Doors Open On The Right At Belmont

Doors Open On The Right At Belmont

His eyes grew heavy and the words on the page began to run together. He looked over the top of his readers at the clock across the room. Eleven thirty-nine. “Didn’t realize it was that late,” he said as he picked up a yellow post-it note that he had folded into a bookmark and slid it between the pages.

He picked up his phone off the small side table and pressed pause. The soft jazz faded and gave way to the hum of the traffic below.

He scrolled through the notifications on his phone. No new text.

He opened an app. Nothing, but beside her profile picture was a little green dot. She was online.

He began to type. “No. She said she would text.”

He started to put the phone down, but her smile in her profile picture grabbed his attention before the screen faded to black.

“Aw, what the hell. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, right?”

His thumbs worked away on the small screen, typing a line and then deleting it just as fast, until he settled on “I didn’t realize real estate agents worked so late”.

A few seconds went by and then a small bubble with three little dots appeared in the bottom left corner of the screen.

“Hey! What are you doing up?”

“Just reading. Waiting on a text. lol.”

“Oh shit. My bad.”

The phone buzzed in his hand.

She sent a selfie.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor with papers scattered all around her. She was wearing an oversized Cubs shirt and plaid shorts. Her hair was pulled high into a ponytail. Her lips were curled up at the corners into a genuine but tired smile.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot going on.”

Nothing.

Thirty seconds.

A minute.

The screen faded to black.

“Welp, I guess that’s that,” he said as he set the phone down on the side table and turned the lamp off.

The apartment went dark. He stood motionless until his eyes adjusted to the pale light that filtered through the windows from the streetlights below. He shuffled his feet trying to navigate through the living room without catching the corners of the furniture with his toes.

He was halfway across the room when the phone buzzed behind him.

He sat back down in the chair, picked up the phone and unlocked the screen.

“Yeah, I’ve got three closings tomorrow, but WTF is this? I send you a selfie and don’t get one in return?”

“Oh God, you don’t want that. I’m terrible at taking selfies.”

“Them’s the rules,” she typed back almost as soon as he hit send.

“Oh. And no dick pics please.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. To both.”

He reached above his head and turned on the lamp. He held the phone at arm’s length and tried to straighten his hair with his hand.

He didn’t like the angle of the first shot, so he held the phone a little higher. It wasn’t great but he figured it was probably the best he could do at midnight and he hit send.

“Do guys really send you dick pics?”

“I didn’t realize you wore glasses. Cute. And yes, ever since the agency put up that billboard at the Walgreen’s at Dearborn and Division, the amount of male genitalia that has flooded my in-box is unbelievable.”

“They’re only readers. And sorry about that.”

“No big deal. As long as you weren’t one of them. lol”

“I don’t even like the way my chin looks in pictures, much less…you know what. I’m just gonna stop right there.”

“LOL!”

“Well, it’s getting late and I know you’ve got a lot to do.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, but this has been fun and you’ve got my number now so…”

His thumbs hovered over the screen while he stared at the words.

“Yeah. It has been. And now I’ve got your number so I’ll be in touch.”

“lol. Good night.”

“Good Night.”

“What the hell was that? I’ll be in touch?”

He turned off the lamp and sat in the darkness thinking.

Thinking about the way she’d looked at him on the train a couple of days ago.

“You in or out?”

The Red Line was crowded that morning.

He sat watching the city pass by below. He was one of the lucky ones to get a seat.

She got on at Lake. A laptop tucked under one elbow, a cup of coffee in the other hand. She had her phone pinned between her ear and her shoulder.

“I know. I know. I’m on the way,” she said as she shuffled down the aisle in front of him.

He stood, grabbed the rail and motioned for her to take his seat.

She dropped into the seat without hesitation, mouthing a grateful “thank you” while still trying to juggle the call.

“I can’t make the train go any faster. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

With that she ended the call and turned to him.

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.”

He held on to the strap above her and swayed with the rhythm of the train.

“No problem. What do you do? You always seem in a hurry?”

“Have we met?”

“Not officially, but I’ve seen you on here a few times.”

“Stalker.”

He looked away.

“No, nothing like…”

“Kidding. I’m in real estate. You’re not from here, are you?”

