Lunch

There's a feeling in Chicago today that you can't really hear and you can't really smell but you know it's there every time a stranger catches your eye and smiles.

I was lost on La Salle Street, fumbling with my glasses and a map, when a man asked if I needed any help. I'd never met such a figure of a man in my life: tall and broad with neat grey hair and a neat grey moustache, dressed in the finest suit and tie. Oh, I don't even know what I'm looking for, I say. Probably just some lunch, I think.

I'm heading for some lunch myself, he says. Like to join me for a drink?

Patrick is an attorney on the five-thousandth floor of a skyscraper, right across the street from Obama's office block. Will he be getting a new office now? I ask, and Patrick laughs; takes me to his gentlemen's club where we dine on turkey pie; up a spiral staricase and under chandeliers. I feel a little scruffier than usual here, in my tracksuit and vest and my hair all blown all over the place in a mess. But Patrick is a Chicagoan and so he doesn't seem to mind.

Were you at the rally last night? I ask.

I wish! he winks. But I was right here where we are now. My husband and I were the only Democrats in here, I think.

So I tell him everything I can possibly remember about the crowd last night; the way we roared when Obama's Presidency was announced; how we clapped the TV screens for change when McCain pledged his support; and how, when Palin reared her ugly head, most of us just looked away instead. Let's forget about her now, we'd said. And when the pastor stood up and spoke of the closing of the divide, well, I think everybody cried — although I knew that I would never truly understand and that I shouldn't pretend that I can. But it was when Obama took to the stage, right up there in front of us all, that we really quietened down. It just seemed that the cheering and roaring weren't quite so important as listening to and understanding this great, progressive man.

Why, says Patrick, flushing with pride. Should we order some wine?

Oh, yes please, I say, so he knows I'm a lady, deep down. And I'll have an olive in mine.