by Darien Gee
“Mark?”
He looks up. It’s Livvy. She looks nervous at having run into him at the store, her own cart filled with groceries, too. Real food—vegetables and fruit, fish, yogurt. Surprisingly healthy food. Mark suddenly craves a salad and wishes he could just leave his cart somewhere and walk away.
“Livvy, hi.” He’s known Livvy almost as long as he’s known Julia. Julia introduced them not long after she and Mark started dating. They all used to have fun together, Livvy driving Julia crazy, of course, and always spoiling Josh, but that’s what sisters and aunts are for. Mark even misses her slacker husband, Tom, who is so predictably predictable that you can almost count on him. Mark misses all of this. He’s tired of the awkward formality every time they meet, the careful greetings. He’s so tired of all this bullshit that he steps forward without a thought.
He gives Livvy a hug.
He’s surprised at the sudden rush of emotion that comes with holding her. It doesn’t even bother him that he’s standing in the middle of the grocery store, his eyes filling up with tears and blurring his vision. Attention shoppers! Come see the weeping husband in Aisle Six! God, why did they let things get so bad?
He steps back, wipes his eyes with a laugh. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that. It’s good to see you, Livvy.”
Livvy’s eyes are filled with tears, too, and soon they’re spilling down her cheeks. She wipes them away quickly with the back of her hand. “You, too. Gracie, how are you?” She tries for a bright smile.
“Good.” Gracie is polite, but cautious. Troy has a candy bar in his lap and she turns her attention back to him, telling him that he can have it later if he’s extra good.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. You look just like your mother, Gracie.”
At this Gracie’s head snaps back up. “I have brown hair like my dad.”
“Yes, you do, but your eyes and nose are all Julia. Your mom.” Livvy’s voice is kind. “You even have freckles in the exact same spots she does.” Livvy touches the bridge of her own nose.
Gracie looks between Livvy and Mark and then the widest smile breaks across her face. She’s suddenly embarrassed. “Thank you.”
Mark studies his daughter with affection and realizes that Livvy is right. Gracie has all of Julia’s fine features. He gulps, wondering why they never saw it before.
“This is Troy,” Gracie says, introducing her elephant to Livvy.
Livvy bends down. “He’s a very nice elephant.”
“He’s a bird,” Gracie says with that look that adults often give other adults when they’re talking about children in their presence.
“Oh, right. Nice wings.” Livvy has an admiring look on her face.
Gracie loves this, and beams. “How come we never see you?” she asks out of nowhere. She’s warming up to Livvy now. “You can come to our house if you want. I can show you my room. It’s pink.”
Mark has never heard Gracie ask about Livvy. Usually by now they’d already be on their way, with no more than a handful of words having passed between them. He’s composing the right response, one that doesn’t hurt Livvy’s feelings, when his cell phone rings.
It’s Vivian. She’s been decidedly cool toward him since that debacle in her apartment last month. If he walks by she conveniently turns away, speaks to him from across the safety of the large conference room table. She avoids him at the gym, pretending that she doesn’t notice him or that she’s too focused on her workout to say more than a brief hello. He feels a twinge of discomfort at this, but he’s not sure what else he can do. He wishes they could rewind, preapartment, pregift.
“Bruno wants to pull the project,” Vivian informs Mark now. Her voice is grim and there’s background static.
“What? Why?” They’ve already invested over one thousand man hours and Mark even hired another associate to help them manage their workflow. They’re on retainer and getting paid as they go, but the big payoff is at the end. Not just financially, but the potential press and media attention, something Mark has been counting on, even expecting.
“I don’t know why, Mark.” Vivian is irritated. “He called with the news so I convinced him to let us talk to him in person first. I’m on my way to Chicago right now.”
Why did Lemelin call Vivian? Mark’s the architect on this project. He glances at his watch. It’s just past four. He looks desperately at Gracie who’s chatting happily with her aunt. He can bring her, or maybe see if a neighbor can watch her. “I’ll have to call you back, Vivian. I have my daughter with me and I need to make some calls. What time did you tell him we’d meet him?”
