Quincy and Geneva stroll arm in arm on a busy street in the crisp afternoon air, oblivious to the chaos surrounding them. 

“My home is only a few houses further,” Quincy informs Geneva before gently removing her arm and facing her.  “Now, Gloria’s bark is much worse than her bite.  Trust what I tell you.  She and my wife had become very close and… truthfully they didn’t really warm up to each other until after we were married the better part of about 5 years.  Now, I don’t want you to be nervous-“

“I’m NOT nervous, Quincy.  You on the other hand are on the verge of a panic attack.”  Geneva and Quincy laugh.

“I know.  It’s just that I’ve not had anyone else in my life since Loretta died.  And… I’m really excited about you, Geneva.”

“And I couldn’t be more thrilled about meeting your family, Quincy.  I’m sure it won’t be nearly as awkward as you’re anticipating.”  Geneva smiles at Quincy and gently strokes his face.

“Well, we’re definitely about to find out.”  Quincy holds her face and kisses her forehead.  They rejoin arm in arm and continue towards Quincy’s home.  Within what seems like seconds they are about to climb the stairs of a beautiful brownstone.

“Watch your step.  I’m a little embarrassed to say I’ve fallen twice.”  Quincy wants to usher Geneva up the stairs, but needs both hands to keep balance.  Geneva seems to understand.

“Here goes.”  Geneva begins her climb up the stairs with Quincy following behind.  “On-lookers must be laughing it up at two old farts trying to make it up these stairs.”

“I’m too busy concentrating on not falling than to care anything about that.”

They arrive at the doorway.  Quincy rests his cane on the beautifully etched glass door frame and begins fumbling in his pocket for the keys as Geneva looks around.  The clicking of the door latch from the other side grabs their attention.  The door creaks as it cracks open just enough for a pair of eyes the size of golf balls to peak out at them from the inside.

“Eh, Gloria it’s Quincy.  Got my lady friend.  Remember, I told you she was coming.”  Quincy retrieves his cane.

“Umm Hmm,”  a deep, thick hum seems to moan from behind those bulging eyeballs.  The door slowly opens to reveal a woman of about medium height and build with brown hair gray at the roots.  She stands there looking Geneva over.

Slightly uncomfortable, Geneva extends a hand.  “How do you do.  I’m Geneva.”

“Yes, I suppose you are.”  She looks disapprovingly at her.  Then redirects her attention to Quincy and does the same.  They stand there in awkward silence.

Quincy finally breaks the silence.  “Geneva please pardon my sister, Gloria.  Mind isn’t that good.  I guess now would be a good time to go inside so the two of you can get better acquainted.”  Quincy places his hand on Geneva’s back and begins to lead her through the entryway.  Gloria refuses to budge.

“I don’t need you making any introductions nor excuses on my behalf, Quincy.  I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.  And I have every right to examine just who you’re trying to bring into my house.”  Gloria snaps back. 

Geneva stares at her in disbelief.  Quincy tries to suppress his impatience.  “Well, if you’d rather we stand in this doorway in this cool afternoon air so you can end up bedridden with pneumonia like about this time last year I believe it was, then yes let’s have company right here.  Or better yet, Geneva and I will leave and return once you’ve decided to behave more like an adult –“

In mid sentence Gloria turns her back and walks inside before Quincy can complete his statement.   “Why don’t the two of you come in and close door before the city ends up owing us for heating the outdoors,” she declares as if Quincy’s not said a word and disappears toward the back of the house.

Geneva and Quincy make their way inside.  The house is warm and has an inviting kind of charm despite the seemingly unwelcomed introduction given by Gloria.  Geneva gives the place a once over as Quincy helps her out of her coat.  She unties her scarf and neatly folds it before placing it in her pocketbook.  Quincy neatly hangs her coat on the coat rack and proceeds to remove his coat and hat to do the same. 

“Oh, please have a seat.  Make yourself at home.”  Quincy very gentlemanly ushers Geneva towards the sitting room. 

