According to every woman in downtown Chicago, Theo Isaac III was the epitome of sophistication and sex appeal. Slicked back “black as night” hair, tanned skin, always dressed in a three piece suit, topped with a fedora, early thirties. Mysterious eyes, luscious lips… money. Every widow, single woman, and “mother-of-two” pined to spend a night with this suave defense attorney. The 1950’s were the years of conformity; therefore Theo did more than just “stick out.” Theo was a man of mystery. The kind of man that is very seldom ever seen with a woman outside of the many social events he attends. Nobody knows about his home life, nobody asks. La Vie of the eternal bachelor.

“Baby, why don’t I get you a drink?” asked Christine Caldwell, to Theo, a woman he had often been seen with. Theo looked down at the drink in his hand, three fourths full. He looked at Christine with a blank expression for a little while, then off into an empty part of the room. Theo and Christine’s spot in the Indulge Hotel ballroom was in the corner by the doorman and a vase full of blossomed orchids. They were an island alone off the mainland of dancing, drinking, and conversing socialites. Christine grabbed his forearm.
“Darling, I want you to dance with me. This is my favorite Ellington number.”

Without turning away from the space of nothing that his eyes were fixated upon, Theo shook his head from left to right as if to say “No, I do not fancy your company, PLEASE get away from me.” Christine instantly shot her hand away from Theo’s person and walked off. With a sigh of relief, Theo took a swig of his Napoleon Brandy.

Soon after, Theo’s supposed repose was quickly interrupted by Marla Ivy. Brunette, curvaceous… Marla Ivy.
“Three-hundred men and not one that I want to dance with, how about that, Theodore?” said Marla.
Theo was unaffected by this statement.
“You, however, Mr. Three-Hundred-and-one, may have a chance at sharing a dance with me.” Marla said with a wink and a giggle.

Theo looked right into the woman for a while; the intense hollowness of his gaze reduced her eyes to a figurative puddle of blood. Theo’s eyes moved from what was left of hers, and trailed down to her lips. He watched her eager smile turn to that of an indifferent smirk, eyebrow cocked. He took a step back, looked at his watch… a quarter till. Without a nod or any notice, Theo walked away from Marla and out of the ballroom.
At Ten PM, on the corner of 17th and Grayson Street, outside of the Ballroom Theo Isaac III met a long, black vehicle and entered.

“Goin’ home, Theo?” Said a familiar voice from the front seat.

“Yeah, Francis, take me on home.”

Theo lit a cigar. He took a drag and looked out the window, thinking of the women that wanted the seat next to him, a trip into his home. He opened his flask of scotch and put it to his lips. Drop by drop the women slid down his throat.

The vehicle came to a halt and black iron gates closed behind it. Theo tipped his hat to the driver and proceeded out the car and into the front door of his estate. Theo slumped into his home and was greeted by nobody but his spiral stair case… the usual. As Theo removed his shoes and hung up his hat, he seemed puzzled. The usual stillness he’d grown accustomed to hearing in his home had been interrupted. Instead the voice of Etta James was playing on the radio in the sitting room. Upon hearing this Theo Isaac III smiled, for the first time all night. He threw down his coat and ran to the sitting room.

Theo reached his destination. Upon seeing the contents of what was asleep on his love seat a single tear slid down his cheek and another smile inched across his face. He walked closer… where a man lied in a naval uniform with flowers in hand. Theo came to the man, kissed him on the cheek and whispered to him “Welcome back.”