Chapter Four

Friday, April 22, 2005

     Jessica woke up alone the next morning.  She had absolutely no recollection of Conrad getting out of bed.  That had never happened to her before.  Usually the slightest sound or motion woke her up.  She wondered if Conrad came equipped with an internal stealth mode.
     Bright sun shone through the bedroom window, all traces of the night’s magic dispelled in the unforgiving light.  The birds outside sang about their unconditional happiness, or at least that’s what it sounded like.  They probably sang more about a need for sex and nourishment, but Jessica couldn’t be sure.
     She took a quick inventory of herself. She had slept with a guy after only one date.  That didn’t bother her all that much.  After all, it was the best night of sleep she had gotten in a long time.  She rolled over and looked off the edge of the bed.  Nothing disturbed her purse during the night, another good sign.  It still sat on top of her pants, the strap forming the letter M.
     Jessica pulled the covers off of her and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed.  She spent a long time thinking about the night before.  Worries pushed their way into her consciousness.  The weed may have affected her ability to judge Conrad’s character, or he may have been misrepresenting himself to get into her pants.  The insanity of the latter concern made her laugh.  She had practically thrown herself at him.  He was guilty only of providing her with a soft, warm bed to sleep in.  She decided that playing the situation by ear was not only the best option, but also the only option.
     Getting out of bed turned into a major psychological effort.  It struck Jessica as almost sacrilegious to begin a new day after such a pleasant night.  There didn’t seem to be any alternative, so she finally put on her pants.  She chided herself for not sticking a toothbrush in her purse, just in case.  “Finding mouthwash would be like winning the lottery,” Jessica thought to herself.
     Looking around the room she decided that she had to redecorate Conrad’s apartment.  There was a dresser and there was a bed.  Even though the bed comforted her weary bones wonderfully, she still needed visual stimulation around her.  The artist inside her derived sustenance from looking at things, and Conrad’s bedroom was distinctly lacking in things.
     A rush of pure relief flooded through her after she went to the bathroom.  Conrad maintained excellent dental hygiene.  In addition to mouthwash he also had two flavors of dental floss and a box of unopened toothbrushes.  She had never even imagined a guy existed who stocked up on toothbrushes.  This was her lucky day.
    

     The kitchen held only one surprise.  There was no decoration of any kind on the walls, but there was a note on the refrigerator from Conrad.  It read as follows:
Dear Jessica,
I hope that I did not awaken you this morning when I left.  I tried to be quiet so you could sleep.  I had a wonderful time last night.
Wow.
Have a fantastic day.
Conrad

     Jessica thought the note was a sweet touch.  It meant that he definitely wanted to see her again.  If he had considered the entire night a big mistake he wouldn’t have said anything.  Instead he would have prayed for her to be gone when he returned home.
     The prospect of granola and milk didn’t seem nearly as fun without Conrad, so Jessica decided to go home to eat.  Home had blissfully escaped her thoughts since the day before.  Home meant responsibilities.  She was sure there would be at least one message from her mother on her answering machine.  There was nothing left to do but face reality.  On the way out she locked the door behind her.  In the worst possible scenario she would not have to return a key.
     Out on the street she looked around and got her bearings.  Even though it was an unsavory neighborhood she could still see the university from the corner.  All she had to do to get home was walk to campus and jump on one of the free buses heading south.  She reminded herself that it would be just as easy to return.  The thought kept her from being sad.
     The ride home took Jessica through a couple of the university’s most spectacular tree canopies.  The live oaks’ branches reached out over the streets, and after many long years they met at the middle from both sides to create a canopy.  The experience was like riding through a gigantic green cavern.  Jessica considered it one of her small world’s most beautiful sights.
     If it was possible for two living spaces to be directly opposite, then Jessica’s apartment was diametrically opposed to Conrad’s.  The apartment was located behind a stately home in a nice neighborhood.  Inside, the walls were covered in artwork, some of it hers and some of it by great masters.  She painted her apartment before she moved in.  Underneath the artwork the walls were evergreen in the living room, vermilion in the bedroom, and chartreuse in the bathroom.  Shaggy wool rugs covered the floor at regular intervals.
     Shelves lined two walls of the living room.  An incredible assortment of intricate curios covered the shelves.  The shelves held blown glass animals in rainbow colors and dozens of small figurines hand crafted from semi-precious stones.  Where the visual pollution ceased the expensive art books began.  To say that the collection of curios drew attention would be an understatement.
     Jessica’s apartment did share a couple of common denominators with Conrad’s.  Like the writer, Jessica also had a very comfortable bed.  Like the writer, she also owned a computer.  That’s where the similarities ended.  Next to the computer on the desk sat Jessica’s answering machine, the chain that bound her to her family.
     Breakfast called out to Jessica with a much stronger voice than the voice of guilt.  She could already hear her mother’s tones needling out of the small speaker, but she ignored her thoughts and went into the kitchen.  There were fresh bagels, cream cheese and orange marmalade in the refrigerator.  The bagel tasted so good Jessica imagined she could eat it a thousand times without ever growing weary of the taste.  The small breakfast solidly dispelled Jessica’s hunger, leaving her with no excuse for not checking in with her family.
     Five messages waited patiently inside the small black box, like a steel trap set in the woods.  Jessica reached out and pushed the play button. The messages started innocently at first.  By the time they finished playing Jessica was totally miserable.  Just to remind herself of why she needed a new identity she played the messages again.  They went like this:
Message number one:
Jessica?  This is your mother.  It’s five o’clock honey.  I just wanted to call and check on you.  You must be studying late.  Your father and I are about to eat dinner.  Give us a call when you get in and let us know you are okay.
Message number two:
Jessica, it’s almost seven o’clock and we haven’t heard from you.  You need to be more considerate.  We worry about you.  Please call us when you get home.  I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
Message number three:
It’s nine o’clock.  You know I can understand if you want to get out and enjoy yourself now and then.  All we are asking you to do is keep us informed so we don’t worry about you.  You could have called us.  We just don’t want history to repeat itself.  We’re just don’t want anything to happen to you.
Message number four:
It’s midnight, Jessica.  I should have learned by now that you really don’t care how much your father and I worry about you.  Your behavior increasingly reminds me of the person you were before.  Your father agrees with me.  We can’t let you go back down that path.  We will be talking to you in the morning.
Message number five:
Good morning, Jessica.  It’s almost nine a.m.  There are only two feasible explanations for why you have not called us yet, and we find both of those unacceptable.  Either you got my messages and refused to return my calls, or you have taken to staying out all night again.  We won’t go down this road with you again.  We have decided to stop supporting you.  It hurts us to do this, but we think forcing you to come home will be in your best interest.  You might want to call us before we have the phone turned off.
The messages were worse than she thought they would be.  She knew that the messages were going to be bad, but she never ceased to marvel at the masterful way Ms. Sinclair could torture her.
     Jessica was born to two very wealthy parents in New Orleans on November 4, 1983.   She weighed seven pounds, two ounces, and she was beautiful in every way.  Her mother vowed that her baby would grow up pampered and protected.  Even in the delivery room the nurses had to wrestle the child out of the mother’s hands.  The father shook his head when he heard his wife talking about how the little girl would grow up, but he knew better than to dispute his spouses desires.
     Her parents christened her Jessica Marie Sinclair, even though Sinclair was her mother’s maiden name.  Her mother, Joan Gertrude Sinclair, asserted that the Sinclair family name was more important than the father’s wishes.  Jessica’s father was John Sebastion Parker.  He never could stand up to Joan Sinclair about anything, and sometimes wondered if she sold her soul to the devil.
