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  DeniseZen

  A Novel

  Jamie Antonia Symonanis

  Copyright © 2011 Jamie Antonia Symonanis

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Symonanis

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smardwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  The author can be contacted at

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, corporations, institutions and organizations in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, are used fictitiously without any intent to describe their actual conduct.

  A very grateful thanks and acknowledgement is given to the following artists, listed in the order of their appearance.

  Neko Case

  Beatles

  Laurie Anderson

  Cream

  Florence and the Machine

  Blues Magoos

  Brian Eno

  Buddy Holly

  Morrissey

  The Smiths

  Eric Clapton

  Frank Zappa

  Fever Ray

  Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66

  Ramones

  For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

  Vincent van Gogh

  The Earth is just too small and fragile a basket for the human race to keep all its eggs in.

  Robert Heinlein

  After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say, “I want to see the manager.”

  William S. Burroughs

  However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.

  Stanley Kubrick

  This book is dedicated to my father and his loving memory. He was a great man and a loving father. I can still hear his song.

  Chapter 1

  Mustang

  The smell was something she never could forget as she began her descent to the subway. It was not as deep as some other subway lines she’d been on but it still reeked of cold, damp, and mold that had settled everywhere in the tubes that the trains sped through daily. This was a part of the Chicago subway system, which meant it was simply a means of getting from point A to point B, forget about how it looked or smelled. There are so many other subway systems in the world that are gorgeous in comparison to this town, even in countries that had been completely leveled by war. They are works of art in comparison; some even have artwork hanging at the stations, but this town, Yeeech!

  Today she was heading up to the mechanic shop the father of one of her friends owned to pick up her first car, and not just any car. This was a vintage 1964 Ford Mustang that had undoubtedly seen better days, but it had been completely overhauled mechanically to run well. She had lied when asked if she knew how to drive a stick shift and hoped that when the time came for her to drive away with the car she did not make a complete fool of herself.

  The A Train pulled into the station, along with it a wash of the smell of the tubes that always engulfed the passengers on the platform. It could be worse; it could be diesel bus exhaust. She found a seat easily as the train lurched forward.

  Here comes the nostalgia train. Whenever she passed her old neighborhood she remembered her early days. She lived in this neighborhood for the first seven years of her life. She loved it then and she loved it still. It had a wonderful vibe that let you know it was always going to be a good place to live. Her family left when she was seven because the building they lived in was probably going to have to come down, and rightfully so. It was built at the end of the 19th century and the way investors were buying up property, at times offering more than what it was worth, it was simply a matter of time before they were out. So, her parents bought a home of their own nearly a mile west. It was not as easy to get around the city from there, even though in Chicago a bus would get you most places, even to the Rapid Transit Systems. With a little fixing up it was home to her parents and her fellow siblings, but she did miss this old neighborhood, and the ease with which she could zip around town on the trains.

  I loved the smell of the subway roaring through the tubes when I was young. Around the corner from her home on Milwaukee Avenue, the sidewalks had gratings built into them in front of certain addresses on nearly every block. When you walked over them you could feel the cool air from the tubes rising out of the darkness along with the smell of the tubes. She and her friends would wait for the subways to pass on a warm summer day to feel the wash of cool air and the smell, that almost otherworldly smell of the tubes that would gush out of the dark hole when a train passed. It was strong enough to blow your dress or skirt up over your head just like Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch. If you were wearing baggy trousers, they would fill up with air giving you the appearance of an inflated balloon that could easily float away.

  “Division next stop, next stop Division,” the conductor announced. That meant that she would be leaving the tubes to climb up for the elevated leg of the journey. The guy that sat down in front of her smelled like he might have slept in his clothes the night before, maybe more than one night. She could hear the Ramones emanating from his head even though she could not see any evidence of headphones or wires through his matted jet-black hair that pointed in every direction.

  I like the Ramones. He can’t be that big a mess if he likes the Ramones. She noticed her foot tapping along to the sound of Sheena Is A Punk Rocker. Well she’s a punk punk, a punk rocker, Punk punk a punk rocker. I love singing along to good tunes that appear out of nowhere. If I had to have a tune stuck in my head all day, Sheena was cool.

  Only two more stops. She liked sitting backwards on the train. For some reason, to her anyway, it was easier to check stuff out, like coming back from a place rather than going there. North Avenue. Look at it. It’s the same design they started with more than a century ago. As a matter of fact, some of those dingy wooden planks look like they are the originals.

