It was about ten after eight when I stepped off of the elevator into the office, five floors in the air. My dreams of an L.A. adventure drifted to Venice Beach, Hollywood, white sands and movie stars. Thoughts of the warm sun of the west coast filled my body with a feeling of freedom, the kind of freedom where the sun always shines and nothing but exciting escapades await you.
“Good morning, Carla,” Doris chirped. She was a tiny lady with wide hips and a glowing personality.
“Morning, Doris.”
“How was Thanksgiving?”
“Fantastic. My parents were over. And how was yours?”
“Girl, I gained a hundred pounds. My cousin, Alice, she loves cookin’ chitlins during the holidays. Braggin’ on them chitlins like they lobster, filet mignon and baby back ribs all combined into one. I call it the surf, turf and girth combo. She just fussin’ and cussin’ over them ugly thangs.” Doris laughed a laugh where you knew it was some good old school fun, the kind you used to have as a kid.
“Girl, I can’t get into chitlins’.” My dad’s mother, born in Valdosta, Georgia used to cook chitlin’s on a regular basis, but from the start I just couldn’t stomach them. Especially, once I found out what they were. Just the thought of them sucked the hunger right out of my stomach.
Doris raised her eyebrows and threw up her hands, “Uh, my family eats ‘em like they some type of delicacy. Hot sauce and vinegar. My little sister, Rose be shakin’ oregano and parsley on ‘em.”
“Italian style chittlin’s. Hey, that might be a little catchy,” I said.
“Ay, how ya doin’? Ay, how bout soma dem chittlin’s?” Doris mocked in her best New York Italian accent.
We both chuckled.
With a Southside of Chicago pitch, Doris continued, “Anyway, once those thangs cooled down, within ten minutes the grease started cakin’ up and holdin’ them chittlin’s together like cement. Hell, we could have patched holes in the sidewalk with it.”
We laughed again. While Doris and I weren’t partying buddies, she was an excellent assistant, cheerful and someone I could count on when the big boys came knocking on my gate threatening to rip out my throat.
“Hey, Doris, you mind if I ask you something?”
“No, not at all,” Doris said. I must have approached her like it was a secret, because she eased in and moved closer to me.
“What would you do if you had the feeling someone you didn’t really know, but maybe had some indication that they might’ve ...”
Doris spurred me on. “Come on, outwit it, girl.”
I stumbled all over the place, attempting to maintain that protective shield at work by guarding my private life, even with Doris. If a black person didn’t want to move up in corporate life, just tell all of your personal business and you’ll stay just where you are with two and a half percent annual raises and basic health insurance. I understood there was a thin line between my private life and my livelihood. Nobody knew that I was such a chat room junkie, and I wanted to keep it that way. Not that I was ashamed or anything, but I could never trust people in this environment. Not even Doris. And although Jackson Coleman National Bank had diversity in its social behavior, and my boss’s cultural learning curve was still climbing, I still held my cards close to the vest.
“A friend of mine stays in a chat room. You know what a chat room is, right?”
Doris twisted her finely coifed head to the side, and placed her small hands upon her well-proportioned hips. She answered with the confidence of Einstein if you had questioned him on a basic arithmetic problem, “Yes.”
I pointed my index finger at my head like I was holding a gun and squeezed a make-believe trigger. “Anyway, he told me some of the regular chat friends were being murdered.”
“No shit?” she responded with a whisper. Doris’s interest had perked up.
I whispered, “Ah huh… He thinks it’s a chat room person doing all the killing.”
Doris peered at me with her head slanted to the side like a child trying to understand a new sound. “Honey, I don’t play around with that damn internet shit. It’s dangerous enough talkin’ to folks you know. But talkin’ smack to folks you don’t know from a hole in the wall is crazy.” Doris covered her mouth. “Ooops, sorry, boss. But you know what I’m sayin’.”
“But do you know about chat rooms?”
“Just enough not to be down with it. You don’t know them fools.”
