TAXI GIRL

At 6 a.m. ten days later, Billy Miller’s clock radio blasted out “Bennie and the Jets.” Billy rolled over and pressed the snooze button; Tania got up from the bed, went into the bathroom and peed. She turned on the showerhead and called to Billy.

     ​“We’ve gotta get going if I’m gonna drive you to O’Hare.” Tania stepped into the bathtub, drew the shower curtain and started shampooing her hair. 

     Billy peed and joined her. He pressed his dick against her thigh.

     ​“We don’t have time for that, but we do have time for this.” She grabbed suds from her head, gripped Billy’s penis and stroked it with her soapy hand. 

     He ejaculated into the drain. Tania rinsed herself off and stepped out of the tub; Billy lathered himself with a bar of soap.

Tania went into the bedroom; she took clean clothes from a shopping bag and threw her dirty ones into another. Billy came into the room; he tossed his toothbrush, a tube of Close-up and a can of Right Guard into an open suitcase lying on the floor.

     ​“Oh yeah, the new guy at the theater asked me if you wanted to do more workshops. I told him I didn’t know. I gave him your number,” said Billy. 

     “Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.” She picked up the two shopping bags. 

     “You know, Tania, if you want to sleep with somebody else while I’m in New Mexico, it’s okay with me.” 

     ​She dropped the bags.

     “Wait a minute! Are you saying it’s okay for me to fuck somebody else so you can fuck somebody else?” She picked up the bags and flung them across the room.

     “How could I be so stupid? I thought we were . . . like a couple.” She picked up the bags.

     ​“Calm down, Tania. It’s not a big deal. We can talk about it on the way to the airport.”

     ​“Go shit in your hat, Billy Miller.”

Tania burst out the front door of Billy’s building and stomped down the stairs. She stormed into her apartment, dropped the shopping bags on the floor and flopped onto her upholstered chair. She stared into space. The phone rang. She answered it.

     ​“Hello.”

     ​“Is this Tania Wildman?”
    ​“Yes, it is.”

    ​ “I know it’s early, but I’ve tried to call you several times, and you’ve never been home. I’m Jim Girardi, the new creative director at City Theater.” 

     “Uh-huh.”

     ​“I’m calling to see if you want to do more workshops.”

     ​“I might.”

     ​“I hear the one you did was really great; parents keep calling and asking when we’re gonna do another.”

     ​“It’s a lot of work for the money; I made out better checking coats.”

     ​“We can pay you more, and you can have an assistant, but we’ll need to raise the enrollment to twelve kids.”

     ​“I could handle twelve kids . . . if I had more money and an assistant.”

     ​After Tania hung up with Jim Girardi, she phoned Billy Miller.

     ​“Do you still need a ride to O’Hare?”

Tania picked up her cab at the taxi barn and drove to Billy’s building. He was waiting on the sidewalk; she stopped at the curb. He put his suitcase in the back seat and got in next to it.

     ​“I’ll take you to the airport, but don’t talk to me.” She pulled the flag on the meter.

​​

Tania drove to O’Hare. 

     ​“What airline?” she asked.

     ​“TWA,” answered Billy. “Tania, I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be.”

     She pulled her cab up to the curb on the departure level. Billy got out of the back seat, grabbed his suitcase and set it on the sidewalk. He came over to the driver’s side of the cab and gave Tania a twenty-dollar bill.

     “I’m keeping the change.”

     ​A cop blew his whistle and signaled Tania to move along.

     “See you next week,” said Billy.

     ​“Why does this hurt so much?”

     ​Billy kissed Tania on the cheek.

     “Because it was great,” he said.

     ​The cop blew his whistle again and strode toward the cab. 

     “That’s enough, you two,” said the cop.

     ​Tania drove away; Billy picked up his suitcase and entered the terminal. The cop blew his whistle and signaled traffic to keep moving.

Tania turned into the taxi lot at O’Hare. The cabs were parked in three rows. She pulled into the next available spot and eventually moved up to the front of her line. The starter’s voice came over a loudspeaker. 

     “City Taxi 5618 . . . Chicago Cab 2354 . . . and Windy City 4281. Hey, good lookin’ . . . go down to terminal three.”

     ​Tania blew a kiss to the starter and headed to the lower level of the terminal. She pulled into the taxi line outside of the baggage claim. The back door of her cab opened, and a young woman got in.

     ​“Where to?” asked Tania.

     ​“Pottawatomie Publishing, but you probably don’t know where that is.”

     “But I do; it’s my job to know where things are.” 

     ​The woman sighed and sat back in her seat.

     “It must be nice to have such an easy job.”

     ​“Well, I do have to keep the cab on the road.”

     ​“My job stinks. I’ve gotta read boring books and then come up with interesting things to say about them. You try doing that all day!”

