it would be another torture but he’d have to risk it.
Zack went into his room and grabbed a black short sleeved shirt out of his closet and a grabbed some gray slacks out of a drawer and laid them on his bed. He chuckled to himself that he had changed the sheets in anticipation of some sort of sexual purge of his longing for Mo. He stepped into his bathroom and brushed his teeth quickly. He just wanted to get her out the door and then figure out how to disentangle himself from her. “Brought this on yourself, buddy,” he said to his reflection.
He combed his hair in the mirror then went into the bedroom to don his slacks. He slid into his shoes and was just about to throw on his shirt when he heard a knock. He heard Cherisse talking to someone and stepped out of his room as he started to button his shirt.
The traffic into the city was ridiculous. The backup into the city had the cars crawling bumper to bumper. “What’s all this traffic from?” Mo inquired of the driver. It was worse than some of the rush hour traffic she had seen there.
“Sunday night all the people come back from Wisconsin,” he put the emphasis on “Wis”. “There two ballgame tonight. Wrigley and Soldier. Many peoples go in for game. There is tech show at McCormick. Many peoples go there.”
“They go there at night?” Mo leaned her head into what little breeze she could get.
“Big laser show there tonight.” The driver’s turban bobbed as he spoke.
“You sure know what’s going on in Chicago.” Mo gave him a little smile in the mirror.
“People ask me where to go, what is to do? I let them know some stuff to see in Chicago. Like show at Greendale. Big show, sell out all the tickets but now stay longer. Everybody want to see fire girl. There was murder. Big news. Not fire girl but other girl in show was killed in hotel. You don’t be scared, go see show. I take family but it too much money.”
“I guess it cost a lot to put on a show like that.” Mo was happy to see them finally making the turn off the interstate that would take them toward Lakeshore Drive.
“Yes, it first class. Everybody say it best show ever. It very famous; you heard of it? You not from Chicago? But maybe you heard of it. It go to other city, here and there. Around the world. Big show!”
“What’s the show called?”
“Oh, it called ‘The Fire Girl’, something like that. Lady is on fire. High on rope. People do tricks, like circus. I love to take kids but not for us. We get to Drive, traffic open a little. Go on Lakeshore. Make better time.”
And better time they did make with the amiable driver chatting and giving Mo a little guided tour. She couldn’t help but think of her first drive with Zack down “The Drive” as many called it. Once again the sun had sunk below the horizon. The last shafts of it had disappeared as they sat in traffic. The street lights were coming on like a summons to the night. She half listened to the turbaned driver and watched the runners in well lit Lincoln Park. She recognized the John Hancock building. She remembered Zack explaining about the colored lights at the top of the buildings. They took the hard curve along the lake that brought Navy Pier into view, the Ferris wheel lights blazing and blinking as she recalled the night she and Zack had gone up and viewed the city from the top of it. His jacket on her shoulders. His breath on his ear. That guilty flash of attraction. She had thought about crawling into bed with him that night. Had lain in bed and castigated herself for thinking of sex when Ling had just been murdered. Had she really wanted sex? Or had she just needed to be held by someone?
The driver wove in and out as they cruised past downtown. She knew they were getting close when the History Museum came into view, the Tutankhamen banners waving in the evening breeze. Lots of people milled about. She looked to her right and saw the lights on Buckingham fountain as they flashed on. The driver turned onto Roosevelt and shortly onto Indiana Ave. A few blocks down she realized they passed the building.
“Sir? I think…”
“We turn ‘round. Pull up on right side of street.” Indiana had far less traffic. With ease the driver made an illegal U turn and pulled up in the no parking zone in front of Zack’s building. “There you go Ms. Lady,” the driver said as Mo hesitated.
“Think you can wait for me? I’ll need to go back to the airport. Maybe Greendale Hotel. Can you wait a few minutes?” She looked at him pleadingly in the mirror and suddenly hoped he’d say no. Then she’d have to stay. What if Zack wasn’t home? What if he slammed the door in her face? What had she been thinking? Maybe she should just go right back to the airport and leave well enough alone.
