“Of course not, darling, but is it my fault if they pay too much attention to me? I’m trying to see the nuts and bolts of the community. I’m doing other things, though: I’m trying to get the head office to let me interview old Mr. Bysen. He never talks to the press, his secretary told me, so I’m trying to find a different angle. I thought about pitching your basketball program as an entrée, Vic.”

“Actually, my basketball program has gained me an entrée of my own,” I said airily. “I’m going out to morning prayers tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think—oh, help, wait a second.”

Her cell phone had started to ring. She fished it out of the cushions. Mitch pawed her leg, annoyed that she’d abandoned him, but she ignored him.

“Yes?…Yes…She did? Really, how funny! What did he do?…Oh, bad luck. What do you do now?…You are? Are you sure that’s a good idea?…What, now?…Oh, all right, why not. In forty-five minutes, then.”

She hung up, her eyes sparkling. “Speaking of South Chicago, that was one of my community contacts. There’s a meeting I want to sit in on, so I’ll leave you two for an evening of private bliss. But, Vic, I want to go with you in the morning.”

“I suppose,” I said doubtfully, “but I’m going to take off at six-thirty—I was told to be there by seven-fifteen, and I don’t want to blow a chance to talk to Buffalo Bill.”

“Buffalo Bill? Is that what they call him? Oh, of course, because he’s a bison. No problem. What time will you be getting up? That early? If I’m not out here by six, come get me, okay?”

“There is an alarm next to the bed,” I said, annoyed.

She flashed a wide smile. “But I may not hear it if I get in too late.”

Five minutes later, she was gone. Morrell and I went down to Devon Avenue for samosas and curry, but I found it hard to recapture my earlier celebratory mood.

10

Unions? Not a Prayer!

“Heavenly Father, Your power fills us with awe, and yet You condescend to love us. Your love pours down on us constantly and as its proof, You sent us Your darling Son as a precious gift to bring us close to You.” Pastor Andrés’s public voice was deep and rumbly; with the mike overamplifying him, and the faint Hispanic accent, he was hard to understand. At first I strained to follow him, but now my attention wandered.