A Quick Story

Like a lot of you, I've been glued to social media watching the events transpire in Ferguson and it reminds me of something that happened 25 years ago.

I was 19 years old and it was the start of the sophomore year at Loyola.  There was a liquor store on Granville that would accept my incredibly lame fake ID.  It was nighttime, maybe 10:00 or so, and a girlfriend and I walked to the liquor store to buy a 12 pack of beer.  On the way out, a black guy in his 20s stopped me and asked me to help him do the clasp on his necklace.  I was a little squiffy, and happy to be grown up and living in my own apartment, and exactly in the mood to spread the good will.   I handed the 12 pack to my friend and did the clasp on his necklace.  While I was doing it he joked with me and his friend about how mad his girlfriend would be if he weren't wearing the necklace.  Apparently, if he weren't wearing it, his girlfriend would think he was cheating.  I struggled a bit with the clasp and wondered if his girlfriend were paranoid or if she just knew him really well.  It could have gone either way, really.

I got the clasp done.  He said "thanks."  And we parted ways.

After just a few steps, I heard a voice yelling, "Hey, Leroy!"  I ignored it since my name's not Leroy.  Another, "Hey, Leroy!  Stop!"  Then I heard the guy who I'd just helped with the clasp say, "My name's not Leroy."

When I looked around the guy was being cuffed on the hood of the police car.

Now, it could have been that the guy was guilty of something and the cop knew.  But, come on.  That guy was guilty of talking to a 19 year old white girl while being black.

I'm not proud of myself for walking away.  I should have had the guts to say something.  But I was 19 and I was, in fact, breaking the law with my illegally purchased 12 pack.  And I'm kind of a coward anyway.

This happened 25 years ago.  There are some kinds of racism that we don't see anymore.  I think of Forrest Whittaker's character in Fast Times or, I don't know, separate water fountains.  But even though we put a black guy in the white house,  this kind of random arrest is likely so common as to be banal for your average black male youth.

You're living in a state of evilly willful ignorance if you don't accept that "serve and protect" might feel a little ironic to a chunk of America. And I don't even get how so many white Americans seem bound and determined to blame black people for their own victimization.

I know that there are a lot of good cops out there; a lot of good people who do serve and protect. And I know that this is a hard job.  But the assumption of black male criminality runs rampant throughout American society and when it comes in tandem with the kind of authority the police have it becomes an excellent tool to delegitimize the citizenship of a chunk of Americans.  

I read this story about Ezell Ford, an unarmed 25 year old killed by the police Monday:

It was unknown if the "suspect" had any gang affiliations, police said in the news report.

We don't know that he had gang affiliations but he *could* have! It's important that we note that, right?

I guess that guy who was worried about his jealous girlfriend 25 years ago should feel lucky he only got arrested.

The March, the Story So Far

This is a weird way to put your novel out - sticking chapters in here and there into a personal blog. But, let me just be clear: I spent five years on this thing and I have got GOT to get it out of my face.  Right now it's like a 26 year old kid who's still living at home, sleeping until noon and texting me in the middle of a work day asking me to bring home Cheetos.  I love this kid, but I am sick to death of her.

So, I figured if I just put it out there, I would be done with it. This way I can continue telling myself that if only I'd figured out how to start the damn thing right or been a little more aggressive about trying to get it published, maybe I would.  But now it is Out In The World, paying its own rent, buying its own Cheetos.

But, I also get this that it might be hard to keep up with what's happening.  So every 10 chapters or so, I'll publish a "The Story So Far."  I'm 12 chapters behind.  Forgive me.  I am nothing if not less-than-diligent.

So, here we go:

Brooke Dotry is our main character.  She's a self-righteous and ineffective environmental warrior.  She's recently graduated from college and was, until recently, living with her sister, Celia, in a Wrigleyville flat.

They have a fairly sad backstory.  Their mother died before the girls started high school.  Their father collapsed into grief and then met another woman, married her and moved to the suburbs. He left Celia and Brooke living on their own in a Rogers Park apartment through high school. Thus, the girls are very attached to each other.

