I pulled into Marina Towers as The House of Blues closed for the night. A swarm of people formed a labyrinth between me and the parking garage.

Bouncers stood with their arms folded and legs splayed, trying to maintain a menacing look while glancing at their watch for quitting time.
Patrons mobbed the cab stand. A scuffle ensued. Bouncers held their ground at a safe distance.

Young flesh peppered the tarmac. Dude's fashionably dressed in tapered pants with shirttails out scoped the territory for leftover quarry. Over-served and under-dressed girls held onto the arm of a Mr. Wrong or Mr. Right, definitely Mr. Tonight.

I tried to remember what it was like to be young and horny. All I could manage was the horny part.

Charlie, my favorite car hiker, pointed to a spot next to my building. I pulled up and threw him the keys. "New wheels, Lady Zee?"

"Nothing about me is new. I'm vintage, Charlie."

"You're classic, Lady Zee."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I said. "I left you something special on the front seat."

He hopped in and rolled the window down. "Wow! A Blackhawks hoodie. Sweet!"

"You have no idea," I said.

I used my key fob to trigger the electric doors, stepped on the elevator, and hit 60. The elevator rattled and banged, then stopped with a jolt. I stepped out into the hall--another triumphant ascension into the heavens without falling sixty floors to a mangled death in a steel cage.

My apartment key slipped soundlessly into the door. I held my breath. With a bit of luck, everyone would be fast asleep.

I kicked off my shoes in the foyer and tippy-toed into the kitchen. The only light was the glow of Biggie's computer screen. I thought better of gathering ingredients and rattling ice cubes for a much needed martini and settled for one of Stella's longneck beers.

I don't like beer--a holdover from when I lived in East Peoria, home of the Pabst Blue Ribbon Brewery, but tonight I would make an exception.

The refrigerator light was bright enough to find my cigarettes and lighter. Three left in my pack. I felt a little like Gladys but with a full set of teeth.

I found a spare ashtray hidden under the couch and switched on a table lamp. A Linley London rocker had long ago replaced Q's Eames chair. I sat in it.

I lit a cigarette and took a swig of beer. It was wet and cold. Two out of three ain't bad. And, that's when I heard the pitter-patter of little feet.

A sweaty hand touched my arm. "Drama," he said. Yes, you heard correctly. Tolliver calls me Drama. What started as a practical joke is now a reality.

"Everyone has to have a name," Stella said. The baby can't just call us "Hey, you!"

"How about Zee Zee," I said.

"How about Gramma?" She said.

"How about you be Gramma, and I'll be Zee Zee."

"How about you be " Drama" as in Queen," she said. It stuck.

Tolliver stood next to me in his P.J's hugging Trevor; Biggies stuffed bear.

"T-fore," he said.

"Trevor," I corrected. "And when Mommy gets back, you're gonna have to keep your mitts off her bear."

I took another sip and another puff.

"Drama," he said again, lifting his chubby little arms for me to pick him up.

"Shhhh," I said. "You'll wake up the whole damn house."

"Damn house," he repeated.

Oh, great. I can't get him to say Trevor, but "Damn House" is now part of his vocabulary.

I picked him up and sat him on my lap. Trevor sat on his lap.

We rocked.

"Puff," Tolliver said.

"You're too young to smoke, and besides, I've only got two left. Here, have a swig of beer."

He took a healthy gulp and made a face.

"At least we agree on one thing," I said.

He laid back in my arms. We rocked some more. I wiped his little boy slobber off the mouth of the beer bottle onto Trevor's fur.

"Puff," he said.

"All right....keep your pants on," I said.

"Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea. And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee."

He looked up at me with his big almond-shaped eyes. "Honey bee," he sang out.

"Yes, my little prince. In the land called honey bee."