Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I messaged her a quick thank you and checked my email. She had copied me on the letter she sent to the landlord, including an estimate for the necessary work as well as projected damages for lost revenue and fines payable to the city, which would be actionable should he attempt to obstruct fair and expedient repairs at his expense. I chuckled to myself. She was a badass, and the firm was lucky to have her.
I picked up my phone to call Madison but thought better of it. I wanted to break this good news in person and celebrate the eminent victory of my building proposal as well. I messaged her and asked if she’d join me for dinner. When she agreed, I told her I’d send around a car for her to meet me at a supper club I wanted to try.
A supper club? Should I dress like it’s an MGM musical from the 1950s? She replied with a laughing emoji.
Of course, I messaged back.
At seven, I sat in a curved velvet booth near the stage as a singer in a sparkling dress crooned old love songs while a pianist in a tux accompanied her. I drank my dry martini and watched as Madison entered the room. True to her word, she’d worn a vintage-looking black dress patterned with red roses, its full skirt cinched at the waist. Her hair was twisted up and her lips were red. She looked like a pin-up from a soldier’s bunk in the last century, and I told her so. She laughed when I kissed her hand.
“I know I’ve usually got flour in my hair, and you’re used to seeing me in an apron with, like, leggings and a t-shirt. But you don’t have to overdo it with the flattery. I just cleaned up because when I Googled this place it looked fancy. I’m glad I looked it up!”
Her head swiveled as she took in the posh surroundings. I liked the soft smile, her eyes shining as she noticed the pianist and singer. She touched my arm and pointed when a waiter emerged with a small birthday cake lit by a sparkler that winked, scattering its glimmer until he placed it on a table and the lady with the birthday clasped her hands in delight. Madison’s excitement was so genuine that anyone would have thought she was the one being celebrated.
Speechless for a moment, I was captivated. More than captivated—I felt a tenderness toward her, something bittersweet with a trace of sadness that I didn’t even know her birthday yet had not been able to make it special for her. It occurred to me that she probably didn’t even do anything—no dinner with friends or night out, no presents or cake. She would’ve treated it as just another day. I had to fight the urge to get maudlin and ask her how she celebrated holidays and birthdays when she was alone. There was no reason to act gloomy in a beautiful place like this. I handed her the menu and asked what she liked.
“I always think I should get oysters. It sounds so sophisticated. But it also sounds disgusting, you know?”
“Order something you like, not something that you think sounds fancy. When I traveled for my fellowship, I started out by ordering hamburgers everywhere I went. It didn’t matter how exotic the menu was or how much it embarrassed my host. I didn’t want to try anything new. Finally, I branched out and found some delicious things I might have missed out on. Except octopus. I got a salad once and it had these curling tentacles with the suckers still on just laying there on top of the greens.”
“That sounds awful. And took an ugly turn. I thought you were going to inspire me to be more adventurous, not make me scared of salads,” she giggled.
“I kept looking at it and then looking at the waiter, back and forth like, do you see this? This thing here on my plate that was recently part of an octopus—why is it here?”
“Did anyone explain it to you?”
“It was part of the meal. I couldn’t eat it, I couldn't even look at it directly after the way my stomach felt when I saw the suckers in two neat rows,” I shuddered involuntarily.
“I’m ruling out octopus. What’s good here?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve wanted to try this place, and it seemed like the perfect occasion.”
“What’s the occasion? Besides that lady’s birthday obviously.”
“My proposed design for a potential client went well.”
“What are you building? Is it a bridge or a hotel?”
“A house.”
“I didn’t know you worked in residential architecture.”
“I don’t ordinarily. But this was an especially large commission, around forty million for a single-family dwelling and various appurtenances.”
“What?”
“The trappings or accessories of the lifestyle. Massive garage. Stables. Pool house, gatehouse, storage buildings for lawn equipment, holiday decorations, pool furniture, probably an outdoor family room with a fire feature and standing heaters to extend the life of the outdoor space into a three-season feature. Whatever is both showy and restrained, enviable. It’s a dream project for me because it allows me to show off and give in to my lust for textures, sheer, crisp linens, and the luster of finely woven silk, diaphanous white, and a sultry cream. An ivory velvet for winter.”