The South Side Tour Guide

by Shelter Somerset

  Andy gazed toward the ceiling, one he’d become more accustomed to than the one in his Uptown studio. He recognized the mildew stains and the tiny blisters underneath the white paint. “You told me Kamila agreed to return to work Wednesday afternoon,” he said. “I’ll be leaving that morning.”

  “So that’s what this is about? You don’t want to face Kamila? I told you when I spoke with her she didn’t mention anything about seeing us kiss. She agreed to come back. But I’ll call her back and tell her not to. If you’re that uncomfortable with her, I’ll let her go—”

  “This is not about Kamila, and it’s not about Ken.”

  Harden’s cheeks darkened. “Do you feel uncomfortable being Lillian’s brother? Is that it? If I were some stranger that you’d met, someone in Chicago, wouldn’t things be different?”

  Lillian and Harden’s portrait sat on the bureau in plain sight. Since sharing Harden’s bed, it had been a point of confusion for Andy. His sister ogling them while he and Harden had made love—doing things she probably never had considered—often had driven him to ravish Harden more completely. Other times, she had made him want to stop and slam the photograph facedown.

  Andy snickered. “Lilly’s ghost isn’t helping matters. But it’s not about her either. It’s about me. I’m from Chicago. That’s where I live. That’s where I have a business.” He was careful to keep his voice low to prevent the kids from overhearing. “The past week I’ve moped about, antsy and listless, realizing I have to go home. As much as I love spending time with you and the kids, I have to go. Our worlds don’t belong together. Friday night proved that.”

  “It’s late,” Harden said, forcing an odd smile that sliced through Andy’s heart. “Why don’t you sleep on it? Okay? Sleep on it.”

  “Harden, I’ve been sleeping on it. For over a month. I have to get back to my life, my livelihood.”

  Harden leaned back, and the billowy pillow swallowed his ears. “Some business you have waiting for you. Escorting people around, searching for death.”

  “Don’t berate me, Harden, please. Before I came here I was making more money than I ever had.”

  Harden began thumbing Andy’s cleft chin. “And you left because of thugs, right? You don’t want to go back there. I know you don’t.”

  Andy clamped Harden’s hand to the mattress. “You’re not even gay. Or are you?”

  Harden shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re like a… a third sex. Honestly, I’m unsure if I’d be attracted to you if you weren’t gay.”

  Andy snickered. He’d heard the “third sex” analogy before and hadn’t been offended then or now. He was no third sex, however. He had the same body parts as Harden. But Andy allowed Harden to rationalize in a way that provided him comfort. “What if Lillian rehabilitates and wants her home back?” he said. “What then?”

  “We’re divorced. And she hated living here.”

  “And the kids?”

  “No one could be as good with them as you. They love you, Andy, and I… I….” He looked toward the curtains. “I want you to stay.”

  Andy shook his head back and forth over the pillow. “It’s no good, Harden. It’s no good. I made my decision. You have to understand. Please, you of all people. We both know how this started. We know.”

  Before Andy had a chance to remind him that he had merely wanted to provide Harden oral relief for one lousy night, to satisfy his own curiosity about what it might be like to kneel before his former brother-in-law and behold his sex, Harden placed his hand over his mouth.

  “Let’s not talk about it now. Okay?”

  Harden began to fidget with the bedcovers. He peeled them down, exposing their nakedness. They always slept naked together, finding it easier than undressing and redressing each time they wanted to have sex. Harden rolled on top of him and, with his arms wedged under Andy’s legs, forced Andy’s knees to his shoulders.

  Andy resisted with a meager squirm. The action opened him more to Harden. Disregarding their bedside lube, Harden pushed the tip of his girth into him. Andy muffled a cry of initial pain. Closing his eyes in submission, he allowed Harden to take him, perhaps for the final time.

  Harden wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tighter and tighter with each penetrating thrust. Andy, groaning, dug his dull, short nails into his back. He bit Harden’s shoulder, and Harden pushed deeper. Pain more than pleasure drove Andy. He held Harden more firmly to him, locking his legs onto his arms like a vise. They did not kiss. Merely breathed heavy and bit at each other’s hot flesh until Harden threw back his head and groaned to the ceiling.

