Elyse felt a little guilty for not keeping in touch with her old friends better than she had. She talked to Pat maybe once or twice a year, and not at all to Grace or Susan. Their contact was largely limited to the annual exchange of Christmas cards.
She abruptly pulled over into a strip mall. She’d call Pat now, right this minute. Hell, Pat wasn’t married. If she had no prior plans maybe they could get together tonight, catch up over a meal. Elyse would even drive into the city, which would take a good forty minutes from here in suburban Lake Forest, and closer to an hour to get south of downtown, where Pat lived. It sure beat sitting alone at the movies on a Saturday night.
Not only would that give her the opportunity to spend time with a lifelong friend she hadn’t seen in far too long, but it would give her the satisfaction of knowing that Franklin would wonder what she was up to. She’d had it with him never wanting to do anything, and then hiding behind that lame excuse of not feeling well. If her cell phone rang she wouldn’t even answer it.
She pulled out her address book and reached for her phone.
“Hi, Pat!” she said when her friend answered. “Don’t be shocked, but it’s Elyse.”
“Elyse!” Pat laughed knowingly. “You must have gotten my postcard.”
“I sure did. What a great idea, having a Dreiser reunion.”
“Yeah, I thought it might be fun, after all these years. Besides, it gives me an opportunity to make a point.”
“A point? Do I sense the famous Patricia Maxwell activism at play?”
Pat chuckled. “Sort of. The people who live there now staged a demonstration that made the news. They’re asking for all kinds of improvements that will make it more like the Ritz. They don’t seem to understand that living in the projects isn’t supposed to be a lifetime thing. People are supposed to progress in life, even if they’re stuck in the projects for fifteen or twenty years, like our parents were.”
“I agree, but are you sure they aren’t just asking for decent services, like heat and hot water and maintenance, or a laundry room where half the machines aren’t broken?”
“Hell, no. They want computer libraries and tennis courts and more attractive landscaping.”
“Oh.” Elyse thought for a moment. “If the projects had all that, nobody would ever want to leave.”
“Exactly. The public library has computers. As for parents of Venus and Serena wannabees, they’ll have to make other arrangements for court time. My plan is to get as many successful people as I can to attend the luncheon. I’ll get the press to cover it and interview attendees—find out how many years they lived there and what they’re doing now. In other words, make the point that the projects are only supposed to be a stopgap, not a permanent way of life.”
Elyse thought for a moment before replying. “You have to consider that different people live in the projects nowadays. When we lived there, everyone worked, all the men and a whole lot of the women, especially those who were the head of their household. Now the population is made up of a lot of welfare recipients who don’t work and have no way out. It’s a lot harder to break out of poverty now than it was thirty-five years ago, but I do understand what you’re trying to do.”
“Good. I hope I can count on you and Franklin to come.”
“Sure!” If Franklin doesn’t come with me to this, so help me, I’ll crown him with a cast-iron skillet.
“Hey, I’m just about to head up to Lincoln Park to meet Grace for dinner. Are you doing anything tonight? Would Franklin mind if you spent a few hours with some old friends?”
Elyse resisted the urge to say, “Hah!” Instead she said, “I’m not doing anything right now. I’d love to meet you.”
She got the directions to the restaurant and hung up. Within five seconds her phone rang. It had to be Franklin.
Now that she had a definite plan for the evening, she didn’t mind answering the phone. Still, that hardly meant she’d gotten over her disappointment at his letting her down yet again. “Yes, Franklin,” she said into the receiver, not even looking at the caller ID.
“Elyse, I just don’t want you to be mad.”
“I’m sorry, but that can’t be helped. You’ve canceled on me one too many times.”
“We’ll do something next weekend. I promise. Whether the kids come home or not.”
“Sure.” He’d stick to that promise until it was time to go, and then his convenient mystery illness would provide him an excuse. She wasn’t buying it, not anymore.
He paused. “Where are you?”
“I’m still in Lake Forest, but I’m going down to Chicago.”
“Chicago!”
“I’m meeting a couple of friends for dinner. Pat Maxwell and Grace Corrigan. You remember. We were all girls together in the projects. They were all at our wedding, and then you saw them again at Susan Bennett’s wedding up in Kenosha.”
“Yeah, I remember. Why can’t they come up here? I don’t want you to be driving the streets of Chicago at night. It’s dangerous. You don’t see your friend Susan coming down to the city from Wisconsin.”
His habit of expressing that danger lurked around every corner outside of this lily-white suburb he’d moved them to always annoyed her. Anyone who heard him talk would never believe he hailed from the middle-class South suburb of Morgan Park. He sounded like someone who grew up here in pricey Lake Forest, which had maybe forty black people among its residents. They wouldn’t be here themselves if their real estate agent hadn’t called them about a house in less-than-stellar condition that was for sale. Franklin wanted to look at it right away because of its prime location. They made an offer the same day. That happened fifteen years ago, and it had been an excellent choice. They got a home improvement loan to make the repairs, and their house had appreciated so much that they could never afford to buy it now.
