Tipping the Balance (38 page)

“Crap,” Drew said, following Octavio out of the trailer and up the once-grand main staircase and into the ballroom that would again sparkle in a new gilded age once Emily finished with it.

For now, lath gaped from where the masons had scraped away what couldn’t be salvaged. Drew was surprised at just how much of the original walls they’d been able to preserve, both in the ballroom and the rest of the mansion. That meant after addressing load issues to take the stress off original structural materials, repairing and filling cracks, rekeying de-laminating plaster, and finally after replacing damaged lath, the entire thing could receive a fresh coat of plaster with marble dust to create a hard, smooth coat that would then be polished with a metal trowel.

Octavio led him to the back of the ballroom, but Drew saw the damage as soon as they walked through the open double doors. The gaping hole where none should be stuck out like a Planned Parenthood clinic in Sun City. “Jesus God,” he muttered, dumbfounded by the sight.

“Basically, yes,” Octavio replied.

They peered into the wall, although there wasn’t much to see. A door-sized hole had been neatly cut through into what was supposed to be a library next door, and the dust had even been cleaned up. A few loose pieces of lath wiggled when Drew poked at them. The cleanness of the cuts surprised Drew, for all this constituted mutilation.

“So what do we do?” Octavio said.

Drew ground his teeth. What he really wanted to do was hurl his hardhat across the room and then jump up and down on his protective eyewear until it made a nice, satisfying crunching noise. “Why don’t you check the Dumpsters to see if we can salvage any of the pieces? I’m going to check the workflow log to see who gets a new asshole today and then go grovel to the carpenters and masons to see if they can fix it.”

“Don’t forget telling the city’s historical preservation department. And you wonder why I refuse to be a foreman,” Octavio said as they left the ballroom.

“No, I really don’t,” Drew said.

As he hurried downstairs, Drew knew exactly why Octavio refused any more responsibility than Drew had already forced upon him. But really, what kind of fool clattered around with a saw and no clue where to use it? It had to have been one of his people, if only because vandals weren’t so tidy. It was a carefully cut doorway, the result of planning and absolutely stupid blueprint reading.

Fortunately, Drew had a solution. He’d come up with the idea of a workflow log to track the progress of each crew and to know who had done what in his absence. It was looking more and more like he’d be going back to real estate soon, since, as predicted, the city had proved slow to pay, and he had yet to hear back on two pending grants, including a large one from the state redevelopment agency. Given the state’s perpetually blinkered finances and with spending freezes looking likely, Drew knew he’d need to raise the cash to keep going temporarily. And now the thought of leaving the renovation in someone else’s hands made him long to vomit.

One good thing, he thought, was that door hadn’t been there when he left yesterday, so the work wouldn’t be too far back. Then he realized something, and it felt like a kick in the gut.

Brad.

Brad had worked late the previous night.

He’d told Brad to go home and sleep, to rest, that he was tired, too tired to keep pushing himself like that.

Brad hadn’t listened and, like the jackass he could be, charged on ahead, probably fueled by coffee or energy drinks. Drew spun around in his desk chair to check the green recycling bin by the door, and yep, it was full of Rockstar and Red Bull.

He was old enough to realize that you could only go on that kind of amplification for so long. Brad hadn’t figured it out yet, but he was about to, just as soon as he arrived at work.

Drew sat at his desk and opened the log to see Brad’s handwriting detailing what he’d worked on the day before, including that damned doorway.

A note fluttered out of the log, obviously meant for him.

Hey babe,

Just a quick note to let you know I got a jump on the next phase and cut the door for the new bathroom in the library wall.

This schedule sux. We never see each other. : (

xoxo Brad

“Yeah, buddy, good luck with that.” Drew bit each word off and spat it out. He was tired and beyond stressed, and the note should’ve charmed him. It might even charm him later, if he restrained himself from wadding it up and chucking it in the recycling bin. “Trust me, Brad, right now, you don’t want to see me. And will someone please spare me from men too stupid to know their own limitations?”

What he really wanted to do was hit the pathway along the river to pound his stress and anxiety and furor out. Instead, what he would do was mutter rude and unflattering things about his boyfriend under his breath while he wrote a report to the city about the damage to the historic house and then start the cost projections for the repairs. He knew they’d bite into his already-tight budget, and they were starting to be strapped for cash as it was.

He remembered thinking this summer that he liked a challenge where both Brad and the mansion were concerned, but there in the trailer-cum-office, he reflected that he’d been full of shit. If a closeted boyfriend who blundered through walls in an historic building that was already devouring his budget constituted a “challenge,” the universe lacked all sense of proportion.

A half-hour later, Octavio came in. “Good call on the Dumpster. I got some of my guys to help, and we found three big pieces. We pulled them out
very
carefully, so it can probably be repaired.”

“Okay, can you oversee this personally?” Drew asked.

“Brad’s crew—”

Drew shook his head. “Brad’s the one who did this. I want someone on it I know won’t fuck it up again.”