They live across the hall from a fellow named Gio who began this story with a mad crush on Brooke but who has, since then, entered into a relationship with Celia.  Gio and Celia are getting along gangbusters.

Gio has helped Brooke get a job at the bar where he works.  The bar is called The March (hence the name).  Once there, Brooke met a man named Teddy Causobon. Teddy is a fifty-something guy who's never held a job, instead spending all his days working a compendium of man's environmental neglect and abuse.  Teddy is horrible.

Brooke has managed to fall in love with Teddy and has since moved in with him.  Because she's naive and kind of dumb.  She's completely fallen for this dude and he's horrible.  Celia is really unhappy about it.  Actually, all our characters think it's pretty messed up.

The March is owned by a fellow named Bulstrode.  Bulstrode owns a whole slew of bars.  His son, Fred, is something of a dissolute - hitting the bars and living on credit cards because he's not ready to grow up and doesn't really know what he wants to be when he does.  His plan is to go to law school in order to appease his father.  He's also started doing a little light gambling since he's pretty sure his dad is gonna cut him off at any point.

Fred is in love with Mary, who is in law school because she wants to be.  Mary has big plans for her future.  As such, she's decided to spare no time to Fred unless he gets his shit together. Mary tends bar during the day at The March where her father, Caleb, works as the general manager.  Caleb's a stable guy and is something of a father-figure to his staff.

Bulstrode's daughter is named Rosie.  Rosie is super mega- hot and has big plans to be famous in some capacity.   She hasn't quite worked out how.  She's recently entered into a relationship with Tre Little, who is heading a project for Bulstrode to rebrand and cohere all his holdings.  Bulstrode is hoping to dust off some of the seediness of his past.  Tre entered the story with a laser-like focus on his work, but is starting to enjoy living the high life with Rosie more than may be financially advisable.  Rosie is my favorite character. I really like her.

In the last chapter I published, we meet Will.  Will is a Teddy's second cousin.  Teddy's mother and her sister owned the schmancy apartment that Teddy now owns (and where Brooke now lives).  The sister, Ellinore, had a husband who held one term as an alderman and a daughter named Althea.  Althea fled Chicago for reasons which have not yet been established and had Will.  Will's just come back to Chicago because he wants to break into politics. So far, he's kind of a jerky cipher but some shit's coming down the pipe with Will and Brooke.  It's pretty romantic.

And that's the story so far.  :)

Chapter 22, The March: Brooke Meets Will

Chapter 21

So, Lone Star, now you see that evil will always triumph because good is dumb.

-        Spaceballs

After a while of this, Caleb decided to give Rosie’s night shifts to Brooke and move Rosie to DJ on Friday and Saturday night.  He needed a waitress who’d show up on time and work until he decided she was through.  Rosie was still reliable enough on Friday and Saturday nights as, apparently, the fabulous people did not deign to nightclub amongst the working folk on weekend nights.  And Caleb had to admit she did a pretty great job as a weekend night DJ.  She knew how to keep the room at a hum without overwhelming it. She could banter the most recalcitrant group right into pleasant party people mode.  And she seemed to like it.  And Caleb liked for his staff to like what they were doing.

As for Brooke, she was glad to get those shifts.  She’d had to leave Teddy’s at 4:00 to make her cocktail hour shifts and Teddy was usually right in the middle of things then.  It was such a distraction for him when she packed up to leave!

Brooke moved into her late night shifts, and her routine with Teddy shifted into a more convenient pattern.  Awake at 9:30, they’d meet in the kitchen for coffee and toast.  Brooke did the dishes and swept up the kitchen while Teddy retired to his bathroom to prepare for the day (this is Teddy’s euphemism, not mine).  For the rest of the morning, they worked on compiling notes; with Teddy reading and adding to them, pontificating amply and portentously as to his discoveries. Brooke filed them away according to a system they’d developed.  At around 1:00, Brooke left to make sandwiches for lunch. 

