Strangers in the Night

by Ines Saint

  “Never,” Jake answered.

  “In five years, when I’ve won enough high profile races and CNN hires me as a senior political analyst. I’ll move to the Atlanta suburbs, teach political science at a local college, marry a seriously smart, seriously hot woman, and have a house full of beautiful babies. I’ll invite you two down and we can sit by my pool and barbecue,” Tyrone answered, seriously.

  Jake and Tyrone had met as freshmen. Tyrone had had a twenty year plan. So far he was on year fifteen, and on track.

  “So Jake, am I to die and not see your children?” Filip asked.

  “Yes, you and my mother both. You can shake your heads at me from the great beyond and have long discussions about what’s wrong with me,” Jake answered.

  For a moment, Filip just concentrated on his taco. Finishing it off, he wiped his hands and more thoughtfully said, “My father used to smoke rich, sweet smelling Arturo Fuente cigars he’d buy at Old Town every once in a while, when he felt he deserved to indulge. After he died, there were several times when I wasn’t sure what my next step in life would be and I wished badly he could be there, to help guide me. I tell you the scent of those particular cigars would reach me at those times and suddenly, I knew what I needed to do. How am I going to reach you, Jake, when I’m no longer here? The good Lord knows you need more help than I ever did.”

  “I don’t know, Filip,” Jake smiled at his friend. “I’m not sure what scent reminds me of you.” He pretended to take a whiff and said, “Bengay, maybe? With … a hint of Vicks VapoRub? It’s not exactly the sweet smell of cigars, Filip, but I guess it’ll have to do.”

  Tyrone laughed out loud and Filip chuckled, shaking his head at the lost cause that was Jake. But Jake put his taco down, swallowing uncomfortably. Hearing Filip discuss his death so casually made him lose his appetite.

  The older man had been in his life since Jake was a boy. He’d been seriously injured in the line of duty during a warehouse fire years ago, but he’d been unwilling to stop working altogether. Jake’s father had hired him as the superintendent of one of his buildings; the one Jake and his mother inhabited on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Though Jake had been just ten, they had become fast friends, with Jake following limping Filip everywhere.

  Fixing leaky pipes and broken locks, painting, finding short circuits, and everything else Filip had been hired to do had been far more interesting to Jake than any video game.

  And seeing the pride Filip took in every job, and listening to his ideas of what a man should be made him think hard about his own decisions and his future.

  Now, laughter from one end of the room brought Jake back to the present and to his taco. He tried to take a bite.

  “Dang Jake, that’s hot!” a voice rang out.

  “Muy caliente!” Another called. A few whistled.

  Jake turned to see what they were talking about. His mouth went instantly dry and he again found he was unable to swallow.

  There, on the large screen, was a picture of him and Keila. He was leaning toward her and looking into her eyes. The taco crumbled in his hand as four sensuous and captivating pictures of two people completely into each other alternated on the screen.

  The images on the screen now gone, Jake couldn’t hear what the women of She Said, She Said were saying because the entire rec room had erupted into cat calls and whistles.

  “Is there, uh, something you forgot to tell me?” Tyrone asked.

  • • •

  Later that night, after Graciela and Mia had gone to bed, Tania and Keila Googled Jake Kelly. Keila had been away almost three years and she really didn’t know anything about the Chicago political scene and its players.

  The shock of having been on She Said, She Said and on a small segment of the evening news had not worn off, but she did feel better about it because Cate had been right; the fact that Jake had hired her despite her very vocal disagreement during his press conference seemed to have gone over well. Both newscasters had commended him for it.

  And Tania had assured her that though the press would be curious about those pictures and what her real relationship with Jake was for a few days, the attention would soon wear off. There were much larger fish than Keila to fry.

  Though Keila still felt uneasy, she knew her only choice was to just deal with whatever came her way.

  “Wow, look at his mother,” Tania remarked, surprised. It was obvious Patricia Kelly had gone through numerous plastic surgeries. The skin around her eyes, mouth, and forehead was too tight, and her eyes and eyebrows made her look as if she were perpetually surprised.

  There was a story about how Jake’s late father had left them numerous times, always coming back, until five years before he died. He left permanently that time, filing for divorce and then quickly marrying a much younger woman. Apparently, this is when Patty, as the first Mrs. Kelly was known to friends, began going through her surgeries.

  How sad, Keila thought, remembering how her own father’s eyes shone every evening when he came home to his wife and family.

  The story also made clear that Jake was very close to his mother, and very protective of her feelings. Interestingly, Edward Kelly changed his will months before he died and left little to his new wife, who in turn married her chauffeur and moved to London just a few weeks after the funeral.

  It was just like one of the novelas her mother so enjoyed.

  “You know, I remember how disliked his father was,” Tania said thoughtfully, tapping a picture of Edward Kelly. “He went into poorer neighborhoods that held potential because of their proximity to the loop and bought up property at low prices, promising to build mixed-income housing, but then building luxury condos instead.”

