What’s Your Damage, Heather?
-
Heathers
Walking to Rosie’s, Will though that this move to Chicago
was not working out like it was supposed to.
Back at Berkely, he’d taken a class called Race and Politics and had been
captivated by Harold Washington’s campaign. Chicago’s first (and only)
African-American mayor had been elected after a campaign that was a study in
the artful interplay between political calculation and genuine idealism. Will was attracted to this
juxtaposition. He hated the hippy dippy liberalism of his mother’s friends, but no so much so that he’d joined ranks in the odious Reagan Revolution. Washington had been a liberal, but he’d
been a liberal with teeth. Will
thought of himself as a liberal with teeth, a pragmatic politico. Will had come to Chicago to find (or
become) the next Harold Washington.
Will was smart and he was energetic. And he had some history in Chicago
politics. His grandfather had been
an alderman in an influential ward.
Surely, Will thought, there were some lingering family connections he
could latch onto. He felt bound to
be part of something important.
But after four months, Will hadn’t become protégé to some brilliant young
up and comer. Will hadn’t even
managed an internship.
He hadn’t put much effort into it, of course. But it didn’t matter, thought
Will. Washington was dead and the
current mayor was another fucking Daley.
Probably another mayor-for-life.
Harold Washington’s heart stopped beating and the old machine just
sprang back into life. And Will
had neither the impetus nor the pedigree to do something about it.
It was just so cold here! Will felt like his blood had chilled into a syrup and was
moving so slowly through his body.
Everything felt dialed back and ground down.
He’d never even met his grandfather the alderman who was as
dead as Harold Washington now. The
only family he had left was his dusty dead-ender cousin, Teddy, whom Will was
utterly disgusted by and whom Will was also living off. And that was the most depressing fact
of Will’s cold Chicago existence.
Will had come from money. His grandmother and Teddy’s mother were sisters, heiresses
of a sort. Teddy’s mother had left
Teddy enough to live comfortably without working, but Will’s grandmother had
apparently been spendthrift and Will’s mother had rejected her posh upbringing.
None of that family money had found its way to Will.
When Will’s mother had died, an agreement had been reached
among the remaining members of the family that Teddy would finance Will’s way
through college and would give him some kind of allowance until he reached 25,
at which point, Will would make sure to release any legal claim, tenuous though
it would be, on Teddy’s Gold Coast flat.
Will had another year before that deadline, but he was miserable taking
money from Teddy. He hated Teddy.
Almost to Rosie’s he carried on fiddling with his interior
mechanisms and wondering what else to do.
He was thinking, as drifting twenty-somethings are wont to, of returning
to school. It’s not like it was a
brand new idea. He’d taken his
GMATs and applied already to a few area schools. But he hadn’t followed through even though he’d been
accepted at all of them. He hadn’t
really wanted to bother with school when he got to Chicago. But now that he was here, maybe a
Masters in PoliSci might help. It would give him some structure, introduce him
to the scene a little. He could
bone up a little; spark up that old Northern California idealism with some cold
Chicago calculation. University of
Chicago could be the place for him. He could get into school and make some
changes. Maybe look into how
environmentalism was playing these days.
Al Gore was into that and he was a big name senator. Brooke would probably have some ideas…
Will thought that Brooke had been springing into his mind a
lot lately. And this realization
lit a match under the dwindling shittiness of his mood. Shittiness restored, he grimaced and
headed into a liquor store to buy a bottle of vodka. He’d start making changes tomorrow. It was too fucking cold today. It’s too hard to get moving in Chicago
in the winter. An afternoon
getting drunk with Rosie was all he could handle that day. Tomorrow, he’d do something.
When he arrived at Rosie’s door, if his knock was a little
more urgent than necessary, this is only because Will was eager to drown out
the sound of his own bullshit.
Rosie threw open the door with a “Ta Da!” She was wearing a green leotard with
side cutouts, red fishnet hose, motorcycle boots up to her knees and held
silver and gold eyeliner pencils in her hand. Will had arrived as she was
drawing ornaments on the flesh exposed by the cutouts.
“What do you think?” she asked, laughing.