In the afternoons, Teddy traveled to various libraries to further research man’s imminent and self-inflicted extinction, while Brooke managed the domestic side of things; shopping, cleaning, laundry, cooking, etc.  When Teddy returned at around 6:30, they had dinner and then left together for The March.  If it was a slow, Teddy might wait until Brooke was cut and would escort her home.  But, more often than not, he left around midnight while Brooke was still in the middle of her shift.  She usually made it home by 2:30 or 3:00, though.

On nights Brooke didn’t work, there was some deviation from routine.  They might sit together in the living room, reading various indictments of man’s criminal assault on his environment.  Sometimes they went out to eat.  Occasionally, they had sex.

Celia had relaxed her anti-Teddy position somewhat.  Gio had urged her to give Brooke a call, reminding her that family was family no matter how much you hated family’s boyfriend.  And he knew she was missing Brooke.  So Celia had taken to calling Brooke here and there, and even dropping in from time to time during Brooke’s domestic hours (always making sure to be gone before Teddy came home).

Celia was still unhappy with the relationship, but knew that Brooke would see it through to the end.  And everyone but Brooke knew that it would end.  They talked mostly about Celia’s life, since Brooke’s whole life was Teddy. So they chatted about Celia’s last year of school. Celia told funny stories about her life in retail. They talked about Gio.  Brooke was happy that Celia and Gio were together.  She’d only disliked Gio as he sought out a relationship with her.  He was fine for Celia (oh, Brooke…).

They chatted.  They had small talk.  Small talk, as you may know, requires great social adroitness and serves a vital social function: it carves out a place which later, when trust and comfort are gained or restored, can be filled with… I don’t know, let’s call it Big Talk.  Talk about important and personal things.  For Brooke and Celia, who don’t quite trust each other right now, small talk makes a warm, tidy space for Big Talk once they attain full restoration of their sisterly closeness.

At this juncture in their relationship, Celia and Brooke were getting along, lightly.

Brooke didn’t spend too much time, though, missing the Big Talk with Celia.  She was too busy as amanuensis and muse and maid and cook and lover. She was everything that Teddy needed. Teddy was engaged in a great work and Brooke was thrilled to be playing such a pivotal role.  She expected to feel completely satisfied any day now, just as soon as she grew into everything.

One chilly afternoon near the end of Chicago’s brief fall, Brooke returned from the grocery store to find Teddy at home, sitting stiffly in the living room, looking disapprovingly at a handsome, sullen young man, standing equally as stiffly by the fireplace.

“Hello,” said Brooke, setting her parcels on the floor.

“Hello, Brooke,” said Teddy.  “Allow me to introduce my second cousin, Will, who has just arrived from San Francisco.”

“Oh,” said Brooke, smiling and crossing the room to shake his hand.  “Hi!”

Will shook her hand, surprised at how young and pretty she was.  Well, he thought, there seems to be more going on here than intellectual romance. He sneered a little as he shook her hand.

“Welcome to Chicago,” Brooke said, as she sat down next to Teddy. “You came at the perfect time. It’ll be subarctic in a few weeks.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” said Will, as cold as a Chicago February. 

“Will plans to go into politics,” said Teddy suddenly, derision dripping from his voice.  “Chicago is evidently the place for that.”

“Teddy thinks politics are beneath him,” said Will, matching Teddy’s derision.  “Apparently, though, they aren’t beneath me.  It’s in my blood.  It seems that I’m not too noble for early and often politicking.”

“I'm afraid I don't know what that is” said Brooke, a little uncomfortable.

“Vote early and often,” said Teddy.  “It’s an old cliché about the sleaziness of Chicago politics.  All politics are sleazy though, not just Chicago ones.  It’s beyond me how anyone could want to be part of it.”

Brooke was a little embarrassed at Teddy’s rudeness. “I’ve always wanted to understand politics better,” she said.  “But I just never got it.  I was always too involved in organizing at the grassroots to be involved in the establishment.  I’ve probably been missing something.”

Will narrowed his eyes at Brooke.  She seemed free of guile; she wasn’t shooting any smirking glances at Teddy.  But Will interpreted her statement the obvious way: as an oblique slam on his political aspirations.  She was with Teddy on purpose, after all.  There was no way she wasn’t an asshole.