  He collapsed on top of Andy, panting. Andy remained still, their hearts thumping against each other’s. Ultimately, Harden slid out of him, and he rolled to his back, still breathing heavily.

  “Andy….”

  Andy shrugged out of Harden’s reach. He jumped to his feet, pulled on a pair of shorts, grabbed his toiletry bag from the bathroom, and descended to his former basement bedroom, where he lay alone, battling a fitful night of sleep.

  Chapter 28

  DURING breakfast the next morning, Andy explained his plans to the kids. “I’ll stay on until tomorrow,” he ended, pouring more orange juice for Olivia. He placed the pitcher aside and sat next to her. “Kamila will be back by then. Won’t it be nice to see her again?”

  Harden kept silent. Dressed in his shirt and tie, he sat with them at the table, like any morning, eating cornflakes and drinking orange juice and coffee. He had already started pouring cereal into bowls for the kids when Andy came up from the basement. Harden had looked at him, more surprised, like his first morning at Burr Oak Farm, but without the sparkling eyes.

  “You were here a long time, but you can stay longer.” Olivia dribbled milk on the table while she spooned cereal into her mouth. Harden moved to reprimand her but leaned back in his chair and refocused on eating.

  “I appreciate the invite, sweetheart,” Andy said, blotting Olivia’s mess with a napkin.

  “He said he was going,” Mason snapped above his bowl of cereal. “Stop pestering people, Olivia. We all want him to stay, but you can’t guilt trip people into doing things.”

  In his short stint with the Kranes, Andy noticed how Mason had matured into a little man. “Thank you, Mason,” he said. “Well put.”

  “Will you visit?” Olivia asked.

  Andy stared directly at Harden, who captured his eyes for the first time that morning. Harden’s expression, open and yielding, possessed a beseeching desperation that forced Andy to look away. “I promise I won’t stay away for as long as I did last time,” he said, smiling at Olivia. “I’d love for you to visit too, as often as you like. You can see the tall buildings and pretty parks.”

  Harden stood with a scrape of his chair on the linoleum and carried his empty bowl and coffee mug to the sink.

  “What about Daddy?” Olivia asked, following her father with her eyes. “Who will be here with him?”

  Andy’s gaze flowed along with Olivia’s. He observed Harden, stiff-shouldered, while he rinsed and stacked the dishes. He closed the dishwasher with his knee and readied his briefcase at the table. As if seized by a profound consideration, he froze, his hands stiff inside the briefcase’s gaping mouth. He jerked himself alert and said, “Come on, kids. Eat up so we can get out of here.” And he snapped the briefcase shut.

  The kids gobbled the last bites of their breakfast, and they leaped from the table. Feet scurried up and down the stairs, through the kitchen, landing in the foyer. Andy made sure Olivia carried her Bubble Guppies lunchbox, loaded with a thermos of milk, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, banana, small bag of pretzels, and butterscotch pudding. Mason, a big middle schooler, was too sophisticated to carry a lunch to school. He always bought a cafeteria lunch for two and a half dollars.

  Harden escorted the kids down the driveway. A few minutes later, while Andy cleared the table, the first school bus, visible from the kitchen window, pulled alongside the driveway and disappeared. R
ight behind that one, the second came. Andy watched Harden walk back up the driveway and hop directly into his Jeep for work.

  Andy finished the dishes and spent the remaining morning readying for his Chicago return, although he had a modest amount to pack. Somehow, he’d ended up with Harden’s dark-blue, basic board shorts tossed in with his clothes. Kamila must have confused them for his when she’d last washed them. He held them under the overhead light and looked back on his first full day on the farm when he’d squeezed into them, and later when he’d spent the day with Olivia and Mason at the aquatic center.

  Shaking his head from the needless remembrances, he threw aside the trunks and stomped upstairs. During his free time, he answered the newer e-mail inquiries for his tour business, and some older ones he’d neglected. By the time he signed off the computer, he had twelve confirmed passengers for that weekend. Pretty good for a six-week hiatus.

  The remainder of the day, he prepared dinner, making extra spaghetti sauce and meatballs for leftovers. He knew the family tired of Kamila’s protein-rich cooking.