Doris sounded like Natalie, and her sister girl began to show. I could tell she was about to give me the hood philosophy on internet do’s and don’ts.
She stated, “Them ol’ lonely ass geeks talkin’ jive behind the screen like they Don Juan or Donald Trump. But if you peep ‘em in person, you’d know they was straight up fake. Instead of Don Juan, you’d have a mahogany Elmer Fudd. Th…th…that’s all folks…”
I drifted off listening to Doris until she mentioned meeting somebody out of the chat room in person. Then it hit me like a Mike Tyson upper cut.
“…you never know ‘bout them people. When’s the last time anyone sent a picture of how he or she look and it wasn’t somebody drop dead gorgeous?” she continued.
Doris was right. I can’t remember an unattractive person’s picture on screen and anyone that I’ve heard bragging about how handsome they were or pretty she was, always sent a picture that was almost perfect.
My imagination wandered. Koltrane never sent a picture into the chat room that I knew about. How did he look? All of a sudden a man lying on a bed with his drawers on appeared. He was not bald but balding with that yarmulke hair thing going on, you know the bald spot surrounded by sparse speckled stands of hair. His legs were scaly and the size of elephants with baby size feet that were puffy with Lilliputian stubby fat toes with teeny tiny toe nails all gray and yellow with fungus. His stomach slid over the bed like the Star Wars character Jabba the Hutt, and his chest had huge sagging tits like an old female gorilla. His nickel-shaped face was the color of a penny, its size that of a twenty five pound watermelon. The Thousand Pound Man was the title nailed above his bed. He was hideous. Was Koltrane this man, unable to squeeze through a threshold? I had visions of Koltrane’s body features as hog-like fat, bloated and sweaty, a soft face, unchiseled and fleshy, the kind of face where the jowls bounced when he walked down the street. Yuck!! “Anyway, would you think it possible to commit a murder in the chat room with one of the members?”
Doris gave me the highbrow, squeezing her eyelid while raising the other like she was Inspector Clouseau. “Hell, yeah. No tellin’ what kind of info those fools can get on you if you let ‘em.”
“Hmmm,” I grumbled.
“Why? Did somebody do somethin’ to you?” she asked with a touch of suspicion.
She caught me day tripping. “Ah no, not to me.” With a guarded look, Doris studied me “If I was you, I’d tell that dude to watch his back and leave that chat room stuff to the lonely.” She turned back to her desk and began fidgeting with some paperwork just like she had said nothing at all.
“Thanks, Doris. You know I’m going out of town next weekend. I’ll be leaving on Thursday night, so we’ll have to plan ahead.”
“Okay. Where you goin’ this time?”
I postured and smiled, “To L.A., girl.”
“Take me. Please, take me.” She held out her hands in prayer.
“Maybe next time, honey child.”
She tossed her head back and raised her thinly shaped eyebrows and said, “Ohhh, sounds like you got plans.”
“Maybe… just maybe,” I said, blushing from the thought of meeting Koltrane.
Doris moved a little closer to me and whispered, “Carla, don’t be playin’ in that chat room. It’s chaotic and lifeless. It just ain’t natural, girl.”
I gazed at her and churned my lip to bite it, one of my bad habits whenever somebody gave me something personal to think about. “I know, I know. Thanks for your help, Doris.”
The remainder of the week went by too fast and I hadn’t been in the
chat room since chatting with Koltrane that Thanksgiving evening. Cold turkey with no chaser, that’s how I handled it. All of the conversations with Zoe, Natalie and Doris had turned me off to the whole notion of chatting. I hadn’t even checked my personal e-mail for messages. I figured that I’d just chill from the whole thing. Hell, they were right, I didn’t even know those people.
