Always the Last to Know(41)

She finally won Arwen over by offering her a position as Architect III, a jump that usually took a few more years for someone so young, and a step right below Juliet herself as Senior Architect/VP Design. It would be fine. Juliet would work with her closely, and Arwen was talented, smart and hardworking.

She joined DJK within a month. A press release had been sent out and picked up by every major architecture magazine. Arwen Alexander Leaves RennBore for DJK/Connecticut as AIII. A few interviews came Arwen’s way, in which she mentioned her heroes in architecture, including Juliet and Dave Kingston (smart girl, mentioning a partner, even if Dave spent most of his time golfing and drinking scotch). Arwen worked hard. Designed well, took critiques, adjusted her designs when needed, credited other team members. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—wrong with her work.

But here’s the thing about architects. Every generation, there are two or three innovative, change-the-field-forever people. I. M. Pei, Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies van der Rohe, Zaha Hadid . . . architects who invented entire schools of design. They were the geniuses who created buildings the likes of which the world had never seen before. Sometimes that was a good thing (Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater), and sometimes not (Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim . . . can’t win ’em all). But they were the geniuses, the innovators, the type who changed the landscape, literally and figuratively.

And then there’s every other architect. Ninety-five percent of the best architects in the world designed buildings and interiors that were dazzling and beautiful, but built on the shoulders of those greats. Juliet felt she was in that category—creative, energetic, sometimes even brilliant—but not someone who was going to invent a new way of thinking.

Arwen, too, was a solid designer with a lovely portfolio. A little derivative, in that she clearly borrowed from her idols, but that was the way of the world, in everything from literature to fashion. Not everyone was Lin-Manuel Miranda, but that didn’t make them a bad songwriter. Not everyone was Gianni Versace, but that didn’t mean they didn’t make beautiful clothing.

Juliet thought Arwen had some flair. With experience, Juliet thought, Arwen could rise to Juliet’s own level, and sure, maybe surpass her . . . in a decade or so, after she’d learned more about the craft and worked with more senior architects. Hopefully, Arwen would become bolder and more confident, develop her own style and voice.

And then, six months into her employment at DJK, abruptly and without explanation, Arwen became the It Girl of Architecture.

Suddenly, articles about feminism and sexism in the industry appeared, with Arwen giving quotes . . . something Juliet didn’t know until the piece ran in the Times. It was nothing new, nothing that hadn’t been said by dozens of female architects before, but it got buzz. Then Architectural Digest asked Arwen to comment on the booming architecture in China and its impact on the future of cities, even though she’d never been to China or designed a building there.

Juliet had. She’d been lead on a massive retail and office center in Hangzhou, and an apartment building in Chengdu.

The CEO of a Fortune 100 company that DJK had just landed said, “We’d like Arwen Alexander on the team.” Dave and Juliet exchanged quick glances.

“Absolutely!” Dave boomed. “You got it! She’s a keeper, that one!”

All fine. Juliet had been planning to put Arwen on this project anyway. But . . . why had he asked for her by name? Why all this attention? Had Arwen hired a really good PR firm? Was she connected in ways Juliet was unaware of? It wasn’t that the girl—woman—was without talent. But she was a long way from superstar. Maybe someday, but those other greats, like Zaha Hadid, had been dazzling from day one. And Arwen, as solid and reliable as she was, was not dazzling.

That was a minority opinion, apparently.

Arwen was listed as the number one Forty Under Forty in Architectural Review, a “bolt of lightning with her stunning designs and razor-sharp outlook.”

Juliet had turned forty just three months before that article ran. Not being included . . . it stung.

Arwen was quite attractive, which didn’t hurt, but nonetheless, it was a shock for Juliet to see her photo on the front page of the style section in the Los Angeles Times. She was asked to give workshops and even a TED talk.

Apparently, her work was setting the world on fire . . . and Juliet, her boss, was scratching her head. It was great for the firm, this sudden outpouring of adoration, but Juliet was a little . . . baffled. Glad for her success and its echoes on DJK, and yet . . . why Arwen? Juliet had been an architect for more than a decade and a half. She knew brilliance when she saw it, and Arwen was good. She could be great. She was a far cry from brilliant.

Juliet was not the only one to think so.

“I just don’t get it,” muttered Kathy Walker, an interior architect who’d been Juliet’s first female friend at DJK. “Do you?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’ve had better. You’re way more talented than she is.”

“We work in a subjective field,” Juliet said. Kathy was a friend, but also a gossip, and if Juliet said anything that showed the slightest flicker of faith in Arwen, word would spread. Juliet would die before she seemed jealous. Women in architecture had it hard enough without other women backstabbing or gossiping about them.

“Maybe all this adoration is because she’s”—Kathy looked around—“young.”