  Keila listened to Tania, read the stories, and looked at the pictures before her, engrossed in the story of a life so different from her own, wondering why her memory of the night they danced was colored in such a rosy glow. She wondered how Jake Kelly had reacted to tonight’s evening news. Would he remember her now?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WKIX, WHCH and the Tribune all held informal polls during the weekend, and your numbers inched up across the board!” A pumped up and energized Cate threw her purse onto a chair the moment she and Keila stepped into Jake’s office. “People love that Keila is so different from the women you’re usually associated with and that you tolerated her putting you in your place like that … ” Cate’s voice trailed off the moment she caught Keila glaring at her. She quickly piped down. “I’m just saying … ”

  The social media had grabbed onto the story and the pictures had been printed in the society pages of Sunday’s Tribune under the caption: “Jake Kelly linked to smart, talented, and feisty Latina.” And though she had to admit she’d been initially flattered, her stomach knotted up when reality set in. People really thought she and Jake were romantically linked? She didn’t want that kind of attention.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” Jake’s voice cut through her thoughts. She met his troublesome eyes — troublesome because one look from him made her tingle — and offered him a rehearsed, conciliatory smile. “I’ve never been good with faces,” he explained before turning away. Apparently, the weather today called for no smiles, just business. Keila sucked in her upper lip. Well, at least he did the gentlemanly thing and apologized. The politician in him probably recognized no woman wanted to be forgotten.

  “Neither of you recognized each other? For real?” Tyrone held the paper up for them to see.

  Keila wished she could lie, but she was an awful liar. Reluctantly, she admitted, “I remembered him. But it was obvious he didn’t recognize me so I didn’t say anything. It was just a dance lesson, after all.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize her, I mean, your eyes seem to be boring into her in this picture,” Tyrone remarked, his dubious look turning impish.

  Tyrone had apologized effusively for the way he’d treated her on Friday as soon as he’d seen her in the parking lot that morning, and she�
��d thought him mature. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure.

  “That’s the way you’re supposed to dance salsa, like you’re into each other. He was just following instructions,” Keila explained, eager to get any awkwardness between her and Jake out of the way.

  “You know, I just had a feeling you would be good for the campaign, which is weird because your actual role in the grand scheme of things is really quite small, but I’m telling you I just knew,” Cate rambled on, again too excited to shut up.

  Keila’s phone buzzed in her pocketbook then, and though she would normally have ignored it, she wanted something to focus on besides Cate’s zeal and Jake’s indifference.

  She quickly looked down to see she had a message from Mark. Good to know you’d moved on even before I’d even let you go, the dramatic message read. Keila felt her heart sink. Closing her eyes, she flipped the phone shut. Crap!

  “What’s the matter?” Cate asked.

  “Mark,” Keila sighed.

  “Maaark,” Cate repeated, her eyes wide, she’d obviously forgotten all about him.

  “Who’s Mark?” Tyrone asked.

  “Mark is … Keila’s quasi-ex-boyfriend,”

  When Keila looked up again, Jake’s eyes were on her, a flash of heat there for such a fleeting moment, she thought she must’ve imagined it. The tingle she’d felt before turned hot. She hated herself for not being able to control the strange sensations he caused.

  “All right, guys, that’s enough, we need to get to work,” Jake interrupted. “Cate, please release a statement that Miss Diaz and I only have a working relationship. This will all die down soon enough.”

  Cate frowned and shrugged, clearly not wanting to put a lid on the positive press. “Well, at least it brought attention to the music program you’d establish if you’re elected.”

  “Right, so if you’ll excuse us, Miss Diaz and I need to get down to business,” he continued. Tyrone wiggled his eyebrows at Jake’s words and offered them an incorrigible grin.

  • • •

  Tyrone left and Jake looked away from Keila’s worried eyes. What the hell was a quasi ex-boyfriend? And, more importantly, why did he want to know?

  Knocking the thought away, he motioned Keila over to the glass-top conference table where he was about to sit. She promptly picked her briefcase up and walked toward the opposite side of the table, her linen skirt revealing hips that swayed gently with every step. She was so different from the women he was usually attracted to.

  Jake forced himself to look away. It was Monday and he had tons of work to do. The only reason he’d agreed to meet with Keila so early the first day of the week was because he knew she’d be able to catch a ride with Cate that way. For some bizarre reason, the idea of her lugging around that violin case and overflowing briefcase of hers all over Chicago’s Transit System bothered him. “All right Miss Diaz, where do you think we should start?”

  “Please, call me Keila,” she said, hesitating for just a beat before opening her briefcase. Taking out a few pages, she tried to pass them to him, but she had to stretch clear across the table to get them to him and still he would’ve had to stretch, too, to reach them. Unwilling to look like an idiot, he didn’t budge. Shooting her an impatient glance he said, “Miss Diaz, why don’t you sit a little bit closer? I don’t bite.” The look she gave him before stifling a sigh told him she didn’t quite believe him. But she sat closer, and quickly delved into an introduction of her ideas, her manner now formal and detached.

  Little by little, though, as she dug deeper into a subject matter she clearly thrived on, her formality gave way to vibrant enthusiasm. Jake felt drawn in by her knowledge and liveliness, and after asking a few questions, he sat back and watched her speak. Her eyes bright, she had a tendency to use gestures to punctuate her speech. It was difficult to take his eyes off of her.