It was on that following Wednesday evening around seventhirty or so when I glanced out of my window, the same window Cutino had climbed out of not that long ago, facing east over Lake Michigan. The late fall sky was so clean and clear that I could just about see across Lake Michigan into Benton Harbor, Michigan. I moved to the computer with the vodka martini I had just made to knock the edge off of an intense few weeks. The report that corporate and Mr. Kravitz had been pestering me about was complete. I hesitated for an instant, took another sip and sucked down one of the three alcohol-soaked cream cheese filled olives.
After a week or so of not reading my personal emails, I thought that it was about time to just scan through the list. I clicked into the mailroom. God, Koltrane had e-mailed me four times. I clicked into his first letter:
Hi Queenb, Glad you decided to visit. I can’t wait, we’ll have a great time. I’ll have some very interesting plans for us. If that’s what you want. Anyway, it will be a marvelous time.
Again, here is my address and don’t you dare lose it!!
5815 Cochran Dr.
Los Angeles, CA
313-333-5453
Your Friend, Koltrane
That’s sweet. Don’t worry, I won’t lose this number. I wrote it down again and placed it to the side. I saved that letter and moved on to the next one.
Hi Queenb, I haven’t heard from you, and you haven’t been in the chat room.
What’s up? You still coming? You haven’t changed your mind, have you? Need money? I can help!! Write me. OK…I need to know the time and date of your arrival. Write me.
The One and Only, Koltrane
I clicked over to his next e-mail:
Dear Queenb, What’s up?
Koltrane
The next letter read.
Dear Queenb:
I hope everything’s all right and your health is well.
I’m worried, so please write or call me.
Sincerely, A Concerned Koltrane
I better write this man right now before I blow it. I brought the martini glass up to my mouth with my left hand then clicked the mouse to return to the last e-mail from Koltrane.
To: Koltrane
From: Queenb
Subj: We’re still friends!! See you next week.
Dear Koltrane:
Sorry for not responding to you sooner. I’ve been very busy and decided to take a break from the chat room specifically and online in general.
Don’t fret, I’m still coming to L.A. next Thursday on United Airlines, Flight #368, to arrive at LAX at 5:05 PM. Hopefully, you can pick me up. See you then!!
I’ll be wearing red! Hottt!!
Sincerely, Queenb
P.S. Any exciting or mellow plans you have are fine by me.
I clicked Send to transmit the e-mail, hoping it would alleviate any fears Koltrane might have that I would be a no show in Los Angeles. Then took another sip from my glass. Koltrane’s concern had enhanced my desire to meet him. I was now looking forward to the trip more than ever. Let’s take a chance and roll the dice. My urge for adventure and something new had all but taken over any concerns over my insecure feelings regarding the unknown. As a matter of fact, it was the unknown that spurred my interest in exploring the volcano of life and joy in meeting new people and visiting other places.
I sat there staring at the computer screen, dreaming of the visions of me and some faceless imaginary Koltrane making love on the beaches of southern California. He had no hair or skin tone, just a clear body of passion and emotions. God, if only I knew what he looked like. Could he be the one? Could he be the love of my life? Is this what they call computer love? Shit, girl get a grip.
You don’t even know this guy. But at the same time, his last emails did seem sweet and if I want to fantasize about him right now, so be it. If I’m let down after meeting him, I’ll deal with it by and by. But right now, today, I am happy with my dream and it feels good.
After a few minutes of Koltrane fantasy, I decided to take a walk along the lake. So, I wrapped myself up in my Hillary Paige jacket, some DKNY jeans, a Dior turtle neck sweater and Timberland boots. The lake is a spiritual escape and a retreat for me. It travels for miles along Lake Shore Drive. You can bike or hike through the Northside, past Lincoln Park Zoo, jump off at Michigan Avenue, window shop and eat at some of the best bistros on earth. But if you want, you can continue down the trail past the Shedd Aquarium, Field Museum, Soldier Field, to the Museum of Science and Industry, Hyde Park, Rainbow Beach and South Shore Golf Course. Chicago had taken great pride in the landscape and parks along the Lake Michigan waterway.