Geneva walks very delicately, almost as if she’s uncomfortable.  Quincy takes a seat on the davenport.  He fluffs a sofa pillow and props it then pats the seat next to him, inviting Geneva to sit down.  She eases down, clutching her pocketbook.  “I should never have doubted you, Quincy.  Your sister definitely has quite an air about her.”

“Is there something you’d like to say?”  From nowhere Gloria has appeared holding a tray with a tea set.

“Oh, no.  I was only telling Quincy that he was right about you.  You’re very… eh, lovely.”  Geneva smiles nervously, trying not to offend Gloria.

Gloria glares at her as she places the tray on the coffee table.  “Not very honest, is she Quincy?  My dear, Quincy and I have been brother and sister all my life.  Lovely is never a word he has nor shall ever use in any sentence offering my description.”    She eases back from the coffee table and sits in the beautifully upholstered Victorian chair adjacent to the sofa.  Gloria crosses her legs and begins to bounce one on top off of the other.

Quincy tries to laugh to ease some of the nervous energy forming.  “One thing is true, Geneva.  Gloria is best there is at boiling water than any other form of cooking she’s ever tried!”  He eases toward the edge of the sofa.  “Would  you like some tea?  She’s got green, oolong, and that plain stuff.”

“Certainly, Quincy.”  Geneva smiles as Quincy pours her cup and carefully passes it to her before preparing his own.  The awkward silence is a loud indication that they aren’t hitting it off as nicely as Quincy had hoped. 

Quincy takes a sip of tea and clears his throat.  “Ah, where are those old photo albums?  I promised Geneva I’d show her some pictures,” Quincy asks Gloria.  “We kind of want to make sure we aren’t related before we… get serious.”  Quincy and Geneva snicker like giddy school kids. 

Gloria looks down her nose at them.  “Get serious?  Hmmm.”   She places her cup on the saucer and returns the saucer to the coffee table.  Geneva notices that her movements are very careful and proper.  She reminds her of those old socialites from her youth, back during the time that the only people black folks were better than were each other.  For a brief second it’s as if Lucinda Forbes is there suggesting that she wear a hat if she can’t afford to get her nappy edges pressed in between routine visits to the beautician. 

“Dare I say that at this point it wouldn’t make that much a difference anyway.  That is, unless Geneva is still having her monthly visits.”  Geneva watches Gloria  get up from her seat.  Seems that someone so prim would take better care not to let her roots go that long without coloring them.  And her comment would’ve gotten a laugh, but she hasn’t been that impressionably funny.    Quincy gives a soft chuckle, more out of politeness than anything else.   Gloria goes to a credenza and extracts a few old photo albums.  She walks over to Quincy and hands them to him before returning to her seat and continuing to sip her tea.

 “Ah, let’s look here.  That’s Gloria.  We’ll set that one aside for now.”  Quincy thumbs through the first quickly then sets it aside before moving on to the next. “This… Yes, this is mom and dad.  We can start with this one.”  He hands the photo album to Geneva, who’s barely taken her eyes off of Gloria but welcomes the distraction. 

“Thank you, Quincy.”  Geneva opens to an old photo of Quincy’s parents.  “My, what a handsome couple!”  Next to their photo is a family tree with names of both families written on lines from the branches.  Some names have small photo inserts beside them.

“Gloria, I might as well bring things a little closer to home.”  Geneva looks up abruptly from the photo album at Quincy.  He slides more comfortably into his seat and eases his back into the chair.  “I was hoping things would go a little smoother with the two of you…eh, so much for hoping.”  Quincy has been lenient in his description of his sister.  He’s decided to change the plans he and Geneva had previously made about when to discuss this topic with her in hopes that including Gloria now just might encourage her warm up to Geneva a bit more.  “It’s possible that Geneva’s building will… well, she could have to move soon.”  Quincy looks at Geneva and reaches for her hand.  Geneva extends hers and they lace their fingers together.  “Right now she lives alone.  Oh, with the exception of PomPom.”

