Chapter 10: An Exception To Every Rule

February 12, 1983, Chicago, Illinois

I had not been at all surprised when Marcia had opted not to have the conversation. The drive back had been uncomfortably silent, and I'd turned the radio up to fill the void, though I'd have turned it down if Marcia had wanted to talk. I drew an important conclusion from the entire episode — Jeri had been right about Marcia not fitting into our group. She was, in my opinion, simply not mature enough despite being several years older than both Jeri and me.

When we arrived at Marcia's townhouse, she got out, grabbed her bag, and shut the door of the car without so much as saying 'goodbye'. I expected not to hear from her, and I certainly wasn't going to reach out, as there was really nothing I could do unless she was willing to actually talk to me. I really wondered what she'd been thinking, but I couldn't read minds, so there was no point in tying myself in knots.

"Jonathan?!" Bianca exclaimed when I walked into the house. "What are you doing home?"

"Marcia and I agreed to end our weekend early," I said.

"That bad?"

"Let's just say we have irreconcilable differences and leave it that."

"OK. What do you plan to do tonight?"

"I have no plans," I replied. "Though I think I'll call Clara and see if she wants to go out tomorrow. What plans do you and Shelly have?"

"Some of the girls from school are coming over for pizza and a movie. You're welcome to join us."

"What movies?"

"We haven't decided; we'll hit the video store and figure it out later."

"Who's going to be here?"

"Sally, Lucy, Sylvia, Julianne, Kasey, Miranda, Juliette, and a new girl, Izzy."

"OK. Pizza and a movie sound good. I'll chip in, of course."

"Not necessary!"

"Let me go make my call to Clara, and I'll come back down."

I went upstairs, unpacked my overnight bag, then called Clara, who was very happy to hear from me. We agreed I'd pick her up at 5:00pm, we'd have dinner, and then I'd take her home because it was a 'school night' and she had to be home by 10:00pm. Once I completed the call, I joined Bianca and Shelly in the great room.

"Trouble?" Shelly asked.

"As I said to Bianca, I can't say anything more than 'irreconcilable differences'."

I had just sat down when the phone rang, and I got up to answer it.

"Kane."

"Hi, Jonny, it's Bev."

"Hang on while I go upstairs."

"OK."

I asked Bianca to hang up the kitchen phone when I picked up the phone upstairs, and she agreed.

"Hi, Bev!" I said once I'd switched phones. "How are you?"

"I'm OK. I did get the job and I start on Monday."

"That's good to hear. How is Heather?"

"She's fine, and she likes Mrs. McGill. Did you hear from my parents again?"

"No," I replied. "I was adamant that I wouldn't violate your confidence. I do think you should ask for child support from Glen."

"I don't want to talk to him."

"So don't. Have Mr. Chojnicki handle all of it."

"And if Glen tries for custody or visitation?"

"I have no idea how that works," I replied. "That's a question for Mr. Chojnicki. Of course, you could always play the 'student/teacher' card. You were seventeen at the time."

"Sixteen is legal," Bev countered.

"And do you think he'd risk the reputation damage? It was one thing for Mr. Kingman and Kimberly to marry right after she graduated. It's a whole different thing for a teacher to get a student pregnant. Talk to Mr. Chojnicki, Bev."

"I don't know if I could afford him."

"Compared to the child support you'd receive over the next seventeen years? And back to when Heather was born, which would allow you to repay the State of Ohio. I know you won't take a gift, so I'll lend you the money to pay Mr. Chojnicki, and we can work out a long repayment plan on whatever schedule you need."

"I don't know," she said.

Which was her common refrain to just about everything. She was confused, but so was I, though my source of confusion was why she was so reluctant to allow me to be part of her life.

"Bev, whatever else is true, you need to be able to take care of Heather and yourself, and that's what child support is for. Think about what's best for Heather, please."

"I'll think about it," she replied.

"That's all I can ask. I'm glad you called."

"Thanks for letting me have the space. I'll call you in a few weeks, OK?"

"Yes. If you need anything, you know you can call any time, day or night."

"I know. Thanks, Jonny."

"You're welcome. Talk to you soon."

We said 'goodbye', and I hung up, hopeful that she'd call Mr. Chojnicki and initiate whatever was necessary for child support.

"How is Bev?" Bianca asked when I returned downstairs.

"She says she's OK, and she starts a job on Monday."

"That's good."

"It is, but she's still confused and unsure."

"I think I'd be confused and unsure if I had an unplanned kid, and she's younger than me," Shelly observed.

"It's even more complicated," I replied. "But as we've said, I can't really discuss her situation. I think I'm going to do my laundry, then go grocery shopping. I had planned to do it tomorrow, but given I made a date with Clara, I should do it today and also drop off my suits at the dry cleaners."

"We're just hanging out," Bianca replied. "So we'll hang with, if you want."

"Always! The day when the three of us don't live together is going to be weird."

