Page 68 of Fade Out
“I don’t know. Tell them I’ll confess if they show up.”
“What are they really there for?”
“Rita Lindquist and her friend Possum. I think that’s where they’ve been staying.”
“Youthink? Do you have a plan if you’re wrong?”
“No.”
He stayed silent for a moment. I could feel him calculating the risk. I thought he might try to talk me out of it, but then he kind of owed me for not telling me about the Sanchez offer.
Finally, he said, “I’ll see you there in about an hour. Elevenish.”
After I hung up, I went back to my table, waved the waitress down, and ordered their hungry lumberjack breakfast. I toyed with the idea of going back to Brian’s after breakfast, taking a shower and changing my clothes, but decided against it. Things were going to turn out the way they were going to turn out. What I looked like wasn’t going to make a difference one way or another. Plus, I didn’t want to be late. It was my show after all.
My breakfast came and I ate every last bite. I tried not to think about anything. My hangover helped in that regard. With any luck we’d be surprising Rita and her friend in their hideout and this whole nightmare would be over.
And then what? What would happen when this was all over? What would I do? Would I just go back to my empty apartment? Did I want to be there without Joseph? Without Ross? I drank half a cup of coffee. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I wondered if I was going to have to run into the men’s room and deposit my eight dollar and ninety-nine cent breakfast into the toilet. But then it passed and I decided I’d better get moving.
I didn’t have a lot of cash in my pocket and I had just enough time, so I walked over to the El, paid my fare, and climbed up to the platform. Once, a long time ago, I’d fallen from the walking bridge that joined the two platforms. I’d landed on an El car and broken my leg. As I waited for the Ravenswood, I looked at the little blue bridge. What would it be like to live someplace that didn’t have such fond remembrances? What would a clean slate be like?
A few minutes later, the train came and I got on. It was Sunday morning. There were lots of seats. As we pulled away from the station, I started thinking about a movie my friends had all seen but I hadn’t. They talked about it at one of our movie nights, when Brian and Franklin would come over with lots of snacks and we’d watch a video or two. It was a movie where the characters had sex on the El. They thought it was ridiculous that anyone found a car empty enough to have sex in no matter what time of day. I had to admit, I did too.
That started a conversation about the strangest places we’d ever had sex. I think Franklin started it by saying, “I’ve never had sex on the El, but I did once have sex on an Amtrak train. In the bathroom. This guy from Oklahoma—”
“TheDaily Herald,” Ross said.
“Really?” Franklin said. “An office is the most unusual place you’ve ever had sex?”
“It’s more the particular office.” And then he named the well-known publisher of the newspaper. With Earl, they snuck in late one evening.
“Oh, well yes, I suppose,” Franklin sputtered.
I’d had sex in an office. Many in fact, but none that important. And alleys, and parks and a limo once. None of it seemed very remarkable to me.
“Mile high club,” Brian admitted. Which made me wonder why we thought it so silly to have sex on an El car when it was practically a tradition for people to have sex on an airplane.
“Movie theater,” Joseph said, glancing at me. One time I’d thrown a coat over his lap and played around with him.
I don’t remember if the conversation worked its way around to me or what I said, if anything. I did know I was going to miss those movie nights. I was going to miss them a lot.
When we got to the Merchandise Mart, I got off and walked the three blocks to Marina City. Entering the lobby, I immediately saw that I would be dealing with a different doorman. This one was young, barely finished with acne, and looked like he might grow out of his uniform in another week or so. I walked up to the desk, and said, “Can you get the building manager?”
“What do you need? Maybe I can help you.”
“I need the building manager.”
“You don’t live here.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you want a real estate agent?”
“No. I think I’ve just said what I want.”
He looked down at the desk in front of him and picked up a business card. He held it out to me. “The building is managed by McEnroe Davis. They’re open Monday through Friday, nine to five.”
“I need someone who can open up an apartment now. Someone in the building.”
