That’s the place right over there.” Deacon pointed as they drove down Ontario Street.
Zoe watched the building rise before her in awe. He was right, it did look like a little castle or monastery in the heart of the city, she had never seen anything like it in Los Angeles. Though it was much smaller than the surrounding skyscrapers, it was a huge stone gothic Greystone with turrets and raised arches like a medieval castle. There were blue spotlights shining on it from the ground that further gave the building a surreal creepy and haunted feel to it.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before. It’s amazing.”
“I’m gonna go park in the graj over there and we can walk.” Deacon replied.
“Park in what?” Zoe chortled at the pronunciation.
“The graj, there’s a graj right over here.”
“Are you trying to say garage?”
“Yeah that’s what I said.”
“No, you didn’t, you said graaj.”
“We don’t all speak “LA” English.” Deacon responded in a mocking dumb surfer voice, or at least what he perceived to be one.
“It’s not “LA” English, it’s proper English.”
“Not when you’re in Chicago hunny.”
Deacon drove into the nearest parking garage and wheeled around until he found a spot. When they got out, he handed her the ticket for safe keeping. They then made their way down the street towards the gothic building on the corner, it was just at sunset. When they approached, there was already a crowd gathering, but they were thankfully early enough to avoid the line that would soon wrap around the block. They waited in line for some time nervously avoiding talking to each other. Deacon thought of several different icebreakers to broach conversation, but each time ended up keeping them to himself when he saw the bored icy look on her face. In turn, she saw his long hair and leather-jacketed ruggedness as slightly intimidating. Even when he was not trying to, he just looked mean.
Finally, it was their turn to step up to two big ogres who worked as bouncers at the gate. A large black man, who was about six-foot-five and must have weighed four-hundred pounds stepped in front of his partner, who was a white bodybuilder type with a long blonde beard and a ponytail.
“Yo, you can’t come in here like dat.” The black man, who had a deep intimidating voice to match his outward appearance announced to the pair while slapping the back of his hand against Deacon’s chest and stopping his advance. Deacon’s face flushed with anger.
“What are you talking about? This is how I always dress” The now offended cab driver spoke up.
“We got appearances m’man, we don’t let no scrubs in here. Come back wit’ some nicer clothes. Next?”
Deacon did not let the next person step up, he planted himself like a tree in the middle of a river in front of the bouncer who was more than twice as large as him.
“I’ve been here before, and this is how I always dress. I ain’t some green eyed out of towner you can push around, I’m from the Southside.” And he spoke it and wore it like a badge of pride.
The bouncer stepped forward to intimidate the much smaller man, his eyes went wide, and it was easy for anyone to casually observe that he was psyching himself up in preparation to get physical, or at least to give that impression. Deacon, and only Deacon at that point did not seem impressed. Everyone in line took a step away from him in anticipation of his inevitable mauling by this giant bear.
The white bouncer seemed to have confidence in his partner and stepped forward to admit those behind Deacon instead of stepping up in support of his companion.
“We need to get in there.” Deacon moved to the side to prevent the other bouncer from overlooking him. He now had both of their full frightening attention and could now officially be considered “making a scene”. “We got the cover price…” He held up a few twenty-dollar bills. “…our money is as good as anyone else’s. Let us in if you don’t want a problem, dickwad.”
“Or what’re you gonn’ do, little man?” The bouncer bumped his belly into Deacon, who quickly set his feet and refused to move, despite the obvious lopsided weight difference.
“Cabbie! Cabbie!” Zoe protested at that point, pulling at his leather jacker from behind to get him to back off. He was like a pit bull on a bone at that point and didn’t seem to hear. The insult instantly provoked a state of rage.
“Little?” Deacon now was the one to step forwards and bumped the giant back, and even though he only came up to the bouncer’s chest, the look on his face was downright scary. “I’ll show you little, you fat cocksuckin’ motherfucker! I’m gonna…”
Deacon was stopped in his tracks just as he had shifted all his weight to his back foot, preparing to jump and punch the other guy in the face. Zoe was suddenly standing before him and refusing to move, having somehow squeezed between the two confrontational men. It took him a moment to realize it, but he would have to go through her violently to get to the bouncer. It took him a moment to weigh his options but eventually, common sense began to trickle back into his berserker brain. He really wanted to get his hands on the huge mountain of a bouncer but did not wish to assault the girl to do it.
“Come on cabbie, we can get some new clothes.” She muttered insistently.
