By J Brown (copyrighted 1999)

Felicia Valdez had a good job and a three-year-old baby girl who was the world to her. She lived in the cold and dreary suburbs of Chicago that October and took the train into town everyday. Felicia was a court reporter for the downtown branch of the criminal courts division; she transcribed stories of assault and domestic abuse, of drunken fights outside of bars and the occasional violent crime. She liked it; it was fun and her and the other girls had hours of down time through the afternoon while judges and lawyers took extended lunches on the city’s tab. Felicia was sitting in the small beige room, smoking cigarettes and giggling about previous cases and guys. Her friends couldn’t hear it in her laugh or see it in her eyes but Felicia needed some excitement in her life. Being a twenty-four year old single mom was a trying life but she was still vital and invigorated. A possible solution entered her life just as the season of the summer barroom brawls and husbands beating their wives were coming to an end and her friend Rochelle came in with the news.

"We have the Internet," she exclaimed, yearning to show the girls through the purple plumes of smoke she walked into.

"Oh yeah?" Felicia was barely listening. She had just decided that second she was going to break up with her, what should she call Juan she thought, boyfriend? Some boyfriend she thought but let that go so she could hear whatever it was that Rochelle was yelping about.

"Yeah, we can check out some websites and there is a chat room I know about," she said. Rochelle was pure mischief. She’d cheated on boyfriends, snuck out of her house when she had been in high school and was the girl that little neighborhood boys would be found in their closets with when they were six. She was dangerous; her friends lived vicariously through her and all walks manhood chased after her short skirts. Even judges, lawyers, and defendants if she was giving off the vibe that day. Felicia was often shocked and affronted by her friend’s behavior but Victoria was fun and never did anything wrong to her. Such were the simple ways of a Latina woman, she reminded herself from time to time.

"Chat room, eh?" one of the women in the small, smoky gallery chimed in.

"Yeah," said Rochelle and then with her eyes and hands brought the group closer an intimate. "I met a guy from the Internet once." Her smile widened into the bedroom face that came so naturally to her. "And did I meet him girls!" The gallery laughed. Felicia laughed too but still wasn’t much interested in the computer thing.

"Isn’t that dangerous?" she asked. She had been raised in a strict Latino family and she couldn’t even imagine meeting a man like that. It seemed to her strange and even promiscuous.

"Felicia baby, this is the nineties," her friend replied, as she did anytime when someone didn’t quite approve of her forward sexual nature.

"Yeah but," Felicia began, making her hesitations known.

"Yeah but what girl?" mocked Rochelle, her smooth black skin clouded through the smoke.

"I don’t know." She felt awkward the whole Internet business was somehow being directed at her. Still though, her boyfriend Juan was certainly no man. She had to be careful whom she brought into her home. She had a daughter and Felicia not want her sweet, pure Corine to be confused by men coming into the house.

"I’ll tell you what," Rochelle said, "I’llshow you tomorrow how to get into the rom and you can decide if you like it, all right, girl?" She smiled innocently enough and Felicia, who didn’t like unwanted attention drawn to her agreed to ‘try that chat room thingy tomorrow."

The train home was a repetition of action and a stimulation of new thought. The city flew by and in her mind, she had already broken things off with Juan and was home holding her precious baby girl. And soaking my feet, she reminded herself. She liked to do that once a week. It was a great way to unwind, even better than masturbating. She had once confided in Rochelle about that. It had been one night after work and Felicia had had a few drinks. She was the kind of girl who was reserved until she had two margaritas. Then she was free game, so to speak. Rochelle had never let her live that down. She sometimes called Felicia ‘Fingers’ after that as a nickname. Others in the room had always wanted to know but Rochelle never squealed. It was probably her only true redeeming characteristic.

After some more convincing the next day, Rochelle got Felicia to enter a chat room. Before she could think of a nickname, Rochelle coined her ‘Sticky Fingers’. "You like the Rolling Stones, right?" Rochelle had asked.

"But Rochelle," she had pleaded but Rochelle told her it was too late.

"You are named and thus it is done," she said in a silly legal tone. She would have been a candidate for ADHD but hyper girls somehow slipped through the system.