Being raised along Lake Michigan had been a blessing. The water was always chilly, so even splashing around wasn’t the thing to do until late July or even August. It took that long before the summer heat could warm the waters into the low seventies. But still, the walks and activities along the lake were great for relaxation and exercise. In the autumn, the air was crisp and clean. That evening, seagulls dived for carp and coho while dog owners trained and played with man’s best friend. There were two lovers pressed against a tree trying to remain out of sight, but at the same time not really caring who saw them making out. Joggers ran rampant along the paths, with bike lovers still taking in the remainder of the biking season before the bitter cold and snow set in.
I came to my favorite spot, a group of sharp edged limestone blocks the size of Volkswagen Beatles piled next to each other for stretches of miles along the lakeshore. My special place was hidden just below the bike path surface and above the cold water line of the lake. Climbing down the slippery stones, I measured each step and jumped for safety until I reached my favorite set of rocks. During the summer, I’d bring a snack of grapes and papaya fruit and cranberry juice with me and lay it across a boulder that was almost as level as a carpenter’s table top. There I’d eat and meditate along the shore as the waters lashed against the earth and rocks with an ancient rhythm. But that day, I just relaxed and listened to the earth move.
“Good evening, Carla.”
The voice was somehow shocking, but very familiar. I spun around and saw the monster from my real life nightmares.
“Cutino!”
“Surprised?” he said with a haunting laugh that brought tears of fear to my eyes.
I froze from the shock of viewing the devil himself standing on a boulder just above me. Surprised was not the word to describe my dread over Cutino’s presence. He was dressed in a black Air Jordan jogger’s outfit, complete with Jordan crosstrainers and a black knit skullcap pulled over his ears. On that evening, he was either a jogger or armed robber hunting for prey and I chose the latter.
“Cat gotcha tongue?” he teased.
“No,” I said with insecurity.
He leaped down upon my space like a cat pouncing on a ball of string. “Then what’s been happening?” His face was hairless, except for his jet black eyebrows. His athletic features appeared even stronger than before. Like he had been working out with body builders.
He was way too close, so I stepped back to the edge on our small island of stone. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
“You goin’ back to your condo?” he asked.
I tried to think of a way to bring more people into our confrontation. “No, a friend is meeting me on the corner.”
“Oh really?” he said with a bit of dubiousness in his voice.
I could tell that he didn’t believe me. “Yes.”
“Natalie?” he asked.
“…No, not Natalie... A friend…”
“You’ve got another boyfriend?” he asked and curled his forehead, his angry eyes squ
inted and searched for my answer.
God, what is this bamboozler about to do? Think Carla, think! “Ha, another boyfriend? No, no, no. No boyfriend.”
He persisted and shuffled closer. “So who’s this friend of yours?”
“Celeste… you’ve met Celeste Barbaux,” I said. It was a make-believe name that just popped up in my head.
“Celeste? I don’t remember Celeste.”
“I thought for sure you met her.”
He searched his mind for a second without his eyes leaving sight of me. “No. No, I don’t recall Celeste Barbaux.”
“Let’s see.” I pretended to search my mind for the time and place that I had introduced this imaginary person to him. “At the movies. Ah, at the Chicago Theatre. You remember?”
Cutino thought for a moment, trying to recall the makebelieve day. “No, I…Oh yeah, I remember. A short girl…” “Yes, that’s right.”
“Dark complexion…” he smiled.
Quickly I said, “That’s right, I gotta meet her in five minutes.” And tried to slide past him.
“Humph,” he snorted. “Ain’t no girl you introduce me to like that.”
I tried to take a step up from my rock. “Listen, I have to go.” I took one step to the side.
He sidestepped over to block me. “Let’s just talk fo’ a moment. Okay?”
“I told you, I’m late and have to go now.” I leaped up to another nearby boulder.
Again, Cutino vaulted over to block my path. “Carla, we’ve gotta talk.”
“Talk about what?”
He held out his hand to me. “You know, everything that’s happened.”