    ​ “Why don’t you quit?”

    ​ “I can’t. My boss is a big shot in publishing; he’s got a lot of connections, and I’ve got a great idea for a novel.”

     ​“Really?”

​     “Wanna hear it?”

     ​“Sure.”

    ​ “Four sisters live with their mother in Kansas; that’s where I’m from. Their father’s off in the Civil War; he’s a doctor. My dad’s a doctor, but these people are poor. They’re not real poor; they just don’t have any money.”

     “Huh.”​

     “One of the girls is really pretty, and another’s a tomboy. A cute boy lives next door, and everybody thinks he’s in love with the pretty sister, but he’s really in love with the tomboy, but she doesn’t love him.”

     ​“Gee, maybe one of the sisters could get sick, but the dad’s not there to take care of her.”

     ​“That’s a good idea; mind if I use it?”

     “Go ahead; it’s all yours.”

They drove in silence until Tania stopped her cab in front of 525 South Wabash.

     “Pottawatomie Publishing, sixth floor,” she announced.

     The fare paid her, and Tania whispered, “Mr. Worman’s not a big shot in publishing, and you know what else? I don’t think his wife had a nervous breakdown.”

After work, Tania phoned Dan’s room at the Lincoln Park Hotel.

     ​“Can I come over?”
    ​“Sure; it’s room 814.”

     ​“Ha ha ha; meet me in the coffee shop in fifteen minutes.”

Dan and Tania sat opposite each other in a booth, drinking water from Libbey Governor Clinton glasses.

     ​“When’s the first workshop?” asked Dan.

     ​“Next Saturday.”

     ​“Okay, I’ll do it.” He got up and left a dollar on the table for the waitress.

     “Wanna try and see Lake Michigan from my window?” he asked.

     ​“Not today.”

The following Saturday, Tania and Dan stepped out of the auditorium at City Theater and into the lobby. Twelve children, all the kids from the previous session plus four new ones, were waiting for them. The pair ushered the group into the performance space, and Tania called out to their parents.

     ​“See you in an hour.” She closed the auditorium door.

Dan directed the kids to the stage and had them stand in a circle. 

     James De Minure called out, “Who’s the guy?”

     ​“His name is Dan,” replied Tania. “Now, let’s go around and say our names and then act out an activity . . . like in charades. Everyone else’ll try to guess what we’re doing. I’ll start. I’m Tania.” She acted out ironing a pair of pants.

     ​“Is he your husband?” asked James.

     ​“No,” answered Tania. “Can anybody guess what I’m doing?”

     ​“Ironing,” shouted Meg.

     ​“Is he your boyfriend?” asked James.

     ​“No, he’s not. He’s a friend who happens to be a boy,” said Tania.

     ​“Well then, is he gay?” ​

     ​“Knock it off, James,” said Dan. “There are thirteen people here who wanna have a good time. Do you wanna join us, or do you wanna go home?”

     ​“Join you,” mumbled James.

     ​“Good,” said Dan.

     ​“Okay,” said Tania. “Raise your hand if you want to be next.”

     ​Susie did an arabesque, Brian built a campfire, Meg ice-skated, Peter dealt cards, Mandy sewed, Daphne tied a shoe, Alex filmed a movie and Dan paddled a canoe. The new kids, Sam, Christopher, Tammy and Lisa, drove a car, pitched a baseball, talked on the telephone and played hopscotch. When it was James De Minure’s turn, he felt around in his front pants pocket.

     ​Holy shit!  thought Tania.

     ​Is he gonna beat off? thought Dan. 

     ​“I give up, James; what are you doing?” asked Tania.

     ​“I’m looking for something in my pocket,” answered James. “I was gonna milk a cow, but I didn’t think you’d like that.”

​

Tania passed out pencils and paper.

     ​“Write down your name,” she said. “Then ask yourself, if I could be anyone, who would I want to be? Put the answer to that question underneath your name and draw a picture of yourself in that character’s costume. Next week, we’ll work on a play where you get to be who you want to be.”

     ​Alex raised his hand.

     ​“Yes, Alex,” said Tania.

     ​“I don’t wanna do a play. My dad says theater’s dead; there’s no money in it. The real dough’s in film.”

     ​Tania locked eyes with Dan; Dan locked eyes with Tania. Dan spoke out.

     ​“Maybe Alex’s dad is right, and maybe he’s wrong, so let’s do a play and film it as a movie.”​

     ​The kids cheered.

     ​Tania moved close to Dan. “How are we gonna do that?” she whispered.

     “I have a Super 8 camera; we’ll figure the rest out later.”

     James De Minure raised his hand.

     “Yes, James,” said Tania.

     “If he’s not your boyfriend, he should be.”