  His last night at Burr Oak Farm, Andy played Pictionary with the kids. Harden sat at the computer, sipping a beer, with a televised baseball game buzzing behind him.

  “You never answered my question,” Olivia said between turns.

  “What’s that?” Andy said, tearing off a used drawing sheet.

  “Who’s going to take care of Daddy?”

  Andy glanced at Harden’s back. “You, of course,” he said, turning back to the board game. “Haven’t you always? Just like Mason and Kamila and Grandma and Lance, and lots of his friends and neighbors.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Take a card from the deck, Olivia, it’s your turn.”

  Olivia complied with her brother’s grumbling and studied the next card. She slapped it to her chest, as was her way, slid it down her belly, over her leg, and onto the carpet. Tongue curled toward her right nostril, she signaled for Mason to flip over the sand timer, and she began to draw.

  They played another hour, and Andy saw the kids to bed, spending extra time with Olivia. He read from her favorite picture book, and this time he took his time reading each page, and eventually Olivia fell asleep on him. Downstairs, he sat up with Harden, watching television. Few words had been shared between them since Harden had returned home from work. Nothing changed with the kids asleep. The lights were dimmed, and the television covered them in a rich glow. Andy observed Harden, longing to speak but curbing himself each time he parted his lips with a crack of spit.

  Their television show ended and Andy said good night. He descended into the basement to sleep for a second consecutive night alone. He found Harden seated before the computer the next morning. Blue light from the visual display veiled his face in a pasty hue. Andy asked if he wanted breakfast. Harden, his mouth tense, shook his head.

  A half hour later, Harden peered around the kitchen doorway. “Kids, I’ll walk you down the driveway before I go. Get ready in a few.”

  “I’ll do it.” Andy said from the table. “I want to. It’ll be my last time.”

  The kids finished eating, and Andy helped them gather their school supplies. The usual early morning chaos swirled around him. He gulped back one last swig of coffee and walked with the kids to the road. Mason’s familiar bus appeared around the curve first. Andy made sure to give him an extra tight hug before the bus pulled up.

  “Remember what I told you about your dad, right?” he whispered into his ear. “Treat him well and know he loves you.”

  “I know all that.” The bus pulled up, and the driver opened the inward-swinging door. Mason turned to Andy with his foot poised on the first step. “Thanks for everything, Uncle Andy.”

  Andy waved as Mason boarded the bus. Inhaling strength from the few remaining cornstalks that lay in shallow gullies, he grasped Olivia’s hand tighter.

  Once Mason’s bus left the two of them standing alone, Olivia said to him, as if perceiving the notion for the first time, “You won’t be here when we get home from school.”

  “That’s right, sweetheart. I won’t,” Andy said bluntly.

  Olivia released a deep sigh, one that sounded odd coming from a little girl’s mouth. Her bus arrived, and she let go of his hand. Andy’s palm suddenly went cold, and he found himself shaking. He hugged and kissed her, then shuffled her aboard, blowing more kisses. “Be good for your daddy and stay sweet,” he said after her. He waved to her through the window and turned back for the house, refusing to watch the bus grow smaller.

  The past few weeks he’d grown bored with each morning’s tedious walk up and down the driveway. Now, realizing he was making his last trip, he wished he could extend the driveway to Lake Michigan. His parked van gave him pause. The entire summer blurred in Andy’s mental rearview mirror. He breathed in the sweet country air, accented with the typical livestock dung, which he barely noticed anymore, and scaled the porch.

  Harden was standing at the storm door, peering through the window.

  They faced each other. Staring. Silent. Awakening birds trilling from the trees heightened the hollow space between them. Harden stepped aside and allowed Andy to enter. Andy had carried up his duffel bag and laptop when he’d come upstairs. They sat catty-corner in the foyer, leaning against each other, waiting.

  “You’re really leaving,” Harden said, more resigned than questioning.

  Andy pursed his lips. “You’ll come visit, won’t you?” he said, hoping to keep his voice steady. “I meant what I said yesterday. The kids will love Chicago. Summertime’s the best time, but even Christmas with the lights is nice.”

  Harden’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “This time of year, I’m often bogged down with additional work.”