“Cutino, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You said that same thing in my home, and I don’t know anything.”
Then he turned to a dead serious tone. “What did the police talk to you about?”
“You and my relationship with you.”
“What you tell ‘em? Baby, you can’t believe them,” then switched to a pleading mannerism in his next breath.
I pleaded, “What could I tell them? I didn’t know anything about you.”
“Uh huh.” Cutino’s responding sound of mistrust vibrated down my spine.
“I thought I knew you. You told me you worked for the city. When I asked you about getting money for the trips, you told me that you inherited it from your parents. Or don’t you remember?”
Cutino said nothing. He stood there, a tower of strength, intimidating me with his size. I peeked back at the waters of Lake Michigan that had just a few seconds ago soothed me with its rhythm, now it appeared to threaten me with its danger.
“I cared for you and all you did was lie to me,” I said.
He tried to grab my hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you don’t understand everything.”
I pulled away and glared back at him, only this time with more contempt than fright. At that point, I decided to put my cards on the table and permit the truth to fly and let the water settle and dry where it landed. “You told me your name was Cutino. But it isn‘t Cutino, it’s Archer. You told me that you worked for the city. You said that you inherited the money from your parents, but you didn’t. Those policemen had me pinned up in some sub-basement digging up my past and harassing me with charges I knew nothing about. I had FBI agents showing up at my job, following me to the game- just about everywhere. I’m paranoid and I think somebody’s watching my every move. And for what? Because you lied to me, that’s why. Now you come here asking me questions about my boyfriend? You… Nigga- and all along you was some type of gunrunning criminal. I—”
He made a quick move to grab my arm, but I dodged his attempt to my left, and jumped to another rock. “Carla, please. It’s not like that. It’s not like that…Please.” Cutino reached for me again, but he moved too sharply and lost his balance, slipping on the damp boulder he was standing on and crashing between the stones which enabled me to escape his grasp.
His face displayed heavy lines of stress as he continued with reasons for his actions. “Come on, Carla! Please, everything is not what it seems!”
I darted up the rocks to level ground. I saw Cutino out of my peripheral vision, struggling to gather himself. “Help! Help!” I screeched.
“Carla! Stop, I’m not going to hurt you,” Cutino yelled from the rocks below.
He was a psycho not to be trusted anymore. Hell, I didn’t know this man and now what I’d found out about him was downright scary. Cutino was self-absorbed and without conscience and when I figured that out, I knew there was no need to carry on any logical conversation. If his intentions were virtuous at all, he would have first told me that he was sorry. But after one minute with him and those words were not said, I knew that I’d have to save myself. “Help! Help!” I ran in the direction of the kissing couple against the tree, but they had vanished. Then I searched out someone else, somebody, anybody but to my surprise, there was nobody in sight, and he had caught up to me as if he flew over the boulders with wings.
“Carla, stop!” This time his voice was breathing down my back and before I finished hearing his last command, he had me by the arm.
I tried wrestling away from him, but he crushed my effort with his strength. “Let go of me! Stop it! Stop it!” Then before I knew it, I found myself lying face down on the ground with Cutino on top of me. Twisting over onto my back, I swung in a wild attempt to hit any part of his body. But I was like a gnat bouncing off a rhino’s horn.
Without much effort, he blocked one swing after another.
“Carla! I told you that I wasn’t goin’ to hurt you.”
“Then why am I on the ground with you on top of me?” He held both my arms pinned to the ground.
“Okay. I hear ya. I’m going to let you up.” He seemed to cool down and relax. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “Would you get off of me then?” I demanded.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I mean I’m just under a lot of pressure.
Ya know?” He slumped over and gradually shook his head.
“Look, I understand your circumstance, but you gotta let me up. This is not making your situation any better.”