"All right." This is stupid anyway, right, she thought.

"Ok, good, here we go. I’m gonna put you in ‘Twenty Something Love’, ok?"

"Love, Rochelle," whined Felicia. "I don’t wanna meet—"

"Oh shut up Felicia, we need to pump your life up with a little excitement, and who knows, maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get pumped." Rochelle’s laughter filled the room.

Rochelle left the room and it was just Felicia and the computer. She didn’t type anything at first, just watched and saw the lines spurt out next to people’s nicknames. She was quickly apalled. A guy named WETMKER was asking OPENFLWR what position she liked the best and another person kept chanting that they were horny and wanted to know who would talk to them. She almost turned off the computer but saw the icon to see other chat rooms. She licked on it and gaped in awe at the amount of choices she had. After going through the list once, she chose ‘Chicago Suburbs’. She wasn’t sure why, maybe she just wanted proof that real people actually used this thing. CUBFAN stated how he had been to the playoff game at Wrigley the year before and wanted to know who had gone. DATAMAN replied that he had gone and wanted to know if any women wanted to chat. Felicia still had not typed anything. ILUVLCY said she wanted to chat with DATAMAN and suddenly it was as if the two were engaged in a date that was words only, asking ages and locations and what they did for a living. Then she saw a message from FRNDLYDAD that said Hey Sticky, how are you today? She touched the keyboard like it was a box of dynamite and typed ‘fine’. When she pressed the Enter key, her word appeared up in the growing and moving line of comments up the screen. Oh good, where do you live? was FRNDLYDAD’s response She debated telling this stranger where she lived so instead she replied that she worked downtown. That’s a coincidence, so do I. he replied and then he asked how she was and what she looked like. Felicia looked at the screen, horrified. Was she really going to tell this guy what she looked like? Sure, why not, Rochelle’s voice echoed in her head. Felicia felt a pang of excitement as she typed: 5’6", black wavy hair, auburn eyes, olive skin. I’m Latina, she added. Cool, he responded, but don’t you want to know what I look like? Sure, Felicia returned and actually felt herself anticipating what words and numbers were about to come to the screen. Was he a good-looking single dad, or a fat old and disgusting man taking advantage of unsuspecting women. Was she unsuspecting, she thought. Working in the city had made her cautious and without knowing it, her guard was fully aroused at all times. Still though, she waited impatiently for the response. When it came, she soaked each word as if it were the 11^th Commandment. FRNDLDAD wrote 5’10", black hair, 180 pounds, athletic build, brown eyes, goatee. Felicia read it over and over again until she saw a hello? come across the screen next to his nickname. Felicia hear a sound and it was one of the girls she worked with. Suddenly feeling dirty and invaded, she furiously typed gotta go and clicked off the chat room before FRNDLYDAD could reply.

"Whatcha doing?" asked Jill. She was a newlywed and was hardly ever conscious of anything going on around her anymore.

"Uh, I don’t know, I was going to search for some Father’s Day gifts."

"Oh cool." She had actually heard what Felicia said. She was admired the large crystalline rock that weighted her left hand down, swimming in her world of sex, and cuddling, and an seemingly endless barrage of nurturing from her husband. Felicia had met him once and found him of the ‘whipped’ variety. Felicia needed a man, not someone who was closed off and macho but someone who knew who he was and what he wanted. Her ex-husband was a wimp and a pothead and she didn’t need one of those again. Felicia grabbed her things and headed for the west wing where her three o’clock was going to begin. On the train home that evening she thought how STICKYFNGRS and FRNDLYDAD had had a hit’n’run of sorts, except she was the one running.

Friday afternoons in the criminal courts division for court reporters were usually lad back and fun. Judge made sure their dockets were light on those days so they could get off early, whether it was to squeeze in nine holes at the country club, or to squeeze in their mistress, for those who them. Felicia knew that a couple of her fellow court reporters must have been involved because they usually got off early on Fridays and never explained their whereabouts later.

