Condo Conflict Ch. 01: Small Hands

A new segment in this four-part series will appear regularly. This one introduces the five main characters and the basic story line.

Small Hands

"It's just too small, Barry," she complained. "And it'll never be big enough either!"

"No, Carole. I think it's perfect. How can you say that?" I replied.

"Look, I know from experience, and I'm telling you it has to be larger to do the job."

"So, you think bigger is better, do you? Carole, I can tell you that bigger simply will not fit!"

"What do you suggest, Barry? We have to make it work."

"We'll just have to try to reconsider the size, that's all. I suppose that's the only way we can go about it," I shrugged, clearly bested in this argument.

You could be excused if you mistook this architectural argument as a discussion about dick size. Carole and I were reviewing my first attempt to design a multi-level condominium building for a developer's prime property. It didn't suit his need for a big showpiece. He wanted something to tower over everything else around it, but this would throw shade across the adjacent park for much of the morning. Carole was right; we'd have to try something else to make it work.

My name is Barry Warrington, a professional architect. You might think that I have a wonderful career, sketching ideas on scraps of paper, then turning them over to technicians to make blueprints. I wish! Typically, there are so many constraints around a design that it is extremely difficult to create anything very original. And on budget too- mustn't forget about that.

Architecture is a demanding career, sometimes satisfying, but often so riven with compromise that it can be deflating.

I didn't know all this nearly twenty years ago when I qualified to study architecture. I was going to be the next Frank Lloyd Wright, creating incredible structures that would be my legacy for generations to come. I carried that dream all through school and achieved solid grades. My graduating thesis design won praise from my university mentors, and I had no trouble starting my career with a well-known firm. I was on my way to a lifetime of satisfying work. Or so I thought.

My first commission was to design a little twelve-unit walk-up apartment building- three levels with four units on each floor. It should have been simple, a rectangular box with about half of the bottom level set into the ground. Everybody has seen these look-alike structures, but mine would be different and better.

I divided each level in two, staggered a metre apart with some steps in the hallway between them. Two units on each level were elevated that much above the other two, the building notched into the ground slope.

I was proud of my design. It was different from the run-of-the mill twelve-plex box, and it fit the site perfectly. There was one big problem, though. The split-level plan required more of everything: survey, forming, concrete, bricks, stairs- the list seemed endless, making the cost about twenty percent higher than a bread-and-butter structure with twelve apartments. It was my first hard lesson in the real world of architecture.

I adapted through the school of hard knocks, and I'm still with my original employer. Frank Smythe knew that I was a young idealist, and he was patient with me. Soon I became much like the rest of my colleagues, churning out more variations on tired themes. More of those "Boxes, little boxes, all in a row," as an old song says: "And they're all made of ticky-tacky, and they all look the same!" That became the reality of my architectural dreams.

Early in my career, I married and it made my professional compromises easier to take. They might disappoint me, but I had something more important in my life. Cherise could turn my darkest moods sunny with her flashing smile and charming ways. She was the glamorous type, used to having guys flocking around her. People see me as a pretty average guy, and my friends all figured that I was way out of my league.

Eventually, she must have thought so too, because I started coming home to an empty apartment after work. Cherise always had a reason why she wasn't back until later in the evening. She was taking training for a job promotion, or she was being updated on new product lines. But my faith in her gradually slipped as it happened more and more often.

I saw all the signs. She'd have alcohol on her breath- strange for a meeting at the office. Sometimes if I tried to kiss her, Cherise would turn away, and other nights she'd head directly to the shower without any greeting at all. Her clothing often had the smoky smell of a bar mixed with the faint aroma of male cologne. I grew increasingly suspicious.

When a friend finally set me straight about her after-hours activities, I felt gutted. I learned that she'd been the office favourite for a few guys over the years, often cheating on me. Cherise had even smiled as she introduced me to them at staff parties. No wonder they wore smug looks as they delivered crushing handshakes. I later learned that she claimed we had an open relationship. Our life together was so damaged that we divorced.

Things were at an all-time low at this point. Frank, my boss, could see that I was in a rough patch and to help me along, he paired me with his best architect on a plum project. The client was expressly looking for something different. Finally, I had a chance to let my hidden FLW come forward. It was a very rewarding experience, one which the senior designer generously credited to me. After that, more interesting assignments began to come my way.

Frank did something else about the same time too. Three of us pool one executive assistant- secretary- and she was retiring. Monica replaced her and what a girl! She made the whole at-work experience one hundred percent better. Not only good at her job, Monica is a treat to be around, and I wondered if her arrival was a coincidence or thoughtfulness on my boss' part.

Monica can best be described as the girl next door type, but with a sexy edge. She was quite attractive in a cute sort of way. She usually dressed fairly conservatively, but her outward manner was far from that. She was very outgoing and laughed a lot, even at my boss' occasional off colour jokes. Monica was a fun person, and sometimes I thought that she might be giving me an inviting look. Or was I just hoping for that?

Almost every Friday the four of us and a couple of her girlfriends from the office would go for drinks after hours. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about Monica between the sheets.

