CHAPTER 4: Terms and Tensions
834 Words
The sun of the morning parted the curtains of the day in Manhattan, and Ava entered the Astoria Grand again. It was like a cue to her heels in the foyer. She did not, she did not come out to impress anybody today -- she came out to make decisions. Not drapery alone, or crown molding.
She had hardly just put down her bag in her office when in came Marianne, brisk and bright-eyed. “Mr. Wellington wants a one-on-one meeting with you to share his idea on how you are planning on restoring the ballroom.”
Ava did not wince. “And, of course, he has”
He waits in the south wing. Floor of construction.
Great. This is the unfinished history and hard hats.
She had not been disappointed in Jace; he was just where the blueprints had given him, right in amid the great ballroom, shattered to ruin and scaffolding. And the air reeked of dust and bare wood, an attic to its grandeur. Beams were borne around them by spectres of workmen muttering orders.
She came up behind Jace. “You are too early.”
“I never come late when I am called.”
He smirked. “I made no call. I said I wanted to.”
That she did not listen to. “What is the problem?”
“I looked at your notes.” He gave her a tablet. “You are ambitious in your ideas. Do you want to revive the Art Deco motif?”
“I want to bring back grace, as it was, yes. Most times in its heyday, this room hosted more than a thousand people. Provided we bring the curved light fixtures and layered velvet panels back in the picture again-”
“Then we made twice as much money,” he broke in.
Ava crossed her arms over her chest. “And do you want it classy, or do you want it cheap?”
“I need work.”
She approached him more decisively. “Then you need not employ a designer who works with philosophy. You need to have large-scale production, get a business supplier. I want a soul in it--you want me not to do mine.”
Jace did not give up. He did not. But in his eyes, there was a kind of flicker. Respect. Perhaps even admiration.
Said he after a moment, “Fine. Say, show me.”
She blinked. “Show-you?”
“Pitch it. Not in black and white. Here. Now.”
A fire was kindled by the challenge that she heard in his voice. Ava decided, without thinking, to walk into the ballroom and come to the center of it.
“Imagine,” she started calmly, “picture it. A huge chandelier, in strata of crystal teardrops, right where it used to be. The walls are covered in deep emerald velvet, and the brass sconces recreate the glamor of the 1930s. On the mezzanine balcony will be a jazz trio. And each street corner has its tale of how a rebirth was had-- how glory was regained.”
She turned round to him.
“This room should be the jewel box of the brand. It was not another ballroom. But to a destination.”
He did not answer. Just gazed at her, as though she were refashioning some bit of the past he had not taken the pains to appreciate.
She would get the revised drawings through to me tonight, she said, and was on her way.
After her, he called “Ava.”
She stopped.
“And you have always been so persuasive?”
She smiled behind her back. “I can do that only when I believe in something.”
Later in the night, Ava was still in her makeshift office drawing furiously until she was cramped up. It had filled the ballroom pitch with fire to dry kindling in her mind. And it was not only the space, but the memory of having a room again. Speaking up for herself.
She looked at the coffee cup that was still on her desk earlier. The tacit truce of Jace. This is something that part of her did not trust. But there was another, a part which she still had not suppressed, which had lingered with her memories of how he gazed at her, looking as though she were the difficulty and the solution too.
A message window appeared on the screen. Sharing of documents.
Jace Wellington has criticized your renderings.
She opened the case.
“Approved. All right, let us do it.”- Jace Wellington
There you have it.
Her heart should have soared. But it didn’t,
Because another file was attached.
Once she hadn’t opened it yet
CONFIDENTIAL: MONROE FAMILY CASE—SEALED.
Ava drew back and sighed. She had no idea what game Jace was playing or even whether it was a game.
However, things were changing.
Hotel.
In her profession.
And, her better judgment notwithstanding, in her heart.
- Writer