"So don't stop!" Bianca said with a silly smile. "I gave you the solution!"

"With the minor detail that your plan doesn't fit Shelly's vision of her future."

"So we work on her!" Bianca declared. "If things went a certain way, she could have the piece of paper, and we could both have your kids!"

"I am sitting right here, you know!" Shelly declared, laughing and shaking her head.

"So you are," I chuckled. "And all else aside, I can't fail to mention I am not ready to even think about actually having a kid at this point!"

"You were ready to take in Bev and Heather," Bianca challenged.

"Special circumstances," I replied. "Things have changed a bit since I seriously considered that, and I'm sure they'll change again. Leave in five minutes?"

"Yes."

We went to Jewel, stopped at the dry cleaners, and then returned home, where I saw a blinking light on the answering machine. I checked the message and then returned the call to Deanna.

"I know this is a long shot," she said. "But are you free tonight?"

"Actually, I am," I replied. "My plans fell through."

"Want to do something together? I mean, besides what we always do, which we'll obviously do!"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner and a private tour of the Art Institute. It closes at 5:00pm, but I have access."

"I've never been to an art museum."

"Wow!" Deanna said with a soft laugh. "A virgin!"

I chuckled, "In a manner of speaking! How about Italian Village on Monroe for dinner? It's walking distance to the Art Institute if you don't think it's too cold; it's in the upper 20°s."

"I can manage if you can. Jones Hall is at State and Madison, so it's a short walk either way. Meet you at the restaurant? How soon can you be there?"

"Give me forty minutes to shower, dress, and drive there."

"Sounds good!"

We said 'goodbye', and I let Bianca and Shelly know I wouldn't be joining them for pizza and a movie.

"The girls will be disappointed!" Bianca declared.

"They don't know I'm going to be here!" I chuckled. "So no, they won't!"

"They will when they see you!"

"They'll get over it," I chuckled. "Anyway, I'm leaving as soon as I shower and dress."

As I'd promised Deanna, I arrived at Italian Village just under forty minutes after we'd ended our call. She greeted me with a quick hug and kiss, and about ten minutes later, we were seated.

"How is it you can get into the Art Institute after hours?" I asked after the waiter took our orders for Cokes.

"Students are allowed in after hours so they can spend time studying and sketching without interference from the public. I can get you in because you have a student ID."

"From Circle," I said.

"Yes, but that's sufficient, so long as you're with me."

"OK. I have zero knowledge about art."

"In some ways, that's a good thing. Too many people are given false ideas about art and false impressions as a result of biases. Did you have art class?"

"The last time was fifth grade, and I doubt making a papier mâché mask qualifies as 'art'!"

"You'd be wrong! Gilded papier mâché was a thing in 18th-century England, and there was a significant market for painted Russian papier mâché in the late 19th century. It's also used for traditional handcrafts in Mexico and for floats at Carnival, especially in South America. The one held in Rio de Janeiro is huge, with millions of people participating daily."

"As I said, I don't know anything about art! My only other 'masterpiece' was fingerpainting in kindergarten!"

"And if you just put colors on paper, you were creating abstract art!"

I laughed, "OK, but I doubt anyone cared other than my mom and my art teacher."

"So not all different from me! There's a reason 'starving artist' is a stereotype. Most artists go unappreciated during their lives, or, if they are appreciated, it's by a very small group of people, usually patrons of the arts or collectors who think there is something special about the artwork. That doesn't happen very often."

"Your desire to teach art is basically a way to fund your art, right?"

"Pretty much, unless I were to find a patron or sponsor, but those are so rare as to effectively not exist. Well, or, and don't take this the wrong way, a rich husband to support my habit!"

"Oil on canvas instead of coke?" I asked as the waiter brought our soft drinks.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked.

"A few minutes, please," I requested.

He left, and Deanna and I perused the menus. When he returned about five minutes later, we were ready, and he took our orders.

"It really is like an addiction," Deanna said. "Because I really can't stop."

"But not a harmful one like smoking or alcoholism or drugs like coke or heroin."

"I've seen artists go for long periods without sleep or food because they were in a creative mood, but I agree it's not like the things you mentioned. It's not my only addiction, though."

"Oh?"

"Fucking!" Deanna declared, drawing looks from people at a table close to us. "Actually, fucking you!"

"Sex is addictive, that's for sure!" I agreed. "Going back to what you said about funding your habit, do you mind if I ask how you're paying for school?"

"A partial scholarship, help from my parents, and loans."

"What degree will you have?"

"A Bachelor of Fine Arts in painting and drawing, and then a Master of Arts in Art Education. That will let me obtain an Illinois teaching certificate, with a goal of teaching art."

"Here in Chicago?"

"In the area, though, though I'll take a job downstate if I can't find one in the city or suburbs."

"That sounds like a pretty good plan."

"I'd much rather spend my time painting, but a girl has to eat!"