They sat awkwardly for a few minutes until Brooke couldn’t take it anymore and stood up.  “It was nice to meet you, Will.  I’m going to put the groceries away and get something together for dinner.  Would you like to stay?”

“I’m sure Will has plans,” said Teddy.  “Right?”

Yeah,” said Will.  “Whatever.  Dinner with a friend, or something.   I’m leaving.  Always a pleasure, Teddy.”

Will shook Teddy’s hand curtly and left.

Brooke picked up the groceries and carried them to the kitchen.  “Well,” she said.  “He seems sweet.”

Teddy followed her, lighting a cigarette. 

“Will says he moved back because he wanted to exploit some of our family connections to break into politics,” said Teddy.  “But I think he’s just angling for the apartment.  He can’t have it, though.  It’s mine by right.”

“I thought it belonged to both your mother and aunt, who'd be Will's grandmother, right?” asked Brooke.

“It did,” said Teddy.  “But, when Aunt Ellinore died, she made no arrangements and Althea was nowhere to be found.  The estate went naturally to me.  And then, right before Althea died a few years later, she reached out to me and asked me to help Will.  I paid for his schooling and sent him money every month.  But he’s 25 now and an adult but I’m still expected to pay for him to live here.  It’s intolerable.” 

“Maybe he could just take one of the other bedrooms,” said Brooke, pulling out some pasta to boil for supper. “I mean, he is family, after all.”

“God, no,” said Teddy, shuddering.  “We do not get along.  His whole side of the family is dissolute and lazy.  My mother kept her finances healthy enough for me to live comfortably.  But my aunt lost all her money in some scheme or another and my cousin lived like a hippie until she died.  Now here pops up Will, who’s graduated from college, paid for on my dime, with no clear plan in place, expecting me just to write him a check.”

Brooke sliced chicken and thought that Teddy was being a little harsh. But, rather than say that aloud she asked about Teddy’s uncle the alderman.  “There is some history in politics, huh?” she said.

“Well, he died years ago,” said Teddy.  “And it’s not as though he were a successful politician.  He only served one term as alderman.”

“Maybe Will has better political skills,” said Brooke, smiling.  “Maybe he’ll be mayor,”

“Will is a wandering, drifting, lazy man,” said Teddy.  “And I expect him to be asking me for money until the day I die.  But such is the burden of family.”

“Well,” said Brooke.  “You never know what a person will turn out to be.  I thought I’d do chicken over pasta tonight.  How’s that sound?

“Oh, I’m sure whatever you make will be fine,” said Teddy, picking up a book he’d left on the table earlier.

Brooke carried on cooking and feeling sorry for Will. 

Chapter 23

Chapter 21, The March: Rosie and Tre Start Hitting the Clubs

Chapter 20

Stay gold, Ponyboy

-        The Outsiders

When Tré came home, he found Rosie right where he’d left her in bed, but showered, legs shaved, hair fixed.  Tré rubbed his hands together and dove right in.

An hour or so later, Rosie said, “Do you want to go out tonight?”

“What, like dinner?” asked Tré, dozing a little.

“No,” said Rosie. “I don't eat.  My friend Hector is working the door at Lobo and says he’ll get us in past the line.”

“Can we get dinner first,” said Tré.  “Because I do eat and I’m starving.”

“Sure,” said Rosie.  “No one goes to Lobo before 11:00 anyway.  Let’s go to Blue Moon and eat first.”

“11:00?” said Tré.  “All right but not too late, OK?  I have to work in the morning.”

“Oh, you’ll sleep when you’re dead,” said Rosie. “Come on and take a shower with me.  I brought some decent shampoo over.”

They took a nice long shower and then got dressed.  Rosie wore a black slip, with motorcycle boots and red, red lipstick.  Tré wore Girbauds and his long jacket. They looked pretty great heading out the door.

They got to the club a little after 11:00.  The line-up to get in was about 20 people deep.  Rosie and Tré headed straight to the front, where Rosie kissed Hector on the lips, introduced Tré to Hector and rolled her eyes a little through their manly hand shake.

And then Rosie and Tré waltzed right into the club.

