Strangers in the Night

by Ines Saint

  “Supporting the arts shouldn’t affect my approval ratings in a negative way,” Jake pointed out, trying hard not to grin. He’d had a really good time with his date after the art show.

  “It’s not the event, it’s your date. You took a local socialite, and damn it, Jake, a well-known airhead.”

  “Hey! Lots of men prefer women who don’t put pressure on them, okay? And honestly, Cate, I date around because I don’t have time for a relationship, yet I have all these events I need to attend. And I don’t have time for a relationship because I’m devoted to the city. That’s a good thing. The people around here know that.” Jake gestured to the neighborhood just outside the window, where he had set up his foundation eight years before.

  Tyrone sighed. “The people here know you well and they’re immune to the Jake Kelly image the media portrays. But others haven’t had the chance to get to know you and when they listen to the media describing you in ‘most-eligible-bachelor’ terms, you really do come off as, well, way too Hollywood, man. It makes people believe Mike Summers’s camp when they make those subtle remarks, about The Chicago Youth Project being another tax haven for one more power-hungry Republican on the rise.” Tyrone looked up and their eyes locked.

  “I’m running as a conservative independent, and Mike Summers doesn’t have any concrete ideas on how to fix this city’s problems,” Jake shot back.

  “But they know you lean right, and a Republican hasn’t won a mayoral election here since 1927.”

  Cate took advantage of the moment. “Listen, Jake, Mike is a family man and he includes those toothy kids and wife of his in every single photo op. The fact that you’re young, single, and good looking puts your personal life under extra scrutiny. You have to be more careful. Family men only get that extra scrutiny when there’s a scandal involved, that’s just the way it is.”

  “All right, I get it.” Jake put his hands up. “What can I do to fix this?”

  “Finally,” Cate exhaled and wasting no time said, “First, you can go on — ”

  “Except go on She Said, She Said,” Jake clarified. Cate had been nagging him about going on the popular women’s gab fest disguised as an afternoon talk show for weeks.

  “Why not?” Cate asked. “Mike Summers and his wife have been on, and every Illinois politician looking to drum up local support has gone on.”

  “Because those women are sneaky,” Jake circled his finger in the air. “They ask way too personal questions and they try to get you to talk about your feelings.” The last word was spoken as if he were talking about a killer airborne disease.

  “Forget She Said, She Said,” Tyrone intervened. “There are a few other specific things we think you can do to turn this around. One, you should fly solo from now on; the social media will grab onto that right away. When they ask you why, just say you’re tired of dating just anyone and that you’re too busy to look for that special someone because you’re married to the city.”

  Jake nodded. He could do that, and it wouldn’t be a lie. He was tired of dating, he did plan on being married to the city, and if he had his way, he’d be too busy to find that ‘special someone’ for the rest of his life. “What else?”

  “Two,” Cate jumped in. “We need to get a reporter to take pictures of you with the kids you play touch football with every day. Someone to ask those kids what you’re really like and how they feel about you.”

  “You know I don’t want those kids to feel like they’re being used.”

  “They know you, Jake, and they’ll understand — I’ll bet anything they’re all dying to talk about you and let the world know who you really are.”

  Tyrone made a good point and Jake stifled a sigh. The kids would have a blast showing off. “I’ll think about it. Number three?” He looked up, and zeroed in on Cate.

  “Right now you need advisors in two key areas. You should validate the communities you’re struggling in most by hiring people from within them,” Cate said.

  He could do that. Jake needed someone with extensive business expertise to help him find ways to attract and retain small businesses and people to advise him on enhancing sports and music programs in the public school system.

  “Let’s get to work then, and see if we can turn these numbers around.” He looked at his watch. Cate had scheduled an informal Q&A session with reporters, but that wasn’t for another two hours, and he wanted to play a little football or basketball, blow off a little steam.

  “At least your looks are working for you,” Cate smiled, watching him. “Women twenty-four to forty-four absolutely adore you.” Jake smiled, not quite innocently, as he turned to leave. Tyrone rolled his eyes.

  “Listen, Jake, before you go, I’d like you to block out half an hour sometime this week to meet a friend of mine, Keila Diaz. She’s a violinist with a master’s degree in music education, she helped successfully expand a music program in Pittsburgh, she just moved back to Chicago, she’s a third generation Hispanic Chicagoan from Belmont, with lots of family in Humboldt and Bridgeport, and spread throughout the city,” Cate’s voice was full of enthusiasm.

  “Wait, I thought we were going to hire Julia Hamilton for that position. Her family is well-known, musically speaking, and that’ll bring attention and support to the program,” Jake reminded her.

  “Julia Hamilton?” Cate repeated, her lips tightening into a thin frown.

  “Yeah, what’s wrong?” Tyrone came up beside her.

  “Didn’t you hear my friend’s qualifications? My friend is tailor-made for this. What does Julia Hamilton know about the public school system? She shouldn’t be hired just because her family is well known, that’s exactly the type of thing the voters are tired of. Like the voters you’re having trouble with, my friend comes from a working middle class background. Her mother is a teacher and her father was a police officer, killed in the line of duty.”

