Tell him you’d much rather hear what his sexy ass son has to say.
Deena stifled a giggle, and rushed to reply.
I’ll need his sexy ass son to support me after this conversation is done.
Deena stared into her purse, waiting impatiently for her phone to vibrate. The answer was quick.
U got it.
“Deena? Deena, I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
She snapped to attention. “Sir?”
“Your thoughts. I find that you often have an opinion. I’d like to hear it now.”
She blinked at him. Each gaze turned on her. Deena swallowed. “Well, Daichi, I agree with you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.” Wavering now might invite more questions.
Daichi stared, everyone stared, until beads of sweat wet Deena’s forehead. She thumbed the phone in her lap, unwilling to move and draw attention to it. She rushed to remember a snippet of speech. Something about construction demand waning.
Deena cleared her throat. “It’s…inevitable that our industry would suffer. A recession prompts people to panic, to save, not spend. Without demand, there’s no need for supply. That’s basic economics.”
They gasped. Deena looked around, wondering what she’d said, only to see Daichi’s scowl melt into quiet admiration.
“I find your candor in this matter a mark of maturity and confidence. A bold, yet necessary statement, Deena, considering the numbers I’ve illustrated.”
He turned back to the board, using a wooden pointer for emphasis as he spoke. “The Miami location, since it’s the largest and our headquarters of course, will see the biggest layoffs at twenty percent. Our offices in Tokyo, London, Mumbai and Mexico City will experience major cutbacks as well, not only in architects employed, but in support staff, as well. As I’ve already indicated, I expect a fifteen percent decrease in overall personnel, effective immediately.”
Daichi turned to Deena with a smile. “And again, Ms. Hammond, I thank you for reiterating the need for this in plain speech. As always, your astuteness is appreciated.”
LUNCH WOULD HAVE to be brief. Daichi’s meeting had been an unexpected part of her day, eating into time she would’ve spent on the project. With a site selected and the design plans finalized, they were scheduled to break ground at the start of the New Year. That meant that Deena was in project management mode.
She glanced at her watch. She had forty minutes until her meeting with the Skylife investors. As Deena stepped out of the conference room, however, Daichi stopped her.
“A moment of your time, please.”
Deena moved out of the steady stream of exiting architects and joined Daichi near his dry erase board.
“You’ll be meeting with the investors alone today.”
Deena’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”
“Because I have a scheduling conflict. And because you’re capable of doing so.”
Deena’s breathing became shallow. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be fine, Deena.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may go now. Unless there’s something you’d like to say.”
She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t been listening, that she never would’ve stated in such cavalier terms the need to lay off so many people. Better than two hundred of them gone because she’d been text messaging his son.
“Deena?’ Daichi said when she failed to respond.
“Yes, sir?”
“Something on your mind?”
“No sir. I’m leaving,”
Deena scurried from the conference room, head cowed.
“IT MUST BE nice to know you’ve got job security at what…nineteen?” Sam Michaels said from his spot behind Deena in line at the lunch truck.
“Ah, but what it must cost,” Donald Mason sighed. “Still, some women find it easier than others, I suppose.”
Deena swallowed hard in an effort to keep her eyes trained on the selection before her. Tuna on rye. Ham, turkey, bologna, all with American cheese. A Caesar salad with wilted lettuce.
“He’s got great taste though. She’s young, firm, with Marilyn Monroe curves. He could do far, far worse,” Herb said as the line moved.
Donald laughed. “At this firm? Easily!”
She would get the turkey. She would get the turkey and an apple. With twenty-five minutes to spare, she would take her lunch under a tree somewhere, far from Sam and Donald and gross speculation. The line moved again. Two more until it was Deena’s turn.
“Still, if she’s going to be a whore, he shouldn’t be the only one to benefit. Senior staff should be able to petition for a few perks. Blouses with lower cuts…”
“And hand jobs on the side,” Sam added.
Hand jobs on the side. And so it was that Deena was a whore again. With Eddie Hammond in the ground nearly a decade and a single lover in her life, she’d been reduced to that emblazoned word once again. Whore. She brushed away the hot tears as she ordered turkey. Underneath her tree, she would find the bread stale and the lettuce browning, like always. In this world, as Daichi’s prize protégé, nothing was what it promised to be.
“You know,” William Lewis Henderson said that afternoon, “I have a real problem with the way the bottom line on this project keeps inflating. We’ve seen an additional fifty million dollar increase since the initial estimate—”
“Well, sir, we’ve made some changes, changes that you were among the first to approve. Remember?” Deena said.
“Of course I remember!” He was an otherwise pale and portly man, red-faced in his anger, with sunken silver eyes and never-ending beads of sweat. His suit was Versace, his shoes Armani and his gold pinkie ring inlaid with diamonds. He rolled gray eyes in impatience. “What time is Daichi arriving?”
Deena sighed. “I’ve already told you that Daichi won’t be joining us.”
“We’re paying top dollar to work with Daichi Tanaka, not, not some intern,” said Maurice Wilcox, the son of James Martin Wilcox from the Wilcox Group.