“What’s a ‘PomPom’?” Gloria scoffs.  “An animal?  Quincy, your allergies!”

“Surprisingly, I think I might have found one species of feline I’m not allergic to.  I’ve not had any problems being close to Geneva although she owns a cat.”

Geneva feels flushed.  She feels a little itchy.  Quincy squeezes her hand, reassuringly.  That relieves some of her uneasiness, but not too much.  Does he know?

“Well, at our ages living is troublesome enough without having to move.  The price of everything steadily increasing.  And what you get is a gamble unless you’re planning on giving up your independence and moving into one of those homes or something or the other.”  Quincy gives a light chuckle as if trying to ease his own anxieties about saying what he wants to say.  “These new places… this world… well…it just ain’t much accomodatin’ they do for us old folks.  So, we have to look out for each other.”  Quincy scoots up to the edge of his seat and reaches for his cup of tea.  He takes a quick sip and sighs before placing the cup back to its rightful position.  “I was… ah, I was thinking that… well, we have the extra room.  And it’d cut down on our expenses if we accepted Geneva for a live-in.”

“Absolutely NOT, Quincy!”  Gloria abruptly responds almost in anticipation of what he was going to ask.  “I will NOT agree to animals domestic or otherwise runnin’ around this house.  And we DON’T have a spare room.  I was planning to use that room –“

“You’ve had no plans for that room beyond this moment!”  Quincy’s tone is stern and Geneva can tell that he’s upset. 

“If that’s the only problem, I’ll make other arrangements for my pet.”  Geneva has spoken before she even realized what she was saying.  For the first time she’s actually come to terms with how much Quincy’s presence in her life has really come to mean to her.   Quincy releases her hand and rubs her shoulder.

“There.  Problem solved.”  Quincy takes another sip of tea as if things have been made final. 

Gloria glares at them both.  “I will NOT allow you to bring some strange woman into my home and move her in here as if I have nothing to say about it.  This isn’t some bed and breakfast or residence of convenience.  This is my home!”

“OUR home, Gloria!”  Quincy stands and the chair gets pushed back slightly, startling both women.  “I contribute to a little over half the expenses here.  And if you won’t be more open-minded about my request, then perhaps it’s you who should spend what’s left of your years alone and miserable.” Quincy’s tone has quieted, but remains fiery.  He reaches for Geneva’s hand and helps her to her feet.  They move toward the door.  “Geneva and I will make plans to find a place to live together… elsewhere.”

“What?!  You can’t do that!  Why, momma and daddy would never approve of such an arrangement, and they’re –“

“Dead, Gloria.”  He helps Geneva put on her coat.  “12 years now buried side by side in the cold ground.”  He opens the door and Geneva carefully steps outside the threshold.  “But together.”  He looks back as he steps outside the door.  “And when it’s my time to go in the ground I’d like to know that there is someone else laying to rest on the other side, just like momma and daddy.”  Quincy shuts the door. 

Gloria stares as if she can see beyond the closed door. 

“Dammit, he can’t leave,” she mumbles.  “Just goes to show what that ol’ fool knows.  He pays ALL the expenses and then some.  Hasn’t been a mortgage on this place in 2 years.”

The Life of Orderly Chaos:

An online soap opera

Season premier

02.28.14

Your Season FINALE

“This is so intense!   I can barely stand it!” 

The crowd has gone.  The band is putting away the last of their instruments and equipment.  Juniper, Bethany, Tish and Alesandra  are gathered with the accountant, realtor and attorney awaiting a final tally of the night’s profits.  The accountant is pecking mercilessly at his keyboard entering in the numbers.

“If you don’t hurry up I think I’m going to lose my mind!”  Alesandra wails in anticipation.  So much depends upon decent numbers tonight.  If the sale did as well as Juniper thought it might, the possibility of owning the building will become that much more affordable. 