Felicia was wearing her baby blue dress with the thin yellow lines. It fit her great and with it her confidence ballooned. She entered the chat room again, after everyone else had left for their courtrooms. She watched to see if FRNDLYDAD was in the room but it didn’t look like it. She felt somehow crushed somehow and was getting ready to log off when someone wrote to her. STCKY, you remember me? It’s FRNDLYDAD. But the name said HARTCTECT and while she tried to figure it out, he FRNDLYDAD explained. I’m at my buddy’s house watching our kids for a couple of hours and this is his chat name. Oh, she thought and wrote back a simply but to her involved Hi. Hi back, HARTCTECT replied. This is weird, she thought, but it was also the most exciting thing she’d ever done since going to the fair and riding the roller coaster for the first time that spring. The air had been cool and Juan had kept her warm by holding her in a protective and possessive way while they waited in line. Hello? HARTCTECT asked. Sorry, STCKYFNGRS responded. I’m at work, she typed. Oh, do you have a computer at work, too? Yes, she replied, but no Internet. Felicia wished that she could actually talk to him and see his face and she see eyes.

That same night Felicia and Rochelle went out and had gotten drunk (tipsy was Felicia’s memory). She had told Rochelle how she liked men’s eyes. They could stop her and make her do whatever they wanted. Rochelle had said it was a different body part that made her act that way. Felicia laughed as she always did when Rochelle spouted out one of her vulgarities.

Hello?, HARTCTECT asked again. Hi, she replied, back in the court reporter lounge, back in front of a computer, back to her boring, single mom’s life. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could hear each other’s voices? Asked HARTCTECT. Felicia was excited to see he was on the same wavelength as her but it also made her made feel weird, well, because it was just weird. What if this guy was a weirdo, or a killer even? Maybe in bed, Rochelle’s voice gasped in her head. Yeah, that would be cool, she typed. What is your name? they both came out with at the same time. Felicia one typed and the other returned with Clint. Clint, huh, she mulled around with and then he asked Well, she I call you sometime or does that make you feel weird? The fact he even thought about that comforted her greatly. Uh, yes¸but not right now, Felicia typed back and laughed at herself when she saw she had typed how she talked. Ok, cool, when? gently persisted the stranger. At home or work, she wondered. How about tonight?, she asked. I can’t tonight, how about tomorrow night?, he asked. Felicia couldn’t believe this man wanted to call but not tonight. All right, she responded but her true feelings were masked behind the machine. He asked for her number and Felicia took a deep breath and thought only of Rochelle as she typed it in. Is seven o’clock tomorrow night good for you?, he asked. Perfect, she typed and then finished with Until then.

Felicia got off the computer and her eyes were blurry to the real world around her. The lighting was harsh and the walls were plain and bleak. She looked at the time and realized she was ten minutes late for her case. Gratefully, as she ran the hallways like a lady, she remembered that the judge was always late from his alcohol-laced lunches, courtesy of the city of course. With life being what it is, Judge Reinstein was on time and he was ornery that Felicia Valdez wasn’t. In his slurred and drawn out speech, Felicia was reprimanded in front of the jurors and lawyers, the defendants and a couple of old guys that sat in the back. They preferred to listen to drunken judges than watch the Cubs lose again. It was over two minutes later and Felicia, beet red and embarrassed, buried her head into her small machine and thought of what Clint’s voice might sound like.

She picked up her sweet Corine that evening after work and went home, weary yet invigorated from the day. She made macaroni and cheese and Corine made a mess all over the place like she did every time. Felicia mostly played with her food and all she heard was the silence of her empty condo. There were framed posters and relatively matching furniture that filled it materially but it was spiritually that the room was lacking. Felicia had a nice place, she really did, but she needed another person to talk to. She called Rochelle but had to leave a message. For a moment, she had forgotten what a social life was like. Maybe tomorrow, she thought, maybe tomorrow. Felicia treated herself to a bath and read her Jackie Collins’ novel to the sounds of Diana Krall. So soothing, so relaxing, so far away from everything that normally consumed her. After that, a green facial mask covered her face and she laid on the couch enjoying the same silence that earlier had bothered her. Felicia slept with a clean face, a soft body, and a quiet buzz for the new day.