Octavio’s eyes widened. He knew the score between Drew and Brad. “You got it, boss,” he said, putting particular emphasis on the last word as if to remind him just where the buck stopped. “But in my opinion? This is going to need a restoration specialist. I mean, I can ask the carpenters and masons, but we need this to be perfect so you can assure the city that they’ll need radar to find the fix.”

Drew regarded Octavio for a moment. “Okay, this conversation never happened, but this will pretty much push the budget into the red.”

“But the funding—” Octavio started.

“Between the city and the pending grants, it’s tight. I’ll have to go over the budget with Emily and see how much I can loan the project, but the reality is I’ll probably have to go sell some houses,” Drew said.

Octavio nodded slowly. “Wow. Good to know. So you want me
to—”

“Keep an eye on Brad. He’ll be nominally in control in my absence.”

Octavio nodded again. “Good luck with that.”

“No kidding.”

Octavio checked his watch. “I need to get back to work.”

“Right. You know how to reach me,” Drew said.

As Octavio turned to open the trailer door, it opened, and Brad walked in, along with Drew’s renewed anger at the whole situation.

With a last look over his shoulder, Octavio left to get back to work and get out of the line of fire.

“That’s odd. What’s his deal?” Brad said. “Anyway, did you see the note I left? I hope it helped.”

“Helped, you say,” Drew said flatly.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?” Brad said, looking at him strangely. “What’s yours?”

“The problem, and it’s
our
problem, not just mine, is that you cut a door where it didn’t belong,” Drew said.

“What?” Brad said stupidly.

“You stayed late when you were dead tired and, I’m guessing, misread the blueprints somehow. You were a room off, Brad. You destroyed a wall that was in pretty good shape,” Drew grated out. “Now we have to try to patch it back together and then pray the masons can repair the plaster. You should’ve gone home and gotten some sleep.”

“Shit,” Brad breathed. He half-turned away.

Drew unclenched his jaw. “Yes, that’s one word for it. I might also choose colossally stupid or maybe completely fucked, but sure, we can go with shit. Like shit for brains! How could you do that?”

“At least I was in here doing something!” Brad snapped.

“When you had no business being here!” Drew fired back. “I tried to tell you it was time to go, that you were too tired, but you wouldn’t listen to me. You had to be a hero. Now on top of fixing it, I get to explain to the city how this happened.”

Brad just glared at him belligerently, but Drew’s anger still burned incandescently. “Even you have your limits, Superman. You’re not a college jock anymore, Brad! You can’t push yourself to the edge and expect to sleep it off by skipping class.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve got responsibilities and obligations, and you can’t just do what you want. You should’ve talked to me before striking out on your own on something as major as cutting holes in a wall!”

“So you’re saying you’re the boss, and I need to check everything with you? So much for partners! I knew working for you was a mistake.”

“Oh I think not,” Drew said. “You were and are desperate to get out from under your father’s thumb, and you totally should be, but my job offer was a life-preserver thrown to you, and you know it.”

Brad shot him a venom-filled look. “Working for you was mistake, and dating you was an even bigger one.”

“You want to mix the professional and personal? Fine, but before you crank up the waaaambulance, keep in mind that you’re not the only one who’s made sacrifices to this relationship. I’ve got a boyfriend who still can’t say the word ‘gay’ and who has ‘issues’ being seen in public in any way that might look like a date.”

“Hey, I’m working through a lot right now, I’ve given up a lot—”

Drew rolled his eyes. He’d heard this so much he could’ve yelled both sides of the argument. “Yeah, I know. You keep telling me. How about you show me?”

“What the hell have you given up?”

“You mean besides fucking my boyfriend?” At Brad’s wide eyes, Drew said, “What, you thought I was nothing but a bottom? Newsflash, I like to fuck guys, not just get fucked by them, and on top of that—ha!—I like to go out.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend—” Brad glowered at Drew’s snort. “You’ve got me, why d’you need to go out?”

“I like to dance. Ask Nick sometime about our adventures at Aspects. It’s what gay people do… oh wait, that’s right.” Drew slapped his forehead. “I forgot. You’re not
gay
. You just like to stick your dick up my ass.” He shook his head, amazed at what came pouring out of his mouth. For once, it wasn’t glitter and rainbows. He’d thought he was fine waiting while Brad made up his mind, but his own needs and wants wouldn’t stay buried, not when he ate stress for breakfast and crapped it out before lunch. “I work hard, and dancing’s one way I blow off steam. We just passed one of my favorite holidays. Halloween. Did you know there’s a charity costume ball I go to every year? It’s called the Goblin Ball.”

Brad grudgingly shook his head.

“My boss at the real estate agency buys a table every year. Dancing, costumes, a fundraiser for the local HIV/AIDS foundation. Halloween’s like Christmas for gay people. And what’d we do on Halloween? Tell me, Brad. What’d we do?