Castro Bridge Mix #16: Vulnerable

The San Francisco Planning Department

“This looks like it could be a drawn out process, Jensen.  There are over thirty petitioners against your proposed remodel.” The city planner had known Jensen Reiser for almost fifteen years. Every time that she thought Jensen had an insurmountable obstacle, somehow her projects managed to squeak through. But this time was different.

“Thirty? Is that all?” Jensen clutched her stomach. She knew the coleslaw she had for lunch tasted suspicious. Great. Food poisoning. She imagined throwing up all over her planner. That would help her chances for getting her project approved.

Contractors notoriously proposed much larger projects than they ever had the hope of getting approved so that they could make concessions with their neighbors. “You need to start the compromise process with your neighbors. Your proposed property will block all of their views.”

Jensen felt like the room was spinning around faster and faster. She forced herself to concentrate. “Sandy. We both know that views aren’t protected in San Francisco. Only light. And I already did a light and shadow analysis. There is no disruption of the neighbor’s light from my proposal.” She struggled to keep herself upright as the pain in the pit of her belly kept growing. “But I’ll work on compromising. Thanks for your time.”

The second after Jensen had excused herself, she powered over to the women’s restroom. She wasted no time throwing up in the toilet. For the first time it dawned on her that she might not be suffering from food poisoning. Ohmygod. What if I’m pregnant?

****

The Olympic Club

Dereck hadn’t heard from Lyric in weeks. Part of him missed their dates together, but there was someone else whom he thought about even more. He politely waved to a few Olympic Club members socializing in the impressive building’s lobby.

A very handsome man in his mid-thirties went straight up to Dereck and introduced himself. “Hi Dereck. I’m Oliver Cartwright. I just wanted to let you know I’m a big fan of your work.”

“Thanks, Oliver.” Dereck was a bit taken back by the effusive man who was clasping his hand just a bit more affectionately than he would expect from a straight man. Once Oliver had excused himself, Dereck noticed that there was a small slip of white paper pressed into his palm. It was Oliver’s telephone number.

Dereck picked up his phone and debated whether to call a number he hadn’t used for sometime. He pulled it out of his pocket and then put back in two more times. Finally, just as he was about to make his call he looked up.

“How are you doing, Dereck?” It was Waffles standing right there in front of him.

Copyright © 2014.  Will Morrison.  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.