“Now, Mark! I basically hung up the phone and got in my car. He doesn’t really want to see us. He’s playing the ‘I’m so busy card,’ so this isn’t something that can wait.” Her voice is slightly accusatory.
Mark lets out a breath. Showing up with Gracie is definitely out of the question. “Okay, okay. Let me call you back. I’ll be there.” He snaps his phone shut.
“Is everything okay?” Livvy looks worried.
“Yeah. Just work stuff. Livvy, can you just wait here with Gracie for a moment? I need to call some people.”
“Of course. We’ll just keep shopping. Is that okay with you, Gracie?”
“Yes!”
Livvy looks pleased by Gracie’s exuberance. “Let’s go then. Come find us when you’re finished, okay?”
He nods, already dialing.
It takes him almost ten minutes before he finds a parent of one of Gracie’s classmates who is happy to watch her. He’s feeling stressed now, and he abandons his shopping cart and goes in search of Livvy and Gracie.
He finds them in the baby food aisle, talking in low voices as they consider soft little hairbrushes and diaper ointment.
“Livvy, thank you,” he says gratefully. “Come on, Gracie, we have to go. You’re going over to Nicky Fischer’s house for the rest of the day.”
Gracie looks alarmed. “But Nicky Fischer still wets his pants!”
Mark isn’t in the mood to discuss this. “Say goodbye to Aunt Livvy,” he orders. In his mind he calculates how long it will take to run home, pack up Gracie’s things, change, and get on the road. Too long, but there’s no way around it.
“And he hit Lisa Starkey on the head with a hula hoop,” Gracie continues desperately, her eyes flicking between Mark and Livvy. “And then he didn’t tell the truth when Miss Danielle asked him!”
Mark closes his eyes. Can he live with the possibility that Gracie might get hit on the head with a hula hoop by a five-year-old bully?
Yes. “Let’s go, Gracie.” He’s losing patience now.
“I’m home all day, Mark. I’m not doing anything. I’d be happy to watch Gracie.” Livvy swallows, nervous.
“Oh yes!” Gracie starts jumping up and down. “Please please please please please …”
Mark hesitates. This is either a good idea, or a terrible idea. He feels everything boiling down to this one minute, the future of his business, the future of his marriage.
Livvy continues, “Your home or mine, whatever works for you and Julia.”
At the mention of Julia’s name, Mark stiffens. Funny he didn’t think to call Julia, to see if she would be willing to take a break from her girls’ weekend to help him out with their business. He knows she’ll probably agree to come home, but she’ll be pissed. There’s not enough time and it’s just not worth it.
Of course, she’ll be more pissed if she finds out that Mark has left Gracie with Livvy. Either way he loses. But who knows how long it will take to get in touch with Julia and then for her to show up? Mark knows what’s on the line. He looks at Livvy whose full attention is on Gracie as she recounts in vivid detail other Nicky Fischer transgressions.
He never thought what happened to Josh was Livvy’s fault, though it doesn’t mean he wasn’t angry. He was. But not at her, just at the injustice of all of it, and his place was by his wife, who couldn’t even look at Livvy. There was never a good time
to play peacemaker, and then he was busy trying to save his own marriage, so getting two sisters to reconcile has not exactly been on the top of his list.
Seeing Livvy now, too, Mark senses that something has changed. She’s not as flighty, not as silly, a little bit more grounded. Age, he supposes, and time. It takes him thirty seconds to make up his mind.
“That would be great, Livvy.”
Mark calls Mrs. Fischer to cancel as Livvy moves Gracie’s car seat into her car. It’s freeing not to have to run through any details because Livvy knows them, knows enough. Despite their years of being so distant, it’s amazing how quickly things have fallen back into place.
He drives way above the speed limit in an effort to make up for lost time. On his cell phone, Mark finds himself arguing with Victor.
“Mark,” Victor sighs. He’s never liked Bruno Lemelin, never cared much for the project despite all the promise it holds. Victor is almost twenty years Mark’s senior and he’s been in the business a long time. Mark appreciates how steady Victor is, how levelheaded, but he also knows that Victor is planning his retirement. He doesn’t care about going out in style or being profiled in magazines. But Mark does.