She forced herself to sound calm. “Susan doesn’t even know about this, Franklin. And as far as Pat and Grace coming up to Lake County, that wouldn’t be practical. Pat lives in South Shore. It would take her almost an hour to drive up here. So we’re meeting at a place near Lincoln Park, where Grace lives. It’s more of a central location. Plus, it’s a nice neighborhood,” she added, unable to hold back a touch of sarcasm.
“Yeah, Lincoln Park’s not bad.”
He hadn’t even noticed her barb. “I’m glad I have your permission,” she said caustically.
“Elyse, I didn’t mean—”
“I’ve got to get on the highway, Franklin. Why don’t we talk later?” She broke the connection as the light changed and she glided the car onto the on-ramp of I-94.
Chapter 2
Early March
Chicago
Elyse easily found the Thai restaurant on North Damen Street. Parking was a little trickier. She had to circle the block a couple of times before she slowed down by a family just getting into their car.
The restaurant was rather small, with maybe fifteen tables. Like many bistros, it had a patio for use during warmer weather, which increased the seating capacity by about thirty percent, but in early March, dining inside was the only option.
Elyse quickly spotted her friends. They squealed when they saw her, jumping out of their chairs. After a group hug, Elyse slid out of her coat and sat with them.
“I’m so glad you were able to join us,” Pat said to her.
“Hell, I’m glad I came. It’s been too long, girls. Not since we went up to see Susan’s new baby.”
“Who’s probably in the first grade by now,” Grace said with a smile.
Elyse smiled at her old friend. “You look great, Grace. What’ve you been doing, taking a de-aging potion?”
Pat laughed. “I keep trying to get her to share her secrets, but she won’t.”
“I don’t look any better than either of you,” Grace protested, if a tad insincerely.
Elyse forgave her. Grace looked good and she knew it. So what?
“Sure. Just don’t count my twenty extra pounds,” Pat said g
ood-naturedly.
“In my case it’s more like fifty,” Elyse said with a chuckle. “And, is it me, or have all our hair colors changed?”
Grace stroked her sable-brown tresses, worn simply in a center-parted bob that curled inward a few inches past her shoulders. “My hair’s still dark,” she said innocently.
“Dark, yes,” Pat acknowledged. “Practically black, like it used to be, no.”
Like Elyse, Pat used to envy Grace and Susan their long hair. Pat still wore her hair short, but the hue had changed dramatically, from the darkest of browns to a reddish gold. “I can’t even tell you how much gray I have,” she said with a laugh. “I ran to the hairdresser for coloring as soon as I started noticing it, and I’ve been going regularly ever since, getting lighter and lighter each time. But this is as light as I get.”
“I’m sure you have just a little gray,” Elyse said with a smile. Her own hair was tinted a special shade of auburn that her hairstylist mixed to complement her dark skin tone. She wore it parted on the side, combed toward her face, fuller on the crown and tapering at the ends, framing her face nicely. Elyse had always had plenty of hair thicknesswise, but for reasons she never understood, it had never grown past her chin.
“I wish we could say we were too young to be gray, but I guess that hasn’t been the case for a long time,” Grace lamented.
Hair coloring or not, she looked splendid, Elyse thought. Grace Corrigan might be almost fifty, but she barely looked forty. She’d been one of those cute types who’d never had an awkward age. Even as a little girl Grace was adorable, with long braids framing a heart-shaped face. Not only was she pretty but she had brains, too, usually placing in the top three in her class. A lot of folks in the projects wrote her off as just another case of wasted potential when Grace got pregnant senior year, but she fooled them all. She started college at night while raising her daughter and eventually earned a bachelor’s, then a master’s, and now was director of public relations for a global company headquartered north of the city. Along the way Grace’s marriage had capsized, but Elyse never expected it to last, anyway. Grace and Jimmy Lucas married strictly to legitimize Shavonne, in an era when most teenage parents didn’t bother.
Elyse reached for a menu. “Have you guys ordered yet?”
“No. We figured we’d wait for you before we ordered dinner,” Grace said. “But we brought wine. Have some.” She removed a tall bottle from a tote bag on the floor and poured wine into a stemmed glass.
“You brought wine?” Elyse repeated.
“This is a BYOB restaurant,” Pat explained.
Elyse looked around. She hadn’t noticed the lack of a bar. She held the glass by its stem. “Here’s to old friends.”
They clicked glasses and drank.
“Too bad Susan’s not here,” Pat remarked.
While they waited for their food to be served, the friends talked about the upcoming reunion.
“RSVPs should start coming in next week, I hope,” Pat said.
“I just realized,” Elyse began. “Not only will Dreiser be fifty this year, but so will all of us.”
Grace made a mock shudder. “Don’t remind me. My birthday’s next month.”
“I never really thought about that,” Pat remarked. “Probably because I feel like I just turned forty-nine.” Pat was the youngest of the group. Her birthday, December 22, put her a year behind the others in a school system that in 1962 required kindergarten students to have turned five prior to December 1.
“Has anyone heard from Susan?” Elyse asked.
The others shrugged. “I had a Christmas card from her, but I haven’t seen her since she had . . . I can’t even remember her little girl’s name,” Grace said.
“Alyssa, I think,” Pat said after thinking for a moment. “And that’s the last time all of us were together.”