“I sorry Lady, you must pay eighty dollar. You skip, I pay company eighty dollar. And maybe lose cab.” He twisted and looked at her, unsure. “You pay eighty dollar, I wait.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Of course I’ll pay you now. Here take two hundred off this card. That’ll cover the round trip. I won’t be long. Please wait until I come out. Don’t leave me.” She jumped out of the cab leaving her backpack and credit card in the driver’s keeping. He watched her approach the door “Must have man problem,” he thought as he reached for his cell phone.
Mo scrolled the names on the call box for Zack’s building. She went through again thinking she’d missed it. “Burnham. Burnham.” It wasn’t there. He had been in the building for a few months. Wouldn’t his name be in the call box by now? Maybe she should call his cell phone. She looked at the cab realizing she had turned off her phone and put it into her backpack after calling her security detail. She had said simply that she’d made other plans and would get in touch later. She hung up as the man started to argue. She’d thought, Roddy’s going to be pissed.
She took a step toward the cab then heard muffled laughter from the lobby. Mo turned and saw a dressed up couple about to push through the door. She grabbed the handle as it opened and held it and slipped in exchanging a nod with the couple. She breathed a sigh of relief and wondered if she should be relieved as she pushed the elevator button. It was twelve wasn’t it? Or was it eleven? She stepped out on twelve. Doors lined the corridor, each one indistinguishable from the next. She couldn’t remember the number. She wasn’t sure about the floor. She walked down the corridor hoping the number would come to her. “Twelve oh… twelve…oh nine…” Just as a cacophony of shrill barks made her jump a little she noticed a crucifix on the door of twelve seventeen. Mrs. Pow something. Lots of dogs. His unit was across and down one she recalled somehow.
Mo stood in front of twelve twenty and steadied herself with a deep breath. She breathed out slowly and knocked on the door. If he doesn’t answer I’m getting on a plane, she told herself. She just wanted to talk to him. What was the worst that could happen? Her mouth, already dry, felt like it was full of sand. Just turn and go, just turn and go. The door opened.
Mo’s eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of the platinum blond who gauged her from beneath glitter strewn eyelashes. She took in the fishnet top and short skirt. “Oh, I sorry I’m looking for Zack Burnham, maybe I have the wrong…”
“He lives here. You a friend of his?” Cherisse sized up the tall, lean woman in the White Sox cap.
“I was looking…Um… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to inter…”
“Someone at the door?” Mo’s heart lurched at the sound of his voice. Cherisse shrugged and walked i
nto the low lit living room. Mo smelled the steak and the sexy perfume from Cherisse. Her eyes were following the black lines up the actress’ fishnets in dismay when Zack appeared, buttoning his shirt.
His eyes widened and they stared at each other frozen for a moment before Zack recovered and said softly, “Hi, Mo.”
“I’m sorry, I interrupted…your evening…I didn’t think…Oh, my God I’m sorry! You have company…” She took a step back and turned. She could not have flown down the corridor any faster without running.
“Mo, wait…” He stepped out and shouted after her. Luckily for Mo the elevator had not been called to another floor. She saw Zack in her peripheral vision coming toward her, buttoning his shirt. The doors opened and she almost jumped inside pressing the lobby button immediately. She saw him in the fraction of a second before the doors completely closed. She plastered herself for the ride down against the back of the elevator leaning her head back against the mirror as if bracing for an impact. “Stupid. Stupid! What did I think? That he had no life before me? Oh, my God!”
The doors opened and she flew outside just as a police cruiser was pulling alongside the waiting cab. “We’re going now, officer, right now!” The cruiser moved on. She jumped in. “Airport!” The driver twisted to hand her the credit card with curiosity on his face. But she didn’t see it or the card. She was bowed over with her face in her hands. A stream of self loathing thoughts raced through her mind. The driver tapped her with the card. Embarrassed he pulled into the street as she threw the card into her backpack. “What an idiot. Who did I think I was? He has a date. I was the last thing on his mind. Her mouth was so dry she felt like her throat was swelling shut. The cab turned on Roosevelt. “Hey, would you pull into that gas station?”
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