“Who’s there?” The girl clutched the arm of her companion.
I leaped off the bench and ran over to the women. “Joan, it’s Nina.” I started to touch her, but she pulled back.
“Do I know you?” She cowered behind the other woman.
“I’m Mike’s friend… Nina. Remember?”
“Mike? Who’s Mike?” She turned to the woman. “Do I know Mike?” Her voice began to tremble. “He’s not going to come for me, is he?” She grabbed my arm and terror spread across her face.
“Mike’s your brother. He’s not coming for you. He doesn’t know where you are. Neither does your mother. You should let them know—”
The woman grabbed me, pulling me close. I could smell the stench of garbage on her. “Sometimes she don’t remember nothing except what those FeLS trainers did to her. It would be best if you don’t remember seeing her here.”
With that warning, she shoved me backward, threw a protective arm around Joan, and the two of them melted into the shadows.
XXVI
Thank goodness the next morning was Saturday, because I’d barely slept the night before. All I’d thought about was Joan. I couldn’t forget that look of fear on her face. I still hadn’t decided if I should tell Mike I’d seen her. Or if I should, like that woman had said, forget all about it.
I needed to put everything out of my mind, once and for all. After breakfast, I packed up my art tote and took Dee to her friend Maddie’s, making them promise to stay inside. Which was easy considering the temperature had dipped into the thirties and it was threatening a dreary mix of rain and snow. Coat collar up, I braced myself against the wind, waiting for the number 56.
While I waited, a trannie with a couple of guys inside stopped at the light. “Want a ride, babe? Two for the price of one.” I could see their XVIIIs.
I slid my coat sleeve up, showing my bare wrist.
“We won’t tell.” The guy doing the talking grinned.
The trans pulled up behind them and I hurried on. What was I going to do when I had my tattoo? It wasn’t going to be easy turning down guys who thought the tattoo was a free pass. And I wasn’t some martial arts expert like Wei. Maybe she’d teach me some moves for real.
When I got to the Art Institute I went straight for the Twenty-first Century Postwars exhibit. I took out my paper and rapidos and spent the entire day sketching. Several people stopped to look over my shoulder at my efforts. It didn’t bother me; I was used to it.
“Nice,” one lady said.
“Are you a Creative?” a man asked.
“I will be,” I said. Would I? I hoped so. Ginnie had worked so long and hard for me to have this chance.
“Take this.” He handed me a card. “When you get your designation, come and see me. I could use a bit of help.”
When he left, I read his card.
MARTIN LONG, CURATOR TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY ART COLLECTION ART INSTITUTE, CHICAGO
That’s what it said. What I read between the lines was “hope.”
After dinner, I helped Gran clear the table. On the way to pick up Dee from Maddie’s, I’d listened to verts; their mindless chatter helped to pull me from the world inside my head back into reality. A particular one about dressing for that “someone special” stuck in my mind. It had made me question my usual jeans and T-shirt. And I wondered about Sal. Yes, I knew he hated me, but still… that girl in the hallway, the one who’d tucked something in his pocket (and draped herself all over him)—she obviously didn’t shop Mega or Sale. She was ultrachic. Was she the kind of girl he really liked? I knew I didn’t stand a chance against someone like her.
I shook my head. Why was I obsessing about this? I didn’t stand a chance with him anyway. I didn’t want to stand a chance with him… did I? But if I looked different, maybe he’d notice, and then be sorry that he wasn’t with me. I kicked the sidewalk. Damn Sal Davis anyway.
When I got home, I asked Gran, “Did you ever dress up or fix your hair special because you wanted Pops to notice you?”
She smiled at me over her glasses. “Someone you want to impress?”
“No.” I doubt she believed me. I hardly believed me.
“One time I was going to a party where I knew your grandfather would be. I wanted to get his attention, so I decided to get all dolled up. One of my girlfriends came over and we spent the entire day getting me coiffed, polished, and stuffed into clothes I’d normally never dreamed of wearing.”
“Did it work? Did he notice you?”
“Oh, he noticed me all right.” Gran laughed. “He walked over to me and said, ‘Edith, you look like you fell into a bucket of paint, face-first, and stuck your finger in an electro socket gettin’ out of it.’
“I was so embarrassed, I ran out crying. He was right behind me, braying like a donkey. He finally caught me and asked what I’d done to myself. He said I was the prettiest girl he knew—no matter what I did with my hair or what I put on my face. But that he liked me best natural—like I always was.”
She started loading the dishes into the sterilizer. “I went home that night, washed the gunk off my face, shampooed the curl out of my hair, and got rid of those clothes. I never tried to change myself to impress anyone again.”
I couldn’t imagine Gran being any way except how she’d always been. She’d confirmed what I’d suspected all along. When two people liked each other, it wasn’t about clothes or makeup or hairdos.
“You’re going out tonight?” Gran said.
“I’m meeting everyone at Soma.”
“Can’t they come here, and pick you up?”
“I’ll be fine, Gran. The trans picks us up right out front and Soma’s at North and Wells. One well-lit block from the trans stop. Please don’t worry about me. I’m always careful.” It wasn’t me I was worried about anyway; Dee was the one in danger.
“It’s not your carefulness, it’s other people’s carelessness that worries me.”
“Well, don’t.” I kissed her cheek and went down the hall to get ready.
I left for Soma, dressed in my usual T-shirt and jeans. Sandy’d called from the express and I gave her directions, telling her I’d meet her there. When the trans neared North Avenue, I didn’t get off like I should’ve. Instead, I rode up to the stop by Robin’s Roost. When I got off the trans, I crossed the street and stood in front of the building. I conjured up the image of how it had looked in the photograph of my dad and Mr. Jenkins. I knew it was silly, but something about this place made me feel close to my father… and to Ginnie. They had been here often. I bet they’d even stood right where I was standing. Tilting my head back, I looked up toward the roof. Light sleet peppered my face. I wondered if there was a way to get up there. Gran had said it was Ginnie’s favorite place.
“I’ll find him, Mom. I promise,” I whispered up to the sky.
I realized I was running late. At least Soma was just a few blocks down Wells. I hurried around the building and slipped on a patch of ice. I reached for the wall when someone grabbed my shoulders.
“Thanks…” I looked up—right into Ed’s face.
XVII
“Well, well…” Ed tightened his grip and put his face close to mine, the smell of tobacco and garlic and his aftershave almost gagged me. I tried to wrench myself free, but he had a secure hold.
“What are you doing here?” I glanced around, hoping someone would come down the street, but it was empty.