by Sophie Kent
“Thanks.”
Jill was stowing her BlackBerry in her purse when Susan noticed something gleaming on her ring finger. A simple gold band.
“You’re married too?” Susan shook her head, slack jawed.
Jill’s eyebrows knitted, and a puzzled smirk passed over his lips. “Yeah, for almost eight years now.” She held up her hand, wriggled her fingers, and smiled, a big, wide, happy grin. “The salutatorian. Turned out he was in love with me all through high school, and after a couple months of him being there for me, and alternately romancing the hell out of me, we got hitched.”
“Wow.” Susan couldn’t believe it. She knew nothing at all. No wonder she felt like she didn’t even know who she was anymore. Her life was a sham, and everything she’d spent that life chasing after was meaningless. Would it--could it--ever make her happy?
Or was everything in her life like Mark? Good on paper, until it was time to commit, and then poof! He was gone.
Susan needed to talk to Dr. Garvin...but she couldn’t. And she couldn’t lay all this on Liz. For one thing, she’d been keeping it a secret from Liz. And if she started talking about one thing, Liz would sniff out what she was lying about.
But she wasn’t lying. No. Just keeping things from her. Keeping the truth about Kevin from her.
“So, the salutatorian makes you happy?” she said, trying to get the hell out of her own head.
“Jason?” Jill got this wistful gleam in her eyes. “Yep. He’s so sweet and funny, and he loves me and Emily.” Her daughter’s name is Emily. Susan gave herself a mental head slap. Why hadn’t she asked that? “And though he was lousy that first time in the back seat of his mom’s Buick, turns out he’s amazing in a bed.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open, and both women broke out in raucous, full throated laughter. Susan began to relax, and she started to feel like herself again.
Whoever’s going after that opera house account better watch out , because here I come! Susan held her belly as she and Jill giggled down Lexington Avenue in the back of the taxi.
Chapter 11
THE OPERA HOUSE COMMITTEE was meeting on the top floor of One Police Plaza. The city council had long ago abandoned the ancient and decrepit building it had occupied since the eighteen hundreds, having commandeered the top floor of the new police tower. And though it was only ten stories tall, every single member of the council called it a skyscraper, even though Chicago had more than enough of those to go around.
Susan liked the cool simplicity of the tower’s design. Smooth and clean, and faceted like a jewel, it was what modern buildings should all look like. But there was a part of Susan that wouldn’t want to live somewhere like that. Sure, working in a great big, shiny steel and glass building would be wonderful, and impressive--especially if someday that building was, in fact, one of her own designs. But to live there...
Susan was wildly ambitious, but she had lived in the same brick and wood building since she’d first moved to Chicago. It was old and didn’t have a working elevator, and no central air conditioning for those scorching Chicago summers. But it did have a great view of downtown and the river, and in the winter, the steam radiator heat was enough to make you feel you were in the tropics of Borneo instead of snowed in by sub-zero blizzards. It was home now, and the only thing on earth that could get her out of it would be a house she herself designed...but maybe not even that. In her heart, she loved old houses. An old house with a big front porch, huge bay windows and hardwood floors.
Jill’s hand shook hers, gripping her by the wrist, pulling her out of the elevator.
“You okay?” Jill looked into Susan’s eyes.
Susan shook her head. “I’m fine.” Driving whatever in the hell she’d been thinking of out of her head, she focused on her game plan again.
Dazzle the board with her ultra modern, sleek, chic design. Pour on how envious other cities will be, stuck with their old, dilapidated opera houses. Then show them the plans for the rest of the allotted land. A high end mall--just like the Mall of America--wrapped around the main tower. And all glass, to match the building reminiscent to the Bio-Dome.
Susan knew that most opera houses weren’t so tall. But in her mind’s eye, she saw it as a beacon. It would shine and glint beautifully, matching the surrounding skyscrapers’ modern feel. And, after all, the board had asked for ideas for creating more room in the allotted space. The obvious answer was to build up.
The opera house part would be on the first floor, with seating enough for half a football stadium, and an elaborate, cutting edge stage to mount all those operas on. Everything would be smooth and sleek, and would put all other houses to shame.
Her design would be the toast of the opera world, the beginning of a new trend, and would secure her partnership prospect with Woods, Farrow, Blank and Stein.
At least that dream would come true. There was no way she was going to lose this project. She’d been top in her class in college. She’d won every contract she’d worked on for three years running. And it was her time to shine.
But as Susan strode into the conference room, nodding and smiling at the assembled council members, she didn’t feel shiny. She didn’t feel strong or confident. What she did feel, acutely, was alone. Absently she checked her cellphone for messages. Just a text from him would make her feel so damn wonderful right then.
But no one had left a message. Susan dropped the phone in her jacket pocket and took a deep breath, trying to keep her attention locked on what she was about to say, and failing, and finally just trying to keep her mind on her breathing. Dr. Garvin had been big on breathing exercises when Susan had first started therapy.
Take deep, slow breaths, focus on the bad feeling, the one that made her tense. And as she breathed out, she was to let her exhalation blow that feeling away from her. Let it float away. Did she feel more relaxed?
