The Alchemy of Noise

by Lorraine Devon Wilke

  “Which makes me a cliché. But even my mom had that sort of careless, casual racist streak. She had church friends who were black, not close friends, but people she associated with, and she’d talk about them like they were idiots, lower class. She had this one friend, Sadie, a mixed-race woman, and she’d say things like, ‘That half nigger wouldn’t know her head from a hole in the ground.’ She passed it off like it was folksy, salty, and it rolled right off me when I was little. But I guess it stuck somewhere in my emotional DNA. We were a family with a rusty pickup in the backyard, so that should tell you all you need to know about us.”

  “Funny, you’ve never referenced any of that before, in all the years I’ve known you.”

  “Because it makes me sound like white trash. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

  “Plus there’s no statute of limitations on blaming parents for our bullshit, right?”

  Patsy sighed, taking the hit. “I get it, Sid, I get it. It’s all on me. But I really am trying to figure out why any part of me went there, and beyond emotional heritage, the only other thing I come up with is this: I was hurt that you didn’t tell me you were seeing this guy until after he’d already moved in. That was unreal to me, and it made me realize how far out of sync we’d gotten. It hurt me. It made me feel rejected, so I lashed out . . . in as ugly a way as I could. I honestly think if Chris were Asian or Swedish I would’ve snarked about exceptional math skills or the hideous fish balls his people like. It wasn’t his ethnicity, truly. It was about striking out at you for excluding me. Does that make sense? I mean, I know it’s offensive and pathetic, but does it make any sense?”

  Sidonie took a pause. “In an offensive, pathetic way.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Patsy smiled wanly.

  “But it’s not a defense,” Sidonie rejoined, not willing to lighten the load. “Because I wasn’t excluding you. I didn’t tell anyone for a long time because I wasn’t sure how even I felt about it. Dating someone like Chris was a departure for me. Not just his race, but his background, his focus, everything. And you’re right: he doesn’t have Theo’s good looks, or the wardrobe, the car, the lifestyle—any of those trappings. And I’m ashamed that part of me was initially hesitant because of those reasons. So in some ways I’m just as shallow as you.”

  “Sid, I—”

  “But the more I got to know him, the more I found him to be this incredible man, so beautifully different from men I’d known before— his take on the world and what he’s had to deal with. So, yes, some of what makes him incredible is his being black. He’s had to learn things, overcome things that no white man would ever have to confront. And that, at least in his case, has given him a deep sense of himself and what’s important. I don’t know if you can possibly understand that.”

  “I think I can—”

  “But I didn’t think you would. And given the way you responded, I wasn’t wrong. So I kept quiet for as long as I could without going underground. With you being out of town so much, you were just the last one on the list.”

  “I should’ve have stayed in better touch—”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. Because I had a suspicion—I don’t even know why—that you’d do exactly what you did.”

  “I am so sorry . . .”

  “And I really want you to know this about me: I’m not overcompensating for losing Theo. I’m not desperate or lacking self-esteem. I’ve just had the rare chance to get to know a guy I might have overlooked if we hadn’t been thrown together. And when I took that opportunity . . . lucky me. I discovered a really spectacular person, someone I feel so fortunate to have found. And, Patsy, you don’t have to like him—I don’t need you to like him. I don’t care if you like him. Though I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t. But whatever you do feel, get beyond his race, or his looks, or his T-shirts. Judge him as you would any person: with an open mind.”

  Patsy reached out and grabbed Sidonie’s hand. “I will, I promise. My mind has been opened. I’m rejecting my racist ancestry and embracing the higher self I briefly abandoned.” She looked into Sidonie’s face beseechingly. “Will you forgive me?”

  Sidonie squeezed Patsy’s hand, then pulled away. “I can intellectualize forgiving you, but right now I just feel empty. It’s not about punishing you. It’s that there are some big themes wrapped up in this for me, and right now I can’t feel forgiveness enough to extend it. So I have no choice but to take whatever time I need to get there. Thank you for explaining things from your end. It does help me put your thinking into perspective. But I can only offer détente at this point. We’ll see where that leads us.”