Everyone seems to be holding their breath as the accountant enters in the last few numbers and pencils in something on his ledger.  “Ladies, this event has earned you a grand total of $120,476.”  The accountant glares around with an exaggerated grin about his face.  There is silence.  “I was expecting more squeals of delight and less…nothing,” he sarcastically scoffs while gathering his materials to exit, realizing that their expectations must have been a bit unrealistic.  The now sad and disappointed faces glance at each other.

“So, I guess we just take the money and apply it towards the repairs for the sale of the building,” Alesandra suggests.

“No, wait.  Who mentioned anything about selling the building?”  Bethany nudges for Juniper to speak up.

“You heard those numbers.  That’s not enough to put a dent in this thing for us,” Tish rubs Alesandra’s arm in consolation.  “Or for anybody.  That’s barely thirty percent.”

“But why give up?  We could just put our heads together and come up with some other projects to raise more cash,”  Juniper sounds off as the voice of reason.

“We probably would’ve collected more if we hadn’t had that impromptu performance by the drunk lady.  That painting –“

“Wasn’t going to change the bottom line that much,” Tish interrupts her sister.

“Actually, paintings by dead people usually rack in some impressive dollars.”  Juniper sounds disappointed about the entire ordeal.

“At any rate, playing the coulda shoulda woulda game isn’t going to get us anywhere.  By the way, anybody know how she’s doing?  The drunk lady?” Tish sounds tired.

“I called and checked on her half an hour ago.  Her daughter said she was resting.  The ex husband is there with them.”  Bethany takes a seat, removes her heel and massages her foot.

“Poor thing.”  Juniper shakes her head.

“No, the real tragedy is going to be for that old lady.  I mean, we’re all able to move although we’d rather stay.  But that old lady has been in that building for years.  She doesn’t seem to have family.  No one ever comes to visit except recently when that old man started coming around.”  Alesandra begins to gather her catering utensils that have been neatly boxed.  Tish assists with the bags of some other items.  “I’m tired.  And this is too much to think about right now.   You guys let me know what you come up with.”

“Thanks, Alesandra.  You’re on your way to becoming the city’s most fabulous chef!  The food was exquisite!”  Juniper waves as they head way toward the exit.

“Thanks!” Alesandra calls out, not bothering to look behind her.

Juniper is smiling as she takes a few small steps back to where the accountant left the tally at the table.  Her smile fades as the reads the numbers and picks up the paper.  “There simply has to be more we can do.”

“I think it might be time we consider the only option we have remaining.”  Bethany slides off her other shoe and stands.  “Pack.”

Some pretty impressive items are on display to be auctioned.  Among them is none other than a painting by now deceased artist F. Lamar Dollison donated by the family.  The crowd gathers around and carefully examines the artwork along with other items of interest to prepare their bids.  The money will go into the general building fund towards the purchase of the property.  

“These things seem like common household junk!” Geneva detests as she and Quincy peruse the display. 

One particular item catches hers and Quincy’s attention.  They carefully examine it trying to figure out just what it could possibly be.

“Suppose the person who donated this had a special commodity shop?”  Quincy asks aloud.

Geneva squints trying to read the description written underneath.  “It’s a Bloo?  What’s that?”

“A Bloo?  Never heard of it.” Quincy narrows his eyes attempting to make out the small scribble on the paper before deciding to save his face the wrinkles and extract his reading spectacles from his breast pocket.   “Let’s see here.  A Bloo…”  Quincy freezes in amazement.  Then he removes his eyeglasses, wipes them down and repositions them on his face. 

“Well, do you recognize it?” Geneva asks, still studying the contraption.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what it could be, but some poor soul is willing to pay $8100 for it.  It wasn’t a ‘Bloo,’ my dear.”  Quincy returns his glasses to his breast pocket.  “That’s a bid that reads 8,100 of someone’s hard earned dollars.”

“You can’t be serious!”  Geneva takes a step back and re-examines it with added peculiarity.