Deacon allowed her to turn him around, and they were soon walking back to the cab defeatedly. Zoe at one point had to physically put her hand on Deacon’s chin and turn his face around to keep him from glaring backwards as they retreated. She had never met anyone so fearless before.
* * * *
It was still early in the evening when Deacon pulled the cab down the one-way streets of State Street to East Delaware. This entire part of town had a different feel than where he lived. There were no twenty-year-old Cadillacs cruising around Michigan Avenue, here there were Mercedes, Jaguars, Rolls Royces and probably some other imports that Deacon could not pronounce. And here the people were rich enough that these expensive vehicles that probably cost more than the house on Honore Street he’d been saving for, that they could afford to wreck and destroy them like no big deal.
He saw an expensive Aston Martin V8 Vantage speeding in reverse the wrong way down a one-way street. When it encountered another vehicle, it did not slow, but continued along the sidewalk. That was Chicago for you, he thought. Shaking his head, Deacon turned into the parking garage for the illustrious Four Seasons Hotel, just up the street at the 900 North Michigan garage. He had delivered many fares here in the past, and to his eyes the limestone-and-glass skyscraper ahead looked like a fort with a building sticking up from it into the sky.
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Zoe was still enamored by the bright lights and towering buildings lining the streets, the sea of diverse humanity traveling everywhere at once. She was pressed up against the glass looking skyward in the backseat for most of the short trip. Now that they were parked in the garage she relaxed.
“So, what’s the difference between the North Side and the South Side? You keep going on about being from the South? I don’t understand, what’s the big deal?”
Deacon huffed, completely stunned at the question.
“Y’know when soldiers come home from war and they’re all like…I was in ‘Nam?” Deacon smirked. “Well, I’m from the Yards.”
He turned to see that his dry little joke found no purchase with the blonde Californian out-of-towner, and he frowned.
“Look, the major difference is about seventy thousand dollars a year. You can see that people here have money. People where I live grow up the hard way and have to fight and hustle for their money. A lot of these kids here are born into money, kids where I’m from have to work for it. I’m sure there’s divides like that in California. Where in California are you from?”
“Beverly Hills.” Zoe remarked while they both got out of the cab and began heading back out to the street.
“Like that show with all the perfect little preppy kids?” Deacon laughed.
“90210? Yeah, you seen it? It’s more or less accurate I think.”
“Right.” Deacon rolled his eyes.
“You kinda remind me of Dillion. You act all tough on the outside, but deep down there somewhere, I think there’s actually a decent human being.” She glanced over at him. “Well…a human at least.”
This brought a barking laugh from the long-haired cab driver, who stopped to strike a match and light a cigarette on the corner. With his leather jacket and fingerless gloves, he looked like some throwback to the 50’s in the heart of the city’s most prestigious shopping district. By the time he had finished huffing it down, they had arrived at the front of the building.
“I’m sorry sir.” A valet in a red jacket stepped forward reflexively to bar the young man’s passage. Deacon didn’t blame him either, this was one of the most expensive luxury hotels in the entire city, and he definitely would not argue the fact he did not belong inside.
“He’s with me.” Zoe quickly stepped up to diffuse the situation, showing a room key.
The valet raised a curious and disapproving eyebrow but let them pass. Driving around the city, Deacon was in charge, but once inside this playground to the rich and famous, he was entirely at the young girl’s disposal. He deferred to her to take the lead, and from this point, he followed her inside.
The front lobby was enormous with imposingly high arches, polished marble floors with warm, inviting sunburst patterns and magnificent sparkling chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. The walls looked like something from an Italian villa, only shinier, and where the gentle wall lighting touched, the walls seemed to turn a golden color. Further down, actual statues that looked like they belonged in museums were dotted down the length of the entryway. Deacon was feeling more and more uncomfortable as she led him past great paintings along the wall, some of which were almost as tall as him, and plush, luxurious couches that were far nicer than any furniture he had ever sat upon along the walls. Also dotted here and there were tropical looking palm leafed plants, many of which were taller than him by a decent margin.
When they approached the front counter, which was a matching marble pattern to the floors, she rang a brass bell to attract someone’s attention. Deacon stared at a floral arrangement that sat upon the counter in disbelief. The whole situation to him was surreal. He could not believe people actually lived in such opulence.
A tall, good looking older man in a suit and tie promptly came from an archway that led somewhere behind the counter. His freezing eyes immediately fell on the Southsider and tried to resist a scowl.
