You live for your cell phone – that and your iPod – so you wave the driver on and return to your apartment. Déjà vu, you think, as you march back up the stairs and unlock the door to your flat. You grab your cell phone and check to see if anyone called during the five minutes you were gone. Someone did. It's a woman you met at Danny's Tavern last week, which is down at 1951 West Dickens Avenue . She was hot. She wants to know if you'll meet her tonight. You're glad you went back for the phone and think maybe it would be a good idea to have it permanently implanted into your body. You call her right back and she picks up. She asks you to meet her in Wicker Park at Myopic Books. You know where it is and you'll be there if 15 minutes, you tell her. The ride there feels like a million years as the anticipation is definitely building. You were checking her out the minute you saw her last week. She asked you what you thought of the deejay set and that she wanted to buy the CD for sale, but what short on cash. You said you would buy it for her as long as you could see her again. You bought her the CD and gave her your number thinking she'd never call, but she did. And now you're going to see her in a few minutes. You arrive at Myopic and see her standing in an aisle, her face in a book. She looks even better in good lighting. She smiles at you and waves you over and you exchange pleasantries.
"I'm buying this for you," she says handing you a book that looks ancient. "It's a book of poetry from Edna St. Vincent Millay, she was a jazz poet in the twenties and thirties. She's amazing. It's my way of paying you back for the CD last week." You tell her she doesn't need to do that, but she insists. You could care a less about a book of poetry, but if it will get you laid, alright. She pays for the book and the two of you wander out onto Milwaukee Avenue and into the night. You walk up and down the avenue talking about work and Chicago and getting to know one another. "Do you want to go to Salud?" she asks. "My boyfriend's a bartender there." You've got to be kidding, you think, remembering the bar at 1471 North Milwaukee Avenue. What a waste of time. How could she not have told you she's got a boyfriend? You shrug off the suggestion of going for a drink and tell her you've got to meet your roommate and his friends for dinner. You thank her for the book and nod your head when she tells you she'd like to get together again. When you get home you nearly throw her book of poetry away, but hesitate and flip through it instead. You open it to the first page. There's an inscription. It looks like it's written and signed by the author. Could that be? Who is this poet again? Was she famous? Several days later you take the volume to a bookseller in Printer's Row. It turns out the book is a first edition signed by the author and is worth more than $2,000. You eventually sell the book and use the money to fund a trip to Europe . Funny how life works out sometimes, isn't it? THE END |