  As good as the quiet music was coming from the guy in front of her who was now most definitely snoring, she stood up to make her way to the door to exit at Milwaukee Avenue, or was it Western Avenue. She could never remember which it was then stopped thinking about it when she realized it simply did not matter.

  She decided to walk from the L stop it was such a nice spring day. Since she was still a little early she popped into Arturo’s for a couple of chicken tacos. The waitresses were always friendly, the cook always working too hard so she left them a nice tip in the bottle on the counter after paying. Good karma, maybe it will come back to me.

  Oh wait, this is the odd side. She crossed the street to the honk, squeals and what she was sure were sexual comments she was happy she could not understand, coming from a small very noisy car jam packed with young Puerto Rican boys that was equipped with unfortunate odd sized tires and an exhaust system that sounded like it would wake up the entire neighborhood when the kid driving it came home at four in the morning. “La cucaracha, La cucaracha,” she started singing to herself. A young mother with two children in tow looked at her and laughed.

  “Finally,” she uttered under her breath.

  She started to walk into what looked like a mechanics office when someone called to her. “Excuse me Miss, can I help you?”


  He was wiping his hands with a red rag. The smell of oil and sweat seeped out of the space.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Ramirez.”

  “You must be Gabe’s friend. I’m Tony. Phillip is out picking up some parts but should be back any minute.”

  “Denise. It’s nice to meet you Tony.”

  “Would you like something to drink, coffee or a pop?”

  “No, I’m good. Stopped at Arturo’s on the way here.”

  “Good choice. Good food.”

  “Yeah. Love their chicken tacos.”

  “Whoa, here he is.”

  A black GMC pickup truck pulled up in front of the shop. She had never met Gabe’s father and was surprised that he was so tall. Actually she was always surprised when someone was taller than she was having sprouted to a height of 72 inches in high school.

  Tony walked over to the truck to help him get some parts out of the back.

  “Hello, Denise?”

  “Yes. Nice truck.”

  “Thanks. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

  “Nope, just arrived actually.”

  “Well, just let me toss these in the office and get the keys.”

  She followed him through a few doors, the final one leading to a garage where a few cars were parked. Phillip pulled a large canvas tarp off the car she was standing next to revealing a deep burgundy Mustang, her Mustang. She knew she was wearing a huge grin, never expecting it to look this good.

  “She’s running like a champ,” Phillip said.

  “Wow. I am blown away. Gabe told me it ran like new but was pretty beat up and covered in dark grey primer.”

  “That sounds like my Gabe. No, actually, I was amazed from the start at how clean it is. Just a little rust you’ll never be able to find.”

  “It must be pretty obvious I am beaming huh?”

  “It’s a classic. I’ll have Tony move this one over so you can be on your way. The tank is full by the way.”

  “Thanks again.”

  They moved back to the office where he signed the title of the car over to her. “Denise Zen, is that Asian?” Phillip asked.

  “No, actually it is shortened from Zensulitis. I’m Lithuanian. My grandparents shortened their name. Kind of wish they hadn’t. One day I may pay to have it changed back since I always loved the ring of it.

  “Lithuanian. That would explain your looks, tall and beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she blushed.

  “Well Denise, she’s all yours. Have fun in school. Gabe tells me it is beautiful down there with roads just built for a car like this.”

  “It’s pretty nice. I’m really excited.”

  He handed her the keys and the paperwork she needed to have notarized before going to Motor Vehicles to make ownership official.

  “You’re covered on my insurance for every driver until tomorrow at the end of the day so be sure to get your insurance in place.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  She followed the instructions Mary had given her about driving a stick shift. After pressing down on the clutch and moving the shifter on the floor into neutral, she turned the key to hear the soft purr of her very own eight cylinder Mustang kick in immediately. Let the clutch out easy, EASY. She did not care how foolish she looked; as a matter of fact no one seemed to be watching as she pulled away down the alley honking the horn once as a parting gesture of thanks. It smelled clean because it was clean. The odometer showed almost 70,000 miles. Damn, it is almost like a new car. She was in heaven.

  Chapter 2

  Two Lane Heaven

  Denise made it down to school in Southern Illinois early just as planned, enrolling in the summer term because her sister Mary had told her it was the best time to actually learn something since the term was short and the classes met every day for longer periods. “The professors for the summer term were absolutely the best,” she had said. “It’s intense but you will love it.”

  She also wanted to work for the school between the Spring and Summer terms. She was awarded a student job working in janitorial on campus. “It sounded like a lowly job but it paid the most,” she had told Mary. “Artists need moolah,” she laughed.

