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In it, she thanked me for the hard work I’d made her do, and for the effort I’d put into reshaping her. I was truly moved. After work that day, around six-thirty, she invited me to a nearby deli. I had no plans, the wifey was working late most evenings, and picking up again when she got home, such was the nature of her work. I accepted. Just a bite together, right? Mentor and pupil, Mozart and Beethoven, Obi-Wan and Luke? We got our food and sat at a window table. The crowd was light, the day being what it was. We ate in companionable silence. ‘So,’ she said, after several minutes of small talk, ‘no plans for time with the missus this evening?’ She grinned, a tad wickedly. I studied her face. ‘No,’ I said after a beat, looking at my plate as I gathered a stray onion ring, as I chewed on it, I continued, ‘we haven’t had plans for a long time.’ She became quiet, thoughtful, as if scolding herself for having strayed over a line. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said after a moment, sounding as. I gave the driver the address on Wacker Drive and he wagged his eyebrows; it was only four blocks away. It wasn’t a bad looking building. Small by comparison to the towering behemoths around it, but in good condition. The front entrance was a door beside an oversized garage door. I assumed they must get shipments in here of some sort, though I couldn’t imagine a sixteen wheeler negotiating the angles with Chicago traffic.I walked in.I was surrounded by walls of drygoods, furniture, and artwork. An old man in shirtsleeves and old-fashioned arm-garters poked his head up over a handcart of bolts of fabric to look at me. “Are you from the theatre?” he asked. “You weren’t supposed to be here until two o’clock. I’m not ready.”“I’m not from the theatre,” I answered. “I just stopped in to see if you could answer a couple of questions for me. Are you the owner?”“Owner, shmoner. I’m the only one here.”“Do you have a minute that I could ask you some questions.”“I got no time,” he said. “I got.
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