With that said, his body seemed to get lighter and his demeanor shifted from an aggressive hunter to a calm accountant. “Yeah, my bad. I didn’t mean you no harm.” He lifted one leg and then the other and lifted from my exhausted body. The second Cutino rose off of me, he was tackled from behind by two men. They wrestled him to the ground so fast that I couldn’t figure out who they were or where they came from, but they were right on time. As I gathered myself and refocused my eyes, I could see Cutino trying to battle them off and escape, but the two men were too strong and wrestled him down like a cowboy on a calf. At last, that no good evil so and so was getting his comeuppance. As fast as possible, I crawled away from the fray, then stood up and trotted as far from the tussle as I could.
I gazed down at Cutino, locked down on the ground by two men who were still tussling to tie his hands together. I could see that Cutino wouldn’t go down easy, but at this point in the encounter he still appeared helpless as a two year old. The anger I now felt was unlike the emotion I had when he held me over my condominium window where I was downright petrified. Now, it was more revenge and a fury raging up in my belly that detested the very sight of him. “Get him! Get him,” I implored my two heroes.
But Cutino wouldn’t give up, he continued battling my new heroes and the more I egged them on to bully him, the more he seemed to retaliate.
“Don’t let him go! Tie him up! Keep him down!” I kept yelling when I should have been running away.
“Don’t resist! Don’t resist!” I heard one of the men continuously command. Finally, Cutino’s energy was depleted; they had sapped his will to fight. Out of gas and out of time, he was detained by the two men, one skinny white man with a teenager’s face, and the other cop a fat older white man with a heavy mustache who pulled out handcuffs. I watched them struggle to get the cuffs around his wrists,
but I kept at a safe distance as I continued to chastise the man who had changed my life.
I couldn’t help myself as an emotional outburst in hateful remarks came flowing out in expletives. “You bastard, serves you right!” I charged. “You shouldn’t have ever done this to me. I’ll be there to put your ass away, front row and center of the courtroom to testify against you for assaulting me. I never did anything to you! You sonava bitch! I always treated you with respect!”
In an instant, Cutino freed one hand from the Skinny Man and smashed his face so hard that you could hear the explosion downtown. The Skinny Man ceased fighting and crumbled to the ground in pain. Then with the free hand he turned and head-locked the Fat Man who was stout but not cut out of granite like Cutino. The Fat Man, who was fatigued as well, held on to Cutino’s cuffed hand and tried to reach for his holstered gun under his jacket. But Cutino performed some type of MMA karate move straight out of a Wesley Snipes movie that brought the man helplessly to the turf. Tattered and torn, Cutino turned his attention to me. He was bloody, but not beaten. Who is this man?
I tried to hide behind the elm tree where I had been cursing his life. “Damn.” It seemed there was no escape from him. Before today, I figured Cutino would have been hiding from the police another lifetime away from Chicago. He was a fugitive, for God’s sake, a man of means on the lam running for his life. He wasn’t just an everyday criminal with no way out, hanging around the very area where he had escaped. But there he was, standing tall like he had stopped time and held it in his hands. I wished that I could reverse time, back to the Fandango Supper Club where we first met. I would have given him the cold shoulder and never given it another thought. If I’d never taken that second step with him, none of this would ever have happened to me.
“Carla!” he yelled. “Stay there, I just want to explain.”
