I am sitting in a diner on Belmont under the L tracks eating a cheeseburger, so greasy that it swims on its own. No help. No paddling like an infant. Just fluid strokes in a pool of grease. The bun is soaked.

We meet here from time to time. Sat side by side on stools watching the old cretin flip grilled cheese sandwiches and put mustard on hot dogs as he rattles on and on about the old country. Telling tales of when he was younger and swam in the ocean. Or fished on his father’s boat for sardines. This fool. He had a choice to stay in beauty but chose to come here to the land of opportunity. He says he came here with nothing. Not a stitch of clothing nor a dollar in hand. The old Greek told Gladys she had the eyes of a troublemaker. And then he’d laugh while looking at me as if to say, run for your life, kid.

And perhaps he was right. I should have ran. Far away from her and Cleo, too, for that matter. They were both demanding too much. Destroying me. Preventing me from writing. A voice inside my head told me to leave. Get out of Chicago. Just do it. But first, one more night with Gladys and one more night with Cleo. Lord, forgive me of my sins.

Was I never in love with Cleo? No. Although I was in love with what she offered. Fine foods,  beautiful music, a sophistication about her. But, I was never in love.

And as for Gladys? My heart went out to her. She could have any man. And maybe she was having them all on her plate with gravy and mashed potatoes on the side with a fat juicy ribeye, smothered in wine butter. One never knows. I didn’t.

I thought she chose me. Of all the men in Chicago, I thought she chose me. I was never a meal. Only dessert.

What made her this way? I do not know. Those eyes and hips. I will  never forget her. But that laugh. That evil way she had about her enticed me more. She drew me in. Was she honest? It’s hard to say. It always is.

Throughout the dawn of time, people have lied. Gladys lied, Cleo lied, and I lied. We were all living a lie. And when living a lie, you fear the truth. You fear it will come to you. And that will be that. The trick was to move on before you were caught. That’s what the voice told me.

So, I called my old friend Thomas Schmidt, don’t you know. I knew he’d come through for me. I told him I was desperate, down on my luck. You’re always down on your luck, David. He said. I’ll meet you at Melrose in an hour. How much do you need? I told him a grand should do it. And, on the other end, there wasn’t a cough or a laugh or a snicker. He just said, OK.

I sat down at the Melrose and ordered a huge fluffy omelet with spinach and cheddar and onions with buttered toast and marmalade, hashbrowns as well. I didn’t have a dime to my name. Thomas was late. But, I didn’t sweat. I knew my savior would come.

Here David. He said. Take this. He handed me a wad of dough. Let’s talk business. I had to stop myself from laughing at him. I’ve loaned you over two thousand dollars. And I’ve been very lenient. However, I’m expecting the money back with interest. Again, I almost fell out of my seat. Sure thing, Tommy. I told him. Sure.

I walked out of that diner a new man. And I never contacted Thomas again. Who was he to tell me interest would be added. Nothing is free in this life. Nothing. Or is it?