Work was easy enough; that is, it was exactly as she pictured it would be. The domestic assault case ended early because the jury had deliberated for only an hour. This left Rochelle and her time for a long lunch. She debated telling her mischievous friend about the supposed phone call but hld off, barely. Rochelle told a story of a cop she had gone out the previous night as Felicia had probably been leaving her message.

"He kept the gun right on the night stand," recalled Rochelle. "It turned me on so much, I was hoping he might use the hand cuffs but it was only our first date."

Felicia was glad to have somethng to talk about because she was having trouble concentrating with Clint’s voice as an unknown obsession. He called too, as she was cleaning rice off of two plates, one big one and one small one.

"How are you doing?" A deep, sexy voice came through the receiver.

"Good," she said, turning off the scalding water and grabbing a towel so she could dry her hands. She sat at the dining room table as her baby was sleeping in the other room. They talked for over two hours. He was twenty-nine, had seven-year old boy that lived with his mother and lived not twenty minutes from her. The conversation began formally but by the end they were old friends and with Felicia’s conscious side aware of it, she made plans with the sexy voice. Clint had a sense of humor and it seemed natural to meet him. Saturday night, the two voices would meet their bodies and eyes at a sports bar in between their homes. Felicia got her parents to watch Corine and prepared for the night. The rest of the week fluttered by and finally her temptation to tell Rochelle overwhelmed her. Over sushi and another long lunch, she confided in her friend.

"Girl, you move fast!" her friend exclaimed.

"Shh," Felicia whispered, quelling her raucous friend.

"Come on though, you’re meeting him tomorrow night. Where?"

"At the Cub’s Den. He said he would show me the intricacies of a baseball game." Felicia leaned forward, excited. "Rochelle, he even used the word ‘intricacies’." Felicia like it when a man was patient with her and showed her new things. She had been to a couple of baseball games at Wrigley but she had never really paid attention. She thought it was a good idea.

"A baseball game?" Rochelle asked. She preferred dinner, on the man, drinks, on the man, and then her, on the man. Three hours later she could be back in her own life. But hey, each to her own, Rochelle thought.

"Yeah," Felicia responded defensively. "What’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing, girl, nothing. It’s not really my idea of a good time, but you want to go to a place with lots of people just in case."

"In case what?" she demanded.

"I don’t know," her friend said. "You don’t know this guy so you want to feel comfortable."

Felicia didn’t like Rochelle’s tone. But then again, she was only looking out for Felicia. A California roll later, they were on the same wavelength again and Rochelle had even said that maybe her and the cop friend could go and watch inconspicuously. But Felicia pleaded her not to and so that was that.

On the drive back, Rochelle prodded Felicia more about her quickness on moving in on the guy but gratefully Felicia’s mind was made up. She would not be swayed. For the rest of the afternoon, Rochelle gave Felicia funny looks and mischievous smiles when they saw each other in the hallway.

Saturday night came. Felicia spent an ungodly amount of time on her makeup and hair, much longer than Clint would be able to tell. She wore a black sheer dress, a little dressy perhaps by why not show off her best side. She checked herself in the mirror by the door before leaving for the Cub’s Den.

Felicia had been there before and knew that women often dressed up more then the men or even the décor would seem. Clint told her that he would be wearing khakis and a dark shirt. She saw him, sitting at the bar watching the pre-game show on the obscenely large television that stood defiantly in the corner. She watched him for a moment and a buzz came upon her. Felicia hoped that he would be as attracted to her as she was finding herself to be of him. She took a deep breath and walked over to him.

"Clint?" she asked timidly and he turned around.

"Felicia?" he asked and took her in quickly but noticeably. Nice, he thought, nice.

So, Felicia Valdez and Clint something-or-other got a small table in a corner away from the television. They both ordered Harry’s pasta. Clint drank a cold mug of beer while Felicia sipped daintily from her Long Island Iced Tea. He patiently explained the ‘delicacies of baseball’, as he called them with a fervor she found cute. She was enjoying herself and found she was smiling more than she had in months. Their food came and she picked at it as girls do. She ate a sandwich before she had let because there was no reason for Clint to see her pig out.

