The first apartment that Billy took Jack and I to view was in a modern hi-rise situated right in the heart of the Loop. It had two bedrooms—we’d decided that Jack needed a home office—one and a half baths and a balcony. Jack loved it. Then again, Jack would love anything. Melrose Park… Irving Park… shoebox in the City with Avery.
“We’re do we go for late night munchies?” I asked. Although the Loop is the heart of downtown Chicago, the blocks surrounding this building were dead after business hours. Next.
Billy took Jack and I to see more apartments: River North, Gold Cost, South Loop, New East Side, but I was displeased with any of them: too small, an awkwardly shaped room, ugly bathroom tile, shag carpeting left over from an era before my time. Each was lacking something—that va-va-voom—I was searching for.
After the seventh showing, Jack became frustrated. “Just pick,” he would yell at me. He couldn’t understand that I didn’t want to settle. This apartment was more than a cot and a squat. This apartment represented the next step in our lives together. It would be the foundation to our future. One day, when we were old and gray, we’d tell our grandkids with great pride all about the first home we’d built together.
A few days after seeing the last apartment, I received a call from Billy. “Come immediately,” he said excitedly. “I’ve found the perfect place for you and Jack.”
The doorman, who introduced himself as Sims, smiled as he led us to the elevator. Billy educated us on the buildings history as we rode up to the 14th floor. This was a condominium unit owned by a man who’d moved to St. Louis for work. He’d wanted to sell it, but, as a result of his need to relocate immediately, was open to a rent to own situation.
Our jaws dropped when we entered the apartments. The space was so large and open, and the kitchen and bathrooms were newly remodeled. Nothing but miles and miles of blue Lake Michigan could be seen through the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows that lined each room. It felt as though we were sitting on top of the world. We were home.These memories raced through my mind as I waited for our landlord to answer the telephone. I prayed with each ring that he wouldn’t answer. Although I’d (barely) accepted that Jack and I were over, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this place.
With that thought, I hung up the telephone. Jack gave me a strange look. Did the landlord not answer? It wouldn’t have mattered had the landlord answered. In that split second, I’d decided that I was not leaving the apartment.
