The Design(27)

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 shocker. 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.