  When they got to the drier budget and numbers part, Jake was impressed to see she had a quick mind, capable of turning the problems he threw at her around in her head, coming up with possible solutions in no time.

  But inexplicably, the more they got into the technical, numerical side of things — usually his favorite side, the more he wanted to see her animated again.

  “When did you begin to play?” he asked, careful to keep his tone sedate, as if he were merely trying to further understand the world of children and instruments. And he was immediately rewarded with a soft smile.

  “Third grade. I was really lucky; my mom was able to get me into a school with a music program when I began to show an interest. It was further away, but my dad took on later shifts so he could take me.”

  “They must be really proud, your parents,” he remarked before looking down to signal the end of that little segment of conversation, realizing it was better not to get personal. Too late he remembered Cate had told him Keila’s father had been a policeman, killed in the line of duty.

  “They were. I mean, my mom still is and my dad really was … ” she hesitated before taking a quick breath and saying, “But he died eleven years ago, and I was only fifteen, so he didn’t really get to see how his dedication paid off.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, earnestly, fixing his gaze on her this time.

  She didn’t respond, just quickly looked back down at her papers. They went back to numbers for a while, Keila explaining the budget she’d worked with in Pittsburgh and the deficiencies she’d felt the program there had. His curiosity about her again got the better of him as he listened to her speak of Pittsburgh. He cleared his throat. “Cate mentioned you just moved back, are you planning to stay here in Chicago?”

  “I want to,” she replied, her eyes taking on a worried look. “I love this city. I’m so attached to it and my family — I feel like I’m never as alive anywhere else. But … it’s not up to me. It depends on where my career will take me.” She looked at him then, and Jake looked away, surprised at how deeply he understood the emotion behind her feelings for their hometown. Again, it made him realize he should stick to the technical stuff.

  But now she had questions, too. And she was fixing him with a curious gaze, wanting to know his favorite local restaurants, bands, and haunts. He tried monosyllabic answers and wary looks to bring her back to the subject at hand, while she purposefully ignored his dismissals, teasing that she would shave ten minutes off her bill and insisting that if he knew of a place where they served fresh avocados, he had to share.

  She made a note of a Taqueria he frequented, and seemed genuinely surprised he preferred authentic dives and joints to expensive restaurants. “I had you pegged as someone who only ate in places where a plate of fish eggs with a sprig of something exotic on the side was considered dinner.”

  Though they didn’t frequent the same places, he soon realized that, like him, she thrived on new experiences. Her enthusiasm had him asking a few questions about places she’d mentioned and pretty soon, they’d veered off subject completely.

  They’d both been to just about every festival the city offered. To her, the Chinese Moon Festival was enchanting with its inspired legends. To him it was all about the moon cakes. She loved the color and wonderful noise of the Cinco de Mayo, Puerto Rico, and St. Patrick’s parades, while he enjoyed getting lost in the crowds, eating fantastic food, and watching people interact.

  “You know, I sometimes feel like I can travel the world on the L,” Keila said, her eyes smiling.

  Jake nodded in understanding.

  “You’ve taken the L?” she asked.

  “Sure, why not?” Jake shrugged.

  “What’s your favorite station?” Keila asked, testing him. Jake couldn’t help it; he shook his head and smiled. “Pilsen,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “Because of its mosaics,” he said, leaning toward her, knowing she still didn’t believe him. “They’re different from the sleek modern looks I grew up with.”

  She beamed at him then, satisfied he was telling the truth. “I like Pilsen too. My dad’s side of t
he family is from there, but my favorite is Quincy, because of the old ad posters. The whole station makes me feel like I’ve entered a time warp.”

  Jake smiled again, and for a moment, he found himself going back in time, wondering what it would’ve been like to share his teenage adventures through Chicago’s eclectic neighborhoods with someone as warm and spirited as Keila. The thought brought on an unexpected and unusual pang in his chest.

  When he caught her watching him, he looked down, apprehensive she’d somehow read his thoughts, and saw a page full of numbers. Numbers were easy; they fit. He looked at his watch, brought back his all-business demeanor, and reminded her they had work in front of them. Keila immediately agreed, shuffling through her papers to take him through her next idea.

  And for a while, they were safe and distant.

  Until...

  “What do you mean ‘rent out the instruments’?” Her head shot up.

  “The rate will be dependent on the family’s income, using the allocation model you just described.”

  “I meant to imply that lower income families should be able to borrow the instrument, fee-free,” she explained, her voice bordering on testy. And damn it if she didn’t look cute, giving him the evil eye.

  “It’s an incredibly low fee, trust me, it’ll make a difference in how well they take care of the instrument and how much they’ll be encouraged to practice by their parents.” He sat back, arms crossed.

  “It’ll also make a difference in how many children will actually benefit from the program. Trust me, some parents will simply say no because they’d rather spend the money elsewhere.” Keila’s voice went up a notch.

  “People generally don’t appreciate what’s given to them for free, and I’m telling you, the rent will be low enough that they can afford it,” he calmly stated.

  “Right, of course, because you know what low-income families can and can’t afford,” she said, pointedly.