“I wish I wasn’t.”  Quincy just shakes his head in disbelief.

“I know.  I can’t figure out exactly what it is either.”  Alesandra joins them in marveling at how someone could be willing to pay so much for something that doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.  “I mean, it isn’t much to look at if it’s supposed to be some sort of abstract art sculpture or something.  And then, if it has a purpose… well…I just can’t seem to figure out what it could possibly do.”  She shrugs.  “I hate to sound cliché, but as the saying goes…One man’s trash-“

“Apparently makes him wealthy and someone else a foolish pauper.”  Bethany glides past them, smiling.  We have quite a few attractive bids for many of the items on display.  However, this piece has been the topic of conversation among many for the better part of the night.  Bethany looks stunning in a long, flowing evening gown.  She is hardly the shell of a woman that was being beaten a few short months ago.    

Ms. Wyndham scurries past them and scribbles something on the bidding sheet that corresponds with the artwork donated from the Dollison family. 

“I do believe that’s artwork from the young fellow that shot himself, Geneva,” Quincy whispers.  He and Geneva inch closer to the bidding sheet, both seeming to have the same idea about checking for the highest price.   “My, my.   That’s more than I would’ve expected.”  Quincy stands back and takes notice of the painting again.  “Kind of resembles our old camo gear, but with more color.  Certainly wouldn’t pay that much to hang on the wall.”

“It’s strange what people will give their money to,” Geneva chimes in.  “I had to work two jobs for a number of years to support myself, and that never amounted to anything remotely close to what someone is willing to spend on… this.”

“Likewise, after the war was over we returned having to scrap for work.  None of us have probably seen that kind of money.  Nor the families who lost loved ones.”  Quincy shakes his head in disdain then ogles the painting once more until he hears quiet sobs from over his shoulder.

Beth notices that Quincy has heard her tears.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just that he was… we were very close.”  She manages a faint smile to lighten the mood.  “He’d not ever made that kind of money selling his artwork.  This would definitely be a good night.”  She gazes as if lost in thought.

“That’s right.  You’re the young lady he was there to see that night.”  Geneva takes a closer look.

Beth smiles and nods.  “Yes.  Yes, I was there that night.”

“You poor dear.   Tragic,” Geneva makes a failed attempt to console her.

“Nothing tragic about getting rid of someone whose primary form of stress relief is targeting your head with his fists multiple times.  I’d say he did you a favor, sweetie.”  Maria is slurring, drink in hand.  Standing unsteadily.  “God be praised!  Ding, dong! The dog is dead!”  She raises her glass as if to toast then takes a sip.

Beth, Geneva and Quincy are at a loss for words.  They stare blankly at her.  She takes notice as she is lowering her glass.

“I’m sorry, honey.  Did I interrupt your pity party?  I thought we were supposed to be having fun?  Huh?  I didn’t bring any pity with me.”  She pretends to look inside her clutch, searching.  “Nope.  No pity in there,”  She slurs with laughter.  “But the good thing is that you definitely supplied the F-U-N!”  She holds her drink up.  “And this is the good stuff, too!  A fancy party and no BYOB!  Shoot, you can put me up for auction!  One bottle of Jack! Sold!”  Maria is laughing, drinking in between and getting louder by the gulp.

Quincy and Geneva simultaneously tip away so as not to be an audience for her embarrassment.  Bethany signals for Jun, who rushes to her side as soon as she notices.  Maria continues to drink and provide a monologue for a disproving audience.

As soon as Jun realizes what’s happening, she intervenes.  “You’re the lady from-“

“Right now, I’m Mrs. Jack Daniels,” Maria retorts, seeming bothered by Juniper’s introduction.

“Is there somebody I can call for you?”  Juniper attempts to remove the glass from Maria’s hand.

“Lady, you have no idea what to call me, but you’d better turn loose my drink!”  As Maria attempts to retain hold of the glass it slips from her grip and bolts through the air piercing the canvas, ruining it.  There is a hush that falls over the entire room.  Only the sound of the jazz band playing in the background can be heard, uninterrupted because they are oblivious to what’s happening just a few yards away.