The Skylife project was the brainchild of William Lewis Henderson and his wife Maria Garcia, a Miami socialite whose family made their riches during the Cocaine Cowboy era. In the late 70s and early 80s, when the majority of cocaine entered the U.S. through Miami, it was by way of families like Maria Garcia’s. Years later, the Garcias reestablished themselves as a respectable family with a history of philanthropy and very deep pockets.
After marrying Maria Garcia, William, a Miami attorney with a brief and spotty political career, established Henderson Properties, the principal investor for the Skylife project. He brought on two other development firms, the Wilcox Group and Allen Young Investors, who provided additional capital for the project.
“I’m not an intern,” Deena said quietly. “I’m an architect, the same as Daichi.”
“Oh? Were you in Time magazine as well? How about People? Were you in anything?” That was Maurice.
Deena rubbed her face. Today was not the day for Maurice’s snide remarks. She stared at him as he continued to bark, his ruddy face seemingly scorched free of facial hair, his jowls jiggling as he spoke.
“Daichi is the principle architect on this project, as you were promised. I work under and answer to him. I can answer whatever questions you might have.”
Maurice stared at her, unconvinced. As he opened his mouth, William interrupted him. “I’d like for you to answer my previous question, Deena, which you’ve made every attempt to ignore. Why has the cost of this project soared from three hundred to three hundred fifty million dollars?”
“Sir, I’ve already told you—”
“No. I want you to go over to that dry erase board and line itemize every expenditure for us to see. Then I want you to justify every single expense until we’re satisfied. And I want you to do it now.” William pointed a single long thick finger at the board.
Deena closed her eyes, tears threatening her. She’d never seen them this way, impatient, belligerent, c
ondescending. She glanced at the door with a simple prayer that she knew would not be answered. Daichi was in his Mercedes en route to Orlando for talks on another major project. She’d heard whispers that it was with one of the major theme parks, Universal or Disney. He would not be walking through the door for a project he’d already secured, when the enticement of immortality lay at the precipice.
Deena stood and made her way over to the dry erase board. And with her back to the investors and tears pooling in her eyes, she began to write line-by-line the expenditures of the project. And when Steve Young, the project manager, arrived twenty minutes later, she would be forced to start the presentation from scratch.
Three hours later, after a meeting that should have taken one, Deena sat at her desk staring at the caller I.D. It was her grandmother.
She greeted her as she dabbed her eyes with Kleenex.
“Don’t you ‘hi Grandma me’. Where you been? You was supposed to be at your granddaddy service the other day!”
Deena sighed. “Can we talk about this another time? I’m at work and swamped and very stressed.”
“No, we can talk about it now. You always at work, always swamped, always stressed. And since we talking about work, when you gone get back on that Fellowship Hall?”
“I already told you I don’t have time to work on that.”
“And I already told you that you ain’t gone shame me. Now where you been? I called your house the other night and ain’t gets no answer. Now where you spending your nights?”
“I’m at home every night. I—I was probably just asleep.”
“Mhm. Sleep where is the question. When you was supposed to be at your grandpa service you was sleep den too, I reckon.”
“I just…forgot, Grandma.”
“Forgot! After all that man done did for you? Supporting you all them years? I reckon you gone do me da same way when I’m dead and gone.”
Deena traced a finger along a shiny paper clip. She marveled at how small and slight, how tightly wound, that piece of wire was. Just like her. “I need to go, Grandma.”
“Go? Your grandfather was just likes a father to you. Better than a father cause he wasn’t your father yet he treats you like he was. He was a good man and he done right by you. And you, well you just a ungrateful little—”
Deena slammed the phone into its cradle. She couldn’t bear another word about how her grandfather had been the father she never had. Not another goddamned word.
He spoke her name into his cell even as he squinted at the canvas. He could have speed dialed her Tak supposed, asking his phone to call her was even faster. He smiled the second he answered—still unable to himself—the stutter of his heart on hearing her voice.
“Dee, baby, I’ve got awesome news. Guess whose upcoming gallery showing is being featured in The Herald?”
Tak switched the sleek black phone from the left to the right ear, a piece of charcoal for sketching in his hand. He couldn’t have grinned more if he tried. But his excited declaration was met with an array of sniffles.
“Dee? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. The Herald is—is wonderful news. And you work so hard. You deserve the recognition.”
“Yeah, but why are you crying?”
The sound weakened him in fundamental ways, like a vice twisting his heart, he couldn’t be expected to stand it long. He had to…do something.
“I’m fine, Tak. Just…having a rotten day. A really rotten day.”
Tak stepped back from the rough sketch of Miami’s skyline and frowned. There was a discrepancy between the buildings and its reflection in the bay. It needed a do-over.
“I’m listening,” he said
“I just—I just fired like two hundred people and the investors are angry at me and—and Sam and Donald called me a whore and—”
He dropped his charcoal. “What?”
“I said that I fired—”
“Hey, hold that thought. You’re at work, right? I’ll be there in a minute.”
He set aside the charcoal and headed for his father’s firm.
