The Harder They Fall

by Brooke St. James

"Do I need to?" he asked, glancing down at his T-shirt, which was vintage inspired and had some sort of logo on it with trees. "Is there something wrong with this one?"

  His shirt actually looked great on him and fit him perfectly. It hugged the curves of his chest and arms. It was really stylish for a young man in Colorado or California, but this was Memphis, and we were about to film a live segment on the twelve o'clock news. Isaac Charles was extremely laid back under the circumstances. He held onto the sides of the chair, grinning at me like he was uncertain about what he had gotten himself into—like maybe he was sitting on a rollercoaster instead of a stylist's chair.

  His hair was medium brown—a lighter shade than most of the men in my family—and his eyes were soft green, not bright or striking, but handsome and welcoming to the point of being mesmerizing.

  "Is there something wrong with my shirt?" he repeated since I still hadn't answered his question.

  "No, I mean, I, uh, I just assumed… most people wear, I mean, a lot of guys wear a tie or whatever, so I didn't know if you…"

  I fastened a small, lightweight cape around his neck as I stuttered.

  "Well, the email said for me to wear work clothes, and I definitely don't wear a tie to work, so..." he hesitated with a little shrug. "Plus, I didn't bring anything else with me, so I guess this will have to do."

  I moved in front of him, staring with a stylist's eye and taking stock of his hair and face. He was a naturally handsome guy. He had shaggy, carefree hair and a short beard. He had used no hair products at all, but thankfully his hair laid in a naturally appealing way and was easily manageable.

  "I'm just going to put a little pomade in your hair and beard," I said, giving him a heads up about what I was doing. I opened the product and rubbed a little between my palms in preparation to apply it.

  "My beard?" he asked, looking at me a little funny. He reached up and touched his jaw. "Is it even long enough to put that stuff in it?"

  "It doesn't have to be long," I said, running the product through his hair by letting it slide between my fingers. "And I'm not going to put a lot—just enough to smooth down any stray whiskers and add a little shine." I worked quickly, messing up his hair a little bit before rearranging it again. I used my fingertips, creating the more polished version of his natural hairstyle, tucking his short locks behind his ears in just the right way. I rubbed what little product was remaining on my hands on his beard once I had finished, and then I inspected his full appearance to make sure everything was smooth and in place.

  His eyes were perhaps smaller and more deep set than they should have been, but it made for a striking look that was more appealing than I cared to admit. His greyish green eyes—I had to look past his high cheekbones and strong eyebrows to see them. I used my thumbs to smooth his eyebrows, making sure all hairs on his head were behaving for the camera.

  Paul called out that I had two minutes to finish up, and my heart raced as I reached into my box for a compact of my favorite foundation. It was light and had a perfect matte finish, and I knew exactly what color I would choose for Isaac's complexion. I smiled inwardly, thinking about what a shame it was to cover those ruddy cheeks of his.

  "I never do TV interviews," he said. "I've been interviewed for a few magazines, but never for television. It's not really my thing. Usually, people call, and my assistant's able to turn them down. I only agreed to this because the mayor came to my jobsite yesterday and personally asked me to do it. He caught me off guard."

  "Yeah, Mayor Bennett's family owns the station," I said. "He's real involved up here."

  I opened the compact and gently rubbed the surface of the foundation to a fresh applicator. I started to apply some of it to Isaac's face, but he flinched, looking at me like I had lost my mind.

  "What are you doing with that?"

  "I'm putting it on your face."

  He shook his head, eyeballing it skeptically. "What is it?"

  "Foundation."

  "Makeup?"

  I nodded, and he shook his head again.

  "I don't wear makeup."

  "It's not girl makeup," I said.

  "What other kind is there?"

  "All the anchors wear it," I said. "Even the men. It's just to keep you from being shiny under the lights."

  "You just said you wanted me to be shiny."

  "I said I wanted your beard to be shiny, not your face."