Neither Rosie nor Tré were lacking in confidence.  In fact, they both had pretty healthy opinions of themselves and each other.  They were young, good looking, cool and smart. They'd also just spent the last few days having spectacular sex, which tends to ratchet self-esteem up to eleven.   When they showed up at Lobo, a prevailing sense of their own special-ness tickled around their brains, not exactly landing in explicit thought, but lingering around their personal periphery.  They were, when they got to Lobo that night, pretty pleased with the people they were.

But when they glided past those other 20 saps and felt their jealous gazes, they looked at each other with the dawning realization that they were the people everyone else wants to be.  It was intoxicating and empowering.  It was the cherry on top of their really excellent week.

Tré put his arm around Rosie and they grinned at each other as they sauntered in.

Inside, Lobo was all pulsing music and flashing lights and really good looking people, whom Rosie and Tré still managed to easily outshine.  Thanks to Hector, they got a really good table, along with a table visit from the manager.  When they got up to dance, the DJ gave them a shout out.  They had a blast.  They stayed until 4:00 am.

The only downside of the night was when the check came.  The bill totaled up to about a quarter of Tré’s monthly rent.  Nightclubbing has never been a thrifty pursuit.  Tré didn’t have the cash to cover it, so he put it all on his American Express.

He bounced back quickly from the shock of the bill, though, when they got in the cab and Rosie climbed up on his lap, smiling, and handing him her panties.

Tré’s alarm went off about two hours later.  He dragged himself out of bed and into a shower.  He was exhausted, but energized by the night he’d had and the person he was with Rosie.  He was still grinning when he walked into the office.

They shortly established a nightclubbing routine.  Tré worked until 6:00, when he went home and took a 4-5 hour nap while Rosie waitressed at The March. At 11:00 or 12:00, he came into The March, had a Heineken and waited for Rosie.  When she saw, Tré, she handed her cash envelope to Caleb and then went to the bathroom to reapply her makeup and fix her hair.  When she came out of the bathroom, they left The March and headed to the clubs: Lobo, Smart Bar, Berlin, Neo.  Their good looks and style, their compelling inter-racialness, their growing reputations moved them to the front of every line at every club.  Before long, they were stars of the scene, minor luminaries of the Chicago nightlife.  Every night they sat at the best table with cocktails at the ready when they arrived.

They partied and danced at the clubs with a widening circle of admirers and hangers on.  They charmed and amused until it was time to head to whatever after hours was hosting that night.  Then Tré paid the bill.  Tré liked to pay the bill.  At the after hours, their circle narrowed to only the hippest among them.  At around 6:00 in the morning, they headed back to Tré’s, where they made sleepy love.  And then Rosie fell asleep.

And Tré went back to work.

Chapter 22

Getting Giffy Post-Guardians of the Galaxy

Just got back from Guardians of the Galaxy.  Don't worry - I loved it as much as everyone else did.

I long for a world in which We Are Groot

But I had this thought that Gamora's character could just as easily have been our way in instead of Quill, right?  

This is often what I feel like on conference calls

I mean, who the hell doesn't adore Chris Pratt?  Let me join the internet legion declaring him the new J. Law in that he's totally charming and hilarious and genuine.  

This is often what I do when I'm on conference calls

And also, well:

I may find myself thinking of this during my next conference call

But Gamora really could have been the main character, right?  Instead of the love interest.  I'm not saying she should have been because, as I think I've made clear, I really love Chris Pratt.

Mine too, Chris Pratt.  Mine too.

But Gamora was complex enough, with an interesting enough backstory, and played by the equally foxy and badass Zoe Saldana, to have been the central character  But then I realized, comic book movies today being what they are, had Gamora been the main character, at some point we'd either have seen or heard about her being raped, right? It seems almost to go without saying.

So, Marvel, I know you're planning on a female-led superhero movie.

Oh, god, I wanted to be her SO BAD!

But, I'm begging you, please DON'T MAKE HER RAPE INTO A PLOT POINT!!!!!

Cuz it's just so done to death

And will make all the feminists on the internet really mad.

We're coming for you, motherfuckers!

