High-flying Indian academic explores sex.
Slip on some thing you wouldn't be embarrassed to go to dinner in, and I'll change. Then put yourself in my hands for the rest of the day. We can do Old Town, but I have to warn you, it no longer lives up to its reputation unless you're only interested in the architecture, the hot dog, Picasso and the Fountain, dinner and dancing. And be home by dawn."
"Oooh, sounds lovely. What should I wear? I don't really have any thing dressy down here yet."
"The place I'm thinking of will accommodate anything from office casual to cocktail dress, so a pretty skirt and a sweater over your halter would be fine."
"Okay! See you in what, half an hour, hour?"
Jared grinned at her obvious enthusiasm. "Will half an hour cut it too fine? It's twelve thirty. I'll knock on your door at one fifteen, okay?"
Their first stop in Old Town was at a street cart operated by an older guy named Dennis who had been peddling hots and sausage to tourists and locals, from March thru November, for twenty years. Jared ordered them what Dennis called his standard-onions, kraut, mustard and catsup, on a long dog and roll, along with diet sodas.
They found a bench on the street and surveyed the neighborhood, selecting stores they wanted to visit. After shopping for a couple of hours, they strolled the neighborhood. Jared pointed out the church, the only building in the area to survive the Great Fire.
He gave her some of the history of the neighborhood, explaining the effects of politics and gentrification over the last forty years. His parents had met, married and lived in the area until their deaths a few years ago.
Jared had lived there until he graduated college, with his PhD, nearly ten years ago. "Property cost, relative to value, have gone crazy, rising faster than the normal rate of inflation by five or six times. When my mother died and I inherited their house, I was able to sell it and payoff their mortgage and put down a 75% down payment on our building, and had money to repaint all the units and upgrade the kitchens and still have money left over."
They had arrived back at Jared's car. He glanced at his watch. "There's a small restaurant, between here and the Picasso, which is building a nice reputation for really good food, served well. We can stop on the way, or go on and see the Picasso, eat then go back to see the light show at the fountain. Any preference?"
"After that hot dog, I shouldn't be hungry again until Tuesday, but, I'm about ready to eat a horse. Let's eat first."
Jared smiled and pulled out his cell phone. "Our table will be waiting when we arrive," he said, grinning as he finished the call. They headed south on Lake Shore, then just before entering the Loop, turned west for a few blocks, and were lucky enough to find some on street parking.
Jared led his companion to what looked like an alley, and in the alley, a storefront which apparently had once been a bakery. A line was forming and had already reached the entry to the alley. Jared led his companion to the door where he gave his name and was granted entry immediately.
"Jared, you old horse doctor!"
"Hey, Mike! Looks like the hotdog cart is doing well. How is the restaurant?"
"We're struggling to get everyone fed. It's amazing what you can do with chili beans and oatmeal. Oh ho! Who's this?" he asked, catching sight of Tricia.
"Mikail Mykelos, Patricia DiMaria, a new neighbor. Mike owns this diner and is responsible for the food. What'd you cook for tonight? Something good, I hope."
"Nice to meet you, Patricia. For you, we have stuffed sole, lamb shanks, or vegetarian pastisto. For those individuals who have problems making up their mind, we offer a sample plate, with a small portion of each. For Jared, I think I can scare up a box of mac and cheese." He turned, pointing. "Your table is right over here. Can I bring you some wine?"
Tricia confessed to being one of those who had trouble deciding on a meal in restaurants she was unfamiliar with, and ordered the sample plate, a popular choice, she gathered, looking around.