So, you probably have a picture of me and my life now: average guy, excellent career, failed marriage, and lusting after our secretary. There are more of us in every office building in this city, and we all have a story. This is mine.

****

The firm does a lot of work for property developers, small and large. Some of them are excellent people to do business with, but others are jerks. I'd put Emilio Santamundi in the second group, and he was the one calling the shots on my latest assignment.

He had a reputation as a hard-headed guy who liked to get his own way by bullying people. He didn't care much about zoning requirements or city councillors who opposed his applications to build. There were always ways around these annoyances.

Emilio had acquired a prime piece of property right across from the biggest, most frequently used park in the city core. More than a century ago, the city councillors had the foresight to preserve this block of land for the enjoyment of citizens.

The park was dotted with magnificent old trees and monuments. It filled one entire large block on the edge of downtown and was ringed by fine old churches, civic buildings, and solid older apartment buildings, none more than three or four levels high.

When Santamundi bought a neighbouring pair of the older apartment buildings, I'm sure that the city council knew there was trouble on the horizon. The local historical society quickly moved to identify one of the apartments as a heritage building. Apparently, it had an unusual herringbone brick pattern running in belts at the top of each level which deemed it 'architecturally significant.'

To many people It seemed little more than an effort to protect the building. Lawyers representing the developer furiously lobbied council to oppose the designation.

Santamundi was intent on getting the tenants out of the two buildings so that he could tear them down and replace them with a high-end condo development. Suddenly workers began to show up at all hours of day and night to turn off services like heat, electricity, and water to 'test and inspect them.'

At the same time, rents were increased while routine maintenance like landscaping was all but ignored. Some tenants moved out and were replaced with groups of college students in each apartment.

Over a couple of years, the two old apartment buildings began to become run-down. They weren't quite eyesores yet, but tending in that direction. About the same time, the developer began to nurture some friends on city council who would support his efforts to replace the old with something befitting the area. He was ready to bulldoze his low-rise walk-ups, replacing them with a bold new condominium community that would be a downtown showpiece.

As these broad plans ground slowly forward, Emilio approached my boss for a striking design which he could use to help sell his proposal to the city council. He needed some back-up to justify demolition of two perfectly-sound, if deliberately neglected apartment buildings.

We heard all about the conversation between Frank Smythe and Emilio Santamundi from Frank's secretary, when we'd oiled her with some drinks after work on Friday.

"Frank, I need a design for my new condo building across from the park."

"Sure, Emilio. I appreciate your business. What do you have in mind?"

"As much building as you can fit on the lot. Maybe about a hundred units altogether."

"I don't think you could get that many apartments on that property. Isn't it just a couple of twelve-plex buildings now?"

"Yeah, but I want a hundred goddam units, Frank. No less."

"So, they'll all have to be studio apartments, with maybe a few one-bedrooms."

"No, I want lots of two-bedroom units, and some bigger penthouses at the top."

"To do that, you'd need to go up at least twelve levels or more, Emilio."

"So, what's the problem? Draw up something like that."

"You'll never get it approved that high. Not right across from the park."

"Frank, have you ever seen the goddam places beside Central Park in New York? We can do that here."

"I doubt that. People here would never go for it. They love their park."

"Look Frank, if you don't want my fuckin' business, I'll take it someplace else."

"Alright. Alright. I'll get Barry over to the lot right away. He's good with ideas."

"Something special, Frank. Draw me something everybody is gonna love."

"We'll do our best, Emilio."

It looked like I was going to face a real challenge because both Frank and I knew that city council and the general public would never accept a tall building towering over their beloved park.

That afternoon I took a lot of teasing from the other two architects in our little group. But our secretary Monica seemed to look at me in a different way, and she quietly asked if I could give her a ride home. She'd had a bit too much alcohol and would simply leave her car at the office overnight.

When we arrived at her building, she invited me up to her place. I wasn't expecting anything, but as soon as she had her door unlocked, she took my hand and pulled me in. Monica fell against me and wrapped her arms around my neck, laying into my mouth with a big wet kiss. Soon we were on her sofa, all over each other.

By the time I left, we hadn't done the deed, but were well on our way. I couldn't believe my good luck, that this was actually happening to me! But, at the last moment, she suggested that we save it for another night. Of course, I asked her out for dinner on Saturday. She agreed.

I was high as a kite as I drove home. In just one evening I found out that I would be awarded a challenging project with a big developer. Better still, I had rounded second base with our cute secretary, with a promised home run on deck tomorrow night. I'd been divorced for almost two years, and this would be as welcomed as a cold drink after crossing a barren desert!

Saturday evening couldn't come soon enough for me. Monica looked better than I'd ever seen her at work, and I was literally drooling, until she hit me with some bad news.

"Barry, I'm feeling a bit ashamed of myself today. I had too much to drink last night and I may have given you the wrong impression about me. I don't usually go so far when I start with a guy. Can we begin all over?"

"I had a nice time with you yesterday, Monica. You have nothing to be ashamed about."

"Yes, I'll bet you did," she smiled. "Just don't start thinking that you'll get as much of me tonight."

"In that case, I'll order a bottle of wine as soon as we sit down, then a second one later."

"You'll be drunk, because I'm not touching alcohol tonight. I'm serious!"