Addendum, just to be clear: I am not making a case for Gamora as the lead in Guardians of the Galaxy.  I think the movie was just great the way it was.   I just was led into a thought about how it seems that so much pop culture thinks the only motivation a girl could have is rape.  Or babies.  Or gettin' a man. Marvel is turning into the fount (font?) of movie fun. I just really hope they can free themselves of this particularly pernicious cinematic trope. 

The March, Chapter 20: Brooke Moves In

Chapter 19

Well, everyone’s home life is unsatisfying.  If it weren’t people would live with their parents forever.

-The Breakfast Club

Brooke traveled light. She only carried a few pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, her mother’s silver earrings, a couple of books and the loud echo of her sister’s admonitions.  She’d tried hard to jettison that last one during her bike ride over, but it was a tenacious stowaway.

She knocked on Teddy’s door, still battling bad feelings.  But he smiled as he let her in and reached down to kiss her on the cheek. She blushed and felt better.

“I have a surprise,” he said.  “Let me show you your room.”

Brooke was surprised.  “My room… but I thought we’d…”

“I know,” he interrupted.  “But like Virginia Woolf says, every girl needs a room of her own.  And this room is more feminine, more appropriate for a young lady.  We can still share other things.”  And he laughed his gravelly laugh.

The room he led her into was cloyingly feminine.  The walls were painted a dusty pink; white, ruffled curtains hung over the windows.  A queen-sized bed with a white, chenille bedspread (this was rather nice) was against the far wall.  The furniture, which included a vanity, was delicate, white, with spindly legs and ornate hardware.  The bookcase held no books, only knick-knacks and some photographs.  Brooke, trying hard to mask her disappointment, wandered over to it.

Among the photos was a picture of two middle-aged women, which looked to have been taken in a the 60s, a picture of a younger Teddy standing somewhat apart from a young woman, and a photo of a teenage boy taken (if the haircut is a reliable gauge) in the early-80s.

“Who are all these people,” asked Brooke, still trying to adjust to being Teddy’s roommate instead of his lover.

“Well, these women,” he said, gesturing to the two women in the picture from the 60s, “Are my mother and aunt. The one on the right is my mother and the other is my Aunt Ellinore.  It was their father who bought this apartment back around the turn of the century.”  Teddy’s mother was a formidable, stern-looking woman with a jaw as set as her hairdo.  His aunt, Ellinore, was more delicate with something a little desperate behind her eyes. 

Teddy continued.  “Ellinore decorated this room in the hopes that her daughter, my cousin Althea who’s in this picture with me, would return from San Francisco.  They’d had a falling out and Althea ran off to San Francisco where she had her son, Will, who’s in this last picture.  They never did return, though, and this room just kind of stayed.  When Ellinore died she hadn’t made any legal arrangements, and the apartment ownership fell to me.  So, now it’s all mine. And now it will be ours. Since this room was decorated with such a feminine flair, I thought you’d like it.  If you don’t, you should feel free to make any changes you want, or take any of the other bedrooms.  I want you to think of this as your home.”

“Oh no,” said Brooke, who didn’t want to complain.  “It’s just fine the way it is.”  She wandered over to the vanity, picking up a glazed, ceramic cherub from it and examining it. 

“Do you ever talk to your cousin,” she asked.

“Oh, Althea died years ago,” said Teddy.  “As did my mother and aunt.  I wish you could have met my mother.  She’d have admired your passion.”

Brooke smiled.  “What about her son… Will?  Is he still in San Francisco?”

“He is,” responded Teddy, with a grimace.  “And he’s not really a kid.  He’s older than you by now.  And, unfortunately, it sounds like he’s coming back to Chicago soon.”

“Why is that unfortunate?” asked Brooke.

“Oh, everyone on that side of the family is the same, “said Teddy, dismissively.   “Reckless, flighty, irresponsible attention mongers.”

“I guess you weren’t close to your family,” said Brooke, looking sadly around the room.

“My mother and I were close,” said Teddy, sitting on the bed.  “She was an impressive woman.  But she died when I was just a teenager, so I don’t miss her so much anymore.  You know, though, as silly as my aunt was, I still think it’s appropriate that you’re in a room decorated by her.  If it hadn’t been for her, I might never have met you.”

