Condo Conflict Ch. 03: Swallowed Up

Story recap:

Chapter 01: Architect Barry Warrington struggles to produce a winning design for a very difficult client, at the same time pursuing his workgroup's beguiling secretary.

Chapter 02: An attractive architect assisting Barry with the condo design turns his head, while a suspicious fire consumes the developer's old apartment building.

Swallowed Up

I lay sleepless one night in my girlfriend's bed. I'd moved in with her two months before and was still having difficulty adjusting to the new situation. The small apartment seemed crowded with two living together, but there was a bigger issue. Monica was my secretary, a lovely girl about fifteen years younger than me, and I increasingly realized how much our interests and tastes differed.

Even worse, I was sometimes thinking about an older woman with whom I collaborated- Carole Langmere. I was confused and knew that I was treading in very dangerous territory because we all worked together.

Monica snuggled up against me, before I finally dropped off into a deep sleep and dreamed. I was with her on a windy beach somewhere, tanning in the sun.

"Are you still working with Carole these days, Barry?" she asked.

"Yes, and I hope we stay on the condo project. We're good together."

"I want you to stop. That woman is a threat to us. A serious threat."

"No she's not! Carole is smart and funny. It's fun working beside her."

"I know that you like her body more than anything. Stop it with her!"

"I'll do no such thing! I like being around her and that's all there is to it."

At that point, Carole came strolling along the beach, taking her long, self-confident strides. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Then she stopped and stared directly at me. She crooked her finger.

"Come with me, Barry. You need a woman, not a girl. I'll give you what you really want, you'll see."

Without saying anything, I got up and went to Carole. She took my hand and we walked away down the beach, leaving Monica behind. I'd made my choice.

I stirred and like most dreams it morphed into another one, likely to be lost by morning. Strangely enough, it remained with me, some of the details faded, but the general sense intact.

I thought about it at the office next day and wondered if it had meaning. Did it predict what was to come, perhaps an affair with Carole? Or did it simply reflect the ambivalence I was feeling about my current situation with Monica? Perhaps it was telling me to be honest with Monica about my feelings, but did I dare?

Frank Smythe jolted me out of my thoughts with a phone call.

"Barry. Come over to my office about ten. I've got some new information about the Santamundi condominium project. Carole will be joining us because it's important she be up to speed too."

I told him I'd be there, then began to guess what news Frank might have for us. Whatever it was, Carole's involvement in the meeting suggested that we might resume working together again on plans for the new development.

Funny, it seemed to reflect the subject of my dream last night. If I would be partnered again with Carole, would it spell the end of my relationship with Monica? The meeting was in a half hour, so I wouldn't need to wait long to find out.

****

My name is Barry Warrington, and I'm a professional architect. You already know the issue I'm having about two women with whom I work. My ex-wife and I divorced two years ago because of her repeated infidelity. Now here I am thinking about another woman while living with my secretary. Am I any better than my ex?

Sometimes I feel guilty about betraying Monica in my thoughts and dreams, but that's as far as it has gone. I'm sure that she has no idea how confused and conflicted I am at the moment. I need to keep it that way because she is a wonderful person, but maybe not the one for me.

Carole Langmere is a professional architect, a much experienced one whom I tend to look up to. I also tend to look AT her because she is a very sexy woman. Late thirties, like me, she walks in a way that puts everything in motion. I've seen the men in the office stop what they're doing and let their eyes follow her across the room. I'm one of them.

My late-fifties boss, Frank Smythe is as bad as the rest, but less obvious. I'm sure that she knows the consternation which she awakes in men's groins, but she pretends not to notice. Carole is the reason for my current inner conflict.

The two of us gathered in Frank's office with anticipation. What he had for us wasn't really what we expected- news about our architectural design- but it did provide a hint of things to come.

Frank had been in the business for most of his adult life. He came from family money and had the resources to buy an existing small firm when he was a young man. He was patient and steadily grew it into one of the city's most prestigious architecture houses, very popular with big project developers. Fit and handsome, silver-streaked Frank was long-divorced, and quite adept with the ladies.