“That obvious?”

“Well, your southern drawl is a pretty dead giveaway.”

Below them the city was waking up. The warmer weather and blooming flowers finally had people back on the sidewalks again.

“Doors open on the right at Belmont” the CTA voice announced.

“This is me,” she said, offering him his seat back.

“What’s your number?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Figured I at least owe you a coffee for the seat. Unless you don’t want to.”

Her eyes locked on his. They were blue, but not just blue. They had an electricity to them.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I know it’s not. You in or out?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

“I’m Haley, by the way.”

“Matt.”

She exited the train, then yelled back over her shoulder, before the doors could cut off her words, “I’ll text you.”

Matt slowly opened his eyes. He was still sitting in the same spot he was at midnight. The sunlight cast a single beam of light through the curtains and across the living room floor. A faint rustling sound at the door caught his attention.

When he opened the door an envelope that had been tucked into the seam of the door fell to the floor. He closed the door and put on his readers.

Valued Tenant,

As we are sure that you are aware, your lease is set to expire June 30th. If you do not wish to renew your lease, we ask that you let our office know, no later than May 1st.

He tucked the letter back into the envelope and threw it onto the pile of mail that was growing on the counter. Unlike the rest of them, he knew he would have to answer this one.

The commute seemed long that morning.

The city felt bigger, the sirens sounded louder.

It seemed like his shift would never end.

About midday he got a text that read, “Pequod’s 7:30”.

“What’s Pequod’s?”

“What? How long have you lived here?”

“Two years.”

“That makes it worse. Please tell me you’ve at least been to Portillo’s!”

“I have and I’ve got a confession to make.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t like all that shit on my hotdog.”

“I bet you like ketchup on it don’t you.”

“Yep.”

“Pequod’s 7:30. Don’t be late.”

“Where is it?”

“You’re a big boy. Figure it out.”

Matt walked into his apartment, threw his keys on the kitchen counter and turned on the same jazz playlist that he had listened to almost every night for the last two years. At first, it made him feel sophisticated, lately not so much.

About the time he sat down and reached for his book, his phone buzzed.

“What’d you think?”

“I think I probably gained a few pounds.”

“It’s the crust.”

Matt’s thumbs moved quickly across the screen but paused before he hit send.

“Wanna hang out this weekend? Maybe walk around Navy Pier or something?”

“Absolutely not.”

Matt rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath.

Before he could respond, he could see that she was typing.

So he waited.

“I’ll hang out with you but NOT at Navy Pier. How about Montrose?”

“I don’t know where that’s at.”

“That’s my point. You say you still feel like a tourist, well stop doing tourist things. You’ve got to get out of The Loop.”

“I do.”

“Prove it.”

Moments later a picture popped up on his phone. It was a cobblestone alley lined with umbrella covered tables and raised flower beds.

“Know where this is?”

“No idea.”

“I’ll be there Friday night at 8:00, I’ll wait for you until 9.”

It was 8:42 when Matt stepped into Gin Alley. He squinted his eyes and looked up the dimly lit alleyway. Haley was sitting at a small round table about halfway down the alley.

Matt walked up to the table, his hands on his hips, breathing heavy.

She looked up.

“What’s with the huffing and puffing?”

“I ran the last two blocks.”

“Yeah, you did.”

She pushed the chair opposite of her out from under the table with her foot. Matt took a seat and looked around. His eyes went from Haley, to the cobblestones, to the string lights and back to her.

“This place is awesome.”

“See!”

The sun beat Matt to his apartment the following morning. As he closed the door behind him, he felt that familiar buzz in his pocket.

It was a selfie.

Haley, holding the camera at arm’s length. Smiling. The rising sun reflecting in her eyes.

Matt in the background, his back to the camera, watching the sun wake the city.

“I told you Montrose at sunrise was awesome.”

He looked at the envelope still sitting on top of the pile.

Matt stepped off the bus at Madison and Wood. Around him, hundreds of people in red sweaters made their way to the United Center. Their breath hung in the cold winter air like smoke.

His phone buzzed.

“Where are you? It’s almost puck drop.”

He looked up at the Blackhawks banners draped across the front of the arena and smiled.

“Almost there.”