I turned to flee his capture. “No, Cutino. Just go.” I had a ten-car-length head start on him when he started after me. Then reaching the beach, I stumbled on the soft unstable sand. “Help!” I hollered to the top of my lungs. With the sand sliding under my feet, it seemed like I was running in slow motion, tripping and falling I continued my improbable escape. Go, go. I kept telling myself. Don’t give up. Then I made a promise to myself that if I escaped from this man, I’d work out on my old treadmill like my life depended on it. I was gassed as my fast sprint soon turned into a gallop, then a slow trot, but no sound from Cutino came from behind. I hadn’t heard from Cutino since I hit the dead fishy smell of the beach, so I craned my neck to view how close he was to me. But to my surprise, he was fleeing in the opposite direction, followed by a horde of police. I skidded to a stop to watch the chase. Squad cars raced along the lake’s bike path, pursuing Cutino for what I hoped would be the last and final chapter of his freedom. Just like a nosy neighbor, I had to see the end, so I started walking toward the chase of the Black Dragon. As I moved closer the pursuit came to an end, when I noticed heavily armed police had Cutino trapped against the massive limestone rocks along the lake’s shore with their artillery trained on him. I couldn’t understand what was being said, but Cutino was yelling at the cops like he was trying to intimidate them. He swung his arms and punched his chest like he was Detective Alonzo Harris in Training Day, facing off with the local gangbangers. “Shoe detail, Nigga.” I imagined him saying. The officers had him hemmed in, but they’d had him cornered before and he escaped. So when Cutino jumped back over the rocks and deftly skipped from boulder to boulder like they were on fire, I wasn’t surprised. The Black Dragon tried one last jail break. The cops did not fire, but followed Cutino down the rocks toward the waters of Lake Michigan. Not hesitating for a moment, he dived into the cold waters and swam toward his freedom. I had to ask myself again, who is this guy?
None of the police were going to jump into the lifethreatening waters of the lake. They just hopped along the rocks, trying to keep up with Cutino’s strong swimming strokes.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” One of the portly policemen commanded while gathering his flashlight/nightstick.
“He’ll either wear himself out or drown!” another said.
Don’t let him go, I thought to myself. This man has got to be captured. But Cutino wasn’t feeling any of my reflections. I continued following the chase down the lakefront where Cutino wasn’t swimming further out; he was a mere fifty yards or so off the shore. More and more officers joined in the chase. The darkness of the evening made the waters of the lake just about pitch black. The police pointed spotlights from their squad cars and handheld flashlights at Cutino, marking his advances towards an unknown distant destination. I’m sure even Cutino hadn’t anticipated this kind of escape.
After five minutes, Cutino was still stroking strong. I just shook my head in disgust at this fugitive. This strong, intelligent, handsome man that I had fallen for was swimming with the carp, attempting to outrun justice. He could have become anything- a doctor, attorney, engineer or better. I wondered what had gone wrong. Why were so many of our black men taking the wrong track? Something was amiss in our African-American culture. As a whole, we have more land, and ownership than our parents, grandparents and great-great grandparents combined. But still we complain about things while being slothful in the mis-education of our children. Are we training our young boys and girls to avoid the pitfalls in becoming a responsible adult? Some people say money is the root of evil, but the bible tells us that the love of money is the root of evil. Could that love of money be problematic in our behavior? Are we marketing our souls for the lure of big money, while losing the values and character that got our forefathers’ rewards? The values our forefathers had for a day of hard work and gaining a trade to be used for a lifetime seem to be disappearing. I’m not sure, but seeing Cutino splashing through the swirling current waters of Lake Michigan just made me wonder.
At this point a throng of curious people milled around, checking out all of the commotion. From a distance, I heard a faint noise bouncing off of the water’s tide. As seconds proceeded, the noise got louder and louder, then very quickly it became a thunderous, guttural roaring engine hum resonating from the lake. I prayed it was a police boat coming to scoop Cutino into the arms of the law and end all the excitement.
Over a loud speaker an officer shouted, “Stop swimming and come to shore! You are surrounded, there’s no escape! Stop swimming and come to shore!” But Cutino continued on. I noticed him slowing down, struggling to stay afloat and gain distance. If he didn’t come to shore soon, he’d drown trying to flee. The engine sound vibrating off of the water made the noise deafening as it got closer. The chattering crowd grew from a buzz to a roar in anticipation of tragedy. Cutino’s determination was unending, but his physical body seemed to sputter out of gas. The boat would have to hurry in order to grab Cutino and bring him to safety or else the end would come dramatically.
