The Design (9 page)

I swallowed slowly, already knowing what I needed to do.

“Tell Brook that I felt sick and headed home. And make sure that Hannah gets a ride.”

“Cammie,” he said, reaching out for my hand, but realizing his mistake a moment too soon. His hand fell limp back to his side. “Are you okay?”

I glanced away from him, back down the dark street.

I'll let you know when I know, Grayson.

…

I ended up going to my spot. It was the one place that calmed my anxiety. To get there, you had to take a private road that led around the perimeter fence of LAX. If you followed it for long enough, eventually you’d stumble upon a lonely, forgotten cemetery. It seemed like a random place for a graveyard, just off the highway on the side of an airport, but it must have been there long, long before air travel.

I parked off the road and grabbed a flashlight from my glove compartment. The first time I’d been to the spot, a stoner from my high school had told me that he knew of a place to get high and watch airplanes take off. I’d followed him blindly that night, too naive to realize how dumb I was being, but I didn’t regret the mistake afterwards.

The next time I went, I ditched the guy and the pot in favor of going alone. Just me and my flashlight.

It was a forlorn spot, out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by blackness, but the planes always came right when I needed them. Sometimes I got lucky and I could see four or five landing or taking off all within a few minutes of each other. I’d sit on a lonely grave, lean against a headstone and turn off my flashlight. Sitting there in the dark, I’d imagine it was me leaving on the airplanes. Each time I heard the low rumble of a takeoff, my heart would race and the earth would feel alive beneath me, shaking with the weight of the airliner.

My favorite part of all was the moment when the belly of the plane was directly on top of me, when the howls of the engine were so loud that they silenced everything else.

Chapter Ten

The following week Alan forced me to stay late again on Monday and Tuesday.
What a
s
hocker
. Why had I even found an apartment in the first place? I should have just shoved some clothes in my desk drawers, found a shower, hung a hammock from the ceiling, and stayed glued to my work 24/7. Alan would have
loved
that.

I had a sneaking suspicion that he enjoyed making me stay late just for the hell of it. It’s not like the work couldn’t wait until the following day. The tasks Alan shoved on my desk everyday at 4:59 pm were menial at best. None of them took much of my attention, which left me with more than enough time to replay Hannah’s description of how Friday night had ended for her and Grayson over and over again until I thought my brain would explode.
Oh, we didn’t go straight home after dinner. He drove the long way and we talked about everything, about nothing. We were just so comfortable around each other. You know what I mean?
No. I didn’t know what she meant, but I knew she’d stolen that line from at least a dozen romantic comedies.
I told him all about my goals for the next few years. He just understands me. Thanks so much for inviting me to dinner. Grayson and I would never have bonded otherwise.
Oh, please tell me more about how you and Grayson bonded. I’d love to hear it. 
I know it's early, but I really think he might be "the one".
Barf.

My gut told me she was embellishing the entire experience, and my heart sincerely needed my gut to be right about something for once. Still, every time I saw Hannah near Grayson’s office, my hands started to grip my drafting pencil just a
little
tighter.

“You going to be okay by yourself?” Peter asked, standing up from his desk and stretching his arms out above his head. It was Tuesday evening and he was about to bail on me. I couldn’t blame him. It was nearing 7:00 pm and if I was finished with my work, I’d be sprinting out of these fluorescent lights as fast as I could.
What does sunlight feel like? I can’t recall.

“Sure, yeah. You go on ahead. I just have a few more things to catch up on.”
What a lie
. I had at least another hour or two of work, which meant I’d be working by myself in the quiet office. Oh, wait. The custodial staff would be coming in soon, so at least I’d have them for company.

“Don’t work too late,” Peter said with a gentle smile as he swung his leather satchel bag over his head and took off for the elevator. I watched him leave, wondering how I’d managed to pick the short straw out of all the new hires. No one else had to work late. Just that day, Hannah had invited me to yet another happy hour. I didn’t even bother accepting anymore. I knew I wouldn’t get the chance to leave.

…

Amount saved for Paris
: $800 (it's amazing just how much you can save when you have no social life).

Items I have
: travel toothbrush and an international iPhone charger I found on Craigslist.

Items I need
: comfortable walking shoes…also sexy heels for going out.