     Jessica had a lot of black hair at birth.  It never fell out, but grew long and bouncy within a year.  She looked precious in the dozens of adorable outfits her mother purchased to display her in.  The hired nanny often shivered when she caught the little girl staring at her through icy green eyes.  The kindly woman figured the baby inherited the intense gaze from her mother.  Everybody who saw the child wondered how something so lovely could come out of such a hard woman.
     Joan Sinclair treated her daughter like a prized possession from the moment they arrived home from the hospital.  She loved her, but only as a collector loves their finest acquisition.  Joan was obsessively protective of Jessica, but she entrusted all of the work of raising the girl to hired help.  Joan never noticed that Jessica’s mind solved problems with absolute ease, or the little girl’s keen perceptions of the world around her.  The little girl resented the way her birth mother treated her, but she loved her nanny.  One of Jessica’s first memories was anger because Joan spoke harshly to the staff.
     The first thing Jessica ever said was, “No.”  She said it to her mother, and she meant it to apply to everything.  Joan thought it was very cute, and that exasperated the little girl further.  Jessica learned how to speak a lot quicker than normal children did.  She had a lot of things to say.
     Jessica thwarted every plan her mother made.  She hated church from the very first day, and the more verbal she became the better she expressed that hatred.  Her mother wanted her to focus on important lessons, like mathematics and science, so that she could excel at business.  Jessica liked drawing pictures, and she refused to express an interest in anything else.
     By the time she got to college her mother’s attentions drove her completely crazy.  Two and a half years earlier Jessica attempted suicide.  She felt like her relationship with her parents was swelling in her throat, choking off her breath and clawing its way out of her neck.  Her mother was always the person who drove home her pain, but her father was just as guilty.  He never for a second stopped supporting the evil ice queen in every aspect of her torment.  One night Jessica drew a hot bath and sliced her arms into ribbons.
     The irony of the incident was that her mother really did love her.  Ms. Sinclair became concerned about a conversation they had.  She drove up from New Orleans and let herself into Jessica’s apartment.  The action saved Jessica’s life, but Jessica had never been too thankful about that.  Her mother’s love was killing her, but it would not let her die.
     Even while Jessica “recovered” in the private mental hospital her mother continued to twist the knife.  The words Joan Sinclair spoke to her daughter in the hospital still echoed in the spirit world.  “I can’t believe what you have done to yourself.  You’re too intelligent to act the way you did.  I know you just did it to hurt me.  We had such high hopes for you, Jessica.  I knew it was a mistake to let you go off to college.  How on earth did you plan to make a living as an artist?  Do you know how many artists can’t make the money to buy food?  Your paintings don’t have what it takes to be great.  And look at you.  You look terrible.  How could you let yourself go like this?  Your father and I are very disappointed in you.”
     Jessica never again considered killing herself.  The stupidity of her actions sank home while she languished in the hospital.  She did not think about how stupid it was before she did it.  She just wanted eternal peace.  When she saw the scars on her arms, suicidal thoughts left her.  The idea of being a captive audience for her mother also helped dispel the illusion of an easy way out.  Instead of finding peace she made things a lot worse.
     Not long after being released from the hospital Jessica vowed that next time she would try to kill her mother instead.  It would be more honest.  After all, it was her mother, and not her, who deserved to die.  Miraculously, homicidal thoughts left Jessica before anything became of them.  The incident began to seem like just another obstacle she had to face to grow up, and once she was past it she stopped looking back.
     College helped Jessica focus on the development of her art.  She only felt true happiness while she was creating something beautiful to see.  Within a year there was nothing at all wrong with Jessica Marie Sinclair.  She got along great with her fellow students.  She had three fun relationships that ended amicably. That was a drastic improvement over the blood bath break-ups she went through in Junior Division.  The changes struck her as very positive.  The only problem was that her mother didn’t change at all.
     In the past couple of months Jessica went through the motions of satisfying all of her parents’ demands on her, but inside she became more and more aloof.  She began to intentionally put off answering or returning her mother’s daily call at five o’clock.  Instead she waited for her mother to call back, and then acted as if she was just walking in or as if she had been busy.  Her mother smelled deception, and the smell drove her to become increasingly invasive into Jessica’s life.  The inevitable collision between their two worlds and attitudes finally transpired.
     Jessica forced herself to stop crying.  No matter what happened she needed to refuse the impulse to feel sorry for herself.  She needed to be strong.  It would be much better to become angry than to become self-pitying, she reasoned.  She steeled herself for the confrontation.  The worst possible scenario would be that she had almost a month to find a job and another apartment.  Leaving school was not an option.  She cursed herself for allowing her parents to support her.  Things were going to get very difficult very quickly.
     Jessica reached out for the phone and dialed her parents’ house in New Orleans.  All of her sadness was gone, replaced by a cold-blooded hatred.  Jessica didn’t wait for a hello when she heard someone pick up the phone.  “So how many hours do I have left before the phone gets cut off?” she asked the other end.
     “You know I was only angry when I said that, Jessica,” her mother responded gently.
     “I can’t do this with you anymore, mom.  I’m twenty-one years old.  I had the best time I’ve had in months last night.  I was scared to come home because I knew I would find a psychological minefield on my answering machine.  You have to give me some space.”
     “Do you ever stop to think about how anyone else feels, Jessica?  We get worried sick when we don’t hear from you.  I almost lost you, and I’m not willing to let you slip away.”
     “I’m not that person anymore, mom.  Being away from you and dad for two years healed me.  Your calls are the only thing left making me feel bad about life.  Everything else is good.  My life is good.  Why can’t you let me break free?”
     “You’re not making sense, Jessica.  Calls from home cause you to have bad feelings?  Honey, you’re saying the same kinds of things you did when you lost your mind.  You’re pushing away the two people in the world that care most about you.  I’ve already spoken with Dr. Aldrich this morning, and he agrees with me.  Turning your back on us is self-destructive behavior.  If we continue to support you while you act this way, then we will be responsible for any crazy thing you may wind up doing.”
     “I’m not crazy, mom.  I met a guy.  Can you understand that?  I met a really cool guy.  Sometimes I won’t be here to take your calls.  Sometimes I won’t be able to call you back.  I’m an adult now, and I have been for a long time.”
     “Honey, you were always with a ‘really cool guy’ when you decided to throw your life away.  This is exactly how you were acting.  You’re even saying the same things you said back then.”
     “But the things I’m saying are true now instead of wishful thinking,” Jessica whispered into the phone, her resolve weakening.  She wondered if she really was crazy.  Her mother made so much sense.
     “We’ve decided to stop supporting you, Jessica.  Of course you will have to come home, but you will be better off here.  You can get through this.  You’re a strong girl, and we’ll help you deal with your ‘bad feelings’.  Come home, baby.  I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but we’ll help you get through it.”
     Jessica regained some strength.  Her mother wanted her to do something she was never going to do.  “I’m not coming home, mom,” she told her mother with regret.  She regretted that her life wasn’t normal, and she regretted that she finally had to sever ties with her parents to preserve her sanity.  Some things just had to be done.
     “You don’t understand, Jessica.  You have to come home.  We’re going to cut you off completely.  You won’t have any money or credit cards,” her mother laughed.  “What else do you think you are going to do?”
     “Good-bye, mom.  Tell dad I love him,” Jessica murmured before hanging up the phone.  She sat there for a long time, too numb to worry about what had just happened.  She decided she wasn’t going to class that day.  One of the advantages of attempting suicide while in Junior Division was that professors stopped demanding in-depth excuses for absences, for the rest of your college career.  She could always tell them the truth if they asked. Losing all monetary support for college definitely warranted taking a day off.
     Jessica was about to go get a newspaper and look for a job when the phone rang.  Instantly she decided not to become embroiled in a long distance argument with her parents.  She already knew that she could not win.  Her fingers were poised to turn off the answering machine, but at the last moment she decided she should force herself to listen.
