Knitting in the City 01 Neanderthal Seeks Human (20 page)

“Janie- sex can be great. It can be
really
great and fun and amazing. This thing- with McHotpants- this could be a great thing. This could help you become more comfortable around guys and experience what sex and physical intimacy can be like when it’s really good. Wendell- I mean, Quinn- Quinn is being honest with you about his intentions. When you get tired of him you don’t have to worry about his feelings- how great is that? Then, when you meet a non-Wendell who you like and who likes you, you’ll know how to command yourself in the bedroom.”

I shook my head, “I don’t think I can be that person. I don’t think I can have sex with someone without-” I continued to shake my head, “without knowing that he cares about me, that he wants to be with me, without something more. I know it sounds Victorian but I don’t want great sex if it doesn’t come with- with-”

“Love?” Elizabeth supplied, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

I twisted my lips to the side, “Mutual care, r
espect, compassion, commitment, and- yes- hopefully all of that adds up to love of some kind.”

The truth was being that person
, the person who could value the physical over and beyond emotional commitment and consistency, scared me. The untamed, unpredictable nature of it scared me. It reminded me of my mother, of how she abandoned her family with alarming frequency in favor of temporary sex partners. It was important to me that I never have anything in common with that woman. And if it meant that I ended up without any partner or in a staid, passionless- albeit reliable and dependable- relationship then I was really ok with that.

She huffed, “
You can get all of that with a dog or a cat. You say these things and think this way because you’ve never had great sex.”

I laughed at her discontented scowl, “Then, oh well. I guess I’ll never have great sex.”

She huffed again then pulled me to her for a hug, “I love you Janie and I could give you great sex but I’m just not into girls.”

I smiled into her shirt, “Well, let me know if you ever change your mind.”

She withdrew and held me at arm’s length, her face and tone serious, “If you don’t want hot Wendell sex then, I have to tell you, you need to be careful with this guy. He’s being honest with you when he says he doesn’t date. You should believe him.”

I nodded and tried not to betray the sadness I felt, “I do. I do believe him.”

She watched me for several moments, considering me, then she prompted, “What did he say next- after the no dating comment?”

I swallowed, my fingers drifting to my lips of their own accord, “Then he kissed the hell out of me.”

I finally responded to my sister’s email on Saturday afternoon after a great deal of procrastinating.

I slept in till nine-thirty then laid on the futon for a further twenty minutes thinking about Quinn Sullivan’s lips of magic and mystery. I then decided, on an odd whim, to go for a run along Lake Michigan. The weather was still nice, especially for late September, and the wind felt clarifying. I distracted myself with sights of Millennium Park, the Aquarium, the Natural History museum and reflected on my city.

There is something really special about Chicago.

Chicago is the proverbial middle child of large US cities. Some might consider this analogy only in reference to Chicago's geographic location (it's in the middle of the country). However, the analogy is multifaceted; like most middle children and like books between elaborate bookends, Chicago can sometimes be easy to overlook. It is smart and genuine but always compared
, for better or for worse, to its older and younger siblings: it's the less notorious but smarter sister to New York; it's the less ostentatious but considerably more genuine sister to Los Angeles.

It is breathtaking and beautiful and yet somehow caught in the blind
spot of popular consciousness.

I’ve always wondered if Chicago prefers to shy from the onerous and usually dysfunctional limelight of notoriety; I hypothesize that it is more than to content to be smart and genuine and breathtaking without attracting the attention that plagues those that are notorious and ostentatious.

On my way back I picked up coffee from Starbucks and indulged in more Quinn Sullivan obsessing; eventually, I stopped outside of Utrecht Art Supply and accomplished window shopping. When I arrived home I found Elizabeth cleaning the kitchen. I felt a little disappointed; I was planning on spending time procrastinating by cleaning the kitchen. Instead I took a shower and shaved everything that could be shaved. I plucked my eyebrows then decided to give myself a pedicure.

Elizabeth eyed me with suspicion as I sat on the couch and propped my foot on the coffee table. I attempted to ignore her pointed gaze.

After a period of tense silence she said, “So, what are you needing to do that you don’t want to do?”

I huffed, disliking that she knew me so well, and confessed, “Jem sent me an email.”

“Jem?” Elizabeth didn’t try to suppress her surprise, “When?”

“On Thursday.”

“What does she want?”

I uncapped the nail polish remover and applied a liberal amount to a cotton ball; “She wants to visit.”

“Who?”

I half laughed, half groaned, “I’m guessing me
. She said she wanted to see me.”

She shook her head, “This is so strange. She doesn’t even like you.”

I shrugged, “I know.”

It was true. My own sister didn’t like me. It wasn’t that we didn’t get along; Jem just didn’t seem to
like
anyone. Sometimes she pretended to like people but only for as long as was necessary to obtain what she needed. I felt that there was a distinct possibility that she was a sociopath.

Abruptly I placed the cap back on the nail polish remover and pulled out my laptop. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid of fretfulness and just answer her damn email. I responded:

Jem- I’m in town all next week but will be gone part of the week after for a business trip. When do you plan to arrive? How long are you staying? Do you want to see/do anything in particular while you are here? Let me know the details when you are able. Talk to you soon, Janie

It seemed benign enough but I was pretty sure it would annoy the hell out of her. She didn’t like confiding her plans even when they directly affected someone else.