  He shook his head again, looking a little regretful, but still unwavering. "I'm good like I am," he said. "The mayor said it wasn't a big deal. The email you guys sent told me what to expect, and it didn't say anything about wearing makeup."

  "Less than a minute, Shelby!" I heard Paul yell from the set.

  I shrugged and shook my head at Isaac. "Fine," I said. "If you don't want it…"

  "I don't," he said. "I know you're just trying to do your job or whatever, but I'd really rather not put that stuff on my face."

  Paul came over, staring at Isaac from over my shoulder. "Are we ready?" he asked.

  "As I'll ever be," Isaac said with a casual smile. As he stood, he stretched, arching his back as if he'd been sitting in my chair all day, which made me smile.

  "Did you go over the questions we sent you in the email," Paul asked.

  "There were only five of them," Isaac said.

  "Yes. Did you go over them?"

  "I read them. Is that what you mean?"

  "Yes sir," Paul said. "We wanted you to have time to think about your answers in preparation for the interview."

  "They were pretty straightforward," Isaac said. "I think I'll do fine."

  I followed them to the set, listening as Paul gave Isaac the rundown on timing and what to expect. He would be appearing on a community segment hosted by Cindy Rogan, one of our lead anchors. Neil and Cindy would read the news from behind the desk, and during our first commercial break, Cindy would move to the "living room" as we called it, where she would then interview Isaac. Paul brought Isaac to his wingback chair so that he could get comfortable and be in position while we filmed the first part of the show.

  I made some last-minute adjustments on both Cindy and Neil who were positioned behind the desk, going over their notes.

  "Why's he wearing a T-shirt?" Cindy asked, glancing over at the 'living room' from her spot at the desk.

  "He didn't really know what he signed up for," I explained quietly, as I adjusted her hair. "He said Mayor Bennett roped him into doing it."

  "He's smokin' hot," she said.

  I was adjusting her lipstick when she said it, so her lips didn't move and her words came out muffled, but there was no doubt about what she said.

  "He's single," I whispered, causing her to raise her eyebrows and smile mischievously as she cut her eyes toward him again.

  "I read the interview questions," she said. "I guess he's a big deal if they brought him all the way from Chicago to design a building."

  "We have the model of it right over there," Neil said, obviously overhearing us even though we hadn't meant for him to. He gestured toward the 'living room', and Cindy and I both looked that way. Indeed, there was a 3-D model sitting on the coffee table in front of Isaac.

  "Sixty seconds till we're live, people!"

  I gave Neil a quick once over before heading to the end of the desk to do the same thing for Greg, our meteorologist. Before I knew it, the cameras were rolling and we were live.

  I started to go back toward my station, but I decided to check in with Isaac who was just sitting in his chair watching the action at the desk.

  "Just making sure you didn't change your mind about makeup," I said. I smiled and patted my apron, which had several choices of foundation in the pockets. I spoke quietly so that the cameras wouldn't pick up my voice, and Isaac turned and held a hand to his ear as if asking me to repeat myself.

  "Makeup," I said as I got closer to him. "I'm just making sure you didn't change your mind."

  He smiled. "If I changed my mind about anything, it definitely woul
dn't be about wearing makeup."

  "Neil and Greg both have it on," I said, motioning to them.

  He glanced at them. "I'm sure they're used to it."

  "I'm surprised you've never been on the news before," I said, leaning against the interviewer's chair casually. "I heard you were some big time architect."

  "Thank you," he said in a teasing tone. "But architecture has nothing to do with television. I had to tell your director that same thing when he brought me over here and tried to give me a hard time about my shirt."

  I let out a little laugh. "What'd he say?" I asked.

  "He mentioned that most of the guests on the show wore a suit and tie."

  "And what'd you tell him?"

  He shrugged. "I told him my business is buildings. I design buildings not clothes. They asked me to come answer a few questions about the Center. I assumed it'd be casual. It's noon. I didn't think I needed to dress like I was going to a wedding."

  I let out a laugh. "How do you like Memphis so far?"