     “Hey, this is Conrad.  I can’t stop thinking about you.  I just wanted to talk to you…” was all Jessica heard before she yanked the phone off of the table attempting to answer it.
     “Conrad!  Wait! Don’t hang up! I’m here!” Jessica yelled at the receiver while she fumbled to pick it up off of the floor.  “Are you there?”
     “Yeah, I’m here Jessica.  You sound weird.  Is everything okay?”
     “No, Conrad.  I’m not doing well at all.  I’m just… not.”
     “Can I see you?  Can I come over?  I have to know what’s going on with you.”
     “Will you?  Please?”
     “I’m on my way right now.  Jessica?”
     “What is it?”
     “I don’t know where you live.”

ÜÜÜ

January, 2005

     Fancy cars lined the street of the upscale neighborhood six miles east of the Mississippi River.  The surrounding homes harbored some of the most famous and the most notorious residents of Baton Rouge.  The most noteworthy feature in sight was the winter color beds that decorated every yard, and even under halogen streetlights the glorious shades of pansies glowed.  That was where the uncommon beauty ended, however.  Windmill palms never lacked popularity among the wealthy, and the denizens of that subdivision showed not a glimmer of deviation from that trend.  Most of the addresses displayed irrefutable proof of money and privilege, but not historic architectural ingenuity nor creative visual appeal.
     The owners of the cars on the street were in attendance at a party at one of the gaudier homes on the block.  Everybody who was really nobody that year was present at the party hosted by Gloria Soileau to celebrate her victory in a sizable personal injury lawsuit.  The cause for the celebration lacked as much taste as the decorations and entertainment.  Whoever planned the event dreamed up a disco theme, but they failed to do their homework.  None of the music rang the slightest bell, and the forest of lava lamps and strobe lights inside went far to inducing nausea.  The party was a triumph of tackiness.
     As far as the cause for celebration, Gloria Soileau didn’t need the money she won.  She was the favorite daughter of the Scardina crime family.  Her primary motivation for bringing the suit was to feel powerful.  Making money came to her as an afterthought.  A local bank manager ran a red light and broadsided Gloria’s Cadillac, leaving her with injuries and an excellent court case.  She believed she earned the money, rather than conned it, because she wore a neck brace in public for six months.  The truth was that her uncle, Benny “The Nose” Scardina, leaned on the doctor for the insurance company, and thereby insured her medical exam was favorable.  A normal person would have profited little in her place.
     The house where the party was located belonged to Gloria years before the accident took place.  It was a wedding present from her father, Joseph Scardina.  Gloria married a worm of a man named Charles Soileau.  Her judgment of men lagged far behind her acuity in money matters.  She loved Charles, and closed her eyes to all his faults.  Her family bought the house out of fear for her well being, because their eyes were wide open.  They chose the neighborhood because it was far enough away from the old family homes in the Garden District and University Gardens to hide Charles from the scrutiny of the family’s business associates.  Many of the fops and fancy women in attendance knew nothing about any of that.  They showed up looking for sex and a good time, and everything else was peripheral.
     A few of the guests lacked the shallowness and poor taste of the majority, and in some strange exhibition of social physics those few gathered near the pool side bar.  Tiffany Lewis was not only one of those people, she happened to have exceptional virtues and great taste.  She was the attorney who won the lawsuit for Gloria.  Tiffany took on the case because it was good for business, and attended the party for the same reason.  She had no clue that her success with the case stemmed from intimidation of an expert witness by a mob lieutenant, nor that certain of the fete’s callers were sleazier members of that underworld.
The atmosphere didn’t cloud her perceptions, though, so she soon regretted showing up.
     Only thirty minutes after arriving Tiffany Lewis made preparations to bid farewell to her hostess.  As she turned to cross the courtyard and exit through the house, a man sidling up to the outside bar caught her attention.  His face looked vaguely familiar, and Tiffany stopped in her tracks to pinpoint her memory of him.  When she recognized the man with clarity her blood ran cold.
     Tiffany Lewis was twenty-seven years old.  She was born in Lafayette, Louisiana, on July 23, 1978.  She graduated from Lafayette High School as the Salutatorian, and then attended LSU on a full tuition scholarship.  She graduated in Pre-law after three years, and immediately entered the LSU School of Law.  She earned her Law Degree and passed the Louisiana Bar exam when she was twenty-three years old.  She succeeded in several high dollar lawsuits, and became a junior partner in her firm.  On the outside she was a model of success and confidence.
     On the inside Tiffany was a mess.  She became involved with a woman after a string of failed relationships with men in college.  Even though Tiffany never considered herself a lesbian, the woman made her feel loved.  Tiffany would have done anything for her out of a sense of obligation.
     There at the party she suddenly realized who the man was.  Her lover pointed him out at a gas station once as the man who raped her when she was nineteen.  She also knew the guy sold drugs.  Tiffany knew that she had to meet him.  She could exact revenge on the jerk, and in the process she hoped to quiet some of the guilt she felt about her current relationship.
     Ms. Lewis drew the attention of every man in the vicinity when she walked.  Before she ever got to the man in question he noticed her coming.  Her brown hair framed her lovely face like it never moved.  She had perfect almond shaped eyes that missed nothing, and she noticed the man checking her out.  Tiffany figured it would be easy to destroy the worm.
     “You look familiar.  Who are you?”  Tiffany asked the young man with an air of authority.  She noticed that he was tan and physically fit. 
     “I’m the garden guy.  I came here with somebody, but he went to the bathroom and never came back.  Do I need to leave?”  He gave Tiffany a disarming smile.
     “No, you need to get me a drink and keep me company.”
     The automatic sprinklers came on in the yard outside, and the sound of two screaming ladies drifted over the fence. Tiffany was oblivious as the wheels turned in her mind.  As she watched the handsome man walk away she thought about how strange it was that she didn’t get any bad vibes from him.  She normally had excellent perceptions about such things.  She assumed she would have to dig deeper if she wanted to discover the dirt she needed to bury him.

ÜÜÜ

     Conrad woke up for work at six in the morning.  It didn’t matter that he had only slept three hours because of his date with Jessica. His thought processes usually woke him up on time.  To be more precise, the more intense his thoughts had been before he went to bed the lighter he slept.  Awareness of the passage of time impinged upon his dreams, until full consciousness crept through his body.  Conrad thought of it as mild insomnia.
     He looked at Jessica for a long time before he got out of bed.  She slept with a contented expression on her face.  Every breath swelled her bosom, and for a moment Conrad thought he could feel her heart beating inside of him.  He had never felt the emotion that twisted his own heart into tatters.  His future scared the hell out of him, especially the idea that Jessica wouldn’t be a part of it.  He decided not to smoke any more of that particular batch of kind bud.
     Showering and getting dressed silently presented no major challenge.  The bathroom opened only into the hallway, so there were two doors between the running water and the sleeping beauty.  He tiptoed out of the apartment when he was ready. 
     Thirty minutes later Conrad arrived at the exclusive seafood restaurant called The Gates and started his daily routine.  He followed the same routine every day.  He punched in, fixed coffee and pulled out twenty pounds of raw oysters to play with.  Being a cook wasn’t the most complicated job in the world.
     Prep work and cooking for lunch required twelve man-hours of labor.  Four cooks could do it in three hours, or three cooks could do it in four hours.  The owners of the establishment worshipped money above all things.  That meant that Conrad and the head chef slaved to do all of the work in only five hours.  The task looked impossible only on paper.  Two other cooks joined them thirty minutes before opening to assist in plate preparation.
     The head chef, Lucas, cooked for the U. S. Navy a few years before the first Gulf War, and his only horror story about war involved processed meat.  Lucas ruled the kitchen like a kindhearted monarch.  As history shows, kindhearted monarchs could lose their temper and lash out just like anyone else.  Lucas made sure the kitchen staff got enough to eat every day, but if anyone got lazy or incompetent during the lunch rush he blew on them like a boiling radiator.