“I need the concierge in room 334 please.” Zoe replied with that regal tone that belied a young girl still in her early twenties. Her voice immediately drew the man’s gaze away from the greaser next to her.
“Right away, Ms. Waters. Is there anything else I can get you…” The man curled his lip at Deacon but only he seemed to notice the gesture. “…or your friend?”
“No that will be all.” Zoe replied with practically a sigh.
They turned to leave, Deacon looked over his shoulder once to scowl at the man that was still staring at him.
“What the hell is a concierge?” Deacon asked.
“You’ll see.” Zoe laughed at her uncouth partner.
She then led Deacon to the elevator, and they were soon flying up to the 34th floor. They stepped off, and Deacon was surprised to see that the elegance did not stop at the lobby. There were several cubbyholes along the hall where leather couches were set up like reading lounges, complete with table lamps that bathed the little areas in a warm inviting glow. Here they also passed more paintings and a few sculptures that Deacon could not decipher. He again marveled at the fact that the ’show’ furniture was probably more expensive than anything he’d ever seen before.
Zoe arrived at her room and passed the card through the reader to unlock it, quickly pulling him inside. He had to chuckle to himself, for it was now his turn to stare around at everything like a sightseer, dumbfounded and flabbergasted by the grandeur unfolding before his eyes.
The room was more of the same, it was divided into several rooms, the first room they came into was like a living room, with white couches placed around a centerpiece deep mahogany coffee table, opposite that was a television entertainment center, framed on either side by glass and matching wood curio cabinets. On the other side of the room was a work area, with several desks and two high-backed antique-looking chairs. But the real centerpiece of the room were the tall windows that overlooked a breathtaking panorama of the nighttime city far below, with a darkened Lake Michigan disappearing far away into the horizon. Deacon curled a devilish half-smirk.
“It this all you could afford? I thought you were some kinda rich girl?” He remarked drily.
“This was ranked one of Chicago’s best hotels!” Zoe whirled about offended, the opposite of what Deacon had been going for. “It’s three hundred a night!”
“Eh, you get what you pay for I guess.” Deacon shrugged disappointedly and walked over to take in the view from the window. “If it were me, I woulda sprung for the five hundred a night room.”
“Cabbie, you couldn’t afford a place like this if you saved…” Her mouth was going way ahead of her brain, and it was at that point that she realized that he was poking a little fun at her, and that she was preparing a disproportionately vicious response to it all. She quickly regained her composure when she observed his nonchalant manner. “Heh.”
About the time that Deacon had settled into a particularly comfortable couch that threatened to swallow him whole and found a monster truck rally on the television, there came a knock upon the door.
“Concierge!” Came a snobby sounding voice from the other side of the door.
Zoe quickly went to open it, and Deacon saw another man in a suit and tie enter the room.
“Concierge, this man needs a makeover immediately. I need some fresh clothes for a night on the town.”
“Fuck you!” Deacon growled in response and stood to his feet with fists balled. When the concierge recoiled in terror and both he and Zoe stared back in wide-eyed shock, his countenance changed. “Wait, what’s a makeover?”
“It’s where we put some clothes on you to make you presentable to places other than a dive bar sir.” The concierge mumbled in a weird accent that sounded more forced than real.
“Was that an insult?” Deacon balled his fists once more. “I know an insult when I hear one…”
“Calm down cabbie.” Zoe played the peacemaker, stepping between the two men. “We need to get into that club and there are stores on the lower floors of this building. We are going to get you an outfit and soften your whole…bad boy image that you’ve so carefully cultivated so that we can get in next time without almost starting a fistfight. Sound like a good idea?”
“Oh.” The wheels in the young man’s brain were turning and he eased his stance. “Right. But no gay shit.” He pointed at the dapper concierge.
“That seems like a conceivable request.” The concierge replied in his high-class theatre voice that now sounded like he was affecting a somewhat British sound. “No ‘gay’…shit.” He sounded ridiculous repeating the words. The irony lost on the young man, Deacon pointed his finger like a gun at the man, winked and clicked his tongue in his mouth.
Zoe seemed to tip the man some cash and after he left, she closed the door behind him and then announced that she was about to partake in a shower. Deacon, now thoroughly engrossed in the exhilarating exhibition of giant trucks racing, reproduced the clicking sound of agreement, but did not bother this time with the finger gun.
“Just don’t break anything or steal anything.” She grumbled before disappearing into another room.