“Victor, big projects have big personalities—you know that. Lemelin just wants the attention.”
“It’s a black hole, Mark. A money pit. It’s going to end up costing us to build this restaurant. I don’t want to be stretched too thin and have everything on the line. We have other clients, other projects. What about Ted Morrow at Bluestem? Have you had a chance to get together with him yet?”
Mark hasn’t. They’ve been playing telephone tag but Mark’s energy is on Lemelin. “Let me just figure out what’s going on with Lemelin first,” he says. “Vivian’s already on her way.”
“Vivian?” Victor clearly doesn’t approve. He’s a bit of a purist in his own way, seeing interior decorators as peripheral to the architectural and engineering team.
“She helped us get this deal,” Mark reminds him. He knows he sounds defensive but he doesn’t want Victor knocking her. “Plus Lemelin likes her.”
“I bet.”
“Come on, Victor. I’ll call you when we’re done. Unless you want to jump in your car and come join us?”
Victor doesn’t take the bait. “This is your project, Mark. If you want me there, I’ll be there, but otherwise I’m fine to stay in the office and draw pictures of buildings that actually have a chance of going up.”
Yeah, having Victor there will really improve their chances. “I’ll call you later.”
Julia is relaxing on the chaise lounge in the hotel suite when Hannah emerges tentatively from the bathroom wearing a simple black evening gown, a diamond pendant around her neck. Diamond studs twinkle in her ears. Her long hair is straight and sleek.
Julia puts down the hotel magazine and smiles at her friend. “You look beautiful, Hannah.”
Julia’s own outfit is a simple glittery stretch top and a long skirt, also in black. She hasn’t worn it in years but when she took it out of the closet and tried it on, she was startled at the woman who looked back at her in the mirror, a Julia she didn’t quite recognize even though she’d worn the outfit hundreds of times. She gazed at herself for what seemed like forever, touching her hair and running her hands along her hips, turning until the sunlight caught the silver sparkles on her top and made them dance. She had expected her face to look drawn and haunted but instead she saw a quiet elegance, a gentle maturing revealed only by a few fine lines around her eyes. And then she was smiling despite herself, filled with anticipation for this weekend, for this gift of a getaway, for the chance to be a new Julia of old.
Hannah turns to study herself in the mirror, somewhat forlorn, and picks at some invisible lint on her dress. “Maybe I should try to find another time to talk to him. He’ll be so busy afterward, and he’s not expecting me …”
“Hannah, he’s still your husband.” Julia gets up to get her evening bag. “And you tried several more times to call him this week.”
“I know.” Hannah looks miserable.
For a second Julia is tempted to give in, to let Hannah pass this opportunity by in exchange for some temporary relief. But that’s all it is. Temporary. And Julia knows it will only be a matter of days before it comes back. She wants Hannah to do this, for herself and for her future. She wants Hannah to step fully into her own life, to be armed with everything she needs to make the right decisions for herself. So she says nothing, just gathers her wrap and waits patiently by the door.
Hannah follows reluctantly. “Do you mind if we walk to Symphony Center instead of taking a cab? It’ll take us about twenty minutes. I think the fresh air will do me good.” She’s stalling, but Julia doesn’t mind. They’ll eventually get there, and that’s what’s important.
“Of course.” Julia slips her arm through Hannah’s and gives it a squeeze of support. For a second her thoughts flash to Livvy, to the many times Julia has done this same thing for her. Standing by her side when Livvy admitted to her parents that she tore up her report card, stole a few dollars from their father’s wallet, played hooky from school. “Borrowed” the car without permission (five times), got drunk at prom. When Livvy wanted to go on the pill, drop out of community college, marry Tom. Whenever Livvy needed someone to lean on, Julia was there. Even when she didn’t approve, Julia was there. Now Julia finds herself wondering about her sister, wondering if she’s okay, all the way back in Avalon.