     Conrad and Lucas liked each other.  They worked together like a well-oiled machine, even though the older man boasted twenty more years of cooking experience.  Conrad was the only person in the world who could get away with calling Lucas “Pops”.  Lucas referred to the younger man as “Connie-boy” in a tone so sincere that Conrad had never once complained.
     Conrad hated the owners of the restaurant.  The original owner, Jules Sevario, worked most of his life to build a solid business.  Sevario made The Gates famous for the best seafood in Baton Rouge.  After Jules Sevario died, his son sold the restaurant to a wealthy family interested only in profit and social status.  The Scardina family maintained The Gates as if it were a trophy for their shrewd business skills, instead of maintaining it as the culinary institution it had become.
     Conrad often quipped about the Scardina’s incompetence and greed while he worked.  All of his coworkers laughed at his jokes.  They all respected him for being able to turn a potentially terrible experience into a humorous occasion, but none of them would have supported him in a time of genuine crisis.  None of them would have given up their jobs to stand by him, so when at times the kitchen talk became serious most people scurried off.
     That particular morning work flowed far more smoothly than it normally did.  Conrad found himself drifting away in a Zen state, held aloft by daydreams about Jessica.  The gumbo tasted like perfection.  The crab au gratin breathed an elusive secret odor into the air, which the cooks knew to be an eighth of a teaspoon of pecan extract.  The stuffed mushrooms tickled the palate with fine herbs, the finest shellfish and a hint of arid conifers.  The fried catfish dissolved like chocolate.  Everything went right that morning, and Lucas and Conrad finished cooking thirty minutes earlier than they normally did.
     The two cooks were unaccustomed to having that much free time.  They usually got a fifteen-minute break right after the restaurant opened its doors, before the first customers ordered, but this was thirty minutes of relaxation when they should have been stressed to the gills.  They stood in the kitchen drinking coffee while they jovially discussed the phenomena.
     “I tell you, Connie-boy, this is like having Christmas in the springtime,” Lucas proclaimed with pride.  “Even if our only reward is satisfaction in a job well done.”
     “You won’t believe me, Pops, but this is all because of the girl I spent the night with.  She’s got some kind of positive aura around her, and it rubbed off on me.  I could feel her energy all morning.”
     Lucas roared with laughter.  “Leave it to a young man to think the whole world revolves around a fine piece of ass.  If that’s what it takes to make this job pleasant, then we need to get you a harem full of concubines.  And how does her energy feel boy?  Is it soft and wet, or is it strong and fiery?”
     “We didn’t have sex.  That’s the incredible part.  This feeling doesn’t have anything to do with sex.  I’ve never felt anything like it.”
     The older man stopped laughing and his expression took on a peculiar opaque quality.  He looked at Conrad, surmising the light in the young man’s eyes.  “This is more serious than I thought.  Love brings great joy, but never forget love can also cause great pain.  Mark my words, your life will never be the same again,” Lucas lectured with grave conviction, but then a smile once again spread across his face.
     “This is bigger than love, Pops.  It feels like destiny reached out and caressed my soul.  I feel like I spent every moment of my life waiting to meet her, and now that I have my heart keeps overflowing.”
     “That’s what all men in love say, except they don’t spew sophomoric love poetry every time they speak.  Remember not to say anything that syrupy in front of your girl.  Flowery, bubbling men don’t captivate ladies.  A strong woman will chew up a pansy and spit him out.  Don’t be so soft, Connie-boy.”
     Suddenly Conrad realized the lecture was a subtle jab at his masculinity.  He and Lucas sparred verbally on a regular basis  “Don’t worry about me, Pops.  I’m younger than you are.  I don’t have to worry about being soft when the time comes,” he said with a chuckle.
     “You’re lucky the years have mellowed my temper, young man.  Were I your age I would take you outside and show you how soft I am,” Lucas responded, rising to the challenge.
     The conversation distracted the two cooks so much they failed to notice the arrival of the twenty-eight year old fop who managed the business.  His name was Charles Soileau.  Soileau only got the job because he married into the Scardina family.  His wife’s aunts offered him the work to preserve the good reputation of their beloved niece.  Swallow, as Conrad called him, regarded himself as a restaurateur and a financial genius.  Everyone who worked for him wondered if The Gates could survive his vast ignorance.
     “We don’t pay you two to stand around gossiping like bored housewives.  I get a dozen applications a week from people who want your job, Ryland.  I’m not about to let you stand around with your thumb up your ass while there’s work to be done,” Swallow whined.  He meant to sound threatening, but his high pitched voice made him sound like a puppy agonized by too many fleas.
     “We finished all the prep a few minutes early today, Mr. Swallow.  We did so well this morning there’s nothing left to do until we get some tickets,” Conrad explained.
     “There’s plenty of work for you to do.  I noticed the dumpster outside really stinks.  I’ve got an idea.  Take a bucket full of soapy water, go outside and scrub down the dumpster.  That should keep you busy until we get a good rush,” Swallow said with satisfaction.
     “I’m not going to scrub down the dumpster before I serve food.  I’ll be happy to do that after I finish my regular work, but it wouldn’t be sanitary to do it right now.  Besides, we open in five minutes,” Conrad protested.
     “If I tell you to clean the dumpster, then you go outside and clean the dumpster.  Is that clear?”
     “I’m not going anywhere near the dumpster.  Is that clear?”
     “Just go splash some water on the dumpster, Conrad,” Lucas interrupted in an attempt to defuse the situation.
     “It’s too late to talk some sense into this punk, Lucas.  Get out of my restaurant, punk,” Swallow commanded in the most authoritative voice he could manage.
     “I wasn’t questioning your authority, Mr. Soileau, I just happen to be very hygiene conscious.  I tried to explain it to you.  The fact that you didn’t understand my reasoning raises serious doubts about your intelligence.  On top of that you resorted to verbal abuse when you addressed me.  I think you should apologize and allow me to continue doing my job without interference.”
     “You’re fired, Ryland.  Get out!”
     “I didn’t believe everyone when they told me, but I see now it’s true.  You really are incredibly stupid.  The Scardina family keeps you on as a charity case.  You are very lucky they support you.  The real world would eat you alive.”
     Lucas leaned over and whispered in Conrad’s ear, “I know you need this job, so go home quietly.  I’ll talk to the Scardina family.  Swallow can’t fire you.  Call my cell after lunch.”
     “You should listen to your buddy Lucas, Ryland.  If you’re not out of here in five seconds I’m going to kick your ass.”
     Conrad tried not to laugh when he responded, “No, thanks.  I’m leaving.”
     By the time he made it to the back door of The Gates all of his violent thoughts had quieted.  He offered up gratitude to the cosmos for the opportunity to talk to Jessica a few hours sooner.  He walked straight to the nearest pay phone. 
     Conrad kept his fingers crossed Jessica would be home as he fished her number out of his pocket.  His heart sank when the answering machine picked up.  He almost hung up, but it occurred to him that she might be screening her calls.  Besides, he felt it would be rude not to leave a message.
     “Hey, this is Conrad.  I can’t stop thinking about you.  I just wanted to talk to you…” Conrad trailed.  He heard the sound of a phone hitting the floor and Jessica yelling in the background, “Conrad!  Wait! Don’t hang up! I’m here!”
     He could hear her picking up the phone before she asked in a tremulous voice, “Are you there?”
     “Yeah, I’m here Jessica.  You sound weird.  Is everything okay?”
     “No, Conrad.  I’m not doing well at all.  I’m just… not.”
     Conrad became very concerned.  Even though he was just getting to know her, he could tell something terrible had happened.  A deep need to comfort her possessed him.  “Can I see you?  Can I come over?  I have to know what’s going on with you.”