  “Calm down, she sounds great,” Jake spoke up, knowing all too well how worked up Cate could become. “I promise I’ll give her serious consideration. Just have her come in as soon as possible so we can settle this. You know my schedule.”

  “Fine, I’ll have her here as soon as possible.” Cate spoke under her breath as she walked briskly across the room, picked up her purse, and fished out her cell phone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Keila enjoyed the ride on the L train that day, even though it was nearly an hour long and she had to switch lines at the Loop. Time flew as the train rumbled its way down to Chicago’s South Side. She leaned her head against the window, her face inches away from apartment dwellers and shopkeepers in some parts, and old, architectural details in others. She was so happy to be home.

  Colorful ethnic enclaves she hadn’t been to in years passed before her, and her mouth watered as she remembered favorite dishes at some of those neighborhood dives.

  At 1:15 P.M., she got off just a few blocks away from mayoral candidate Jake Kelly’s campaign headquarters. Septembers in Chicago were usually mild, but it had rained the night before and that day was particularly humid. Keila smoothed down the front of her hunter green pencil skirt and aired her blouse before beginning to walk, teetering a bit on the uneven cement sidewalk because she was wearing three inch heels; the only shoes she could find in a last minute search through her still-packed boxes.

  It was Friday and she’d only just gotten back last night. But Cate had called to tell her that though the contract position as an advisor to Jake Kelly’s campaign was still available, she had better get her butt down to his headquarters because they were also considering, of all people, Julia Hamilton, for the very same reasons that Julia had been chosen over Keila last time they’d been up against each other.

  Julia had her strengths, but Keila knew she was infinitely more qualified for this particular position than Julia. As she walked, she silently reviewed the material Cate had emailed her, feeling confident and pleased that she just might get the chance to help kids have better access to music education.

 
Then, a car swished by, spraying the dirty remnants of last night’s rain on Keila’s ivory blouse. She stopped, softly squealed, and hung her arms out in front of her. Closing her eyes and slowly letting out a breath, she slid the strap of her purse in front of her shirt, effectively hiding the damage, and marched on.

  • • •

  It was 1:20 P.M. and Jake was back in his office. “Okay, Cate, do your thing.”

  Cate reached up and deftly fixed his blond hair with her fingers. Jake had the habit of running his hands through his hair whenever he was reading, had an idea, or was deep in thought, and it happened often enough that his closely cropped, military-like haircut usually ended up spiking out in all directions. To the world, though, he was always impeccable. And he wanted to keep it that way, even though Cate argued that his messy hair humanized him.

  “Listen Jake, I called my friend and — ” Cate began, but Tyrone walked through the door and at the same time said, “Jake, a few more things. Try to be more informal with the press, okay? Sit down with them — don’t stand behind the podium all the time, you’re not the mayor yet. Also, try and throw in a joke or two.”

  “He’s right. Don’t treat them like the enemy when they can be your best ally, too. Be more accessible. In fact, go in alone,” Cate added.

  She then proceeded to mess his hair up again. Jake breathed in, held the air for a moment, and let it out, deciding he had to learn to put more trust in his team.

  By the time he entered the makeshift press room, his suit jacket was off, and his sleeves were rolled up, both courtesy of Cate. Glancing around, he saw there were two reporters from the Tribune, two from the Sun-Times, and one reporter each from two local TV stations.

  He smiled and greeted each with a handshake. Instead of positioning himself behind the old podium up front, he pulled an empty chair out and sat down in front of them, joining in on their Cubs conversation, grateful they’d been talking about the Cubs.

  Any worthy Chicagoan could talk Cubs.

  As the sports conversation wound down and he waited for the reporters to gather their notebooks and recorders, he shifted his focus toward the end of the room where a gleam of light coming from the double doors caught his attention. He then quickly did a double take.

  It was her. His pin-up girl. The one who’d been invading his thoughts, on and off, for the past two months. Hell, she’d even made her way into one unforgettable erotic dream, swaying and dancing for him.

  Except now she was here: in his campaign headquarters, leaning over, fixing the strap on one of her heels, her hair half covering her face.

  He looked away and took a moment to recover, feeling things he had no interest in feeling, all over again, the first of which was shock.

  What the hell was she doing there?

  His first thought was that she was a reporter, but that didn’t make sense. He distinctly remembered she was from out of town, and though Chicago was the third largest city in the U.S., a small press conference wasn’t news-worthy elsewhere.

  His next thought horrified him. Was she a psycho stalker who’d spent the last two months hunting him down?

  But the moment she straightened and looked his away, he dispelled that ego-stroking notion. She was every bit as shocked as he’d been, and, unlike him, she wasn’t hiding it. Her head tilted, her finger shot out, and she gaped. Jake schooled his expression into one of complete apathy and glanced at her as if he hadn’t recognized her.

  The last thing he needed was this type of distraction. And at that moment, he was hit with the first difficult question of the day:

  “How do you propose to offset rising fuel and energy costs in our public transportation system?”

  But with the young woman standing at the door disturbing his ability to formulate thoughts, he decided to find out what she was doing there before answering. “Just a moment,” he said to the reporter, turning to the door. “Can I help you?” he then asked in a detached tone.