“Look at that.  Now if you think I’m going to pay for this you’ve got another thought coming.  I want my drink back.” 

Juniper glares at her. 

“Humph, is this how you treat guests?  Was I only invited to this fancy party just to be treated as if I’m unwelcomed?  Or am I your entertainment for the evening?  Cause in either instance, I ain’t been paid!”  Maria looks around the room at all the eyes staring back at her.  “That’s ok.  I’ll just go get my own drink then.”  She turns toward the bar and takes two steps before collapsing to the floor.

“Jun this turned out beautifully!  How long did you work on the decorations?”  Ms. Wyndham is in awe at how the little rinky dink community center has been transformed into such a lavish formal space. 

“I and a friend worked most of the evening getting it together.  I think we did pretty good.”  Jun is dressed in a beautiful, flowing full length navy gown with jeweled accents throughout the neckline and bustier.  

“You definitely have a creative eye.  There’s no way I could ever have visualized this, which is sad to say given that I deal in real estate.”  Ms. Wyndham laughs while eying the fabric that has been suspended from the ceiling and draped to cover the dingy walls.  There are chandeliers with accented beads and luminaries that make this appear as if it costs tens of thousands of dollars to prepare.  “How much did all this cost?”

“Not more than a couple hundred bucks.”  Juniper smiles. 

Ms. Wyndham looks astonished.  “A couple hundred bucks?  How?” 

“You’d be surprised what you can do with some of the things at your local second hand store.  It’s really not that difficult.  You just have to know where to look.  And I have a crafty friend.  She can almost always make something from what we would just toss in the trash.” 

Ms. Wyndham removes her wrap to unveil a beautiful knee length black dress that is brought to life with jeweled heels and a matching evening bag.  Her look is classic.  “The two of you should be in business.  This is impressive.”

“Perhaps we’ll consider it.  In the meantime, enjoy the evening.  The program with begin shortly.  For right now we’re just mingling.  There’s a champagne fountain near the ice sculpture and some hors d’oeuvres.  Oh, and if you plan to participate in the auction don’t forget to sign in for your number there.” 

Juniper points out sign-table and directs Ms. Wyndham toward the others gathered near an area where Alesandra has created some beautiful dainty hors d’oeuvres.

“Tish, it really doesn’t look good for you to be standing here playing with the food.  Can you please stop rearranging those platters!”  Alesandra is trying  to smile, but Tish is her usual annoying self and is working her nerves tonight.

“It’s just that I can’t decide if it looks better this way….”  She rearranges the platters again.  “Or like this.  What do you think?”

“I think nobody is paying as much attention to that as you are.  Now leave them as they are.”  Alesandra smiles as another guests places some foods on his plate. 

Tish sighs as if in distress.  “You really should be a bit more appreciative.  The Epicurean has made a formal debut with this fundraiser.  These mouths seem pretty happy,” Tish giggles and adjusts the catered by nameplate that boasts of the business she has assisted her sister in forming.  “We’re sure to get some business after tonight.”

A stocky gentleman with a limp nears the table.  “Pardon, ma’am.  Would you mind filling a couple glasses with beverage?  That pretty lady over there would like to wet her throat.”  He points over to Geneva seated near the center of the room.

“Certainly, Sir.”  Tish ladles the beverages and carefully passes the glasses to Quincy, who thanks her and makes his way back to his date.

“There you go.  For you, my lady.”  Quincy hands Geneva the punch.  She’s giggling like a school girl again.  He takes his seat.  They’re both looking around, taking in all the excitement.

“This is really nice.  I don’t think I’ve been to anything like this since my high school prom.”  Quincy gives a few bellowing chuckles.  “Did you go to prom?”

“No, Quincy.  This is the first formal event I’ve attended in all my… 40 plus years.”  They share another laugh together and sip some of the beverage. 