     “Will you?  Please?”
     “I’m on my way right now,” he assured her.
     Conrad could feel the breath of fate on the back of his neck, and the sensation caused all of his hairs to stand on end.   After Jessica gave him directions to her apartment he sprinted to the nearest bus stop.  The bus he needed to take waited only long enough for him to jump on before it barreled south.  Branches of ancient live oaks blocked out the sunlight far above the road.  Somewhere in Conrad’s mind the tires of the bus left the pavement and rocketed through a long, dark tunnel.  Jessica Marie Sinclair and the future waited for his arrival in shimmering brightness, unshielded from the gaze of eternity.

Chapter Five

     Jessica hung up the phone and silence settled around her like dust in a still room.  Her pulse throbbed between her fingertips in the moments after she relaxed her grip.  Life happened all around her, inside her, but she never had the slightest idea what was going to happen next.  Sometimes suspense claimed her as a victim.  Conrad’s call surprised the quiet, private person she kept hidden from public view, but that was okay.  Jessica liked good surprises.
     While she sat and measured those feelings she recognized another surprise crept up on her.  This time one of her own thoughts played the culprit.  It reminded her that she needed to take a shower and that time was running out.  Conrad would be knocking on her door within forty-five minutes, possibly a lot sooner.  Jessica ran to the bathroom and turned on the water.
     The long pink furrows on her forearms changed to an angry, mottled red in the steaming hot shower.  For the millionth time Jessica wondered why she chose such a disfiguring way to die rather than drugs and alcohol.  The scars reminded her that Conrad did not really know her yet.  She hoped the truth wouldn’t scare him away, like it seemed to do to so many other people.
     Normally Jessica spent an hour on her personal hygiene, but she didn’t want to make the young man wait.  She washed and conditioned her hair with cinnamon sandalwood shampoo.  Regardless of what disasters might befall her or the planet, as long as she could smell good Jessica felt prepared.  After the shower she moisturized her entire body, and took a few minutes to apply a tastefully small amount of makeup.  Makeup at least made her appear conscientious of her appearance, so she always thought it was worth her time. 
     It only took Jessica twenty-five minutes to prepare her body for clean clothes.  Picking out what to wear usually consumed just as much time or more, but she decided not to fret about her clothes.  She settled on a white T-shirt that hung to her mid thighs and a pair of cut off blue jeans.    To complete the look she towel dried her hair and left it alone.  She hadn’t finished fretting over her appearance when Conrad knocked on the door.
     Jessica didn’t want to seem too anxious.  She waited five seconds before she walked to the front door and opened it.  Conrad smelled like very good food.  He looked at her as if she was a ghost, and she could see racing thoughts behind his eyes.
     “Hey, Jessica.  I can’t believe you live here.  I’ve looked admiringly at this very apartment many times from the street.”
     “It is a nice place to live.  My mother insisted I find a place that she would approve of, which means expensive.  I could never afford it on my own,” Jessica sighed.  “Come in and make yourself at home.  The only thing this place is missing is someone to talk to.”
     “I’m glad you don’t have security.  I doubt guards would like the looks of a shady character like myself.”
     “Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You look one hundred percent normal.”
     The contents of the living room smashed into Conrad’s vision like a small runaway Volkswagen.  A bright colored painting hanging near the door to the kitchen caught his eye.  He walked over to it and leaned in very close.  The painting appeared to be an abstract landscape with a beach house.  Long seconds passed, and then he whirled around.
     “You did this painting?”
     “I finished that one a few months ago.  I started it during a difficult time in my life, but then I left it alone for over a year.  One day I looked at it and decided I knew how to finish it.”
     “I’ve seen it before, or one that was incredibly similar.  This is very strange.”
     “That painting isn’t a copy.  The beach house belongs to my uncle.  It’s in the Fort Walton, Florida, area.  I started the painting while I was staying in the beach house.”
     “I didn’t mean to imply that you copied it.  One day I’d like to show you a painting my grandfather did that’s almost identical.  I think you will find the resemblance uncanny.”
     “Would you like to sit down?”
     “You look fantastic, Jessica.  Why do you always cover yourself up when you go out?  I could almost eat you up in that T-shirt.”
     “Thanks,” Jessica said shyly before repeating, “would you like to sit down?”
     “Yeah.  Okay,” Conrad responded.
     “I hope this doesn’t seem awkward to you.  I should have thought of something to do or offer you when you got here.  I don’t know.  I’m just having a bad morning,” Jessica told him as she sat down next to him.
     “Why don’t you pretend that normal social aggravation need not apply to us.  I don’t feel awkward at all.  I was so happy to get you on the phone.  I have so many things to say I don’t know where to begin, but I more want you to talk to me,” Conrad’s words meandered while he looked at the colors in Jessica’s eyes.
     “I’m not used to talking to anyone about my problems, Conrad.  Maybe you could give me some time on that.  I’m happy to see you.  I’m glad just to have you here.”
     “I’m happy to see you too.  It’s like I’ve been walking around in a dream.  Something extraordinary happened when we met each other.  I can feel it, but I don’t know what it means.  It feels like I’ve known you a thousand years, but then we still don’t know each other at all.  Don’t expect me to try to make any sense out of it.  I’m surprised I even told you about it.  I am normally not a superstitious person.”
     “I know what you mean.  It’s like we were lovers in a past life, or something, but in this life we may or may not get along.  I felt something like that too.”
     “Don’t lie to me, Jessica.  I was being serious.”
     “No, I’m serious too.  When I woke up in your bed it felt like I belonged there.  I didn’t want to leave.  I’ve been living here for a year and a half, but the place looked alien to me when I walked in.  Did you slip something into the wine we drank last night?”
     “I was going to ask you the same thing about that weed we smoked.  My life took a serious detour after I went to sleep.  When I woke up everything was different.  You were there,” he stated as if that explained everything.
     Conrad noticed Jessica had grown uncomfortable with the conversation.  He figured she was just as scared as he was.  He decided to talk about something else.  “I got fired from my job this morning, officially anyway.  The head chef told me not to sweat it, but I already don’t care.”
     “Damn.”  Jessica scrutinized him before continuing, “I’ve been sitting here all morning feeling sorry for myself.  It never even occurred to me that you might also have had a bad day.  What happened?”
     “The manager is a yuppie loser.  He only got his job because of nepotism.  He’s always been an ass, but this morning he told me to scrub the dumpster.  I told him no,” Conrad explained.  He laughed at the memory of how angry he made Swallow.
     “So he fired you?”
     “He thinks he did.  I’d like to kick his ass in front of everyone who works there.  He deserves it.”
     “I detest violence, Conrad.”
     “So then you won’t be attending the event.”
     “Do you get in a lot of fights?  Is that a regular thing for you?”
     “Not so far in this lifetime.  Oh, you disapprove.  Maybe I could find a way for you to meet this guy.  You would understand in no time.”
      “I don’t want you to get in any fights.  If you want me to hang around with you, then you need to find another solution.  Fighting is stupid.”
     “You’re taking all the fun out of my violent fantasy, but that’s okay.  I wasn’t all that angry in the first place.  In fact, I upset the guy so bad I thought he was going to jump me.  He wanted me to lose my cool, but I remained polite and levelheaded.  The whole ordeal strikes me as funny, now that I think about it.  Besides, I don’t need The Gates.  I always have a safety net in case I lose my job, which has happened seven times since I was a freshman in college.”
     “You have a safety net.  That sounds intriguing.  Please tell me it’s a box in your closet with half a million stashed in it.  We could do breakfast in Paris.  So fill me in, what is your safety net?”
     “I have an incredible drug connection.  It doesn’t take any effort at all for me to make enough money to pay my bills.  I work to stave off boredom and to provide a legitimate explanation for my income, but I don’t necessarily have to work.  I never get too upset over a job.”
