Crimson Footprints Part 13

She brought a hand to her throat and it came away wet. She glanced at Tak, snoring in the bed, razored edges of his hair sweeping his face. In her dreams, those locks had swept her body as he hovered over her, had his way with her, kissing, teasing, pleasing.

She wanted so badly to touch him. Always had. But the voice of her grandfather, strong even in death, maimed her desire.

"The Lord G.o.d created the races and separated us water, appearance and language."

It was a cautionary tale about life, and the reason Deena should've never existed. Her parents had been a brazen affront to G.o.d, and she, the byproduct of disobedience. And in the past, his voice had been enough. When no other reason seemed compelling enough, the voice always was. It stopped her from clasping Tak's hand a moment too long or holding his embrace a second more. But the voice was losing its l.u.s.ter. No longer was it the loudest or the most insistent. No longer so persuasive.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A morning at the museum, an afternoon on Michigan, an evening of Chicago blues. Day one was done, and for another day, another round of delights. Sunrise on the balcony with mimosas in tow, sunset on the Sears Tower with a view of four states, and jammed between it all was a sublime array of artwork and architecture, exquisite food and music.

Chicago was a complicated city. Ten million people comprised the metro area, three million in the city proper. It was a place where towering high rises met natural beauty, and where a segregated past battled an inclusive future. It was where a Jewish synagogue could stand three blocks from an Islamic mosque, yet ethnicities could cling to neighborhoods as if gentrified by law.

Nowhere did Deena's increasingly contrary life seem more illuminated than in Chicago. Raised by a family that subscribed to voluntary segregation, she found herself in perpetual violation of this tenet. She spent her days in Tak's company and her dreams in his arms, all the while leading her family to believe her with a girlfriend from college. A black girlfriend, at that.

Deena and the Windy City were of a common variety, clinging to the past out of habit, aware that it hindered, not helped. Deena stood on the patio of her room, gaze sweeping the steel mountains of Chicago, as color and creed, race and religion pressed one upon another in the landscape below. She knew that practicality would eventually force change, in Chicago, in her. But as she stood next to Tak with all the hues of ethnicity beneath her, she wondered. Wondered if she and the city could change together, or if fear would force it to go alone.

On their final night in the city, they visited an old friend of Tak's. His college roommate, Eddie Spruce, was a fledgling artist with a grunge-like appearance who lived in Wicker Park. An enthusiastic sculptor and aficionado of graffiti, Eddie Spruce boasted that he could down six shots of Tequila, all without flinching.

"Eddie's an enthusiastic guy," Tak explained, as he slowed at a red light mid-journey to Wicker Park. "He means well, but his personality can be kinda strong."

"I hope he likes me," Deena said. "Do you think he'll like me?"

He glanced at her, surprised. "Yeah. I'm sure of it."

He gave the steering wheel a nervous tap.

"And you're okay with spending the night here? Instead of a hotel?" He was speaking rather loud.

Deena shrugged. "I guess so. I mean, it's a practical idea. And people do that all the time, don't they? Stay with their friends when they visit?" She paused. "Anyway, I'm looking forward to meeting him."

Secretly, she felt thrilled that he would reach into the farthest corners of his life and seek to include her.

When Eddie opened the door that evening, he was clad in a pair of ripped jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt that proclaimed art dead. His greasy red curls were shorn short and tucked behind his ears; his green eyes gla.s.sy-no doubt from the alcohol Deena smelled.

"Tak-man!"

Eddie clapped his old roommate on the back before sweeping him into his arms. Behind Eddie, a slender, wide-mouthed blonde sat on the couch.

"What's happening, Spruce?" Tak said.

Eddie grinned. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

He turned to Deena with interest. "This her?"

Tak nodded. "Yeah. This is Deena."

"Sweet!"

Eddie s.n.a.t.c.hed her into a hug. When he released her, Deena was breathless.

"Man! I feel like I already know you! Tak-man here talks about you all the time."

"He does?" Deena whispered, wide-eyed.

Eddie grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Tak gave Eddie's chest a shove. "Let us in. already."

"Yeah, sure thing. Anyway, I want you guys to meet my girl." He shot two trigger fingers at the blonde on the couch. "Nan, this is the old roommate I'm always talking about. The Tak-man. And this hot tamale is Deena. Deena, Tak, this is my girl, Nancy."

To Deena, Nancy looked like the sort of girl who dated a Phi Beta Kappa jock from Princeton, whose family owned property on the lake, and whose father had a flouris.h.i.+ng law firm handed down from father to son, all of which sipped martinis before dinner each night.

As Nancy smiled, soft, blonde curls framed her doll face, offset by sea green eyes. She wore a navy b.u.t.ton up and smart gray slacks with a charm bracelet from Tiffany's.

She extended a hand to Tak. "I'm a.s.suming no one else calls you Tak-man but Eddie."

"You'd a.s.sume right."

