Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both, oh yes, they both, oh yes, they both, reached for, thegunthegunthgunthegun, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, FOR THE GUN! Pop, six, squish, uh-uh... Cicero, Lipschitz.
The day Tom decided I should move to Chicago, I asked him for some contacts in the Windy City. The first option, Santino, was the brother of a friend of mine (Marco). We really didn't know each other well, but since we had been in a couple plays together, we had a short history that made it easier to ask him for help. According to legend, Santino had to live in a friend's closet when he first moved to Chicago. Hoping he would extend the same charitable hand to me, I made the phone call. Santino was very nice and offered to let me stay in his studio while I got on my feet. The first night Chris and I were there, we hopped on the el and went to Pizza Capri and The Green Mill. We were nearly shot by in drive-by while walking to the jazz club. When we heard the gunshots, Chris and I hit the sidewalk, and Santino threw his body on top of us. Very manly. Isolated incident. Not the manliness, of course. That was the first time Santino saved my life. For the next couple of weeks, we reviewed our days, ate, and rented movies together. We were strangely obsessed with memorizing "The Cell Block Tango" and "Both Reached for the Gun". That studio was tiny, and I am forever thankful that he let me stay as long as I needed.
I didn't bring much stuff, and tried to cook and clean as much as possible while usurping Santino's A/C. He accompanied me in finding an apartment, and was supportive while I searched for a job. Santino was a great influence on me during my early days in Chicago. He didn't let me get my hopes up for a huge apartment, and told me that it was going to be a struggle to get a job. He also encouraged me to drive around and get to know the city. When I asked him if my driving was ok, he suggested, "You could punch it a little more," and I keep that in mind every time I am behind someone turning left at a green light.
I know Santino's mom hates this story, but I have to tell it. My first apartment was a shithole studio in Uptown. I never had any trouble walking to and from the train, I got along with my neighbors, and lived a very peaceful existence... until one night. About 2 in the morning, I heard commotion in my hallway. I double-checked to make sure my door was locked, but there were obviously several men trying to break into a room on my floor. All I could hear were thumping footsteps and men's voices yelling. It was the scariest moment of my life. I dialed 911, but my cell phone was not getting service. I turned off my dial-up internet connection, and waited anxiously as my landline slowly became available. Once I heard a dial tone, I tried the cops again. The yelling was becoming increasingly threatening. I told the operator that someone's life was in danger, and I was terrified. The operator systematically regurgitated her spiel, "We will send someone out, thank you for your call, blah blah..."
I whispered, "Wait! I'm really scared, can't you stay on the phone until they get here?"
"We'll send someone out as soon as possible. Good-bye." Click.
My mind was a blank. I wanted to call my boyfriend. I wanted to call my mom. But they were both a million miles away in New Mexico. I wanted to run out of the building, but I lived in a studio on the 8th floor with no back door. The only route to the fire escape was through the hallway. There was no exit. Feeling sure there was at least one gun on the other side of my wall, I decided to lay down in the bathtub. If a bullet was going to come through a wall, maybe an extra layer of porcelain would slow it down. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I was starting to hyperventilate. The yelling was getting more intense, and it was right next door. Santino! I could call Santino! He would know what to do. I didn't want to move from the shelter of my bathtub, and I wasn't sure if the cell phone would work, but I gave it a try. I dialed Santino's number and held my breath.
In a sleepy voice, Santino answered, "Mmmhello?"
"Some guys broke into the apartment next door to me, and I think they are going to shoot this guy, I don't know what to do, I'm scared..." I blabbered.
Suddenly alert, "Just give me a minute to find my car, and I'll be there in a few minutes," Santino hurriedly answered. He hung up before I could protest his coming out. I laid in the bathtub and waited.
About 10 minutes passed, and Santino magically appeared at my door. I don't remember him buzzing my apartment, he just materialized. He told me that he couldn't remember where he parked his car, so he just ran from Irving Park to Foster. He let me tell him the whole story again. When I apoligized for calling so late, he explained that he had been at a party anyway, and had barely closed his eyes when I phoned him. He reassured me that he would stay all night, and if I wanted to go to sleep, he would be up keeping watch. Once we started talking, I realized that the voices from next door were gone. I fell asleep and life went on the next morning.
That was the second time Santino saved my life.
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