“How so?” asked Brooke, surprised.

“Her husband,” Teddy began.  “Was running for local alderman.  He had a fundraiser at The March that I had an obligation to attend.  It was my first time there.  I had no stomach for politics, but I found I liked the bar.  If I hadn’t discovered The March, I might never have discovered you, which would have been a shame.”

Brooke smiled at that.  “So, all that’s left are you and your cousin Will.”

“Second cousin,” said Teddy, seemingly eager to put as much space between him and his wastrel kin as possible.

“That’s sad,” said Brooke, thinking of Celia.  “It’s not enough family for a big family rift.”

As she said that, she passed Teddy sitting on the bed and he reached out for her arm, pulling her down next to him. He stroked her hair.  “I have you now,” he said.  “That’s enough.  Listen, I hope you didn’t think I wanted you in this room because I wanted you away from me.  I just thought you’d like a pretty room like this.  At the moment, though, I want you quite near me.”  And he reached around Brooke and kissed her with as much passion as he could muster.

I’ll leave it to you to imagine how much that was.  Lord knows, Brooke was doing more than her fair share of imagining.  She was imagining heat behind his kiss. She was imagining urgency in his hands.  This whole love scene is as much a figment of Brooke’s imagination as mine.  Teddy’s lovemaking was functionary, unimaginative and brief, something to be got through in between sermons to his rapt congregation of one.

When it was over, dissatisfaction niggled in the back of Brooke’s brain.  But Teddy rolled off the bed, pulled up his pants (he’d kept his shirt on) and said, “Shall we have a drink and discuss the book some more?  I’ve had a new thought about the small pox epidemic in the Americas that I wanted to share with you.”

Her disappointment melted away.  Brooke was happy.

Chapter 21

The March, Chapter 19: Rosie and Tre are Totally Hot for Each Other

Chapter 18

Let’s look for the purple banana ‘till they put us in the truck. Let’s go!

- Prince

Rosie and Tré were being touched in different ways. 

Between kisses under the el tracks, they'd hailed a taxi and headed back to Tré's.  In the back seat of the cab, Rosie had clambered astride Tré's lap and moved her hands inside his shirt, clutching and caressing at him while they kissed deeply.  His hands wandered down her back, over her ass, inside her panties.   They were still kissing when she came. The cab driver barely noticed.  This was old hat for him.

When they got to Tré's apartment, they exited the cab still kissing.  They kissed in the elevator and down the hall.  Tré could barely get the door open. Once inside, and the door shut, Rosie broke away, pulled the oversized sweater she'd fashioned into a dress over her head and yanked off her bra.  She stood in front of him wearing only panties and a pair of Chuck Taylor's, grinning.  Tré grinned back, pulling his own shirt off and undoing the top of his pants.

They stood there for a second, looking at each other and smiling lovesick goofy smiles.  Rosie stepped towards Tré and put her mouth at his ear, tracing it with her tongue as Tré ran his hands up and down her back, catching hold of a breast, cupping her ass.  She kissed his neck, his chest, his nipples, moving lower and lower.  Tré leaned against the wall as Rosie yanked his pants down and knelt in front.  She went slowly at first, moving her tongue methodically, and then increased the urgency.  Tré planted both hands against the wall, barely able to keep his balance.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he pulled away and fell on top of her, meeting her eyes for a minute, and breaking out into another grin.  He kissed her again, deeply, moving his hands down her body.  He ran his thumb, gently, over the outside of her panties as he licked her nipples.  He took his time there as Rosie's breath grew quicker and more ragged.  Just as she was ready to come, he took his hand away and started moving his whole body southwards, licking her tummy, stroking her sides.

Once there, he slipped her panties off, crawled between her legs and took a quick taste with only the tip of his tongue.  Then deeper licks, exploring.  Rosie let out a quiet "Oh god."  Tré slipped a finger inside her, moving it in tandem with his tongue.  She came hard, shuddering, demanding, "Now, now, now!"