  When she didn’t answer, he took in her dark green skirt and the purse strap resembling a sash across the front of her shirt. Grinning, he took the opportunity to joke around, as Tyrone had suggested, “Are you looking for your Girl Scout leader or are you here to sell cookies?”

  • • •

  Keila opened the door and stepped inside just as the back strap of her heel slid down. She quickly fixed it and got up, prepared to smile and ask a few people gathered around for Cate Nowak.

  But the pair of eyes she met gave her such a jolt, she remained frozen on the spot, her mouth open, the words she was about to speak gone. It was him; her sexy stranger. But his eyes skimmed over her, empty of even the smallest glimmer of recognition. She shut her mouth, feeling an icy knot form in her chest, stung that he didn’t recognize her when he’d left such an impression.

  Slowly gathering her wits, she looked about the room, taking in the details. Someone directed a decent question about the public transportation system her stranger’s way, and she realized there were reporters there. Cate had mentioned that she’d be meeting with Jake Kelly after a press conference. And that’s when it hit her.

  Her sexy stranger was Jake Kelly. He turned her way again, and asked if he could help her, in a tone that implied she was interrupting. Her thoughts still running wild, she was about to just ask for Cate when he joked, “Are you looking for your Girl Scout leader or are you here to sell cookies?”

  Everyone in the room turned to her and laughed. The icy knot in her chest slowly turned into a ball of fire. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten her. It wasn’t that he was making fun of her clothes, though any idiot knew not to mess with a woman’s outfit. It was that life had thrown her one curve ball too many lately and she needed a break. The ball of fire in her chest spread, and she struggled to contain it. She needed the money and she really hoped Jake Kelly was someone she could work for.

  Shooting everyone a warm smile, she said, “Actually, the person I’m looking for doesn’t appear to be here. But, as someone who uses public transportation as their only means of getting around, I’d love to hear your answer to the question of how you plan on offsetting fuel costs.”

  “One way around it is cutting the frequent user discount. There will still be a discount, but we’re going to have to lower it in order to keep up with rising fuel and energy costs. This will ensure Chicago Transit Authority covers their deficit, without having to recur to more government subsidies which ultimately come out of everyone’s pockets,” he explained, just as Cate and another man walked into the room.

  Keila snapped. This man was obviously out of touch with normal everyday people like her. “You want to raise the cost of public transportation for frequent users?” she half-asked, half-accused. “If you do that, Mr. Kelly, I’ll hang a huge cardboard sign around my neck reading Jake Kelly wants to raise the cost of public transportation for all of you every single time I take the L or the bus, which is every day. Why don’t you raise taxes on the luxury car you surely drive, or on the premium gas you use to fill your tank? Why hit up those of us who can’t afford a car and are just trying to get to work to make a living? Honestly, Mr. Kelly, if I’d known this is what you were about, I never would’ve agreed to see you,” Keila finished, and boy did she feel inexplicably good. This was something she could speak up about. All of her bottled up frustrations from the last week eased out of her system.

  But one look at Cate made her realize she’d also hurt her friend. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so great. Cate was trying to help her and this is how she thanked her?

  • • •

  Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned. A moment ago, when she’d shot him that stunning smile, he’d thought her insanely pretty. But now, he thought her pretty insane. Hang a cardboard sign around her neck? Never would’ve agreed to see him? What the hell was she talking about? They’d never agreed to see each other again. He hadn’t even asked for her name.

  Many voices erupted at once. Now everyone wanted t
o know if he was intending to make things harder for working class people. He began answering and explaining, and when he had a chance to look back toward the door, she was gone. Tyrone was then beside him, and together they redirected the conversation, providing Jake with a chance to explain.

  One exhausting half-hour later, Jake walked toward his office, eager to sit down and gather his thoughts in silence. Over all, the press conference had gone well, with Filip coming in toward the end, warming the reporters with tales of Jake’s youth. Cate had been proven right; they were more interested in his personal life than in his agenda.

  Jake opened the door, Tyrone and Filip in tow, and came to a complete halt. There she was again, standing next to Cate. This time, the young woman didn’t look up.

  “What, are we cozying up to hecklers now?” Tyrone asked when he saw her.

  “She isn’t a heckler,” Cate paused to clear her throat. “She’s my friend, Keila Diaz. She arrived early and accidentally walked into the press conference.”

  Jake didn’t speak, he just stood there and watched as Keila and Filip exchanged a warm hug.

  “The woman who just hijacked the press conference is your friend? The musician you thought would be a great addition to the campaign?” Tyrone asked, incredulously.

  “She didn’t mean to hijack the press conference. She came in after an hour-long train ride, walking three blocks in sticky humid weather and being splashed with dirt to be called a Girl Scout in front of a bunch of strangers. She then hears Jake offer a solution to public transportation that will affect her in a negative way,” Cate argued.

  “I can’t believe you’re defending her,” Tyrone threw his hands up in the air. “Cate, do you happen to remember that mayoral candidate from Harrisburg who was heckled at that small press conference? The video of the press conference went viral, he became a laughing stock, and he finished fifth. We can’t have that.”