Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Forty-five

By the time I got to the Medinah Temple, for a record second time in one day, I was sweating as though I was in the fifteenth mile of the Chicago Marathon, as opposed to limp/jogging several city blocks from the Jazz Showcase. (Doesn't "city block" always sound more impressive than regular block?)

Deep in mid-drag of her cigarette, Vickee Arnold stood in the doorway like a sergeant at guard. Although this sergeant's bifocals-on-a-string were in place on her nose, her clipboard was at her side, and her oversized, cleavage baring breasts stood at attention, welcoming me back.

"Mr. Greene, your angry friend is inside waiting for you."

"Thank you, Ms. Arnold."

I walked in the office to find Liz at one end of an old, beat-up couch, watching the telethon on a thirteen-inch, closed-circuit TV, and Hobgood, fast asleep on her shoulder. She wasn't going anywhere, even if she wanted to.

"Liz," I whispered, not wanting to bother Hobgood.

She looked at me with a feigned angry look, and then looked back at the thirteen-inch TV, which now featured Miss Illinois introducing some act where six standard poodles (four white, two black), from Gurnee, Illinois, formed a ... doggy pyramid. At that point, I'd given up wanting to know what the hell that telethon was all about.

"Liz, c'mon. We need to go," I whispered again.

"Oh, sure. Now you're ready to go. Well, now you have to wait for Hochkins to wake up ..." she said with a loud whisper.

"Hobgood." I corrected her.

"Hob-fucking-whatever to wake up," she said with a louder whisper.

Hobgood stirred. "OK, Mommy. I promise ... I'll never ..." Hobgood's mumble tapered off as he leaned to the other side of the couch away from Liz, and onto a pillow shedding its insides.

Liz made her move. Swift and to her feet. Wearing tight black polyester pants and a red and green angora Christmas sweater under her knee-length black leather jacket, she looked very stylish—as always. In times of controversy or not, even if they were her own controversies, she looked great.

In normal Liz fashion, she stormed out of the office, past Ms. Arnold and her friends, the mammary twins, and took her long legs for a stretch.

"Charmed," Ms. Arnold said between drags of her cigarette.

"Liz ..." I limped along as fast as my bothersome inflammation would allow.

"What's with the limp?" she yelled as she looked back, assessing my condition.

"You ... don't ... want ... to ... know." I was out of breath already.

"Yeah, OK. That's why I ask questions, because I don't want to know the answers. Do you ever tell the truth?" She stopped just enough for me to catch up, and once I did, took off again.

She raced in the direction of my favorite Walgreens.

"Liz, please stop ... where are you going?" I was exhausted, so I just stopped and watched her long legs fly in those tight black polyester pants as her black leather jacket snapped along in the cool Christmas air. She finally realized I was no longer behind her, stopped, and leaned up against a mailbox on the sidewalk outside of Walgreens. Once she allowed me to catch up to her, she chewed me out some more. With my arms forming a pillow on the large blue government container, my head fell with fatigue against my forearms.

"I can either be really mad at you, or really mad at myself ... but all I know is ... I'm really, really mad at someone. And to that end, I don't know if I'm mad that I'm still in love with you, or that I expected something magical to happen today, or if I'm just suffering from yet another bout with PMS."

"Liz ... listen ... to ... me ..." For some reason I couldn't catch my breath. She looked at me as I hunched over with my hands on my knees, starved for oxygen.

"God damn it, Sam. Why the fuck do you have this hold over me? What is it about you that has me drawn to you like a fucking magnet? Why did I have to have food poisoning, and realize you're the one, only to find out, you don't agree that you're the one?"

"Maybe ... I ..." was the last thing I remember saying as the blue of the government container melded with the crisp blue of the Christmas sky.