Tré reached into the back pocket of this pants, still around his ankles, and found a condom.  His hands were shaking and he couldn't get the damn thing open.  He knelt above her, struggling with the wrapper, until Rosie took control.  She pushed him over, straddled him, grabbed the condom, ripped it open with her teeth, and put it over him.  Once more, right as she hovered over him, they found themselves grinning.  She settled him inside her and started the motion, up and down, slowly and then quicker.  He grasped her hips and moved with her.  They were locked together, grinning, fucking, having the time of their lives.

After a while, Tré breathed, "I can't wait anymore."

"Yes, yes, yes," said Rosie.

And then it was over.  They lay on the floor.  Tré's pants were around his ankles.  Rosie was still in Chuck Taylors.  And they laughed and laughed.

They spent three days together in Tré's apartment, ordering food, watching TV, laughing and having sex.  They were doing it when Brooke and Teddy kissed in front of The March.  They were doing it when Wally was plying the female L.G.E. staff with cheap wine and cosmetics.  They were doing it when Caleb poured drinks and Gio checked IDs. 

And they did more. It turned out that they were both, surprisingly, fans of board games and so they played naked Battleship.  Rosie examined Tré’s CD collection and found it acceptable.  She did some naked DJ-ing for him, which ended up with both of them doing some naked dancing.  They ordered pizza and talked about what they wanted to be when they grew up. They argued over the future of Chicago.

They had such a good time.

On Tuesday morning, Tré announced reluctantly that he had to go back to work.

“Don’t go,” said Rosie, arms wrapped around his waist.  “Call in sick one more day.”

“I can’t,” he said, even as he lay back down to kiss her some more.  And some more.  He reached for her right breast and stroked the nipple with his thumb.  He moved his hand down and touched her just how he knew she liked to be touched, just how she’d told him. It only took a few minutes until Rosie was shaking and shuddering and smiling, moving her hand to touch him just like she knew he liked, to use her mouth just the way he’d told her.  And only a few minutes later, Tré was lying back, relaxed, satisfied and happy.

“God,” he said.  “I don’t ever want to leave.”

“Don’t,” she said.  “Let’s just stay here and fuck for a few more days.  Call in.  Just do it.”

“I can’t,” he said.  “I really can’t. Don’t get me wrong: I would love to.  I could live between your thighs.  But if I don't get back to work, I'm gonna get fired.  So, I’m going to get up, take a shower and then go make a living.  And then I’m going to come home, and hopefully you’ll be right here when I get back?”

“Hmmmm,” she said, running her lips over the back of his neck.  “Don’t take a shower. You smell good.”

Tré relaxed into it for a minute more and then, with sigh, slipped out of the bed.  “I will be back,” he said. “Don’t go, OK?”

“I’ll be here,” she said. “But give me a key.  I have a couple of things to do.”

And off Tré went smilingly to work, unshowered, but smelling good.  Like Rosie.  He may have been a little concerned about how he’d look at Bulstrode after the things he’d been doing with his daughter.  But thinking of those things just made his grin wider.

Rosie hopped out of bed and into a pair of Tré’s boxers and a tee shirt.  She hadn’t had a shower in two days and her hair had moved past sexy JBF-ed into rat’s nest.  She still looked good.  That’s no Rosie magic, though.  Everyone looks good after that much good sex.

She left the apartment to head back to her house.  She needed to freshen up and get into some clean underwear and to let Caleb know she wouldn’t be making it in for her shift that night.  She’d head back into work later in the week where there was more money to be made.

She stopped by the White Hen to get cigarettes and a diet coke.  In line, she ran into her friend, Hector, whom she’d worked with a while back at The March.  These days he was working the velvet rope at trendy nightclub called Lobo. 

Hector leered at her in a friendly manner.  “Someone had a good night,” he said, with a wink.

“Don’t underestimate me, Hector,” she said.  “I had a few good nights.”

“That’s my girl,” he said.  “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, you’ll meet him soon enough.”

“How about tonight,” said Hector.  “Do you sexy party people have plans?  Come pay us a visit at The Lobo – I’ll get you in past the line.”

“Let me check with Mr. Wonderful,” said Rosie. “We just might see you.”

Chapter 20