Monica stuck to her resolve, and she ended up driving me home from the restaurant. A goodnight kiss was as far as I got Saturday night.

****

On Monday morning I drove straight over to examine Santamundi's property. The two old walk-up apartment buildings had very little space to the sidewalk but there was some grass behind, and fifteen parking spaces beyond that. I could see right away that to get a hundred condo units into a new building, any parking would need to be underneath. Probably two levels of parking, in fact.

As I examined the properties, it occurred to me that the footprint of the new condo was twice as big as the two old buildings and their parking lots. Maybe a hundred units could be accommodated across six or seven levels, if there were enough 'junior one-bedrooms' and studio apartments? Perhaps City Council and the general public would accept a modestly taller building than the others around it? I drove to the office rolling these thoughts around.

Was I imagining things when I felt an even warmer welcome from Monica than her usually bubbly self?

"Morning Barry! A bit late today," she teased. "Were you working on your new project all weekend?"

"Actually, I was over looking at the property on the way to work, Monica"

"That's what I like in a man, Barry. Ambition. Frank has already called for you this morning to see him. I guess he wants to make it official, eh? Don't keep him waiting."

"So, she likes a man with ambition, does she," I thought. "Well, that's me alright."

Maybe the rumour of my new project and her sudden interest in me on Friday wasn't just a coincidence. Monica looked so good to me this morning that I was ready to work on this project day and night to show her my drive. Actually, my greatest ambition was to get her into my bed, if I could.

As an architect I already knew the city's exacting design specifications. The minimal setbacks from the street, the building and property lines, were literally carved in stone. Since the property was located on a corner, it seemed that access to the parking garage should be from the side street rather than the busy road in front.

After Frank confirmed that I was indeed going to be leading a preliminary design for the developer, I floated the idea of mixed units across six or seven floors with two parking levels underground. He suggested that I start with that to see how it looked. By lunchtime, I was doing what people sometimes expect that architecture is all about. I found myself sketching floor layouts and building profiles on paper serviettes in the lunchroom!

All week long I immersed myself in the condominium project. It consumed almost every waking hour, and when it didn't, I found myself thinking about Monica. What we had enjoyed together on Friday night was not easy to forget, even though she was embarrassed enough to wish it away. I wanted her again, and more to boot.

At the office I was distracted by her now, unable to concentrate on my work unless I kept my office door closed. I thought that she smiled at me more than usual, or was I only hoping for as much?

By the end of the week, I had arrived at a general floorplan for the proposal, some eighty apartments across six levels. The top story was entirely given over to four huge penthouse units, each with generous outdoor space as part of the roof level.

I began to feel hopeful that I'd found a way to satisfy the developer, the council, and the wider community. By Friday afternoon I had enough completed that I could join our regular a group for drinks after work.

This time, Monica motioned for me to sit beside her. Things could not be better in my life. My project was coming along nicely, and even better, this lovely young woman seemed to be taking as much interest in me as I had in her. She whispered that she wasn't going to drink as much, so she wouldn't be asking for a drive home. However, she was available for the following evening if I would take her some place we could dance.

The dancing on Saturday threw me for a loop. Monica told me that our destination was a surprise and it was! We arrived at a western-themed place, The Roadhouse, which featured line dancing. So, she was a country and western music girl! I didn't know that before tonight, nor did I know how to line dance, though she was eager to teach me. We had a good time, and later she shook me like I hadn't been shaken in years!

On her sofa again, we sipped wine and listened to country music. She was very receptive to my lips and her kisses were most encouraging. Monica's fine breasts felt and tasted marvellous, especially with the way she was stimulating me at the same time. While her bare skin was soft and warm to my touch; mine must have felt stiff and eager to her. Soon, we were highly aroused by what we both knew was coming next.

Monica took my hand, leading me to her bedroom, and I swear that the cool sheets sizzled beneath our overheated bodies. The next few minutes passed like a wild dream- a blur of heaving, perspiring, moaning flesh. It had been a long time for me- too long- so it all seemed to pass very quickly. As we lay together coming back to Earth, I hoped it had been that good for Monica too. She was smiling, and I took that as a Yes.

I floated into the office on Monday morning, feeling that giddy euphoria of someone swept off their feet. Monica met me with a warm smile that suggested she was beginning to feel it too. After a few words, I went into my office and closed the door.

I was on a mission today. Floorplans worked through, it was time to think more about the external design of the building, the frontal elevation. I needed something distinctive that the developer would like, something that would make people want to buy a unit there.

So, I went back to my books, looking for ideas. There was no need to invent something from scratch, no sailboat-like Sydney, Australia opera house or spiraling New York City Guggenheim Museum. Tried and proven would do. This led me to thinking about the other structures facing the park- old churches and public buildings, many of them red brick. I decided that my design should complement rather than clash with the built surroundings.

By the end of the week, I'd settled on a Classical facade, not at odds with the civic building next door. It would have some granite pillars and granite facing slabs on the lower two level, with co-ordinating red brick above that. Between each level, there would be layers of projecting brickwork to add a dash of ornate style to the place. At a glance, the new structure would look as though it had always been there.