“Julia? Is everything all right?” Hannah studies her, a hopeful look on her face. Julia knows this look well, and smiles. Just like she’s done for Livvy, she’s going to do the same for Hannah—as hard as she knows it is, she’s not going to let her off the hook.
“Yes,” she says, and opens the door. “Come on—let’s go.”
“I’m just not sure about the direction anymore,” Lemelin says. He’s adopted a laissez-faire attitude toward them now, his original chumminess gone. “I want it to be strikingly original. Something like a Bentel & Bentel property.”
Inwardly Mark groans. This has been going on awhile, this back and forth that threatens to continue indefinitely. Victor is probably home by now, having dinner with his wife or watching a little TV. Flipping through a magazine at his leisure. Victor is relaxing in his comfortable home while Mark is sitting on plastic chairs in this shell of a building, a vicious Chicago wind whipping through the I beams and concrete.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so easily seduced. He gets now that Victor wasn’t just talking about losing money on this project, but that if things really go south, it could tank Mark’s career or at least be one of the things he’ll be known for. He’ll be the architect that Lemelin tossed aside, deemed unworthy.
“Beware,” Victor had once warned him. “Architects have sold their souls for the sexy projects and never lived long enough to get over it. Stick with the bread-and-butter. There are good ones there, Mark. Ones that you can feel good about.”
But Mark doesn’t want to just feel good—he’s no longer interested in playing it safe. If anything he is sick of maintaining the status quo. He wants things to change. No, he’s desperate for a change—at work, at home, and everywhere in between. How does the old saying go? Anything worth having doesn’t come easy. Mark just has to suck it up, do what has to be done. Lemelin’s new restaurant is a high-profile project and Bruno Lemelin a high-profile client. There’s not a lot of room for error.
Meanwhile Vivian is coolly talking about Lemelin’s existing properties, careful to specifically point out the design elements and practical usable space that received so much attention and praise. This seems to mollify Lemelin—he likes Vivian’s attention to his past successes. Mark notices Lemelin sizing her up again and feels a flare of indignation. This guy is scummy, no question. But Vivian is also too perceptive a woman not to notice, so she just cocks an eyebrow right back at him in return, giving Lemelin the once-over as well. Then they both chuckle over this, Lemelin’s standoffishness fading, b
uddies once again.
Lemelin calls to his assistant.
“Go get a bottle of champagne for Miss Vivian,” he orders. “A 1983 Millésimé.”
Vivian gives Lemelin a demure smile. “Only if we’re celebrating.” She taps her pen rhythmically on the makeshift table. Business first, her energy seems to radiate.
Lemelin won’t commit. “I’ll need a new design.”
“We can do that.” Vivian shoots Mark a decidedly pointed look, telling him that if he was planning on opening his mouth to say something—anything—now would be a good time. “But we would still like to include some of the original design. It’s clean and innovative, incorporating noble materials against plain. The use of natural lighting during the day emphasizes all the textures and colors of the interior, and then the captured light from the solar panels will be redirected into the LED light strings draped throughout the restaurant …”
“Making this one of the most distinguishable, eco-friendly restaurants using renewable materials today.” Mark sits up tall and feels an absurd pleasure in noting that he has a couple inches over Lemelin. “But what will make this restaurant stand out above all others is how we’re integrating the surroundings of the city and bringing it into the space.”
They are sitting in prime real estate in the heart of Chicago’s cultural district, literally a stone’s throw away from world-class museums and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. The restaurant, which Lemelin is calling “227” after the number of square miles of land that make up Chicago, would reflect the tastes and neighborhoods of Chicago with a 2-2-7 degustation menu (2 appetizers, 2 entrees, 7 side dishes) served family-style. Mark has no doubt that the food will live up to Lemelin’s reputation.
Mark pulls out the sketches and a rough mock-up of the plans they’d done in AutoCAD. He has definitely pushed himself with the design for 227, and it’s good. No, great. He knows he can transform this space into something amazing. Lemelin listens to him with a look of bored skepticism, having heard the spiel before. When Mark finally says everything that needs to be said, Lemelin just shrugs.