He knew how to get things done.

"I had another golf date with my Building Department buddies this past weekend. They told me that Emilio Santamundi has an application in for a permit to demolish his remaining twelve-plex on the property. He cites the flood damage caused by firefighters' efforts to save the building from the fire next door. It has been sitting boarded up so long now that several of the units are covered in black mold."

"That sounds like a good reason for demolition. What did they say about it?" Carole asked.

"It's got a heritage designation for the patterned brickwork and the city is determined to save that."

"Seems unfair to make him restore it for that. It'll cost more than the old building is worth, don't you think?"

"Carole, that's why you two are here now. They will allow him to tear down everything except the entire front facade. That's where most of this unique brickwork is found. The condition is that he has to reinforce and support it to preserve it...."

"Just like a freestanding wall?" I interrupted.

"Not just a wall. It has to be integrated into the frontal elevation of any new structure built on the lot."

"Now that's different, isn't it! New condo, old front."

"Sure is, Barry, but it's been done before. The point is, you two may end up being the ones who have to come up with a design that can integrate the old into the new. This is a heads-up so you can start to inform yourselves about projects that have applied this idea successfully."

"So, are we working together again, Frank?" I asked.

"Not really. I just ask you to share what you find with each other. Sometimes the three of us can meet to talk because this is somewhat new to me too."

"But, do you expect that we'll eventually have Emilio asking for a new design based on the old brickwork?"

"Yes Carole, unless he either drops the condominium idea altogether, or finds some way to work around City Hall."

"Do you think he'd defy them and just tear the whole thing down anyway?"

"He'll be warned against that Barry, if he ever expects to get a permit for anything in this city."

Emilio Santamundi had other ways to deal with City Hall, and he'd been carefully working on them during the past month or so. He'd identified two city councillors as 'pro-development' and was carefully nurturing them in anticipation that his applications, first to demolish and later to build, would eventually come in front of City Council.

The two councillors and their families were Emilio's guests for the weekend at his lakeside 'cottage', actually a very big place designed for entertaining. They were arriving there now.

"I want you to enjoy your weekend here. Just relax and we won't talk politics or anything like that. You know I can't anyway, right? Conflict of interest. We don't get enough guests up here and it's going to be a beautiful weekend. The kids can use the pool or the beach. There are no lifeguards, so keep a close eye on them."

"Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Santamundi. Real nice of you."

"Yeah, thanks. Perfect weekend to be here. The kids will love it!"

"It's Emilio. I'll call you Mike and Jordan. Everything is casual this weekend, OK?"

"Sure Emilio. Hey, quite a place you've got here. Really impressive!"

"It's from a lifetime of hard work. When the family came from the Old Country, we didn't have nothin' but the clothes on our backs. My folks worked hard all their lives and they made us work with them too." He continued:

"My brother Louie and me bought a little property and built a house to rent out. One house became two, then four, then eight. You get the picture, eh? We never asked nothin' from nobody, just a fair chance. Day and night we worked, and this is what we got for our trouble. Louie and me share this place."

"Your trouble paid off, eh? Hard work built this great summer home."

"Yeah. That's the good thing about this country. A guy can still put his sweat and money into something and see the reward. Not like places where government always gets in the way with red tape. Here a guy can have a dream and make something good for everybody. Know what I mean?"

If the two city councillors had been paying attention, they'd know exactly what he meant. Although the developer wasn't directly selling them on his condominium development, he was playing them. The whole success story about working hard to build something without government interference was the message he wanted them to buy.

It was important that they view him as a self-made man who could achieve great things if he came before City Council for a permit. Two pro-development votes among eight members could have an important impact, and Emilio knew it.

"We can talk some more later. Let's get a drink in your hand and I'll show you around. Remember, 'mi casa est tu casa'- my home is your home- this weekend. Mike, Jordan, we're glad you and your families could make it here!"