  "It's nice. I've been here once before, but only for a day."

  "Graceland?" I asked.

  He nodded. "How'd you know?"

  "That's why everybody comes. How long have you been here this time?"

  "Four days."

  "Have you eaten any barbeque?"

  "No. The woman who hired me invited me to eat some with her family the other night, but I couldn't make it."

  I knew he was referring to Courtney and that he was specifically talking about our little family dinner the other night. Doozy had gotten into slow roasting ribs and briskets, and barbeque was exactly what we ate the other night. My heart sped up at the mention of our family, and I started to tell him that I was present at the barbeque dinner he was talking about, but the words got caught in my throat.

  "The mayor's supposed to take me to a place called Rendezvous for lunch tomorrow."

  I nodded. "They have really good ribs. You'll like it. I heard you live in Chicago. How rare is it for you to work in other cities?"

  "Not really that rare," he said. "I travel quite a bit. I could probably have enough work in Chicago if I chose to go that route, but I enjoy taking out of town jobs."

  "Why do you have to travel to be an architect?" I asked. "Isn't your work done once you draw the plans?"

  "That's a good question. Your boss should have let you write the interview. The truth is that it could be. My job could be done once I finish the plans, but I choose to oversee the process—at least the beginning stages of it. I'm a control freak that way. I work closely with the contractors, making sure the vision comes to life the way I want it. I plan on staying here for about a month, and even after that, I'll fly down and check on the progress. I'm working with a contractor that I trust, but I don’t know, I just feel like I need to be here—this building is just so complex, and it's kind of my baby, you know?"

  "No, I didn't know," I said. "I mean, not until you told me just now. I really did think that architects drew the plans and handed them off to someone else."

  "Some do," he said. "And sometimes I do—when the job's not as complicated as this one. I don't know, I guess I just like to be around to watch the process on the big ones and make sure everything's going okay." He gestured at the 3-D model that was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and I came around the chair and looked at it for the first time. I should have known it would look like a work of art just from the simple fact that Courtney would only hire the best architect she could find to do it.

  "Oh, my goodness," I said, staring at it and feeling truly amazed.

  Even if it weren't much to look at, I would have remarked on how beautiful it was—just because I had manners and knew it was the proper thing to do. This building, however, was honestly, seriously beautiful. It was modern with lots of curves that seemed to defy gravity.

  "Is it seriously gonna look like this?" I asked, staring at Isaac with a flabbergasted expression. Isaac grinned at my amazement as he nodded at me.

  Chapter 3

  Isaac Charles

  Cindy Rogan was utterly charmed by Isaac Charles and the modern building he had designed to be the new MCA (or Memphis Center for the Arts).

  She went on and on about how much his "breathtaking building" added to the cityscape of downtown Memphis.

  The whole project was the brainchild of Courtney Cole. She had purchased a piece of land in the heart of the city and demolished the dilapidated, abandoned building that was on it so that she could build the new art center. She was America's pop sweetheart and had spent about seven years recording albums and playing to sold out arenas. She was young, but she had flourished financially during her career, and she was incredibly generous.

  The MCA would have offices, classrooms, studios, and venues. They would offer low cost lessons in music, theater, dance, and visual arts, and they would host art shows and live performances by local and national acts.

  Isaac was truly connected to the idea and honored to be a part of the team that made it come to life. He loved the project, and for the better part of the last four months, he had poured his heart and soul into designing the building. His favorite rooms were the two live theater venues—one of which would seat three hundred people—and the other which would seat two thousand. Both of them were carefully designed for ideal acoustics and atmosphere, and he absolutely couldn't wait to see them come to life.

  He had an artists' rendering of what they would look like when they were finished, but he chose not to bring them along when he came to the station for his interview. He was glad he hadn't because the anchorwoman was overly enthusiastic as it was. She asked Isaac the five planned questions and then three or four additional impromptu ones, smiling from ear to ear the entire time.