  They stared at each other, so close Andy could smell the coffee on Harden’s breath. Andy extended his hand for a shake. Then, realizing the ridiculousness of the gesture, he embraced him.

  Harden stood stiff like a pole, his arms locked. Before long, Andy felt his arms wrap around him and tighten as the seconds passed.

  They drew apart, hands grasping each other’s arms. Andy found himself battling a sudden bout of bashfulness. Unable to meet Harden’s bright blue eyes, he peered toward Harden’s shoulder, where a speck of lint stuck to the fabric of his light-blue Oxford. Trembles shook them. Andy was unsure if they originated from him or Harden. Or perhaps both.

  Andy patted Harden’s burgundy necktie, swept the lint from his shoulder. Harden moved back, smiled tightly. Devoid of words, he turned and walked upstairs.

  Maybe sixty seconds elapsed before Andy willed his legs to move. He loaded his luggage in the van and climbed behind the steering wheel. He made the typical U-turn, gave one final, fleeting toot of the horn to whoever cared to listen (perhaps Harden gazed at him from the master bedroom upstairs), and pulled out of the driveway.

  Chapter 29

  THREE bullets whizzed past Andy’s van. He white-knuckled the steering wheel, keeping the two shooters in his rearview mirror. The target, a black Escalade, sleek like a panther, zigzagged down Sixty-Eighth Street toward Racine. Andy U-turned and hastened after it. The shooters separated and sprinted out of sight. Two blocks down the road, the Escalade veered onto the sidewalk and struck a three-story redbrick building at about forty miles per hour.

  Andy idled to a stop. Smoke poured from under the Escalade’s gnarled hood. Two of its passengers leaped from the backseat and fled. The driver and front seat passenger remained stationary, their heads slumped forward. Sirens screamed from close behind. Andy circumvented the road debris and headed far from the cops.

  He dialed 911 on his cell phone, reported into his headset what he’d witnessed, and clicked off before the operator had a chance to ask for his name. Sighing with a chuckle, he glanced into the rearview mirror. His six passengers were shaking and chatting and woofing. He’d feared, after driving the Englewood streets for close to three hours without a single incident, that his first tour since returning to Chi
cago might end on a dud. As soon as he’d decided to head home, the shooting had erupted, mere feet from the van. The passengers (four friends from Schaumburg, a solo from Kentucky, and a man from Austria whose apathetic wife had decided to stay behind at the hotel) had hardly believed their eyes.

  The police scanner Andy tuned to through his cell phone crackled with the bantering between a female dispatcher and a male police officer. The Chicago PD had arrived at the Escalade crash scene. Andy strained to decipher their garbled words. The Austrian, probably used to paying extra attention since English was his second language, interpreted.

  “The driver and passenger are dead,” he declared with a thick German accent.

  Overwhelmed with a sudden tiring of his arm muscles from clenching the steering wheel, Andy decided his passengers had seen enough. He dropped off the Austrian and Kentuckian at back-to-back Loop hotels, and the four suburbanites at the Clock Tower parking lot in Lakeview.

  Back home, lounging on his futon, he counted his first pay in more than a month. He’d pocketed one hundred forty-five dollars in fees, plus thirty-three dollars in tips. Not bad for a four-and-a-half-hour night. Perhaps by next week his income might double, burgeoning through word of mouth after tonight’s excitement.

  He thought about Dover County nearly every day since returning to Chicago, but he was beginning to compartmentalize his experiences and appreciate making up the lost money. Like one might a precious keepsake, he’d take Iowa out of his mental treasure chest, muse over the pleasant emotions, and then shut everything tight, focusing on real-world issues.

  He’d witnessed that real world of fight or flight firsthand most of the summer, and he had again tonight. After his six-week sojourn, little had changed in Chicago. But the struggle for life was not restricted to Chicago’s ghettos. Hardship found victims everywhere, whether Bosnia or Burr Oak Farm.

  Lillian still hovered around his thoughts. He worried about her from a distance. Imagined with a cringe what she might be doing from moment to moment. Selling herself for crystal meth, living in squalor, perhaps sleeping in that beat-up Toyota she’d arrived in at the Kranes’. Or worse, wasting away in jail.