Good Friday


It was the coldest sunny day of spring, but it didn’t matter to Elise. At last it was spring. Spring meant newness. New clothes for the coming season, new beachwear for the coming summer, new car if her daddy knew what was good for him, and a new man or two for the parties that were inevitable. Right now, however, she had to get through today. Today was the sunniest day of the young spring. Today was a Friday. She didn’t want to fuck up a Friday.


Elise slid her Mercedes into drive and rolled smoothly into traffic, merging as mindlessly as her foot and hand did to coordinate the clutch and gearshift of her ridiculously ancient car. She was thinking about what color her new car would be once she talked to daddy. He would cave, she knew. He always did. She was thinking how nice it would be to be done with this ridiculous manual clutch. As fluid as the manual clutch had become to her, it was still a stigma of poverty in her mind that she should have to drive a car so obscenely outdated when her father was the biggest dealer in Chicago.


Pulling away from Starbucks, her mind wandered to a fresh thought—cup holders—and how many her new car would have. It promised to be a good Friday. They would car shop tomorrow. Her Easter present.


Across town, Chicago PD wanted to talk to her father, most certainly fucking up her Friday.