Eddie inserted a head between the two, a hand at each of their backs.

"Nan went to Northwestern, Tak-man. Majored in Psych so don't talk too long, or she'll weave you into her web of psychobabble."

Tak laughed.

Forty-five minutes later, the four sat around a deep-dish veggie pizza, each with a gla.s.s of rum and c.o.ke in hand. They learned that Nancy enjoyed horseback riding and golf, was getting her Masters in Clinical Psychology from the University of Chicago, and that her family preferred to summer in the Hamptons or Martha's Vineyard.

Eddie on the other hand, was in his fourth year of a two-year Masters degree in Art Therapy. In his free time, he preferred to veg out in front of whatever happened to be on MTV, protest the establishment, or play his guitar to drum up a little cash.

The four downed a bottle of dark rum as Tak and Eddie's interspersed memories of college with good natured banter, updates on old friends, and UCLA football prospects for the upcoming year.

"So Deena," Eddie said, as he topped off her gla.s.s despite her protests. "Tak-man tells me you're an architect."

Deena nodded.

"I uh, work for his father." She took a polite sip, her thoughts staggered by liquor. She looked at the others and noticed they were all faring better.

"Yeah, well, I met the old man once. Definitely hardcore."

Eddie refilled his gla.s.s before turning to Tak with a grin. "What was it he called me?"

Tak smirked. "I believe it was 'a feebleminded burden to society.'"

"That's it!" Eddie hooted, slapped his knee. "Your old man is f.u.c.king hardcore." He shook his head. "I tell ya, they don't make 'em like that anymore." And he actually sounded regretful.

Deena shrugged. "Daichi's a serious man. With a low threshold for-for-"

She fell short of saying foolishness, opting instead to fade into silence.

Tak jerked a thumb at her. "You're talking to the wrong one. Remember she's an architect. She drank the Kool Aid a long time ago."

Deena turned to him and stuck out her tongue. Tak grinned.

When Tak and Deena lay side by side on the couch's fold out bed, darkness, silence and half a foot of mattress separated them.

"So," Tak began. "What'd you think of Eddie?"

Deena cleared her throat.

"He was...lively."

"You don't like him."

Deena turned to face him.

"I didn't say that. Of course, I like him. He's your friend. He's important to you. Anyone who's important to you is..."

She trailed off in horror.

"Is what?" he said softly.

"An...important person," she said lamely.

Tak sighed. An awkward silence floated between them, penetrated finally when he wished her good night.

Quiet lasted for five minutes. Then, a violent slam of wood against wall pierced the night. Faint at first, and then with insistence, a nearby headboard banged out a rhythmic tune. Nancy's cries and Eddie's moans meshed and lingered. With brutal clarity, she demanded he f.u.c.k her, and apparently, he did.

Tak groaned.

He tossed covers over his head as next to him, beads of sweat p.r.i.c.ked Deena's face, aware of how close they lay in that single, flimsy bed.

Nancy screamed.

"Jesus," Tak breathed. "Am I supposed to-?"

"You want to go for a walk?" Deena blurted.

"What?"

"I could use a walk. Do you want to come?"

Tak sat up and flipped on a lamp. Red blotches patched her face.

"Yeah," Tak said. "Definitely. Let's go."

With the Chicago River to the east and Bloomingdale Ave to the north, Tak and Deena strolled the streets of wind-whipped Wicker Park. One of the oldest communities in Chicago, Wicker Park was home to a horde of artists and musicians. As Deena pa.s.sed the two and three story brick lofts, she could see how the neighborhood had earned its trendy and bohemian name.

"They were an odd couple," she said softly, suddenly.

Conversations began that way with them; an internal dialogue hurdled in the recesses of one mind and tossed out mid thought to the other.

"Yeah," Tak said, "but they make it work."

He slipped hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. "A relations.h.i.+p worth anything takes work."

"People must stare."

Tak shrugged. "Any time something isn't what people expect, they stare. Doesn't mean anything."

Deena frowned at her feet, clad in a pair of white Reeboks. "I wonder what her family thinks."

The two approached a broad white fountain, an oasis in a concrete desert. There was no need to ask if she could stop, instinctively he headed in its direction, knowing she would want to.

"I don't know what her family thinks, and I'm not sure it matters. He loves her, so if she loves him, then that should be enough."

"She loves him, it's just-"

"Just?"

"Well, he's asking a lot of her. How is she supposed to know whether it's worth it?"

Tak paused. "She couldn't. Not without taking a chance."

They continued in silence.

"Eddie tells me she's a private girl," he said finally. "That her family is kind of on a need-to-know basis."

Tak took a seat on the fountain's broad white edge, slipped a hand into the water, and watched it submerge. "So, she'll tell them when she's ready."

Deena stared, wide-eyed. "And-and how does he feel about that? Is he okay with it?"

Tak frowned at the water and withdrew his hand. "I don't know. Maybe. Point is, he's willing to try."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.