  Patsy visibly slumped, but gave her friend a mournful smile. “I guess that will have to do. And I’ll take it . . . with hope that I can redeem myself in your eyes one of these days soon. I miss you, Sid.”

  Sidonie reached out and squeezed Patsy’s hand again, then rose and walked away, eyes welling.

  FORTY-FIVE

  “CHECK, CHECK, CHECK, ONE-TWO, ONE-TWO, ONE-TWO.” Ruben Yazmin, lead singer of Ragged Road, the opening act for the big blues extravaganza set for the next two nights, leaned into the microphone for a final test, simultaneously strumming his guitar in rhythm. Jasper and Andrew hustled to make minor adjustments while Chris fine-tuned from the booth. They’d already run a short set, and as the sound check drew to a close, Andrew looked up to see Sidonie glance at her watch and motion them into the bar area.

  “Hey, you guys,” he called out to Jasper and Chris. “Sidonie wants to get the meeting started. Are we about wrapped?”

  Ruben gave a thumbs-up as band members unstrapped instruments and climbed out from behind drums and keyboard stacks. “Sounds good to me, gents. Thanks, Chris. Appreciate the extra reverb on the vocals. You know I like ’em wet! Just make sure the monitors are kicking and we’re all good.”

  “They’ll be there,” Chris confirmed. “Go get some dinner and we’ll see you guys back here at seven.”

  As the band trundled out the employee entrance, Chris, Jasper, and Andrew jumped from the stage and made their way to the bar.

  IT WAS RARE The Church held mandatory staff meetings on a Thursday afternoon before opening hours, but Saturday’s scheduled event was as high-profile as the club had hosted, and Frank and Sidonie wanted to ensure that every element was in order, from entertainment and staff, to supplies, service, and menus. Ten Tables, one of the largest food bank organizations in Chicago, was holding their annual celebration and fundraiser at The Church for the first time. The guest list included the mayor, several state representatives (from both parties), and a substantial roster of Chicago billionaires. This was a hard-won account for Sidonie, one she’d worked over a year to secure, so the stakes—and expectations—were high.

  Gathered in the bar area were the wait and hosting staff, all kitchen personnel, Al and the bar crew, Chris, Jasper, Andrew, even the extra sound techs hired from Sound Alchemy for the event. Frank and Sidonie perched on stools at the bar, going over each bullet point on their lists, taking questions, and giving detailed instructions along the way. After forty-five minutes, and as they were about to conclude, Sidonie stood up.

  “Okay, thanks, everybody, I think that’s it. All the bands tonight and tomorrow are phenomenal, we’re expecting a big crowd both nights, and Saturday is going to be spectacular. Let’s have a great weekend. And listen, before you scatter, one more thing.” She looked across the room at Chris and smiled. “Chris and I are throwing a party.”

  Smiles and cheers inspired her laughing response.

  “I know, I know, hell or something froze, right? Anyway, we’ve— or rather, he’s—refurbished our place—not sure you all knew he was HGTV material—and it looks amazing. Which seemed to warrant some celebration. So we’d love you all to come by for a soiree.”

  “When?” shouted Jasper from the back of the room. “You know my social calendar is pretty packed, gotta get this penned in right quick!” The group laughed, poor Jasper infamous for ne
ver having reason to leave the club.

  “With you specifically in mind, Jasper, we looked at our schedules, and since all of us are off on Mondays, we’ve set it for the Monday before Halloween. That’ll give everyone a chance to get creative with party finery. Hope you can all be there because I really want to celebrate. There’s lots of good stuff going on right now—the club is doing so well and you guys really are the best team we’ve ever had—so it feels like a perfect time to party. Everybody up for it?”

  Whoops and hollers.

  “Great! I’ll send out evites by the weekend, all the deets will be in there. Now get to work!”

  As everyone hustled off, Chris approached, bag on his shoulder.