Later, after a big barbeque and plenty of drinks, it was natural that Emilio, Mike and Jordan got comfortable to hash over city politics, something all three of them had in common.

"Emilio, what do you think are the big issues in the city right now? Off the record, of course."

"Housing is big. The city is growing and there never seem to be enough places to live. Like the people who were forced out of my two apartments by the park. The big fire and water damage. I don't know where they went after that, but they sure as Hell must have had a tough time finding something. Poor buggers."

"I agree with you. Not many decent apartments. And not many being built right now either. Why's that? You're in the business."

"It's a tough business. A guy puts a lot of money out there for blueprints and approvals. Sometimes it's months and years before a shovel goes into the ground. It's a big question, never knowing what's going to be approved. I think putting money into stocks and bonds would be easier and have less risk."

Then he paused for effect.

"It was better when Louie and me started out, but now it's a crap shoot. A project might get through or it might not. It's a Hell of a risk, I tell you."

"I never saw it that way before. Jordan, what do you think?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. He makes sense. All risk. Maybe no reward," Hales agreed.

Emilio turned the conversation to other general topics. He had been careful to talk about property development only in a general way, and in no way did he directly promote his condominium project. But it looked as though Mike Spencer and Jordan Hales had been receptive to his message, so the weekend was already a success.

****

"Barry, we haven't been out much lately. How'd you like to take me to The Roadhouse this weekend for some fun?" Monica was asking.

I tried not to grimace at the thought of more country music and line dancing, but I realized we hadn't been there since we started dating more than three months ago. There really was no way to easily decline.

"Sure baby. It's been a while, hasn't it? But just one condition, OK? Next time we go out, let me take you to a jazz club. I think you might enjoy it as much as I do."

"Hmm.... I don't really like that music very much. Maybe for older people, but not somebody my age."

I felt myself getting annoyed. Sometimes it seemed that everything had to suit her. My furniture was considered disposable when I moved in with her, and my bed was too soft anyway. Her preferences in food and entertainment usually over-rode mine. This sweet, lovely person was beginning to seem selfish to me.

"Let's put it this way, Monica. I'll go with you to The Roadhouse this weekend but promise to join me at a jazz club next time. Is it a deal?"

She wrinkled her nose up to show me that she didn't think much of jazz, but I just waited her out.

"Well.... OK. You drive a hard bargain," she quipped.

That little remark put me over the edge.

"This is supposed to be about both of us, not just what you like. Do I like country music? Not much. Do I like line dancing? Not really. But you do, so I take you there, right?"

Her face changed and I could see an argument was close at hand.

"If you don't like country music or line dancing, why not just stay home, Barry!"

"Because I want you to have a chance to enjoy the things you like."

"I'll just go with my friends, then we'll both be happy."

I didn't want to argue about it and reminded her that I had agreed to go with her to The Roadhouse. But she was having none of it.

"No. You stay home and listen to your jazz. I'll call some girlfriends and we'll go ourselves."

"Ok. Just do what you want. I offered to go and don't forget that. It was just too hard for you to please me in return."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Barry. I'm sorry I brought it up in the first place. I'll go either Friday or Saturday, depending on my friends."

"Have a nice time," I said sarcastically.

On Friday night, Monica got out her country gear: tight jeans, embroidered shirt and cowboy boots. When she was dressed, with her hair in a long pony-tail, she looked so cute, and part of me wished that I was going with her. But it was too late for second thoughts now.

After Monica's girlfriend picked her up for The Roadhouse, I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. In my mind I was back about three or four years, wondering if my ex-wife Cherise would be coming home late again. Would she be drinking too much and letting other guys be free with her? Would she refuse to kiss me when she came in? Would she push past me on her way to the shower?

Cherise had hurt me badly with her cheating. It wasn't something that I'd ever forget, and now it seemed it could be coming back. I knew that I should have gone with Monica to the bar.

I needed something to take my mind off my girl surrounded by the thirsty Friday night crowd. There was always the condo project to occupy my troubled mind.