“In that case, the evening wouldn’t be complete without a dance.  So if you’ll do the honor of dancing with an old fart before the night is over, that would make this a magical evening I’ll likely never forget.”

“It would be my pleasure, Quincy.”  Geneva takes another sip of beverage and smiles.  She and Quincy are distracted by a lady that accidentally bumps into their seats. 

“Pardon, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she smiles down at them. 

“That’s quite alright,” Geneva smiles.  Nothing is going to ruin this evening for her.

Maria nods again and eases over a couple rows before taking a seat.  She feels somewhat awkward here alone.  She’s not been to a formal event since happier times with Gabe.  As she continues to look around, she notices the beautiful flamingo ice sculpture that illuminates different colors.  Her mind begins to wonder how much less those tenant association dues that have been collected would have been had they not opted to invest in a fancy waste of money like an illuminating ice sculpture.  Then again, Juniper seems quite resourceful.  She could’ve gotten it donated or discounted.  Subconsciously she checks the time, wondering what Valissa is doing at this hour.  She’s made arrangements for her to spend some time with her father, but hasn’t settled the most recent disagreement between them.  Her feelings are still a bit fragile at the thought of what happened.  It has finally dawned on her that she never really found out where Valissa was or what happened that she skipped school.  Her actions only closed the line of communication between them.  Reminiscing of how close the two of them once were causes tears to well in her eyes.  So much has changed.  Things are so different now.  Maria fans her face to keep from ruining her freshly applied cosmetics.  She needs something to curb her now increasingly emotional state.  As she continues to fan at her eyes, she notices some people gathered around what looks to be an open bar.  At first she struggles with the notion to get a drink.  But at functions like this, the liquor is always watered down.  There’ll be just enough in the drink to taste, not nearly enough to do any damage.  She eases from her seat and begins a slow tread towards the bar, bypassing the champagne fountain. 

Contessa gives a few rapid knocks at the Coucilman’s door and enters.  “Sir, another few dozen of letters have arrived with the morning delivery.  Plus, I can’t get to city business because my email is flooded with responses to the Millford Estates project.  Are you planning to make a public statement soon?” 

“Are the emails generally in support of the tenants?  Or are there complaints?”  Councilman Ford doesn’t even bother to look up from whatever it is that has his attention.

“It’s really hard to tell.  Quite a few have been supportive, but there have been some who’ve shared that this area could benefit from a change more like those you had in mind.”

“Hmmm….”  Councilman Ford reclines in his seat.  “And the letters?”

“The few I’ve opened have been supportive, but you know I hardly have time to read all those letters.”  Contessa laughs.

“You can reply that I’m preparing a statement after more talks with negotiators and the tenants.”  He resumes scanning over some reading material.

“I thought that –“  Contessa’s statement is interrupted by a knowing glance from Councilman Ford that lets her know she shouldn’t question but just do exactly as he’s instructed.  “-would be the best thing to do.  Yes, Sir.”  She gives an odd smile and exits his office, shutting the door.  As she walks toward her desk she realizes she forgot to mention something and makes a u-turn back to the Councilman’s office suite.  This time she just sticks her head in the door.

“Sir, I forgot to mention that you’ve received an invitation to attend a fundraiser two weeks from Saturday.  The RSVP reads  The Millford Estates Tenants Association care of Juniper Sturdevant.  How should I plan to respond?”

Councilman Ford looks surprised.  “A fundraiser?”

“Yep.  The funds are expected to go towards legal representation and purchase of the building.”  Contessa reads the Councilman’s expression.  He wants to know how she knows that.  “Of course, you know I called to inquire about what kind of function you’re being invited to attend.

“Was there mention of whom else had been invited or is expected to attend?”

“Try as I might, she wouldn’t give that much information.  There’s one for Mr. Trudeaux as well.”

