the chair over and dragged it across the floor toward the bathroom. The chair legs dug furrows in the ratty carpeting but she didn’t care. This building was a shit hole, with more apartments empty than rented while some, like this one, were nothing but a haven for crack addicts. A little insistence on her part a week previous had made those sorry excuses for humanity take off damned quickly, and she and Vance had been living here in harmony every since. The water in the bathroom sink worked okay; now it was time to check the shower above the crusty bathtub.
He was heavier than he looked but it still didn’t take much effort for her to hoist him, chair and all, over the rim of the tub. He ended up facing the wall with the faucet, which she thought was a good thing—that way he’d get a solid, hefty drink at the same time some of the smut got washed off. In fact, maybe she’d just leave him in here. It would be a waste of effort and energy to drag him back and forth from the other room.
She twisted the faucet on the right side to ON , pulled the knob for the shower feed, then went off to find monkey boy something to eat.
E ight
W hen his cell phone rang, Charlie Hogue knew without looking at the screen that Brenda was calling him again. He pulled it out of his pocket and scowled at it, wishing to Christ that she would just leave him alone for a little while, let him have some peace and quiet. After that thought, right on cue and as predictable as the one-hour intervals in which she left him messages, came guilt: she was his wife, she cared about him, she was anxious to find out how his meeting with his birth father had gone. He should want to talk to her, fill her in on every detail of this long-awaited excursion into the unknown.
He sighed and pressed the silence button on the side of the phone. He just didn’t feel like explaining the whole, sorry situation. Her questions would be endless, his answers vague because he simply didn’t have all the information he knew she would want, the normal, everyday information like the names of his newly discovered relatives, theddresses, all the family birth dates. All the data that would fit tidily into her address books and computer reminder programs so that her picture-perfect American life could reorganize itself around the new additions and continue without interruption.
Charlie put the phone back in his pocket, ignoring the ring tone a couple of minutes later that signaled a message from Brenda. He’d waited all day yesterday for his brother—God, that was a strange thing to say—to call him, but each time the cell rang, it was only Brenda. By noon today, he’d given up on the idea that Eran would call him and decided to come downtown to Grant Park, check out the lakefront and the sights. He’d gotten only as far as Buckingham Fountain before admitting he wasn’t at all interested in the museums and the water. Lake Michigan wasn’t much different from Lake Erie, and he could visit there anytime back home. It was kind of neat to sit here on the edge of the fountain with the water arcing so beautifully behind him; every now and then the wind would catch the spray just right and bathe him in a fine mist that felt wonderfully cooling in the sticky afternoon heat.
Wow. Charlie would have never imagined he’d be here, watching the people pass while his mind churned over the newfound knowledge of his relatives. This city was so far removed from his hometown of Van Wert that it might as well have been on a different planet. Races, religions, gays and straights, even the way people dressed. If cities were selections in a vending machine, Chicago would be to the left and marked EXOTIC , while Van Wert would be all the way to the right under GENERIC . Compared to this maelstrom of diversity, where he lived was colorless and boring, utterly bland. Chicago was so exciting to him, so enticing . He couldn’t help wondering if he could actually live here, leave his everyday
He was heavier than he looked but it still didn’t take much effort for her to hoist him, chair and all, over the rim of the tub. He ended up facing the wall with the faucet, which she thought was a good thing—that way he’d get a solid, hefty drink at the same time some of the smut got washed off. In fact, maybe she’d just leave him in here. It would be a waste of effort and energy to drag him back and forth from the other room.
She twisted the faucet on the right side to ON , pulled the knob for the shower feed, then went off to find monkey boy something to eat.
E ight
W hen his cell phone rang, Charlie Hogue knew without looking at the screen that Brenda was calling him again. He pulled it out of his pocket and scowled at it, wishing to Christ that she would just leave him alone for a little while, let him have some peace and quiet. After that thought, right on cue and as predictable as the one-hour intervals in which she left him messages, came guilt: she was his wife, she cared about him, she was anxious to find out how his meeting with his birth father had gone. He should want to talk to her, fill her in on every detail of this long-awaited excursion into the unknown.
He sighed and pressed the silence button on the side of the phone. He just didn’t feel like explaining the whole, sorry situation. Her questions would be endless, his answers vague because he simply didn’t have all the information he knew she would want, the normal, everyday information like the names of his newly discovered relatives, theddresses, all the family birth dates. All the data that would fit tidily into her address books and computer reminder programs so that her picture-perfect American life could reorganize itself around the new additions and continue without interruption.
Charlie put the phone back in his pocket, ignoring the ring tone a couple of minutes later that signaled a message from Brenda. He’d waited all day yesterday for his brother—God, that was a strange thing to say—to call him, but each time the cell rang, it was only Brenda. By noon today, he’d given up on the idea that Eran would call him and decided to come downtown to Grant Park, check out the lakefront and the sights. He’d gotten only as far as Buckingham Fountain before admitting he wasn’t at all interested in the museums and the water. Lake Michigan wasn’t much different from Lake Erie, and he could visit there anytime back home. It was kind of neat to sit here on the edge of the fountain with the water arcing so beautifully behind him; every now and then the wind would catch the spray just right and bathe him in a fine mist that felt wonderfully cooling in the sticky afternoon heat.
Wow. Charlie would have never imagined he’d be here, watching the people pass while his mind churned over the newfound knowledge of his relatives. This city was so far removed from his hometown of Van Wert that it might as well have been on a different planet. Races, religions, gays and straights, even the way people dressed. If cities were selections in a vending machine, Chicago would be to the left and marked EXOTIC , while Van Wert would be all the way to the right under GENERIC . Compared to this maelstrom of diversity, where he lived was colorless and boring, utterly bland. Chicago was so exciting to him, so enticing . He couldn’t help wondering if he could actually live here, leave his everyday
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