“Ho Ho Ho!” said Will, grinning. “I guess I know which list you’ll be on.”
“It’s nicer to be naughty,” said Rosie. “Santa knows that.
Let’s drink some vodka.”
“And listen to the Pogues,” said Will. “I brought music.”
Rosie and Will had come into an understanding of sorts. They flirted. Sure, they leered and paid compliments and bandied double
entendre about. But they steered
clear of the loaded, expectant flirting that leads to regrettable rushes into
inappropriate beds. Rosie was sure
that Will wanted to fuck her and she was practicing the art of having men want to fuck her without thinking that
they’d be able to do it. Will was
busy not thinking of Brooke.
They passed a pleasant afternoon together, drinking vodka
over ice, smoking cigarettes and taking turns at playing DJ.
When Tré came home that evening, the TV was on but muted,
showing a silent Mork and Mindy
rerun. The Cure was playing at
loud, but tolerable levels. Rosie
was lying on her back, idly blowing smoke rings into the ceiling. Will was sitting cross-legged at the
other end, drawing Christmas lights with eyeliner pencil around Rosie’s left
leg.
“Hey, baby,” said Rosie, as he walked into the living
room. “How was your day?”
Will at least had manners enough to look a little guilty.
Tré was irritated.
He’d had a long day with long meetings and another two scheduled that
evening with a couple of Lightweight managers about the imminent rebrand. He’d brought home Chinese food and a
bottle of wine. He’d spent some of
his very limited cash on that, since he was hoping that his homecoming would
come with a side of détente. He
and Rosie could have a nice dinner, drink some wine, maybe roll around in the
bedroom for a while, and then head out for the evening. He thought maybe Rosie would come with
him to his meetings, since she knew how the bar business worked. But she was already dressed for the
clubs.
And there was Will.
Again. Will seemed to be
around a lot these days and it was starting to grate on Tré. It’s not cool to be drawing shit on
another guy’s girlfriend. But he
was too tired for a fight. So,
instead, he sighed and said, “You guys want Chinese?”
Tré headed into the kitchen to open his wine and put the food on plates. He figured there was enough for three, especially since
Rosie wouldn’t do much more than sniff at it.
The three sat on the floor and ate. Mork
and Mindy gave way to the Bulls game, which Rosie permitted to keep the
peace. Will and Tré watched the
first half, growing increasingly excited about the Bulls’ chances. They really could go all the way.
As halftime approached, Tré stretched and said, “I’ve got
meetings tonight, Rosie. Do you
want to come with me?”
“No, thanks, sweetie,” said Rosie. “I’ve just been killing time until club hours. Maybe you could blow off your meetings
and come with me? Everyone
at Lobo misses you!”
Tré looked at her amazedly.
“All right, all right,” she said. “Will, you’ll go with me to Lobo, right?”
“I guess,” said Will, a tad uncomfortably. “I don’t really have anything else to
do.”
“Maybe you could meet us after your meetings,” said Rosie to
Tré.
“After my meetings, I’m coming home and going to sleep,”
said Tré.
She kissed the top of his head from her perch on the couch
and said, “Maybe I’ll wake you up when I get home.”
This was awkward enough to make Will decide to be gone
before Tré got home in the future.
At around 9:30, the three left the apartment. Tré’s first appointment was at
10:00. He’d taken to scheduling
meetings with tavern managers at this strange weekday time, since the managers tended
to have time to spare at this point and Tré got an opportunity to check out the
store’s vibe.
When he got to his first meeting, the manager was in the
middle of something else, so he bought Tré a Heineken, and asked him to wait.
Tré sat at the bar, checking out the scene and thinking how glad he was for the
free beer. Things were bad for him
money-wise. And he wasn’t sure he
was ever going to convince Rosie of that.
Meanwhile, Rosie kicked up her heels at Lobo. She danced and
flirted and charmed and if anyone asked bout Tré, she just grinned leeringly
and said, “He’s keeping the bed warm for me.” And spun away.
Midway through her spin her eyes landed on Will, who sat
quietly in his seat, picking at the label on his beer bottle, still fiddling
with those internal mechanisms, wondering what to do with his life.
School really was the best plan. He’d
go back to school.