“Plug that in, Contessa.  And sync the calendar.  Thank you.”  As Contessa nods and eases the door closed, Councilman Ford realizes that he didn’t take the tenants seriously enough.  It would help tremendously if he knew who else had been invited to attend.  His eyes are drawn to the illustration board sitting on the bookcase of the Millford they had planned for.    Although the tenants efforts make a good show, he still has concern that the area will not become what he envisions it to be.  Unless he can get those that are spearheading the purchase to buy into the future he has planned this could just be another good story that will be forgotten amongst a crowd of hopeless and misguided imbeciles that have no knowledge or ambition of growth.  There is a place for people with no will to thrive.  It’s just not here.  He lights a cigar and leans deep into his leather chair.  Just then the event Contessa has plugged into his calendar illuminates the computer screen.  Millford Estates Fundraiser  RSVP Juniper Sturdevant.  Juniper Sturdevant.  That’s one he’ll plan to get better acquainted with.  Find out what her angles are.  Who she is.  After a deep draw, he exhales a dense cloud of smoke and prepares to make a call to Keagan.    

Alesandra closes the door and leans her back against it in exhaustion, breathing a sigh.  Chef was challenging tonight.  She pauses for a moment with her eyes closed and drops her bag on the floor.  Graduation.  This won’t last forever.  Just a couple more months before graduation.  After having taken a moment to put things in perspective, she begins sifting through the mail.  Notices.  Junk.  Junk.  Then she comes to an envelope with Tish’s handwriting, but it’s from a financing company.  Alesandra gives a chuckle and tears the envelope open.  Apparently Tish has taken it upon herself to research some financing options for the purchase of the building.  As she pulls the brochure from the envelope she realizes her thoughts are correct.  Attempting to buy into this building seems too much of a financial responsibility for someone in culinary school and with limited resources.  Alesandra isn’t even certain that she’ll want to remain a tenant once she graduates.   She tosses the mail on the counter and walks toward the living room when a thud and yelling startle her.  There seems commotion coming from the neighbors.    At first she dismisses the noise, but curiosity gets the best of her and she leans toward the wall to listen….

“I can’t believe you’ve done this again!  What are you trying to do, Lissa?!?! Need I remind you of why we moved in the first place?”  Maria is yelling like never before.  Valissa has skipped school today.  The truancy office has left one of those recorded messages.  This child is so bold she didn’t even bother to come home normal hours, staying out well past nightfall.

“Uhh, can you remember how many drinks you had?  Can you remember screwing up daddy’s business dinner?  Can you say ‘divorce?’ YOU are the reason we had to move!”  Valissa  moves from the door that she just slammed and walks toward her room.

“You stand right there until I’m finished talking to you, Lissa.”  Maria places her hand over her forehead and sighs, trying to calm herself.  “Where were you?  Who were you with?”

Valissa stands with folded arms, trying to decide if she’s going to respond to her or not. 

Maria looks exasperated.  She stares at her in awe.   “Don’t think you’re gonna stand there and pretend that you don’t hear what I’m asking you!”   

“I was with my friends, ok!”  Valissa yells something just to get Maria to shut up. 

“I can’t believe you!  I mean, we move to get to a place where we both can start over.  You had a fresh start here, Lissa.  Instead of making some better friends, you find company with the same element that was the reason we moved in the first place!”

“PART of the reason, Maria.”  Valissa rolls her eyes and shakes her head mumbling, “ We moved because daddy put your drunk ass out.”  Evidence that what she thought she had mumbled under her breath was heard came with heat lighting what felt like fire across her face from her mother’s back hand.  She stood motionless.  “Did that make you feel better?” 

Maria’s words are met with yet another slap to her face from her mother’s palm.  “Now go have a drink and blame somebody else.”  Valissa scowls at her and walks to her room. 

Maria stands with a forlorn countenance, a woman defeated by her own actions.  Trying to drown her mistakes and feelings in alcohol.  Tears stream down her face.   Yet in all her pain and after having been confronted by the truth, she goes to the cabinet and pours herself a drink.