     “You’re a drug dealer?  I never would have guessed that.  You certainly don’t look like any of the drug dealers I’ve met.  This is too weird.  What do you sell?”
     “Mostly weed, but you need to understand that I’m not a drug dealer.  I’m more like a broker.  I refuse to hold anything illegal for more than a few hours, and I won’t do that more than a couple of times a month.  I get the stuff from someone I have known for many long years, and I sell the stuff to people I have known almost as long.
     “Nobody gets hurt by what I do.  I’m not supporting foreign drug cartels.  I’ve met the people who grow the stuff.  They’re good people, even if they are sort of paranoid.  The people I sell to are harmless, and the people they sell to are harmless.  They don’t sell to children.  They don’t sell to drunks in bars who might go out and murder someone in their car.  Everyone involved smokes weed on a regular basis, in the privacy of his or her own home.  Nobody gets hurt.”
     “You are preaching to the converted, Conrad.  I’m a liberal.  I believe in the reform of federal marijuana laws.  In case you forgot I smoked weed with you last night.  To think, I was scared you might disapprove.  I can’t wait to try some of your stuff.”
     “I don’t keep it around.  I personally don’t use it very often.  Don’t get me wrong, there was a period in my life when my thought processes came to a grinding halt if I wasn’t stoned.  I guess I just outgrew it.”
     “Well, next time you run into something pretty, put aside a little bit for me.  It helps keep me from going totally insane.  I also love to paint while I’m high, but I can’t always get it.”
     “I’ll do that.  I meant to tell you, I love your apartment.  There’s so much to look at.  Where did you get all of the carved figurines?”
     “My aunt used to carve them.  When she passed away she left her entire collection to me.  That’s not all of them.  Some of the ones she did are extremely valuable.  Most of these are carved from semiprecious stones, but she did a lot of work with precious metal.  The valuable ones are at my parents’ house.”
     “You know, I have no idea where your parents live.  Where are you from, Jessica?”
     “New Orleans.”
     “What part of New Orleans?”
     “I was afraid you’d start asking me questions like this.  I’m from Uptown.”
     Conrad whistled at the unbelievable discovery.  “I figured you were beautiful and rich after you told me where you live.  So did you grow up in an obscenely huge mansion, or one of the smaller, million-dollar homes?”
     “My mother’s maiden name was Sinclair, as in ‘Sinclair Oil‘, so she was guaranteed a fortune by birth.  My father graduated from Yale Law School, and then got a master’s degree in Petroleum Law from Georgetown.  It would stand to reason that they live in an obscenely huge mansion.”
     “I’ve heard a lot about Sinclair Oil.  They fought for decades to drill in environmentally sensitive areas, and most of the time they won.  So my lovely champion of liberal issues grew up in a conservative environment, with rich parents.  It doesn’t take a genius to deduce that you don’t get along with your parents.”
     “Conrad, can we talk about something else?”
     “If you don’t think talking to me about it will help, then I’ll be happy to change the subject.  I can see how upset you are, though.  I just want you to know that.  It’s written all over your face,” Conrad told her sympathetically.
     Jessica looked away from him in an effort to regain her dwindling composure, but it didn’t work.  She could feel Conrad looking at her with the gentle concern that had been in his eyes all day.  Finally the sadness inside her spilled over the dam that had been holding it back.  Tears rolled down her cheeks and quiet sobs escaped her lips.
     Suddenly the space between their bodies disappeared as Conrad reached out and pulled Jessica close to him.  She turned her face into his shoulder and cried for a long time.  He stroked her hair and rubbed his hand across her back.  He promised himself that he would do whatever he could to ease her pain.
     “I’m sorry, Conrad.  I’m a mess.”
     “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.  Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
     “My mother and father are going to stop supporting me.  They pay all my bills.  They pay my tuition.  They buy my textbooks.  They feed me.  I don’t know what I’m going to do.  They want me to go back home, but I’m not going to quit school,” Jessica explained.  After she spoke the words her tears stopped and her sadness lifted, almost like rain clouds clearing off on a summer afternoon.
     “Why would they do that?”
     “Because I spent the night with you last night, without calling them.”
     “That’s crazy.  Aren’t you twenty-one?”
     “Yeah.  The funny part is they think I’m crazy.”
     “No, you’re not crazy.  Your parents are whacked.  I can’t let you stay upset about this.  We should celebrate your divorce from your parents.  What would you like to do?  Go out to eat?  Go to a party?  Get drunk?”
     “I don’t feel like celebrating, Conrad.  I have to figure out what I’m going to do.”
    “You stay here as long as you can.  If they follow through on their deranged threat, then you can move in with me.  You can have the bedroom.  I’d be fine on the couch.”
     “That’s not what I mean.  I have to figure out how to pay my tuition next semester…”
     “If you have to move in with me, then the Federal Government will pay.  I officially dwell in the lowest income bracket in the nation.  I can’t get any poorer.  Think Pell Grant.  Think free ride, no strings attached.  Besides, you can get a job on top of that.  Don’t worry.  Be Happy.”
     “It can’t be that simple,” Jessica said doubtfully.
     “You may have to fill out a couple of extra forms because of your family.  Trust me.  You aren’t the first person to get screwed by parental units.  Everyone you talk to about this will try to help you.  Your mother and father are out of their league,” Conrad reassured her.
     “There’s something you don’t know about me.  I…”
     “You tried to kill yourself.  I know.  I saw your scars last night while you were asleep.  Your long-sleeved burlap sack inched up.”
     Jessica gritted her teeth.  “That shirt was Madras cotton, and I am horribly embarrassed.”
     “Why?  There’s no shame in what you did.  The fact that you tried to do yourself in crowns you as more decent than the average person.   If I had grown up with the kind of pressure rich conservative families often inflict on their kids, then I probably would have killed my parents.  In fact, you should be proud of those scars.  Those scars denote a person who went through hell and lived to tell about it.”
     “Unfortunately I didn’t reach the homicidal stage until after I had already disfigured myself.  I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about it, but that’s all beside the point.  I’m trying to say that once my mother sets her mind on something she’s like a machine.  Will I still be able to get financial aid if she goes to the university and tells them terrible things about me?”
     “Your mother must be a prize winning bitch.  Yes, you can still get financial aid no matter what she says, as long as she and your father aren’t supporting you.  You’re twenty-one years old.  Mommy and daddy can’t control your life anymore.”
     “You honestly don’t think I need to worry about next semester?”
     “I honestly will walk you through the process in person.”
     “I believe you.  In that case, I want to get drunk.”
     “We can do that, milady.  What poison would be to your liking?”
     “Well, it’s Friday.  I don’t have to do anything tomorrow.  I can spend the entire day recuperating.  Bourbon sounds good, but you have to go get it.”
     “I was already planning to go get it.  I’ll be back in a flash,” Conrad promised as he jumped off of the couch.
     “Come back quickly,” Jessica implored as he left.

     The convenience store down the street from Jessica’s apartment sold alcohol, so Conrad’s task was not a complicated one.  The clerk looked at him apprehensively when he walked in.  Conrad puzzled over that while he fetched a two-liter of Coke off the shelves.  He assumed he got the strange look because everyone in that area arrived at the store in a car.  That assumption missed the truth by a significant margin.
     The clerk stood at only five feet eight inches, and he was extremely skinny.  He would have resembled a middle school student had it not been for the signs of age on his face and hands.  In some ways he looked like a child who was the victim of premature aging.  It became obvious the little guy had something to say when Conrad got to the counter with his Coca-Cola.
     “I know who you are.  Your name is Conrad.  You’re one of my brother’s friends,” the clerk said with a mischievous leer.  He acted as if the knowledge was some sort of mystical secret, like the location of the Holy Grail or a demon’s true name.  Conrad instantly found him annoying.