Yes, she did.
Good. Now replace that bad thought, that bad feeling, with another, better thought, a good, excited feeling.
“I’m going to win this project!”
An elbow jostled Susan out of her reverie, Jill’s voice coming in a hissing whisper. “A little louder. I don’t think the entire committee heard you.”
Susan’s eyes snapped open, and she felt her face turn beet red. At least three of the dozen board members were openly staring at her, two with disdain etched in their expressions.
“Cripes!” Susan turned around and started pulling her papers out of her portfolio.
Jill connected a thumb drive to the computer system and began to download the audio visuals for Susan’s presentation. She started to pass Susan a hand-held control, but seeing how Susan had already dropped and shuffled the papers of her portfolio case, she kept the control, saying, “Just nod your head when you’re ready to go to the next image.” She plucked the jumbled pages from Susan’s hands and riffled through them, putting them in order again.
Susan needed to get a grip, to steady herself.
She felt a familiar vibration in her jacket pocket, indicating she’d just gotten a text message. Though she would usually never check for a text while in a meeting, she was desperate for a distraction, something, anything, to keep her from throwing herself out of the council’s tenth-story window.
And it could’ve been Kevin...
But it wouldn’t be.
But when Susan turned around and wandered over to the windows, she pulled out her cellphone and there it was. A text message from Kevin.
Susan’s hand jerked and she dropped her phone, sending it clattering onto the tile floor. She dropped to one knee, scooped the cellular device from the floor and scrambled back to her feet. The screen was black. She clicked a few buttons and shook it.
Damn piece of crap . She slapped it against her palm, then tapped it hard against the faux marble window frame.
Jill’s heels clicked across the tile floor, before she leaned in, grabbing the cellphone from Susan’s hand just as she was about to really pound the sucker i
nto the wall.
“What’s going on?” Her brows were knitted, and she looked both pissy and frightened.
“Damn thing won’t turn back on.” Susan ran a hand over the tight bun she’d pulled her hair into that morning. “There’s a text on there. It’s important.”
“Okay,” Jill said, her thumbs clicking on the phone’s keys, and it lit up, coming back to life. “You just have to finesse these things sometimes.” She clicked on text messages, scrolled to the most recent and handed it back to Susan.
It was still there. Text message from Kevin Jacobs. Sent two minutes ago.
Susan opened it and read the four word message.
IN TOWN. DINNER TONIGHT?
Susan exhaled the breath she’d been absently holding, a warmth spreading from her chest out into her limbs, making her tense body relax and her headache melt away. She couldn’t restrain the big goofy grin that spread across her face.
Kevin was in town, and he wanted to see her.
Jill nudged Susan and hummed. “Looks like it was a good message?”
Susan closed her eyes and felt that warmth flow into her head, making every thought glow, and when she opened her eyes again the world was glowing too. The sunshine pouring through the windows was golden, and the sky had never seemed so blue.
She needed to get a grip before she had a beautific orgasm right there in front of the board.
Susan rolled her eyes, keyed Yes into her phone and hit send. She clicked the phone closed and adrenaline surged through her veins. Kevin wanted to see her, and the opera house account would be hers.
She turned on her heel, strode toward the confused looking committee members, and beamed a dazzling smile their way, making them sit up and pay attention, all smiling unabashedly back at her.
“So let me tell you about our new opera house,” Susan purred, nodding to Jill to start the slides on the screen behind her.
###
The opera house committee was enraptured by Susan’s pitch, and by the time the first visuals of the actual opera house lit up the screen behind Susan, the members were oohing and ahhing, and each one had the same mesmerized expression on their face--eyes bright, mouths alternating between smiling and slack-jawed wonder. As Susan explained the finer points of the opera house, the state-of-the-art stage, and the tourist magnet that the mall would become, she could see the green light blinking on each and every face of the board.
Except one: Maestro Antonio Rossi. The hoary, cadaverously thin Maestro sat quietly with his arms folded over his chest, listening to Susan’s every word. And as each visual of Susan’s opera house blazed across the screen, Maestro Rossi’s impassive expression changed, slowly falling into a scowl, those severe gray eyebrows dipping down into a disdainful V.
Susan ignored the sullen orchestra leader and pushed on as the 3-D virtual walk-through began. Glowing green lines made up the matrix that constructed the building. As they moved through the building, they passed under the arches of the main entrance, through the massive lobby, and the twin bars for intermission, and in through the main entrance to the music hall. There, the giant screen behind Susan made all the difference, expanding the scope of the presentation, allowing the board members to feel how massive and grand the hall would be.
The tour went on to show many of the cutting-edge stage changing devices, and some of the backstage devices, even moving back to show the enormous loading bay, just so there would never be a problem with bringing scenery in, no matter what its size.
The tour moved swiftly through the large office spaces and practice halls that littered the upper floors, even the possible apartments and condos further up.
The virtual tour shot up through the top of the tower, spun around, and arched downward until the point of view was at eye level, standing in front of the whole complex.