Eight drinks later, five by him and three by her, the Cub’s won and Felicia felt special. Clint was charming, and open too without being confessional. He was mysterious and as they left the bar together, she still didn’t know what he did for a living. Felicia didn’t get a chance to find out as he forcefully, yet still somehow gentlemanly shoved her against the wall inside her front door and began to make her feel things that made her weak. She whispered something about the bed and Felicia was surprised and excited as Clint picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. She was taken from her world and woke in the morning sore and satisfied. Clint was quite a lover she told Rochelle when her friend had called into the afternoon.

"I’m coming over. You can tell me all about it at lunch," and hung up.

She pulled it all out of Felicia over chicken Caesar salads. All the details guys don’t even get into were pulled out and discussed amongst girlish giggles. Felicia was hungover and didn’t have the energy to giggle, she left that up for Rochelle.

"Girl, you are a maniac," she said, looking at Felicia’s bloodshot eyes.

"Man, what a night," she said dreamily, pushing aside her half-eaten salad. It had been exciting, she thought, and wondered if Clint would call like he said he would. He had dressed quickly in the middle of the night; she had wanted him to stay the night but was glad she was alone when she awakened and he wasn’t there. A hangover and a new bed mate don’t go over too well, she thought.

The girls left the restaurant and life settled itself over the next two weeks. Clint had called once but had only spoken to her machine. Felicia wanted to see him again, to know if they had something of if they didn’t. One night did call again, late, and it woke her up.

"Hey." He sounded out of breath.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I just got back from the gym," he said and Felicia decided not to comment it was after midnight. Each to his own, she remembered Rochelle impressing upon her so many times.

"I wanna see you," the sexy voice said.

"I wanna see you too," she responded, sitting up a little.

"I had a great time the last time we went out."

"So did I," she agreed. She was relieved he seemed to feel the same way. "But I want to cook you dinner this time."

"You want to cook me dinner?"

"Yeah," she said, "if that’s all right."

"Hell yeah it’s all right. I just haven’t had a women cook for me since I was married."

Felicia did not want to talk about that so she asked, "So, when is good for you?"

"Let’s see, it’s Wednesday, how about Friday night?"

"Friday night it is," she said; Felicia was intrigued about seeing the mystery man again.

"Well, it’s late so I’ll let you go but I’ll give you my email address and you can email the time and what I should bring."

"All right." Clint gave her an address she quickly jotted down that sat on the small table next to her bed.

"Until then," he said and hung up.

The next day, Rochelle helped Felicia send her first email. Rochelle could sense how thrilled Felicia was.

"Girl, this guy has done you good, eh?" she asked, more rhetorical than anything but the eyes twinkled their naughty insinuations.

"I don’t know, I guess."

"Well whatever, you’ve been so much more laid back lately and I think this guy is good for you. I wanna meet him, and find out what kind of guy could mellow you out," Rochelle said.

"Yeah, maybe soon," she said and enthralled at the thought of having actually found someone.

Friday night and went without Clint. Felicia had cooked her chorizo enchiladas, with rice and beans, homemade guacamole. She had even prepared flan for dessert but Clint didn’t show. No phone call, nothing. She resisted calling Rochelle and telling her. She sat in front of her Mexican feast and ate what she could an told herself she would bring the rest in for her coworkers. Felicia silently teared in her glass of Cabarnet, wondering what happened. She went through all the stages of being flaked on. First, there was anxiety of the person being late, then the frustration of feeling anxious over someone that isn’t even a loved on, then jealousy as to whoever or whatever was occupying their time, and the tears of depression of having depending on the person. Finally there was the anger and then questions of self-worth and dependency. Unfortunately, Felicia had the whole weekend to introspect while in the last stage and by the time Sunday night came, Felicia Valdez made up her mind that would never talk to Clint again. Except, she amended, to hear his excuse, and to tell him that she had enough self-respect to not be treated like that. This would be followed with a good-bye. That’s how she planned it out while she sat in the bath with baby and music seeping into the bathroom.