As the boat came toward Cutino, I noticed it didn’t appear to have the markings of a police boat. There weren’t any words signifying police authorities or flashing lights posted on top of the cabin spinning to warn oncoming traffic. I strained my eyes to focus better on the oncoming vessel and upon close inspection it appeared to be one of those racing boats, the kind with large automobile engines and high tech features added for speed. It reminded me of a boat used by drug runners in Miami or someplace like that. The policeman’s squad car spotlights honed in on the single person on the boat. The driver of the boat didn’t appear to be the police, either. The boat pulled up to Cutino and the driver pulled him in. The police were going bananas along the shore, but there was no police boat in sight. “Stop! You are aiding and abetting a fugitive from the law!” The policeman shouted through their squad car speaker.
But the rescue continued as Cutino collapsed into the boat. I wondered if this person was just some passerby assisting a man in distress or was he helping Cutino with his escape?
The racing boat turned east towards Benton Harbor, Michigan and the driver seemed to floor the high
powered racing boat, sending earsplitting noise bouncing off the turbulent Lake Michigan waters. The boat rose up and took off like it had been shot out of a canon and in seconds, it was out of sight into the blackness of the Great Lakes. The police ran for their squad cars, but none of them could do anything but call for a helicopter or another boat to chase after the fugitives. But by then, the boat was lost in the blackness of the lake.
Damn, who is this man?
After being questioned by the authorities and having the minor cuts and bruises to my arm nursed by paramedics, the police drove me home. Again, Cutino had made buffoons of the police and every one of them were baffled by his escape artistry. He’d planned his getaway like an outmanned General, diagramming a battle against an overwhelming enemy. The police said that they finally sent a helicopter after him, but with the combination of a head start, backed by a sleek racing boat and darkness of night over Lake Michigan, it was like searching for the one ant that bit you from an army of ants on the ant hill. He could have gone many directions on the vast lake.
That night, the police posted a squad car near my condo building for my safety, but for some odd reason, I wasn’t afraid of the future. So, I went to bed and fell fast asleep.
The next day, Koltrane returned my e-mail:
To: Queenb, From: Koltrane
My year has finally been made. I’ll meet you at the airport. I feel so special to have you visit.
Thinking of you, Koltrane
So, with much consideration and pain, I confirmed my date with Koltrane via the chat room and e-mail. My first computerized cross-country blind date was set. I was to meet Koltrane at LAX the following week. But still my mind wandered. What was it? Am I that desperate to meet a man? Are there no available black men in Chicago? The city was teaming with all types of men that I could reach out and touch, make an analytical and emotional decision and either kick them out in the cold or meet them for breakfast in my kitchen the next morning. My body was still physically ripe-a brick house, if I must say so myself. I stroked my hair. It was well kept and full, and on occasion, Julian, my stylist put a finishing touch on my do that made me blush with excitement.
I hadn’t visited the chat room for what seemed like weeks. At last, I felt I’d been weaned from its clutches. I’d given considerable thought concerning the possible improprieties some freaked out idiot stranger could do in that space. The internet had so many irresponsible fools displaying ill-witted charm and deceit that made socializing in it something that could cost you your life. So, that was that. No more chatting and surfing chat rooms for new conversations and make-believe friends. I’d only search the net for genuine community organizations, meet real people face to face, have authentic conversations and accomplish actual goals and honorable deeds.
But the short-term vision was in preparation towards next week. If Koltrane was anything worth time spent, I was gonna knock his socks off. I’d visit Plush for my hair, Susan’s French Spa for a facial, body wax and nails. I wanted to look and feel like a Hollywood star. However, no matter what happened with Koltrane, my goal was to enjoy myself and keep a positive attitude. The mission was fun and relaxation, even if he was a hideous goblin. Just make a new friend and enjoy the vibes and sites in the City of Angels.
CHAPTER 13
Land, Air and Sea
I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for thee
Crawling, Walking, Running to quench my thirst Your warmth and touch of my sailing Dreams
Past storms and hurricanes enter into my Destiny
CK
‘10