  She was the personification of a newscaster. She had perfect posture and straight white teeth that sat in her mouth in a neat row. She had on a professional looking business suit with slightly too much jewelry, makeup, and hairspray. Maybe it was just right amount for newscasters, but it was slightly too much for Isaac's taste. The segment was seven minutes long, and Isaac was relieved that it went by quicker than he anticipated.

  Cindy stared at the camera and said a few parting words before they cut to Greg who was still at the desk. She sighed and let her shoulders slump, smiling at Isaac as she adjusted something in her ear. "My monitor had some feedback," she said, to one of the producers before handing over her earpiece.

  The guy apologized to her before taking the offending earpiece and turning to walk away.

  "That was great!" Cindy said, smiling at Isaac.

  "Am I good to get up?" he asked stiffly as if uncertain that the cameras were done filming.

  "Oh, yeah," Cindy said with a dismissive wave. "We're all done. They're still covering sports and weather, but we're done here."

  Isaac stood up, extending a hand to shake Cindy's. "So, I guess that's it," he said. "I believe Paul's gonna take care of getting the model back to my hotel for me."

  "Or I could drop it off," Cindy said with a little smile and shrug.

  She stated it as enough of a joke that Isaac got by with laughing it off.

  "I think it went great," she added. "You're a natural. You should come back and do it again once the building's done."

  "I'm definitely not a natural, but thank you. You're kind for saying that. And you made it easy."

  "It really was very intriguing, Mister Charles. I'd be interested in learning more about what you do."

  Cindy gave Isaac her very best smile. She tilted her head to the side and batted her eyelashes, grinning playfully at him. Isaac had been around enough women to know what that smile meant. She was up for anything, which was not Isaac's style at all. He had wanted to get out of there right after the interview, anyway, but her advances gave Isaac the urge to leave even more quickly than he had planned. She was beautiful and everything, but she wasn't his type.

  She reached up, playing with the ends of her blonde shoulder-length hair as sh
e continued to stare at him. "Some of us are going out for a drink tonight after the ten o'clock if you want to join us."

  "On a Tuesday?" he asked.

  She shrugged one shoulder as if the day of the week was of no consequence.

  "Thank you, but I can't," he said. "I have to work."

  "At 10pm?" she asked.

  "At 6am," he said.

  "What about this weekend?" she asked.

  "Maybe," he said, hating to be rude. "Is there a number where I could reach you if I have some free time?" He didn't really plan on following up, he just couldn’t think of a better way out of the situation—the one where she was standing in front of him, blocking his way.

  "I thought you'd never ask!" she said, playfully pushing at his shoulder. She took him by the arm and drug him over to the off stage area near the place where he had been sitting to have his hair done. The girl who had fixed his hair was busy straightening her station, and she looked up as they approached.

  "Shelby, do you have a pen?" Cindy snapped like she had a better idea before Shelby could answer. She turned and held out her palm, flexing her fingers as if she expected Isaac to hand her something. "Just give me your phone, and I'll put my number in it," she said.

  "Oh, you guys are going out?" Shelby asked looking somewhat amused as she turned to stare at them.

  Isaac held her gaze for a few seconds as Cindy continued to gesture for him to hand over his phone. It was honestly the last thing he wanted to do, but she was so forward that he found himself digging into his pocket. He put the phone in Cindy's hand, and she stared down at it, pressing buttons like she owned the thing.

  Isaac found himself making eye contact with Shelby again.

  She seemed to be entertained by the whole thing because she smirked at his stunned expression. He tried to convey without saying a word that he wasn't interested in going out with Cindy, but Shelby didn't seem like she really cared. She just grinned at Isaac as he stood there, looking dismayed.

  She was nothing like Cindy.

  Her unruly curls were pulled into a big messy bun that sat right on the top of her head. There was literally a makeup brush sticking out of it. She had on torn jeans and a plaid shirt that was haphazardly buttoned and halfway tucked in, revealing the white tank top she wore underneath. Her stylist's apron hung low on her hips and was filled with all sorts of clips and brushes.