French phrases that I know
:
Quelle est votre baguette…which roughly translates to “How big is your baguette?” Which can serve a purpose inside of a French bakery and also in a French night club…

The next morning, I strolled into the office with a smile on my face, clutching a bag of hot kolaches in front of my chest. I’d had plenty of time to stop at a bakery on the way in to work and I’d had the ingenious idea to ply Alan with baked goods on the off chance he felt like letting me leave at a decent hour that day.

“Cammie get over here. You’re late,” Alan hollered as soon as I stepped off the elevator.

I glanced down at my thin leather watch. I wasn’t late. I was ten minutes early. Most of the desks were still empty except for our little group. Peter, Mark, and Alan were all seated and staring up at me with varying degrees of annoyance: Peter, not annoyed at all. Mark, confused about my presence in general. (
Were we sure that he wasn’t an alien?
) Alan, pissed beyond belief for no good reason.

I dropped the bag of kolaches onto my desk with a thud.

“I’m not late,” I argued.

“On Wednesdays, we arrive early to work on competition proposals,” Alan clarified as if it was the one hundredth time he’d gone over that procedure with me.

“Well, no one told me that,” I replied.

Alan ignored my protests and pushed a manila packet onto my desk. I took my seat, and for the next hour he described the project we would be working on for the next two months. It was a design competition for a municipal park in northern LA. The city had a vision for the park: they wanted a walking trail to line the perimeter of the land, an amphitheater on one side for a summer theater series, a splash pad for younger children, and a few basketball courts in the heart of the park. It would be a massive undertaking and they were opening the competition up to architecture firms throughout California. Alan, Peter, Mark, and I would be in charge of submitting the proposal for Cole Designs.

My mind began to brim over with ideas as soon as I finished reading over the packet.
This is why I wanted to be an architect
. Community projects like this came around maybe once every ten years, and I was thrilled to get the chance to work on one. Unfortunately, I quickly learned that it wasn’t my place to offer input of any kind, save for taking notes while Alan shot out what he thought was design gold.
It wasn’t
.

I tried to speak up about my ideas.

“What about a small changing area near the splash pads, so that parents could put their children in swimsuits?”

“That’d be an eyesore,” he replied.

“What if we commissioned a mural for the back of the amphitheater stage so that we could showcase some LA artists?”

“No. Graffiti shouldn’t be encouraged,” he argued.

“What if we design modular booths that can provide options for local prostitutes and drug dealers?”…just kidding. I wasn’t brave enough to test Alan’s patience with that suggestion.

After being shot down at every turn, I finally just sat quietly in my chair, sketching loose designs and pretending to listen to Alan’s crappy ideas.

I was perfecting the crosshatching on an amphitheater sketch when a hand hit the back of my chair.

“How are the designs coming along?” Grayson spoke from behind me, practically scaring me out of my skin. I jumped up off my seat and covered my notepad for fear that he’d realize I wasn’t paying attention to the meeting. Then I turned back to look up at him and caught a whiff of his spiced aftershave. His hand was still on my chair and his small smile told me he’d already seen my designs. I blushed and tried to close my notepad as discreetly as possible.

“Great. The park design will have a clean aesthetic,” Alan offered with a buttery tone and a smile that showcased his yellowed canine teeth.
Why the hell does a park need a “clean” aesthetic?
It needed to be welcoming and functional.

“Alright. I look forward to seeing some of the mock-ups. And Alan, make sure you’re getting input from everyone,” Grayson said before pushing off the back of my chair and heading toward his office. His aftershave lingered in the air for a few seconds and I discreetly glanced over my shoulder to watch him walking away. That day he was in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and deep red tie. The whole ensemble was admirably smooth.

“That’s enough for today,” Alan snapped. “We’ll pick this back up again on Friday morning.”

I wondered if it was hard for Alan to take orders from someone half his age and twice as successful.

…

Later that afternoon, I was watching Grayson walk back from the kitchen when he turned and started to head toward my desk.
Oh shit, he saw me staring. LOOK BUSY, DUFUS.
Every part of my body froze as our eyes locked, and then at once my heart started pounding and my lungs filled with air.

“Cammie,” he spoke when he was a foot from my desk. “We need to head over to that residential project this afternoon. You can drive separately and meet me there at four o’clock. Sharp.”

“Oh, um, okay.”