That issue settled, for now, I decided to email Jon about dinner. Even though Steven couldn’t make it I felt compelled to keep my dinner arrangements with Jon, especially after cancelling two times in a row. As I began composing an email something in my vicinity began to chime.

I stopped typing and looked to Elizabeth in confusion, “What is that? It sounds like an ice cream truck.”

Elizabeth paused loading the dishwasher, holding a dripping plate, “It actually sounds like a cell phone. Is that your new phone?”

I started, remembering the phone, and began ransacking the living room trying to find the blasted thing. At one point it stopped ringing but then, seconds later, began again. I was cussing and was mid-single-syllable four letter word when I found the cursed contraption.

“-uck! Yes! Hello?”

“
Hey
.”

Outwardly, my body stiffened; inwardly, my bones dissolved. “Oh, hi- hi- hello! How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”
Quinn sounded like he was smiling. An image of him smiling flashed across my consciousness causing the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle.

“I’m well. It’s, uh-” I glanced over at Elizabeth. She was making suggestive gestures with her still wet hands. I gave her a dirty look then turned completely away. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“
Even via cell phone?”

I smiled despite myself and responded, “It would be better if it weren’t via cell phone.”

“
I agree. I’m calling about dinner. What time should I pick you up
?”

“Dinner?”

“
Yeah, dinner
.”

“Tonight?”

“
Yes. Dinner. Tonight.
”

“Um…” I frowned and glanced at the message still open on my laptop that I’d been typing Jon.

“
Janie? …Are you backing out?”

“No- no. I’m not backing out. It’s just, I can’t tonight. I already have plans.” Movement from Elizabeth caught my eye and I found her glaring at me and mouthing: ‘
What the hell are you thinking
?’ I shooed her away.

Quinn didn’t respond immediately so I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen, attempting to decipher if I’d hung up on him. None of the symbols seemed to indicate anything of value so I spoke into the phone again, “Quinn? Are you still there? Did I hang up on you?”

“
Yeah. I’m still here
.” I heard him sigh, “
These aren’t the same plans you made yesterday with your ex, are they
?”

Inwardly I cringed. Then, outwardly I also cringed, “Yes.”

Silence.

“Quinn?”

“
I’ll come too.
” It didn’t sound at all like a request.

“Uh, what?”

His voice was business-like, brusque. “
You and I will go out tomorrow. Tonight I can meet your friend Jon
.” 

“You want to meet Jon?” Instinctively my gaze searched for Elizabeth and I think I must have looked as stricken as I felt. She just stared at me with wide eyes.

“
I want to see you
.”

His words made my heart skip; I had difficulty forming a coherent thought, “Well- I guess- I mean- I suppose it’s- I mean it’s not like- maybe we could- I just don’t think-”

“
Where are we going? What time are we meeting him?”

“I was just emailing him to work out the details.”

“
Ok. How about Chez Jean? I’ll pick you up at seven.
”

“No- I’ll meet you at the restaurant at seven.” I didn’t want to arrive with him. It would feel too much like a wheelbarrow date: two wheels and a kickstand.

“
Do you know where it is?”

“I know where, it’s a block west of Al’s Beef, right?”

I could hear the smile in his voice, “
Your landmark is Al’s Beef?
”

“How can you miss Al’s Beef? It’s yellow and black and has a giant plastic cup in the center of the sign. I think they have franchise opportunities available.”

He laughed, “
I’ll see you at seven
.”

His laugh made me smile like an idiot. “Ok. Seven. I’ll see you at seven.”

When the call ended I stared at the cell phone without seeing it for several moments. I felt light, like my feet weren’t touching the ground and I could cloud hop if the desire so struck me. I felt like running through a field and spinning around while an orchestra played in the background. I felt like clicking my heels together and sliding down an impressively large and steep banister. I felt like picking apart a daisy while reciting: “He loves me, I love him.”

Elizabeth’s concerned voice brought me out of my meandering reveries and a bit closer to reality; “You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Goofy grin still in place I sighed. I knew what I looked like, sounded like. A small voice in the recesses of my overactive brain screamed at me:
You are infatuated! Infatuated I say!

I’d never realized before- as, perhaps, I’d never been presented with the opportunity to know- how glorious infatuation could be.

~*~

That night’s dinner began with one of the most awkward silences I’ve ever experienced in my life. I had to bite both my cheeks to keep from filling the black hole of unsaid words. After introductions Jon sat next to me, on the booth along the wall, and glowered at Quinn. Quinn, from his chair opposite us, smiled at Jon.

It was a smug smile tinged with a certain amount of swagger. I didn’t know how to feel about it so I just ignored it for the time being. I kept swallowing and hoped my excessive, obsessive compulsive action went unnoticed. Finally, feeling like I was going to burst, I excused myself from the table and half bolted to the ladies’ room. I stayed there until I felt capable keeping a rein on the overflowing list of factoids related to black holes.

As I left the small ladies’ parlor I noticed for the first time how really nice the restaurant was. It smelled like garlic and roux, the walls were a pale yellow except the crown molding which was a dark, natural stained wood. Windows were framed in sheer burgundy curtains and beautiful oil landscapes
, of what I assumed were the French countryside, added intimate elegance without making the place feel cluttered or like an art museum.

The tables were covered in white cloths; rows of forks, spoons, and knives spread like petals on either side of a series of plates stacked one on top of the other; largest on the bottom, smallest on the top. A delicately folded linen napkin, which looked like a
swan, spilled out of a water glass to the right of the plates.