  The trailer she rented to live in was south of campus, midway between Carbondale and Giant City State Park. It was not in a trailer park. They reminded her of trailer projects for some reason, cold, with gravel or pavement outside your door. No, the two-bedroom trailer she was lucky to find was tucked away under a few oak and hickory trees that afforded shade from the hot sun on summer days, just off Highway 51. The owners of the property lived in Anna, a sweet old couple that had lived in Southern Illinois all of their lives, except for Smokey’s stint in the navy back in World War II. She loved the fact that it could not be seen from the highway. There was also room for a garden if she had the mind to start one, if she had the time with the full schedule of in-depth art classes and work.

  She had gotten out of the shower and was working on her second cup of coffee when she heard a light knock at the door. It was Saturday, her first week behind her, and she wondered who would be stopping by this early since she really had not met that many people yet between terms.

  “Just a minute,” Denise said. She put on a pair of black jean shorts and a long green tank top before opening the door.

  “Hi,” a young woman said. “I am sorry to bother you so early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, it’s ok. I’m an early riser. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Layla, I live just past those trees over there,” she said, pointing south. “I have to get to work, really can’t afford to lose this job, but my car needs a jump. Do you think I can get a jump from you so I can get into town, drop the car off to have them replace the battery, AGAIN, and get to work?”

  “Do you have cables?”

  “Oh yeah. I never did until I moved out of town. I’ve needed them six times in the past year since moving out here.”

  “Sure. I’ll get my things and be right out.”

  “Did you just get down here?” Layla said while opening the hood of her Focus.

  “Yeah. Working over break and then I jump into a summer of intense Art classes.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  “Yeah, well, I paint and draw. I’ve always loved to draw, just getting started on painting.”

  “I’m not in school now. Haven’t been since last fall. Just been living down here, working. I fell in love with the area.”

  “Layla, that’s a nice name. Don’t hear it often.”

  “Yeah. My parents named me after the Clapton song. I get the impression I was conceived when the album was playing,” she laughed.

  “Denise. My mother was convinced I was a boy when she was carrying me but. They had planned on naming me Denis after one of my father’s good friends, so they just added the e for me.”

  “Follower of Dionysius.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the meaning of your name. It’s kind of a hobby of mine, studying the meaning of names.”

  “What does Layla mean?”

  “Night beauty. I think my acquiring it may also have had something to do with the fact that after six hours of labor, I arrived around 11 p.m.”

  “Ok, what do we do now,” Denise said after Layla attached the final cable.

  “Just start your car and let it run. Is your battery in good shape?”

  “Yes, I think it’s new.”

  “That’s good. I swear, sometimes I think this area is part of some battery killing vortex,” Layla laughed.

  “If we are maybe I should invest in a pair of cables.”

  “Might not be a bad idea.”

  Layla’s car started right up. She hopped out of the Focus and disconnected the cables then tossed them in her trunk. “It’s alive,” she laughed.

  “Success.”

  “Hey, let me pay you back for your kindness.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

  “I know
, but you seem like a really nice person and I’d really like to. I’m going to throw some burgers or a shish kabob on the grill after work, why don’t you stop by?” Layla said, handing her a piece of paper with her phone number on it.

  “Shish kabob. How can I refuse,” Denise smiled.

  “Thanks again.”

  Upon returning home she put another pot of coffee on and moved out to the yard under the shade of a big oak tree to enjoy a cup while she read the Friday edition of the Daily Egyptian. It was still only late spring but it was already warmer than she was used to in Chicago. The breeze filled her nose with the scent of pine from the trees on a neighboring property.

  “What to do today?” she asked herself. “Hmm, It Came from Outer Space is playing at the Student Center. Only fifty cents to get in, and it’s in 3-D, such a deal.”

  Denise headed out for some groceries and a bottle of wine to bring with to the barbecue. Which wine goes with a shish kabob? The guy in the liquor store wasn’t sure so she bought a bottle of red and white wine.

  After shopping she decided to lie out in the sun sans tan lines. She fell asleep on the cotton blanket. She loved to nap in the sun especially when there was a nice breeze like there was this day. It wasn’t the Chicago lakefront but it was private and the conditions were ideal.

  For Layla, work was finished and she was back on her way home after stopping to pick up a few things she needed for the barbecue. She passed by Denise’s place slowly. Even though it appeared to be quite secluded and private, to someone who had lived in the area for a while, it was easy to peek through the holes in the foliage. Doing so she noticed Denise’s tall slender frame lying on a blanket nude. She smiled and continued on her way home.