The council broke out in a round of applause, making Susan smile broadly and even blush. But further up the table, right beside the council chairman, Maestro Rossi shot her a scornful glare.
Susan gulped but returned her attention to those who were now standing and moving toward her to ask her questions about her “amazing opera house.”
After almost ten minutes of this, the council finally took their seats. The chairman was talking quietly, yet animatedly, to the Maestro. Susan waited patiently for the two men to give her their attention again.
“Ah, Miss. Rhodes,” the chairman said, finally looking up. “Your presentation was very impressive. We’ll give it the utmost...consideration.” At the last word he glanced at the brooding Maestro.
Susan smiled at the chairman, at each of the council members, and even to the taciturn Maestro. “Thank you all for your time.”
She turned to help Jill gather their supplies, but Jill already had everything stowed away in her carryall satchel. Jill really was too good. Susan looked at her watch. Only a quarter to eleven, so they had time to shop for Jill’s new shoes before lunch at Bloomy’s.
They exited the conference room and strode out to the waiting room. There were already other architectural firms in waiting. Brad Nichols and Ed White from Roman and Hendrickson, a congregation of drones from Architect House, and--
“There’s Francesca Costa,” Jill groaned, glancing in the woman’s direction.
Susan didn’t look, she knew all too well what Francesca Costa looked like--Michelle Pfeiffer with bigger boobs. She was always impeccably dressed, though those Armani, Prada, and Dolce & Gabbana suits always had to be specially tailored to showcase the woman’s magnificent rack. And even though the first major building she’d designed was back in the eighties, she didn’t look a day over thirty, not a line on her exquisite, angular face, and her hair always a soft, natural-looking blond.
Susan would know. Francesca Costa had been her idol in college, her aspiration. She admired Francesca’s style, her accomplishments, that she owned her own architectural firm and yet made time to design many of the more monumental buildings herself.
That was until Francesca hadn’t hired Susan.
Susan had prepared like mad, pouring over her résumé and portfolio, having her hair and nails done, and maxing out her Visa to buy the perfect black power suit. Francesca had glanced at her résumé, and had flipped through the designs in her portfolio like a bored teenager flipping through Time Magazine. She’d snapped the case shut and impatiently handed it back to Susan.
“No imagination,” Francesca had said, smiling beautifully, yet looking disappointed.
Her assistant had ushered Susan from her office before she could say anything. Not that Susan could’ve said anything. She was in shock. Costa Architectural Consortium was her first and only choice. She hadn’t planned on working at any other firm. For the next week, Susan stayed in bed, ordered in pizza, and didn’t bother with any sort of grooming, not even a shower.
When Liz arrived--having excluded New York and Los Angeles as potential cities to start her art career in, and insisting that Chicago was an up and coming Mecca--she’d found Susan holed up in her apartment, hair a horror, pizza boxes strewn everywhere, and smelling like the ninth circle of hell.
She herded Susan into the shower and dragged her out for Chinese food and a night on the town. Some sesame chicken and three lemon drop martinis later, she had a smile on Susan’s face, and half the bar hitting on them both.
The next day, after her hangover had faded, Susan started sending out her résumé all over town--even out of town--and had wound up with a great offer from Woods, Farrow, Blank and Stein.
So Susan felt no need, compulsion or want, to ever lay eyes on Francesca Costa again. All it meant was she had a little competition now. And if it had been Francesca herself pitching a design for the opera house, Susan would’ve given it a second thought. But Susan knew that Francesca hadn’t designed anything in almost five years.
“So what’s this one look like?” she asked Jill, pulling out her cellphone, just in case there was another message from Kevin. Susan was referring to the men Francesc
a was now infamous for surrounding herself with. Always tall, devastatingly handsome, and always, always more than twenty years younger than Francesca herself.
Francesca Costa was a cougar. And like her wardrobe, she got herself a new young man for every season. She’d latch onto these twenty-somethings and paw them with unabashed crudeness. The youngsters were always good architects, and working with Francesca would make them very good. Chicago was littered with her cast-offs, and the architectural community looked upon her firm as a sort of training ground--waiting to scoop up the next Costa refugee.
“Mmm,” Jill moaned.
Susan looked at her and saw Jill purse her lips, tilting her head so she could better ogle the guy over her reading glasses.
“If I weren’t happily married…”
“Really?” Susan chuckled. “That good?”
Jill licked her lips. “Mmm.”
Susan had never seen her like this. The guy must be hot.
“Not as young as usual, but...” Jill took a deep breath and seemed totally mesmerized as she let it out in a hiss.
“This has to be good,” Susan said, turning to take a look. She dropped her Gucci leather portfolio, gasped, and lost all ability to speak as she clung to Jill’s arm.
Francesca Costa was hanging all over her new boy-toy.
The new boy-toy was Kevin.
Her Kevin!
Kevin and Francesca were talking with Lou Dante, the owner of Waterhouse Architectural Design. Kevin was smiling, looking tall and broad and devastatingly handsome. And even six months later, Susan could mentally take away the gorgeous dark blue pinstriped suit and picture him naked. Every detail. Every freckle and scar…and his beautiful penis.
