A fucking telemarketer text.Christ.
I block the number and look out the window.
It’s late morning, and a few streams of sunlight are peeking out through the clouds.I’ve had a couple customers so far, made a couple hundred dollars in sales.
Alissa and I have been texting when we can over the last few days, but she’s had late shifts and doesn’t have her phone while she’s working.
Good for the patients, bad for me.
I have a vintage grandfather clock in the shop that sits directly across from the cashier, so I can keep an eye on the time throughout the day.
Each move of the second hand seems to drag as if it’s being pulled through molasses.
Fuck.
* * *
After several endlesshours of working in the shop, I’m finally standing outside of Symphony Center on Michigan Avenue.I decided to go full black tie this evening—my favorite tux, ornamented with a midnight-blue vest and bow tie and gold-plated studs and cufflinks.I opted out of a hat tonight—it’s not black-tie appropriate.I parked in the usual spot, the parking garage near Aces, and walked about fifteen minutes to the concert hall’s exterior.It’s a warm evening for the middle of February, so I skipped the overcoat.
It’s pretty unassuming.Three large domed windows at its front, and lines of regular-sized windows up and down the building.The only indication that this isn’t just another regular office building is the huge banner on its façade with a headshot of the long-haired conductor of the orchestra over the words “Symphony Center: Home of the World-Class Chicago Symphony Orchestra.”
My tickets are saved on my phone, so I don’t have to wait at will call with the over-sixty crowd.I texted Alissa once I got here, but the concert doesn’t begin until seven thirty, and it’s barely ten till the top of the hour.
And then I see her.
My God, she’s ravishing.
She’s in a silver gown lined with golden sequins that catch the light of the nearly full moon.It’s like she’s a moonbeam come to life.
The gown exposes her creamy shoulders, and her hair has been brushed out and styled into an elegant updo.
I’d love to strip her down and fuck her silly right in the middle of the busiest street in Chicago.
I walk to her, grab her hand, and kiss her on the cheek.“Alissa, you look beautiful tonight.”
She blushes.“Thanks.I decided to pull a Maddox Hathaway and skip the jacket.Make the right kind of entrance.”
“Did you drive here?”
She shakes her head.“I called an Uber.Cheaper than parking in this area.”
I chuckle.“Probably true.I would have done the same if I didn’t have the spot in the Aces garage.”
She frowns.“Should you still be parking there?If Rouge finds out what we know… And it’s not as if your car is exactly inconspicuous…”
I caress her cheek.“Baby, don’t worry about any of that tonight.Tonight is about us…and our good friend Dmitri Shostakovich.”
She smiles.“Okay, but one last thing before I drop the matter.Any news from Bill?”
“Not a word.So all we can do for tonight is enjoy the symphony.”
“I should like nothing more, Maddox.”She glances toward the entryway where ushers are scanning tickets.“Shall we go inside?”
I offer her my arm.“Absolutely, my moonbeam.”
I escort her in and pull up the tickets on my phone with my free hand.The usher scans them and gestures us into the foyer.
“Where are we sitting?”Alissa asks.