After a while I went to my little collection of architecture books to see if I could find anything about what Frank had told Carole and me earlier in the week. Was there some way to incorporate the red brick front of the developer's old three-level walk-up into a new condominium?

After some browsing through familiar material, I found an interesting section that I had always skipped over in one of my books. It read...

CONTEXTUALISM

"By the Seventies, Modernist urban design was under attack. The underlying idea was that the city and its buildings embodied the collective memory of its inhabitants. If urban interventions did not conform to pre-existing types, memory was lost. Modernist structures replacing the known city constituted an actual destruction of memory."

As an architect, I understood this babble. It was an appeal to preserve rather than destroy. It said to handle the city's past with care because it meant more to people than grand new structures that only looked good on paper. It suggested that past and present must be married together in the city's buildings so that people could relate to them. So far so good.

The next few pages jumped out at me. Some photos and text illustrated structures where this had been done successfully. Architects called it 'Layering'. For example, modern staircases could be integrated into the brick inner walls of an old building- two contrasting looks which complemented more than they clashed.

'Re-Interpretation' was another connected theme. I saw how traditional arches and columns could be built from different materials than in the past, while retaining some of the original form. I bookmarked what I'd found, meaning to show this to Carole.

My thoughts turned to my fellow architect after that. We'd both worked at the firm for several years, yet I really knew very little about Carole away from the place. Where she lived; with whom she lived- if anyone; what she enjoyed and disliked- these were all a mystery to me. I'd been guilty of seeing her as a smart designer with a great body. I made a mental note to find out, to engage her in some more personal conversation the next time we were together.

By now it was getting late, and I hadn't heard anything from Monica. I had hoped she would text me from The Roadhouse to tell me how her evening was going, and I thought she might send some selfies with her friends. Nothing.

Apparently, she had disappeared into the night with no intention of connecting with me. I took her earlier advice and listened to some of my jazz, but it only took me back to doing the same thing while I waited anxiously for Cherise to come home.

About midnight, I was beginning to nod off when my phone pinged. It was a text from Monica, the selfie I was expecting. She was smiling up at me, with the look of someone who has had too much to drink. The glasses and bottles on the table in the foreground confirmed my suspicion.

Her girlfriend was next to her, looking inebriated too. On the other side was a big guy whose arm seemed to have disappeared behind Monica as he leaned into the image. He wore a self-satisfied grin that sunk my spirit, so I took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

Sometime in the night, I was vaguely aware of Monica coming into the room, trying to be quiet but bumping into things. Too much to drink. A mixed atmosphere of cigarettes, alcohol and stale perfume followed her into the bedroom. Clothing dropped to the floor and the blankets were moved. When she snuggled up against me, she felt overheated.

I opened one eye to glance at the clock on the night table. Two o'clock. The bars had closed an hour ago. Thankfully, I fell back to sleep before I started to think about my cheating ex-wife again.

****

Things were coming to a head now, both in my relationship with Monica and the business of Emilio Santamundi's condominium project.

The morning after my girlfriend's night out passed quietly. She slept late and showered long before coming to the kitchen for the coffee I'd brewed two hours before. Monica forced a smile, but I could see that she wasn't feeling too well.

"Some dry toast for you?" I asked with a sarcastic grin.

"Nothing. I might be sick."

"Too much beer, eh? I saw all the bottles and glasses on your table."

"How?"

"The selfie you sent. About midnight."

"Ohhh.... Did you see Marianne in it?"

"Yes, and somebody else. A big guy with his arm around you."

"Jealous, are you? Brian's her brother. Our bodyguard for the night because it's a pickup bar."

I felt foolish for thinking the worst of her, so I took her hand and told her that I was glad she was home again. My worries had been misplaced. I only hoped that what she had told me was true, but Monica had never given me reason to mistrust her. I resolved to be more positive about her in future.

On Saturday afternoon there was a demonstration in the downtown park, right in front of the scene of the apartment fire. News had leaked out that Santamundi had applied for a demolition permit for the remaining building and been denied. Now about fifty people had turned up to weigh in on the issue.