Apparently my answer wasn’t convincing enough because he didn’t move to leave right away.

“Do you remember where it is?” he asked, bending forward to take the pencil out of my hand so that he could jot down the address on a post-it note. Our fingers touched only briefly, but it was enough for me to lose all speech capabilities.

“There’s the address in case you need it,” he said before heading back to his office. “Oh, and you might want to change your clothes,” he said, casting me one last glance over this shoulder. “You’ll be getting dirty.”

Oh my dear god. I now needed to change my panties too. Thank you, Mr. Bossman.

Obviously, after that little chat my concentration was shot to hell for the rest of the day. Finally, 3:30 rolled around and I told Alan I was leaving for the day. He’d heard Grayson instruct me to meet him at the site, but even still, the look on his face was absolutely priceless. He mumbled under his breath, but he didn’t argue as I gathered my stuff and waltzed out of the office, feeling fortunate to get to leave the office when the sun was still up.
Whattup, Vitamin D.

Once I was free from Alan’s overbearing gaze, I grabbed my phone and texted Brooklyn.

Cammie
: About to head to a job site with Grayson. Wish me luck.

Brooklyn
: I hope you get to meet so many hot construction workers.

Cammie
: Aww, thanks sister. I’ll be sure to hook-up with as many construction workers as possible.

Brooklyn
: That’s my girl.

Cammie
: Alan made me sharpen all of his drafting pencils today because apparently you need a master’s degree to operate a pencil sharpener.

Brooklyn
: He is such a tool. Why don’t you tell Grayson about him?

Cammie
: I don’t know.  Maybe I will eventually… I just want to prove Alan wrong. I love seeing his face every time I turn in the work he overloaded me with a day early.

Brooklyn
: Well, I’m prepared to make good on that threat to poison him. You just say the word.

Cammie
: Let’s lay off the poison threats. Jeez. We’ll both end up in jail.

Brooklyn
: That’d be fun. We could wear orange jumpsuits and I could entertain the prisoners like Johnny Cash did.

Cammie
: You sing teeny pop ballads…

Brooklyn
: Name one prisoner who wouldn’t enjoy a good pop song…

Cammie
: I don’t know any prisoners…

Brooklyn
: Exactly. #youlose

I raced home to throw on a fitted tee and some worn jeans before meeting Grayson at the residential project. I couldn’t contain the excitement brimming over as I drove across town. I’d been thinking about the house a lot over the last few days and I was anxious to see how much the build had progressed since I’d last been there.

Dirt-stained trucks lined the street when I arrived at the house. Construction workers were spread out everywhere. There must have been enough men to make up two or three crews, easily. I didn’t spot Grayson at first, so I made my way through the house, careful not to step on anything that could pierce the sole of my construction boots.

“Cammie,” Grayson called once I arrived in the kitchen.

I turned to see him standing next to two men. When he’d called my name, they both turned to watch me join them.

“Hi,” I offered meekly, trying to figure out if I was meant to listen to their conversation or stay on the sidelines.

“This is Cammie, an associate architect at my firm,” Grayson told the men. I turned to greet them. There was a hip guy with black dreadlocks and gauges. Next to him stood a lithe man with circular glasses that seemed to teeter precariously on the bridge of his nose.

“Cammie, this is Jim and Patrick. They’re helping out with the electrical wiring for the house.”

Jim, the guy with dreadlocks, stepped forward and shook my hand.

“It’s good to see a woman on site, Cammie. How did you get roped into the architecture field? It’s not very glamorous work,” he said with a smile.

The men turned to me and waited, and I realized they expected me to actually answer his question. Shit.
Did they have to stare at me so attentively? It’s called iPhones, people. Get one and stop paying attention to real life.

“Oh um, yes. Actually, it’s not very interesting,” I began, looking around at the construction workers who’d stopped to listen to my answer. I couldn’t pick apart anything but their random features: wide lips, frizzy hair, straight noses. My hands shook and I hid them behind my back, trying to hide the evidence of my nerves. “It was actually through a friend of my older sister.” I cleared my throat. “He was, uh, he was in graduate school for architecture when I first met him and I overheard him talking about his job. His passion was impossible to ignore.” I purposely stared anywhere except at Grayson. “And, um, yeah. Just hearing him talk about architecture is what made me fall in love.”