Monday morning was beautiful, and cool and Chicago blue. It would be windy later, but as she got off the train and walked her ten blocks to the Criminal Courts building, she felt refreshed like a druggie whose finally realized the error of their ways. She would be proud today, proud for no reason it appeared, but she had her reason and that’s all anybody ever needs, she reminded herself as she entered the large bricked building.

"Girl, what happened to you?" Rochelle asked as she caught up with her at the elevator. "I thought you were gonna call me after Friday night."

"He flaked on me," Felicia said, the pride veiling her face.

"What do you mean? What did he said?" she demanded.

He didn’t call, I don’t know," and the veil fluttered under Rochelle’s attacks.

"Who the hell does he think he is?’ she asked no one in particular.

"I don’t know Rochelle. Can you do me a favor?"

"What, honey, anything," her friend replied.

"Can we not talk about it right now?" Felicia pleaded. "I spent the whole weekend getting my head straight and I want to work today without having to deal with it right now, ok?"

"Of course girl, of course. I’m here for you though, whenever you need me, ok?"

"All right, thanks," said Felicia and was relieved that Rochelle was willing to drop it.

"Well let’s at least go out tonight and have a drink after work. You need it."

"I can’t tonight, but how about tomorrow?"

"Lunch?"

"Well, I brought in—" and Felicia stopped because it was obvious to both of them that her hands were devoid of food. She had left it at home, but maybe it was for the best. She acquiesced. The elevator stopped and they got out.

"All right girl, well I’ll see you in a few hours, I got an assault and battery case and then after than I’ll have a long lunch, what about you?"

"I don’t know, I haven’t even thought about it," she said, trying to recall what her schedule was for the day.

"Keep me posted, ok?"

She agreed and then the two women went opposite directions at the forked hallway. Felicia checked her schedule and it only had the court room number. Great, she thought, something new. That meant she would have no idea how her day would shape up. She walked with her hands full of her court reporter equipment into room seven twenty-three. It was still relatively empty but she could feel the energy right away. The D.A. was quickly shuffling through papers and the bailiff was making sure his gun was loaded. Yikes, it was gonna be one of those, she said to herself. Then she thought that might not be so bad because she could delve into her work and not have to think about Clint. That bastard, she added to herself.

A half-hour later, the courtroom was filling up with some media, some interested passers-by, and then the judge. He hardly ever came in early unless it was a major case. Felicia, who was fairly immune to her job at this point was even becoming intrigued. She prepped herself by smoothing her dress down and lightly patting her hair to make sure it was how she wanted it. She looked around and noticed the old brown walls and wondered how old the room was. Someone had told Felicia her first week there but, as in ny new job, it was impossible for her to soak in any unimportant specifics. How many murder trials where families’ lives had been turned inside out forever had happened here? She was quiet an still but her mind raced. She saw the judge leave his seat so he could make a grand re-entrance. That’s when Felicia knew something big was up. So there she sat, trying not to notice the tension that was building. She looked over quickly to a couple of journalists in the crowd whispering about something. Felicia took another deep breath and the tall wide doors of the courtroom opened and two officers first walked in. And the doors closed in. A huge sigh of relief and excitement came over the room.

"Please stand for your honor, Judge Lovell," said the bailiff from the sheer silence. Felicia stood automatically and in walked the short pudgy judge in a false air of majesty. Where was the defendant, she wondered.

"First case," said the judge, once everyone was seated, "is the State of Illinois versus James Clinton Hunter. Fourteen counts of violent assault, four counts of fraud and two counts of attempted murder.

The doors burst open with two armed and ready officers and then a shabby, tired and crazed looking man with his head down. Felicia was making her final preparations for the transcription when she stopped to look at the defendant. Clint was already looking at her. Her breath caught and she watched; he was seated not more than twenty-five feet from her. Felicia’s urge to scream was quelled by Clint’s sadistic smile and five day’s worth of growth that sprung wildly from his cheeks. He mouthed a ‘hello’ to her and Felicia looked around to see who had noticed it. No one had, and for the fifth time in their lives, Clint and Felicia had a completely unique shared experience, each different from the other. It was easy for Felicia to decide this would be their last and she didn’t even care if he was innocent or not. Rochelle would never believe this.