“That’s right,” Elyse remarked. “Gee, I hope she comes to the reunion.”
Their food arrived, and they sat back expectantly while the server placed steaming plates in front of them. The distinctive scents of shrimp, ginger, and pepper dominated the table.
“Oh, this looks wonderful,” Elyse exclaimed. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I’ll have to do a double workout tomorrow to make up for this,” Grace said with a shake of her head.
“So is that your secret, Grace?” Elyse asked. “You work out?”
“Regularly. My job has a fully equipped gym, plus I walk on the weekends.”
Pat asked, “How’s Franklin, Elyse? And how are the kids?”
Elyse beamed at the thought of her children. “Todd is in his junior year at U of I, and Brontë is a freshman there. So Franklin and I have the house to ourselves.” She didn’t add that her husband didn’t seem to want to go anyplace with her anymore.
She felt a sudden urge to know about the romantic status of her friends. Maybe hearing of the struggles of single women would take her mind off her own problems . . . provided Pat and Grace were struggling at all. For all Elyse knew, they both might be in committed relationships and content not to be married. Pat had never said “I do,” but Grace had been married and divorced twice. Who could blame her for not wanting to do it again? “So are either of you seeing anyone, or committed? What are my chances of being invited to another wedding?”
“My father jokes that I blew it as far as getting him to pay for my wedding. He says if I get married at this stage, I’ll have to pay for it myself,” Pat said. She managed a chuckle, but her limp smile hinted at the bitterness she felt. Elyse remembered all too well how Mr. Maxwell broke up the romance between Pat and Ricky Suárez after high school because he didn’t approve of Pat dating a Latino.
“Well, I think you and Susan are the lucky ones, Elyse,” Grace said. “All I ever wanted was a husband and a couple of kids. Instead I got them the other way around. Two husbands, one child.”
Unlike Pat, Grace made no attempt to hide her disappointment, which Elyse found puzzling. The Grace she remembered never would have openly expressed wanting something someone else had. Instead she usually found something negative to say when anyone had good news to share. Elyse still remembered the year they all turned nine.
Her family was moving out of Dreiser after the New Year to a duplex a block away. She’d proudly announced the news to her friends. Pat and Susan shared her excitement, but Grace said that because they were moving so close to Christmas, it meant she probably wouldn’t get many gifts “because it costs lots of money to move.” Pat, her trademark consideration for others already in play, remarked that being born three days before Christmas meant she got cheated every year.
It started snowing the Thursday morning before Elyse’s family was scheduled to move, and it snowed all day. The schools closed early, something they almost never did. Elyse did remember being sent home early on her sixth birthday, which was the day President Kennedy was assassinated, but Chicago public schools generally didn’t close for snow. But no one had ever seen snow like this. Just shy of two feet fell, with drifts three times that high. There was no school on Friday, and people were stuck all over the city. They called it the storm of the century, and it went into the city’s records as the Blizzard of ’67. Elyse’s worries about what would happen if they couldn’t move were only increased when Grace said that because they had turned in their notice to the projects they would be thrown out onto the street, along with all their furniture.
That didn’t happen, of course. Elyse’s father postponed their move until the middle of February, clearing it with the managers of both the apartment and the duplex. But Elyse had a knot in her stomach until her parents told her that everything was settled.
Now, nearly forty years later, Elyse could still recall how crushed she’d felt. In hindsight, she realized that the ill-timed blizzard probably caused her parents quite a bit of distress themselves. Grace really hadn’t meant to cause her all that anxiety; all she’d wanted to do was make the prospect of leaving the projects less desirable. Eve
n at nine years old, they all knew that Dreiser was far from the best place to live, and Grace didn’t want Elyse to leave her behind.
Funny. Elyse hadn’t thought about that in years. Elyse supposed her friend had mellowed in middle age. “But look how successful you’ve become,” she said graciously.
Grace shrugged. “Success is nice. But someone to share it with would be nicer. Preferably someone who’s on the same economic rung as myself. But all the black men I meet with good jobs are married.”
“What does Franklin do, Elyse?” Pat asked. “I can’t remember.”
“He’s a software developer.” Franklin had moved from writing code into development nearly twenty years ago.
Pat nodded approvingly. “Good field.”
“Is he still working, or has he retired?” Grace asked.
“He’s still working. He plans to work until Brontë graduates.” She knew why Grace asked the question—because she remembered that Franklin was considerably older than they were. They probably wondered exactly how old he was now. She decided to volunteer. “He’s sixty-two.”
“Wow,” Grace said. “I knew he was an older fellow, but sixty-two.” She took a sip of wine and met Pat’s eyes over the rim of her glass. “I know we’re getting older ourselves, but that seems really old, doesn’t it?”
Elyse merely smiled. You don’t know the half of it.
Elyse returned home at nine-thirty to find a dark living room. Franklin had left a light on for her before moving into their bedroom. She found him there, reclining on their king-sized bed, the television tuned to a boxing match on HBO and a plate holding a crumpled-up napkin and the remnants of a slice of pizza on his nightstand. So he’d ordered out before dozing off again.
Once Upon a Project Page 2