     “I’m sorry.  You may recognize me, but I have no idea who you are.  You say your brother and I are friends.  Who is your brother?”  Conrad queried in an effort to make his escape as quick and easy as possible.
     “I’m Pookie.  My brother’s name is Buzz.  I always tried to hang out with you guys, but you said I was too young.  I always knew what you guys were doing,” Pookie said ominously.
     Conrad played role-playing games with Buzz and his other friends until he was a junior in college.  All of the role-playing friends formed a guild.  The location of the guild sessions rotated between each player’s house.  Conrad did have a vague memory of Pookie.  Back when the sessions rotated to Buzz’s house Pookie was only three feet tall and only weighed about sixty pounds.  Pookie was denied entrance to the games for his own protection.  Members of the role-playing guild compensated for being social outcasts by treating every session like a big party.  A kid his size might have died in the course of a night.
     “Pookie, it wasn’t anything personal.  You were just a child.  We didn’t…”
     “I was sixteen years old,” Pookie interrupted.
     Conrad wondered if he crossed over into the twilight zone when he entered the convenience store.  The conversation certainly wasn’t making his life any easier.  He had no idea what to say to the young man behind the counter, so he decided to take the direct approach.
      “I’m glad to see you recovered from all the abuse and neglect.  I need a fifth of Jim Beam to go with this,” Conrad told him impatiently.
      “Man, you are so funny.  There’s no need to get all huffy.  After I recognized you I figured I’d invite you to a party at our house tomorrow night.  Buzz and I have a house on Ivanhoe these days.  You won’t have any problem finding it.  It will be the house with five hundred cars,” Pookie boasted.
      “Thanks for the invitation, Pookie.  I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s a very special girl waiting for that bourbon.  Do you think you could ring it up so I could pay you?”
     “Did you walk here?  Don’t tell me that hot shot Conrad Ryland is a walking man these days.  What happened?  Did you start smoking crack or something?”
     “My car… look, it’s none of your business.  Ring up my purchase so I can get the hell out of here.  There’s a girl waiting for me.  You have been with a girl before, right?”
     “You’re going to question my masculinity now?  Just because I’m smaller than you doesn’t mean I’m less of a man,” Pookie rebutted in a voice full of hurt.
     The pressure of the day finally surpassed the maximum capacity Conrad could handle.  He could feel blood pounding in his ears.  The rushing sensation he felt reminded him of the cartoon Dragon Ball Z.  He hoped he wasn’t about to have a seizure like so many of the kids who watched that show, but when he started yelling he forgot all about that.
     “Ring up the bourbon!  I have had a bad day!  Don’t say another word!  Ring! Up! My! Shit!”
     “Uh, that’ll, uh, that’ll be twelve dollars, sir,” Pookie whispered after ringing up the purchase.
     Conrad pulled out the money and slammed it down on the counter.  He grabbed the two bottles and stuffed them into a bag himself, without sparing a glance to see what was happening behind the counter.  He then snatched up the bag and whirled for the door.  Just as he was exiting he turned around and told Pookie, “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”
     “Thank you.  Come again,” Pookie responded, but the door was already closing and Conrad did not hear him.  Even after Conrad was well out of sight he mulled over the preceding events without moving a muscle.  Finally he mumbled, “Freak,” and retrieved the porno magazine he hid under the counter when Conrad walked in.
     A couple of hundred yards away Conrad turned off the busy thoroughfare and onto the quiet neighborhood street found in Jessica’s address.  Memories of Buzz and other members of the guild promenaded through his mind as he walked past the beautiful old homes off Lakeshore Drive.  Sometimes he missed the good old days of role-playing, but most of the time he was thankful he had outgrown it all. 
     Conrad lost track of Buzz over a year earlier.  He and his old friend changed addresses and phone numbers around the same time, a common coincidence among rebellious people their age.  He thought it would be good to see his old friend again.  The party would also be a great way to take Jessica’s mind off of her parents.
     Palm trees lined the driveway to the estate where Jessica’s apartment was located.  Conrad shook his head as he walked toward her art deco building.  He knew she would miss living there.  He didn’t know if she could reconcile with her parents or not, but the way she was acting it didn’t seem likely.  He reached the front door, but before he could knock the door opened.
     “How was your walk?  Did everything go okay?”  Jessica asked him when she saw the preoccupied look on his face.
     “Everything’s fine.  Somebody,” Conrad paused to consider his words, “invited us to a party.  It’s tomorrow night on Ivanhoe Street.  I’ll probably know a lot of the people there.  I can introduce you to some of my old friends if you’d like to go.”
     He walked through the living room and into the kitchen.  After he placed the Jim Beam next to the Coca-Cola, Conrad realized there was something missing.  “Damn.  I forgot the ice,” he informed Jessica.
     “Do you think you should go back?”
     “I am definitely not going back there.  I’ll drink mine without ice.”
     “There’s something you’re not telling me about the convenience store.  I guess you’ll get around to it when you feel more comfortable with me.  Until then I guess I’ll endeavor to understand the strong, silent type.  Pour me a stiff one, will you Conrad?”
     “Do you want ice?”
     “Of course.  I’m not a complete savage.  The only civilized way to drink hot whiskey is to shoot it, and I would pass out if I started shooting it.”  Jessica watched Conrad pour and said, “That’s enough right there.  We have most of the day and all of the night.”
     “I’m no savage, but I’m not going to shoot the whiskey straight either.  I may not pass out, but I bet I would lose control of my motor functions.  That would not be good,” he threw out as an excuse while he poured a Beam and Coke with no ice.
     “No, it wouldn’t,” Jessica agreed as they went into the living room and sat down on the couch.  “Why don’t you tell me about your parents, Conrad?  I know you’re from Baton Rouge, but that’s where my knowledge of your background ends.”
     “That’s not true.  You know grade school made me antisocial, but anyway.  My father lives downtown in the historic district.  He owns a house in Beauregard Town.  He and I get along fairly well, but he’s never forgiven me for getting an English degree instead of an occupational degree.  He thinks my pursuit of a career in writing will lead me into a lifetime of poverty.  I hate to say it, but he’s probably right.”
     “What about your mother?  Are your parents still married?”
     “They’re not married to each other, if that’s what you mean.  They got divorced when I was a little kid.  My mother lives out on the eastern edge of town with my stepfather.  There should be a warning on that part of the map that says, ‘Here there be rednecks.’  I don’t get out that way very often since I totaled my car six months ago.”
     “You totaled your car six months ago.  I’ve been wondering why you go everywhere on foot.  I didn’t think it’s because you’re a total loser, but I did have questions,” Jessica admitted.
     “What about you?  You’re a rich girl.  Why don’t you have a car?”
     “Are you trying to hurt my feelings, because you’re doing a fairly good job at it.  First of all, I’m not rich.  I don’t have any money of my own.  Secondly, I don’t have a car because my parents would never put one in my name.  After I attempted suicide they took my car away, and they’ve never given it back.  The car I used to drive is sitting in their driveway gathering dust.  You probably have no idea how bad it sucks to live in a thousand dollar a month apartment and take the bus everywhere.”
     “It couldn’t suck as bad as living in a dump and having to do the same thing.  To people who don’t know any better you would be considered a rich girl.  I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.  I see I have yet to penetrate the abysmal depths of your parents’ depravity.  God, I can’t begin to tell you how cruel I think that is,” Conrad sympathized.
     “The most difficult thing about it has been the social isolation.  I have a lot of friends, but it’s hard to get together with them without a car.  Actually, it’s impossible to see my friends in New Orleans.  I’ve been forgetting to thank my mother for that lately.  What few friends I have here have been totally cool about driving me around, but it makes me feel so needy to push myself on them.  I wind up spending a lot of time here, alone.  It’s been great for my grades, but terrible for my psyche.”
