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made some connections in the fashion industry. Then I
helped a friend from Milan get into modeling here in Chicago when I
got back, and one thing led to another. . . I found out I’m good at
it. I’m really into contract law, for one thing. I’m good at
connecting people with other people. . .” At least in my
professional life, I thought. In my personal life, I felt insecure
and inept. “And I’m a good advocate for my clients,” I went on. “I
tend to get them good terms, you know? Because I don’t mind a
fight. I stand up for people.”
    At least for other people I do, anyway, I thought.
For myself, when confronted with any kind of conflict, I tended to
curl up in my shell like the Cancer I was. “And the design aspect
of the industry is cool, too. Working with some of the great
artists, photographers, designers. . . I’m not that artistic or
anything myself, but I really appreciate beautiful things and the
people who create them.”
    “ Well, I want to be behind the
camera, not in front of it.”
    “ I guess that’s the best place to
be,” I said, thinking of how happy Oliver seemed to be, taking
photos for a living.
    As if she had been reading my mind, Lilly said, “I
really like that guy Oliver’s photos. How old is he, anyway? He’s
so cute. I feel like he should be one of the models.”
    “ Olly?” Her comment surprised me. I
thought about his silly strut in my office. “He’s not really the
model type,” I said. I pictured him, how he looked a couple of
weeks ago, when his shirt pulled out of his belt as he lifted his
arms above his head and rolled his hips in an exaggerated
figure-eight. His moves weren’t bad, I reflected, and the glimpse
of his bare torso above his low-slung jeans had showed a
surprisingly hard-looking plane of muscle. But cute? Sure, Olly was
cute, with his open, curious expression, his ready, crooked smile.
That’s exactly what he was, cute. Not devastating, mysterious,
dangerous. . .
    Like Charlie.
    We were almost to the Chicago Red Line stop when
Lilly said she was going to hop on the L and take it up to Rogers
Park, but I decided to walk. When I first moved into the city, I
thought the mass transit system was extremely convenient because it
meant I didn’t need to even own a car. But it didn’t take long for
me to see the value in walking between destinations. There was a
lot to see, especially at night when the city’s hustle and bustle
was at its height, and the vigorous exercise of walking longer
distances had helped to boost my mood lately..
    Under Ella’s influence, I had taken up dancing
again, going with her a couple times a week to classes -- jazz,
hip-hop, and ballet. Now that my mother wasn’t making me go, I
found I actually enjoyed my dance classes. It was all very
familiar, yet new and exciting. And it was fun to go with Ella, who
was clearly in her element, looking like a Barbie in a beigey-pink
tank and tights, and a slouchy fisherman’s sweater she took off
after warm-ups to reveal a slender but muscular athlete’s body.
    We tried to get Ivy to come with us, but so far no
success. “I only dance with a drink in my hand,” Ivy said. Barbara
and Meryl wanted to try a class, but they always had something
going on-- charity work, family and friends, Barbara’s weekly swim,
Meryl’s writing workshops. They kept busy.
     

Chapter 8
     
    “ Hello. Anyone home?” I called as I
unlocked the door of my flat. As I walked into the beautiful
three-story building, I realized how quickly it had come to be
home. I saw Barbara’s light on in her living room, but the lower
level looked dark and quiet. I switched on the light, and I felt a
glow of happiness. Home. It was definitely feeling like home. If
only the feeling wasn’t accompanied by a corresponding loneliness.
It was great living here with the girls, but I missed being in a
relationship. I missed love. I missed a sense of true purpose in my
life. Purpose, was a bit ambiguous, more like I was