Darkness is pressing down as she goes off at an even trot along Lakeshore Drive where it’s cooler, the air coming off Lake Michigan smelling slightly sour, tawny and feeble, like an elderly relative doused in a favored fragrance. After several yards, boredom and fatigue gnaw at her, and she feels self-conscious and ridiculous as an elderly man passes her with ease. No matter; the best part is the slow pretend-exhausted walk back around the neighborhood. Walking with Toto got lots of attention but the problem was that the male dog walkers were invariably gay. Jogging was different. Like the Lakeshore Athletic Club, it was a way of meeting straight guys. But it was not a good method of keeping your weight down; too much like hard work. Dieting was easier, except Friday lunch, which would set her up for the weekend. It was too hot for the sweatshirt but she worried that there might be a slight distension of her stomach after that lunch. It would take till Tuesday before she could be confident about just wearing the sports bra.
Kendra pulls up to a brisk walking speed in order to enjoy the night. Looming shadows emerging from the overhead trees herald little more than the chatter of lovers or more dog walkers — this is a safe neighborhood — and she notes there is a van parked outside her block. Two men are unloading furniture. There is a third in attendance whom she immediately recognizes as the Asian chef from Mystic East. It seems like he is moving in, to her apartment complex. — Hi… she simpers on approach. — Are you moving in, like here?
The chef seems to take a while to recognize her. He squints in the darkness, holding a framed print, which he sets down on the granite curb. — Ah… yes. Hello. His smiling face expands.
— I’m on the second floor, Kendra explains, watching two movers engaged in a sweaty push-pull dance with one of the last of the stubbornly heavy boxes on the back of the van.
— I move into third floor, the chef tells her.
— Come and have some tea, Kendra offers, reasoning that it will do no harm to keep in with her favorite local restaurateur.
— You are very kind. Chef bows his big head slightly. Kendra holds open the doors of the apartment building as he carries the picture up the stairs. She follows him all the way up, taking in his shadowless, almost spectral form under the fluorescent stair and hall lighting. Then she hears a sniggering behind her. The moving guys. Leering at her ass. Fucking pigs. At the stair-bend she tugs the edge of the DePaul sweatshirt south, her only concession to their presence.
When the men are left to finish putting the last of the stuff into the chef’s apartment, she takes him downstairs to her identical dwelling. Kendra feels a bit awkward as his eyes scan the clutter of her space. I should have fucking tidied up, she thinks. As she heads to the kitchen to make green tea, she notes that Toto, whom she’d left while she was running, and who was normally timid around strangers to the apartment, especially men, is enthusiastic about the Asian chef. First he licks his hand with an almost obscene look in his black, glassy eyes, and then rolls over, allowing his tummy to be rubbed.
— Very nice dog, the oriental cook smiles in delight.
— He seems to like yoooo! Don’tcha, baby? she says to Toto, — Don’tcha, sweet baby boy? Yes you do! Yes you do!
— If you ever need me to take dog for walk, the chef grins, sipping his green tea, — let me know.
— Thank you. Kendra twists her head to the side, as Chef goes out onto the stair to sign the removal docket and the men depart. They sit with their tea as Kendra tells him about the trash collection and the mailboxes, and she’s unable to resist slipping in some gossip about the neighbors. Then she takes him down to the basement to show him the laundry facilities, which he seems particularly keen to view. — Very important for Chef, he explains, as they embark on the long walk down the steep and badly lit back staircase. The gate to the laundry room is heavy and stiff, and she is pleased when he comes to her aid in pulling it open. Inside Kendra clicks on a switch and there is a hum as the pitch-black cavernous room flickers into a buzzing fluorescent bluish-yellow glare revealing two washers, two dryers and an aluminum rack of bicycles. Big silver tubes carrying the air con hang overhead, snaking into the cavities of the building like space-age woodworm. — Such an essential for a Chicago summer, Kendra smartly informs Chef, thinking of Stephanie sweating away sourly under fans — and an enthusiastic Todd — in that antiquated condo of hers.
No, Steph would be on top.
When the tour is over and Chef departs upstairs to organize his new home, Kendra is straight on the phone to Stephanie, then Stacie, delighted as she informs them, — Chef, our Chef, only just moved into my apartment block!
The next morning Kendra has a crisis. Christie, her dog walker and sitter, calls to say that she had just learned that her father has been taken seriously ill in Kentucky, and she needs to go there immediately. — Thanks for everything, Kendra says spitefully down the phone. She realizes that she is going to have to take Toto into the office. It is an emergency. Outside is hot, but muggy and overcast. The dour, dirty sky seems to press down on her, she feels it in her ball-bearing eyes, house-brick brain and anvil jaw. Toto whines a little, dragging on his leash and panting, until she’s forced to take his gasping body in her arms.
She is at her desk for about ten minutes, talking to her co-workers Greg and Cassandra, when Marilyn, hands on bovine hips, casts a shadow over her desk. — Kennie, princess, she looks at the dog, whose ears prick up although he remains sitting loyally at Kendra’s feet, — Toto’s a charmer, but the office isn’t for dags.
— But—
Marilyn’s large head cocks to the side, as she pats her stiff hair. Her voice coos, incongruently soothing, — Butts — even cute little ones — are for sitting on and getting fired, honey. Please don’t ask me to get more explicit.
— My dog sitter had an emergency, I’ll try to get something sorted out—
— Now, sweetheart. Her smile slides a millimetre south.
— Right, Kendra says neutrally, and picks Toto up.
Marilyn follows her out. As Kendra gets to the door, she stops her with an arm on her shoulder. As Kendra turns around, she can smell a sickly sweet corpse breath. Stroking the dog’s snout, Marilyn fixes her in a flinty stare. — In case you ain’t heard, hard times are ahead, baby. The condo market has gone to shit. People are like sheep. They see a few players making a killing out of condo developments and they build and build until there are too many developments and not enough people to fill them. It’s a classic bubble and you can see the pin. I’m talking layoffs. Do I make myself clear?
Kendra bites her tongue. How unprofessional is this bitch! Talking down the freakin market! — Yes, she says blankly, exiting and heading outside. The dog is panting in her arms as she walks down the street which shimmers in the baking heat.
She hates leaving Toto in the apartment on his own, but now she has no choice. On her way back she sees Chef hanging out in the shade of the porch by the apartment entrance. He’s out of his robes, wearing a blue suit, collar open at the neck, as he smokes a cigarette. The suit contrasts with the vivid red roses which climb up a wooden trellis next to him. For the first time she notes how thin his body is compared to his head. She tells him what has happened with the dog and her work. Chef explains that he is going for a walk by the lake. He has no shift until the evening and will be happy to walk the dog and look after him till she comes home from work.