TAK POPPED THE top on a Bud Light and handed it to Deena before returning to the cooler to get another for himself. She took it with a grateful sigh. They sat in silence with the hot sand beneath them and the cool and glistening waves before them. On the horizon, the sea and sky were a seamless and perfect blue, indistinguishable, in fact.
Tak waited for her to finish her beer and then spoke. “So, how are you feeling?”
Deena shrugged and gave a deep inhale. “A little better. The view is nice. The company even nicer.”
“That’s good. So, who was it again that called you a whore?”
“What?”
“You said on the phone that someone called you a whore. Who was it?”
“Oh. That. Just these guys at the firm, Sam and Donald.”
“Well, do Sam and Donald have last names?”
“Tak, there’s no reason—”
“Last names, Dee.”
She shot him a pained expression. “Their names are Sam Michaels and Donald Mason.”
“Michaels. Mason. Got it.”
“Tak, what are going to do? Are you going to get them fired?”
He would’ve preferred feeding them his fists, but yes, fired would have to.
“Nothing. I’m not going to do anything. Here’s an idea. How about we enjoy the breeze and try to forget about this day.” He stretched out on his back, hands behind his head, his face being warmed by the heavens. “Oh. Let me say this first. Then we forget. A couple things. I talk; you listen.” He held up a finger. “One, you’re not responsible for all those layoffs.”
“But—”
“Let’s review the rules. I talk; you listen.”
Deena sighed.
“Second,” another finger joined the first. “You’re not an intern, but an architect. A brilliant one, with more talent than my father even.”
“Tak, your father—”
“What amazes me is that despite your brilliance, you’re having trouble with these simple rules. I talk. You listen.” He shot her a look of impatience. “Three. You don’t owe anyone anything, not even your grandparents. And four, you’re not a whore.”
He sat up.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“No. Really look at me.” He beckoned her with a single finger. When she leaned in, he cradled her face with both hands. “You’re not a whore. You’re not a whore. And you’re not a whore.”
He smiled at the glisten in her eyes.
“Now you tell me.”
Deena took a deep breath. “I’m not a whore.”
“And you’re everything a man would want.”
She blushed.
“Say it.”
“And—and I’m everything a man would want.”
He lay back down and turned his gaze to the heavens.
“What is it that you want, Dee?”
“Want?”
“Yeah. ‘Want.’ Is it your family’s acceptance or their love that you want?”
She hesitated. “Their love, I guess.”
“And if you never get it? Could you be happy?”
“Could anyone?”
Tak sat up. “Did it ever occur to you that you might find the thing you want somewhere else?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean with me, Dee. With my family. This thing that you think is beyond your reach—well, maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’re just looking at it all wrong.”
“If this is a marriage proposal, Tak, it’s a confusing one.”
He grinned. “Duly noted. Work on presentation skills before proposal.”
“Tak, please, your father doesn’t even know about us.”
“Well, we could just tell him.”
“I can’t tell him. You said he would hate it. And I can’t have him hating me when, for the first time in my life…” Deena trailed off, bringing a hand to her face
.
“For the first time in your life what?”
“It’s just that everything in my life is a fight. Work, family,” she shook her head. “Being with you is the only time I get to just be. Please don’t take that from me. Not yet.”
Tak turned away with a sigh.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
IT WAS DEENA’S first gallery showing and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. A write-up in The Herald meant the possibility of a huge turnout. But she knew Tak’s art had undergone a drastic departure and worried that attendees might resent the lack of nefarious underpinnings he’d come to be known for. His art these days was decidedly more self-indulgent.
Tak and Deena arrived at Frankfurt P’s Art Gallery at six-thirty, some thirty minutes before the opening reception for what would be a private exhibition. The single set of double doors on an assuming stretch of sidewalk gave no hint of the gallery’s enormity. Maple hardwood floors, ecru walls, and cream paneled cathedral ceilings combined to give the room an understated elegance. Each of Tak’s paintings was mounted on a stretch of wall or a fit of easel and made prominent with an unassuming spotlight.
Once introduced to Deena, the gallery’s owner, Tate Hutchinson, chatted idly with her and Tak about the buzz his opening night had generated. Hutchinson was a fifty-something-year-old with the purchased body of a man half his age and the annoying habit of wearing shades indoors.
“Jana and I are expecting a great turn out,” Tate said, a glass of red wine in hand. Jana was his wife. “This guy is a rising star. Soon he’ll be bailing on Frankfurt P’s for the grandeur of Paris.” Hutchinson gave an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “As it is, I’ve already got to share him with those bozos in Manhattan.” With a grin, Tate slapped Tak’s back good-naturedly.
With a look of boredom, Tak turned from Tate to Deena. His gaze traveled the length of her in that discreet way that he alone could. She wore a simple cream dress, the neck of which plunged to reveal just a hint of cleavage. A thin strand of shimmering pearls and sleek cream pumps completed the ensemble. Deena returned his traveling gaze with a look of her own and found him grinning.
Crimson Footprints Page 18