  “Are you leaving?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yeah. I’ve gotta get my guys over to an Alchemy gig, but I’ll be back in about an hour. By the way, I’m set to stop by the Jeep dealership on Western and Peterson Monday morning, around eight thirty. Are you in?”

  “My hair appointment isn’t until one, so yes. Fun! We’ll finally have our car date!”

  He leaned in with a kiss. “We’re so out now, aren’t we?”

  She grinned coyly. “We are. Positively coupled.”

  “Mmmm . . . I like the way you say that.” The look he gave her sent tremors to her midsection. “Later, sweetheart.” His kiss held long enough that she laughed as she toppled off her tiptoes.

  As he headed out, Al sidled up behind her and leaned in.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, swatting him away.

  “I’ve got a question for you, kind of private.” He looked slightly embarrassed.

  “Fine, but stop breathing down my neck, will ya. What? What question?”

  “First of all, I’ll definitely be at your party, but I wanted to check about bringing a date.”

  “That’s your private question?”

  “No, I just—”

  She laughed. “You’re such a geek, Al! Of course bring a date. I’d love to meet any woman willing to be seen with you in public.” She slugged his arm. Things had gotten easier between them since he’d made a point of pulling Chris into the fold.

  “Cool, cool. Listen, the other question . . .”

  “Quick, cause I gotta get going.”

  “Would it be okay if Mike was included?”

  “Mike Demopoulos? Officer Mike? The cop that sits at the bar and occasionally brings me drinks? The Mike you’ve been trying to foist on me for over a year?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  She looked at Al like he was not an intelligent being. “Why would I want a cop with a crush to come to the party I’m hosting with my relatively new boyfriend?”

  “I know, sounds weird, but I’m actually trying to be a nice guy here. Turns out he’s been seeing this girl and she dumped him the other day. He and I have kinda become friends—you know, gone out for burgers a few times after I’ve gotten off work—and he’s poured his heart out to me. So I was just thinkin’, since he’s so lonely and down on himself right now, I bet he’d really appreciate being included. He’s around here enough that he knows a lot of the staff, so it wouldn’t be weird. And hey, you never know, he might hit it off with someone just by gettin’ outside the club. What do you say?”

  “Wow . . . who knew you were such a yenta? Fine, I’ll send him an invitation.”

  “You have his email?”

  “Yeah, he gave me his card a while back.”

  “Awesome. Thanks, Frame. You rock.” He attempted a fist pound, but she just rolled her eyes; there was only so much bro-dom she could handle.

  With Al back behind the bar, Sidonie took a look around the room and suddenly realized, for the very first time, that every one of the floor staff was white, with the exception of one waitress who was half-Chinese. The bar staff was white, the hostess team was white; other than Chris (and the occasional Sound Alchemy temps), the sound team was white, and, while the kitchen staff was largely Hispanic, not a one was black. That was odd, she thought. How had it escaped her attention all this time? Whether she wanted them to or not, Vanessa’s words echoed. What was she doing to change the narrative?

  Frank rushed up, dressed for the outdoors. “Okay, kiddo, I’m off to my meeting. You’ve got everything under control here?”

  “We’re good. Hey, Frank, have you ever noticed how white our staff is?”

  He stopped, glanced around. “No, can’t say I have.” He turned back to Sidonie with a cock of his head. “Is this a real problem or are you parroting someone else’s concerns?”

  That rankled. “What a weird thing to say! Have I lost my ability to have a new thought, or speak my own mind on diversity issues because I now have a black boyfriend?”

  Frank twitched. “Sorry . . . perhaps a poor choice of words.” He looked around again. “No, not much diversity in here, you’re right. But you’re the one who hires the staff. If it’s important to you, broaden your outreach. It’s a good point.” He patted her on the back and swept off.

  Sidonie took a deep breath. She couldn’t decide if Frank was being condescending, patronizing, insensitive, or all the above. Once again Vanessa’s words resonated: she might just need to toughen up.