     “That’s why you need to go the party with me tomorrow night.  If you knew the university area better, and more of the people who live on or near the campus, you would already have transportation.  You could easily walk instead of worrying about a bus.  It just takes a little longer when you aren’t going far,” Conrad pleaded his case for the party and for walking.
     The truth of the matter was that Baton Rouge had always had a terrible public transportation system.  There were a lot of people who depended on walking or bicycles to get around, because it was faster, more dependable and didn’t become unavailable at nine o’clock at night.  The infrequency of the buses and the difficulty of the routes flabbergasted people who arrived in Baton Rouge from cities with dependable public transportation.  Conrad lived there all his life, so the bus system made him want to claw his eyes out.  He avoided it whenever possible, and encouraged other people to do the same.
     Jessica didn’t say anything for a minute.  She thought about what he said before she responded, “You really hate buses.  I can tell.  Nevertheless, I will go to the party with you tomorrow night.”
     “I don’t hate buses.  I hate the BR bus system.  I’ve been in other cities.  I know it’s possible to have a bus system that functions properly.  Sometimes it makes me crazy.”
     “There, there,” Jessica said sarcastically as she reached out and rubbed Conrad’s shoulders.
     “That will be quite enough.  I am happy that we’ll be attending this party together.  I guess I need to tell you about it.  The clerk at the convenience store happens to be the brother of an old friend of mine.  This clerk looks like a mutant and he annoyed the hell out of me, but he invited us to a party at his brother’s house.”
     “Oh, no way.  You’re talking about the ancient looking kid.  He is so strange.  I’ve studied him before trying to figure out his age.  Do you have any idea how old he is?”  Jessica asked as she finished her first drink.
     “I tried to do the math, but the image of his face kept distracting me.  Do you need another drink?”  Conrad chugged down his own drink and reached out for her glass.
     “Yes, please.  I haven’t started to feel anything yet.  Make the next drink stronger.”  Jessica stood up and followed Conrad when he went to the kitchen to make their drinks.  She steered the conversation backwards.  “A long time ago we were talking about your family.  When do I get to meet them?”
     “I had hoped we were past all the talk about family.  I’ll make you a deal, Jessica.  I’ll introduce you to everyone in my family as soon as you introduce me to your mother and father.  I mean, I get along with my family as long as I’m not around them long enough to have a serious conversation.  Let’s do it.  Let’s make each other miserable by bringing our families into the equation.”
     “I didn’t think your reaction would be so negative.  I was under the impression that everything between you and your family was copacetic.  I didn’t mean to derail our fun.  Why are you so touchy about this?” Jessica voiced her surprise and concern.
     Conrad handed her a drink before he answered her, “I apologize for being defensive.  I do get along with my parents, but it wasn’t always that way.  I’m still trying to repress my remaining unrepressed childhood memories.  If I introduce you to my parents they’ll think it means their rights to meddle in my life have been restored.  Also, I hate to break my perfect record of never introducing them to anyone I care about.”
     “You’re lucky I’m so jaded and cynical, Conrad.  If I were one of those traditional, family oriented girls, then I would be genuinely concerned about my prospects of having a happy future with you.  How will our children come out if they can never meet their grandparents?”
     “I don’t mean we should avoid the parental introductions forever.  Hell, if we have children we’re going to need baby-sitters.  I just think we should leave our families out of our relationship until we have a firmer foundation,” he insisted, still shaken by the thought of his mother having a private chat with Jessica.
     “I have absolutely no argument with that.  I thought for a second that my search for a normal family may have finally ended, but I can tell from your reaction that I was way off base.  One day I will eat cookies in the kitchen of someone’s mother, and there will be no tension or bad memories.  I will smile, the mother will smile and the world will be saved from fire and brimstone.”
     “I kind of caught that reference, but I think you messed it up.  What is that from?” Conrad asked her with a smile on his face.
     “I think it’s the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, but I’m getting a buzz right now so I’m not one hundred percent sure.  I am one hundred percent sure that as a reference it was garbled and vague,” she responded with a giggle.
     “I was torn between thinking it was a garbled Sodom and Gomorrah reference and thinking it came from a television show,” he laughed before becoming serious again.  “Do you want to have a family, Jessica?”
     “Where did that come from?  Suddenly you’re so serious.”
     “I could think of another question to ask you if that one is too difficult.  I want to know you.  It helps to know about your parents and your friends and all of that, but I want to know the things that make you happy.  I want to find out about your dreams.  Who are you, Jessica?”
     “I’m scared to death of the entire concept of family, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want one also.  I think free will begins to deteriorate at the genetic level.  My body will always remind me that my biological clock is ticking.  Somewhere inside me there are genes and hormones that tell me having a baby is a good idea.  I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for having a child, but like a lot of other women I think having a child would be nice.
     “I’ve thought a lot about what it would be like to be a mother.  I would never do the things to my child that my mother did to me.  I would be loving and supportive no matter what they decided to believe or what they decided to do.  Most of all I would think about how they feel.  I would try to put myself in their shoes.  I’m not saying I would be a pushover as a mother, but I would make sure not to inflict unnecessary emotional pain,” Jessica finished her thought and her drink at the same time.
     “I bet you’d be a good mother, Jessica.  You had a great tutor for things that should not be done.  I don’t want you to think I asked you that question for a specific reason, though.  I don’t plan to have children any time soon.  I’m not prepared to be a father.  I don’t know how I would handle it, and I haven’t thought a lot about it.  Maybe I’m asking you the wrong questions.”
     “I’ll answer your questions if you’ll make me another drink,” she assured him.
     “No problem.”  Conrad got up and walked out, but yelled in his question from the kitchen, “If you could leave Louisiana forever, where would you go?”
     “I’m not sure,” Jessica answered as Conrad made his way back with fresh drinks.  “My experiences have been pretty limited.  My parents used to travel all over the United States, but most of the time they left me behind.  If you asked me where I’d like to vacation, I could never list all the places: New Mexico, Colorado, Seattle, San Francisco, Italy, Greece, Wales, and Nova Scotia.  I’d like to see the whole world.”
     “What a coincidence, I’d like to see the whole world with you.  You don’t have to be rich to see the world.  The best way to see the world is one place at a time.  Maybe we could go to Santa Fe when you get out of school in a few weeks.”
     “How am I going to get there if I don’t have any money?”
     “I’d pay for you to go.  You should know I don’t fly, so we’d be taking the bus.  Bus tickets are cheap.  It sucks as a method of travel, but you’re always very happy to get where you’re going because you get to leave the bus,” Conrad broke down and giggled before he could finish.
     “I would love to travel the world with you by bus.  It sounds so grungy and real.  I bet the best part would be taking a shower after you get to the hotel where you’re going.”
     “Substitute jumping in a cold river for shower, and then substitute campsite where we’d be pitching our tent for hotel.  But you’re right, that would be the best part.  The image of you jumping naked into a cold river looks really good in my mind right now.  We definitely need to do that,” he told Jessica in his most seductive voice.
     Jessica rolled over on top of Conrad and began kissing him.  For the past half-hour he had been trying to steer the conversation to something romantic.  By the time they started making out he had almost given up.  That reminded him of some pop Zen philosophy he had heard once about finding what one seeks by ceasing to quest for it.  He didn’t know how it happened, but he was happy they were finally touching each other.
     “Would you like to go to bed?” Jessica asked him sweetly.  Her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t feel individual beats.  She pulled Conrad’s shirt over his head and ran her hands all over his chest.
     “You aren’t subtle at all, are you?” he asked her when he managed to breathe.  He realized he had been holding his breath after he spoke.
     “No, and I’m not sleepy either.”
     “Okay, Jessica.  Let’s go,” Conrad agreed, not even realizing he had stolen her line from the night before.