Christmas in Chicago

She grabbed the brass handle of the door to the bar, and paused for just a moment. "Please let this not be a terrible waste of time," she thought, then opened the door and walked inside.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. Outside, the snow lent a bright glow to the evening, even after sunset. Chicago wasn't exactly the embodiment of a Robert Frost poem, but car headlamps and brake lights played off the snowbanks in a way that was still beautiful. The oily film papering small puddles of melting snow filled the streets with industrial rainbows, although no pots of gold were just lying around here in the Windy City. Living here had its merits, but it wasn't exactly easy living. Even harder when you were alone.

The bar was a palpable oasis of relaxation compared to the energetic hustle of a late Thursday evening in mid-December. Everyone shopping for presents, heading to or from office parties -- it all lent a frenetic energy to the city. You could feel the typical combination of joy and anxiety that had become the hallmark of the holiday season. But inside it was all wine and appetizers, with small talk and laughter, as couples and colleagues threw back a few drinks and pretended just for a moment that they had all the time in the world.

Adrian looked anxiously around the bar. "What if he doesn't show?" she wondered. They had only met once, and very briefly. It was a comical introduction, which she figured would likely make for a cute story someday, if things worked out. The barista had announced a "grande latte for Adrian," which she had picked up, only to have a man behind her say "Excuse me miss, but I believe you've taken my drink." Hilarious hijinks then ensued, involving all sorts of social awkwardness and Official Intervention from the Coffee Authorities. Eventually it was realized, with some merriment, that two people named Adrian -- one male, one female -- had ordered the exact same drink within 30 seconds of each other. What were the odds?

They had spent a few minutes laughing over the innocent mix-up, but just as she was about to excuse herself, he had asked for her number. She almost declined, because she always said no, but this time she figured "what the hay." And then lo and behold he actually called the next day! They spoke for an hour; he was an attorney, specializing in immigration law. He liked animals. He hated asparagus. He was a Virgo, but didn't believe in that sort of thing. He loved hockey, and hip hop, and hiking. She was hooked.

Just as she started to think that maybe she had the time wrong, or maybe the wrong place, she saw him sitting in a small booth on the other side of a half wall. Christmas carol lyrics filled the air as she quietly appraised her decisions. He was just as handsome as she had remembered -- with a thin and muscular build, a full head of jet black hair, and a slightly olive complexion that reminded her of vineyards in Italy. No doubt about it: he was handsome and she was still hooked.

She gulped, and walked over to where he was sitting. "Hey there!" she said. He stood up to shake her hand, and then they hugged slightly and awkwardly before he sat back down. She took off her coat and placed it in the corner of the bench seat, then sat down across from him.

You're beautiful.

"I'm so glad you came," he said. "I remembered you as stunning, and now here you are in person, shining with the glory of a thousand suns."

Don't fall for his compliments!

"Why thank you, you're too kind. Although I have a feeling you say that to all the girls."

"Honestly, I don't date much," he admitted. "I didn't really want to dump this on you from the outset, but my wife died a few years ago, and I've had a hard time getting back out there."

Emotional manipulation! He's sneaky.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said. "I...I had no idea."

"I honestly don't want her death to be the one thing that defines me, and I hate even the impression that I'm working the sympathy angle. It's been almost five years."

Has it been that long?

"I understand completely," she said reassuringly.

"Hey listen, and not to change the subject, but on the off chance that our taste in wine matches our taste in coffee, I ordered you a glass of merlot. Is that OK?"

Don't drink the wine!

"How did you know?" she asked, with a practiced and encouragingly cute lilt to her voice. Truth is, merlot wasn't her favorite, but she wasn't about to jinx things now. She had suddenly realized that she might be sitting with a real live unicorn: an emotionally and physically available 40-year-old man who might actually want to get married at some point.

She took a sip of the wine. "Delicious!" she said. It was just OK. "Today was a heck of a day; I hate to admit I sort of need this glass." She then went on to explain that as the only woman on a bond desk, she sometimes got a bit tired of frat jokes and sexual innuendo. She was used to hanging with the boys by now, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Every morning she said a little prayer as she badged in through the turnstiles: "Dear God, maybe just maybe today let them act like men." So far her prayers had gone unanswered.

You're making a terrible mistake.

From there the conversation rambled a bit. They talked about work and their families, and sports (both White Sox fans, whew!), and politics a bit (both Democrats, double whew!). They ordered a second glass. The laughter and chatter of all the other patrons lent a cozy backdrop to the evening, with a slightly hazy and relaxing vibe that made her feel happy and warm. She liked the way his eyes looked at her, with such attention and intensity.

I feel so helpless.

"Is she OK?" the waiter suddenly asked, as he was delivering their second round. She turned her head to look at him, and couldn't quite focus on his face. She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't get the words out.

"Oh she's fine," he said. "My wife started a new medication today, and apparently she didn't read the fine print about avoiding alcohol. We'll take the check please."

Oh dear God no!

She laughed to herself. "My wife." That sounded so funny! I mean they weren't married, at least not yet. Were they? No, of course they weren't. Maybe someday. That would be so lovely. Could she still wear white at her age? Of course she could wear white! It was her wedding, and she could cry if she wanted to. Wait, that's a party, not a wedding. Of course there would be a party! With her family and all her friends and there would be music and dancing and it would be just lovely.

And then suddenly she was outside in the cold, with her jacket on. Her arm was draped across his shoulders, propping her up. She felt safe and happy. He hailed a cab.

"Is she OK?" the driver asked, clearly concerned by her wobbling and slurring.

"Oh she's just fine," he answered. "The missus just had a bit too much to drink, is all. My car isn't parked too far from here."

Filthy liar!

She tried to organize her thoughts. What exactly was happening? And where was she going? Something didn't quite make sense, but she wasn't exactly sure what. Was she in danger? She looked at Adrian, who was looking out the window in an absent-minded sort of way. She tried to ask a question, but couldn't get the words out. He turned to look at her, with his eyes that were suddenly empty of all life, like tiny pits of hell.

"Don't worry my dear, we'll get you home so you can sleep it off. All you need is a good long sleep."

She wanted to cry. Once a year, like clockwork. Why did he do it? What pleasure could he possibly get out of it? She just didn't understand. She also wondered why she was forced to witness his depravity, again and again. Was it because she was his first?

"My car is the blue Taurus right up ahead."

The cab stopped, and he paid the fare in cash. He helped her out of the car, and watched the cab speed away into the cold Chicago night. Then he walked up to his white Mercedes, unlocked the doors, and helped her inside.

"Let's get you home," he said out loud to nobody in particular.

Merry Christmas, my dear. It will all be over soon.