  FORTY-SIX

  BY THE TIME THEY GOT HOME THURSDAY NIGHT, LEAVING Andrew to wrap up the last two bands, the temperature had dropped considerably. With wind portending a coming storm, they had reason to light the first fire of the season. Sidonie huddled over her computer, designing the invitations for the party, fully absorbed and enjoying the task, but Chris was restless. He wanted to walk, but it was late enough that optics had to be considered; he had become more cautious about such things lately. He paced until she finally glanced up.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay.” She went back to the computer.

  Shaking his arms at his side, he sighed loudly.

  “Okay, now you’re making me crazy,” she remarked.

  “I’m just restless for some reason. Think I’ll get out and walk for a while.”

  She looked at the clock. “This late?”

  “It’s not that late.”

  “It’s almost midnight.”

  He felt her concern; he understood it, but he refused to capitulate. “It’s eleven forty-five, Sid. People are still out. I’ve been locked up in a sound booth all day, haven’t had a chance to exercise all week, and I need some air, some motion.”

  “Then I’ll come with you,” she said, pushing back her chair. “It would be better.”

  “You don’t have to. I know you want to get the invitations done.”

  She looked back at the computer. “I do need to get them finished . . .”

  “I won’t be long. I just want to clear my head.”

  “Okay.”

  He grabbed his hoodie from a coat rack near the door.

  “Really? You’re wearing that?” The question was sharp.

  “It’s cold,” he remarked, not getting her point. Then he got her point. “Seriously? Would it be okay if it were earlier? If you were with me? If I kept the hood down? Or should I grab my sport coat and tie?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, and no—a light-colored sweater or your jean jacket will do.”

  “I think you’re being a little—”

  She leapt from the chair, yanked the hoodie from his hands, flung it on the foyer table, and pulled his jean jacket from a nearby hook. “Here! Wear this! It has no fear factor, no hood. It’s just a fucking jacket!”

  He was stunned by her vehemence. “Okay, Sid, Jesus. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Isn’t it?” She was dead serious. “You’re a black man walking on a residential street in a predominantly white middle-class neighborhood at almost midnight on a weeknight, so you are not wearing a fucking hoodie with its blaring ‘come harass me, Chicago PD’ fashion statement. It sucks, I agree, but please do not make it any easier for them and harder for you, okay? Would you do that for me?” Her expression made clear there was honest panic
behind the request.

  He put the jean jacket on and went to her, pulling her to him. “Okay. I get it. No hoodies at night. I can do that.”

  She burrowed her face in his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m probably being neurotic, but I get scared for you. I feel like you’re a walking target.”

  “I feel that way too sometimes. So I’ll change my jacket, Sid, but I won’t crawl in a box. I won’t be fearful. That’s not me. That can’t be me.” He kissed her. “And now I’m going for a short walk before the rain hits. I won’t be long. Go get our evites done.” He shoved her toward the computer with a smile.

  She sat down at her desk. “Text me if you’re going to be later than a few minutes, okay?”

  “I won’t be, but I will.” He opened the door. “Back in a few.”

  TAKING LONG STRIDES down sidewalks unburdened by daytime foot traffic and the noise of passing cars was as head clearing as Chris had hoped. Clouds tumbled above as if ready to unload their deluge, and the wind, cool enough to chafe, was bracing.

  He remembered the first night he walked down this particular sidewalk with Sidonie. It seemed like both yesterday and years ago. Strange how time could effortlessly bounce from near to far with so much unfolding in the moments and spaces between.

  Chris thought about Sidonie’s offer to accompany him tonight, her clear consideration that her presence would offer some buffer, some protection; make him less conspicuous to anyone who might find him so. It was an absurd equation, the idea that he’d need a small white woman to keep him safer out in the world. How ironic. How imbecilic. How probably true, at least in this neighborhood.

  The phone buzzed. His immediate thought was that Sidonie was overthinking his departure, so he was surprised to see Diante’s name. “Hey, D!”

  “Wassup, my man?” Diante had clearly been partying. “I’m just leaving a work thing, not ready to pack it in yet. Thought I’d see if you wanted to meet for a drink. We haven’t hung in a while. I can swing by your place if it’s easier.”