"A place to live and clothes are helpful as well!"

Deanna laughed, "It's a turn of phrase!"

"I know! I'm just being my usual goofy self!"

"You can be so serious one moment and so silly the next, and sometimes it's hard to tell when you're kidding."

"Sorry."

"No, it's OK. I don't mind dry humor; I was explaining why I responded the way I did."

The waiter brought our salads, and we began eating. While we ate, I answered Deanna's questions about my job and my past, and she described her life growing up as 'typically Catholic', which meant going to Catholic school, going to Mass every week, and generally being a 'good girl'. That last comment engendered a question from me just as we finished our meal.

"And meeting Sophie and Ivy was enough to convince you to go against your upbringing?"

"Don't you know the trope of Catholic girls away from home the first time?"

"I have heard the Frank Zappa song," I replied.

"That might be a bit over-the-top, but when you're raised in a conservative Catholic house and go away to college and experience true freedom, it brings on a bit of rebellion, and the best way to rebel against the Church is fucking!"

That drew another disapproving look from the older couple who had given her a similar look when she'd used that word earlier.

"You might want to be careful about your choice of words," I said quietly. "I suspect the couple at the table behind you is going to complain."

Deanna rolled her eyes, "People need to get a grip!"

The waiter came to the table and asked if we wanted dessert, and I asked for the check, rather than risk having the older couple make a scene. I paid, left a nice tip, and then Deanna and I left the restaurant to walk to the Art Institute.

"Did I embarrass you?" she asked.

"No. Personally, I don't care what you say, and if you want to describe what we do in explicit detail, that's up to you. But we weren't in a place that belongs to either you or me, and isn't a public street. And that means we have to respect what the owners of the place allow. I'll wager anything you care to wager, they would side with the older couple, not us."

"That is how the establishment works," she said.

"That's how private property works," I replied. "You can say whatever you want on your property, and most anything you want in a truly public place, but on my property, I decide what's OK and what's not, both in terms of speech and activities. I bet your dorm has rules you have to follow, and it's not because of 'he who has the gold makes the rules', but because the property belongs to someone else. My lease has rules, too. When I buy my house, I get to make the rules, though I still have to follow the law."

"I didn't take you for a conformist!"

"I'm not! But I also respect private property because I want other people to respect my private property. It's a trade."

"You don't see private property as exploitation by the rich and powerful?"

"Given my mom and I managed to have a house despite our difficult situation, no, I don't. That's not to say it can't be abused because it certainly could. But the thing is, if you finish your degree and start working, you can save for a house and buy one on a teacher's salary. I'm not saying it will be easy, but nothing stops you. And if you marry, it'll be even easier because you'll have two incomes."

"Or I could just be your mistress!" Deanna said with a soft laugh.

"I'm not sure my future wife would appreciate that," I chuckled. "But good to know!"

"Cheating is bad," she said. "That's why I didn't join Sophie and Ivy with the prof. He's married, and they don't care, but that's a bridge too far for me."

"People are free to do whatever they want in that regard, and it's literally none of my business, but I won't knowingly participate in cheating, and if I were to discover it, I'd end the relationship immediately. If you won't keep your word, you can't be trusted. And that trust, once broken, is difficult to regain."

"I agree. I obviously don't have a problem with casual sex or you being with other girls, so long as we're totally honest with each other."

"Then we're on the same page," I confirmed.

"Do you think I could see you more often?" she asked.

"I don't believe I've ever said 'no' when you've called."

"That's not an answer!"

"It is an answer," I replied. "Just not the one you were looking for! But may I make a point?"

"Sure."

"The arrangement with Sophie and Ivy was that they would call me, not the other way around, so they determined how often we saw each other, and they set the basic terms of the relationship. I assumed, given you brought the bottle of Jack Daniel's — the 'price' if you will — that you wanted the same thing: a casual fuck when you wanted, on your terms, on your timing.

"We changed that a bit when you suggested monthly visits after I commissioned the four paintings. I hope it's obvious that I'm absolutely OK with that, as well as what Sophie and Ivy want. But if you want something different, you have to tell me what it is, and then we can discuss what's possible."

"Is everything you do decided by simple analysis?" Deanna asked.

"I don't allow emotions to control me, so yes, I do, but the analysis isn't always simple."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"There isn't an easy answer to that question," I replied.

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' question."

"Except it isn't because the one truly serious relationship I had wasn't about falling in love because of the way it developed. That doesn't mean I don't love anyone, just that I can't say if I was 'in love' with Bev or not, and I'm not sure I'll ever know because of the way things have developed since I decided to leave home."

"Bev was your High School girlfriend?"

"That word doesn't really accurately describe the relationship. Bev and I were friends from the time we were toddlers and one day, it went from what I suppose you'd call a platonic relationship to a very intimate one. I'm not kidding when I say that it was less than five minutes from our first kiss to our first fuck.