Chapter 3

3

T he outside of the Fairchild Building, all pale pressed brick and rather unprepossessing as a whole, didn’t exactly catch the eye. Nora was sure she’d passed by it dozens, if not hundreds, of times in her life and not paid it a second thought, even though she knew, thanks to her Masters in Architecture from UCLA, that it was considered significant due to its nearly unidentifiable mixture of styles. How a blend of beautiful styles had turned out such an extremely normal building, she had no idea.

But it wasn’t the outside that interested her, anyway. Nora was itching to finally visit the legendary foyer of the Fairchild, a huge open-air atrium wreathed in wrought iron and illuminated by wide, frosted glass skylights. She was positive that the photos she’d seen, even the glossy high-definition ones included in her file on the building, didn’t do it justice. Excitement propelled her out of the Town Car and onto the sidewalk, briefcase in hand.

While the Fairchild Building hadn’t done much to catch her eye, a rainbow flag in one of the ground-floor windows did. She scanned the other windows, where an array of what she presumed were different pride flags acted as curtains.

Nora had known who she was since she was a teenager and one reckless party game of Spin the Bottle had left her with a solid “no thank you” attitude toward boys and a raging crush on her pretty cheerleader biology lab partner. Nora liked girls, and she was comfortable with that. She was a Taurus after all; pragmatism was baked into her soul.

But the small LA suburb that she hailed from hadn’t felt entirely safe enough for her to indulge her newly-discovered urges in the late 90s. So, she’d bent her head down and channeled all her energy into getting out. Her goal had been lofty, but that only motivated her further: Nora Hartley wanted to go to the all-women’s Wellesley College. With as many scholarships as she could stuff into her pockets as possible.

And she’d done it. Off she went to Massachusetts, ready to study hard and to explore her sexuality. The next four years of her life were an education in How To Be A Lesbian 101: there were muffled hookups in library study carrels, hot kisses in the corners of sorority parties, noisy competitions with her suitemates… there was hardly a girl in her graduating class that Nora hadn’t at least seen topless. And she’d still managed to graduate summa cum laude, emphasis, she sometimes chuckled to herself, on the cum .

What she hadn’t done was join any Gay-Straight Student Alliances, participated in Pride parades, or fake-ID’d her way into any lesbian bars during her time at Wellesley. There hadn’t really been any time, for one thing, not between her studies and her extremely active social life. And as an only child who’d largely been a studious loner all through school, she didn’t feel much need to be part of any kind of community. Nor was she particularly political. Nora just… was. She was a lesbian, an honors graduate, fiercely determined, and fine on her own. The following several years of her life at UCLA did little to change that. Meeting her ex-girlfriend Leah was the closest she’d ever come to being interested in the larger LGBTQ+ world she was meant to be part of.

Now, Nora surveyed the pride flags in the windows of the Indigo Lounge, amazed at how many there were. She could identify the main rainbow Pride flag, though it seemed to have evolved over the years. And she was fairly sure the flag in various shades of pink, orange, and white was the lesbian flag. That was it, though. That was all she knew. She was curious, though, so she resolved to ask Laurie about the rest of them later.

Onward . She drew her shoulders back and headed for the door of the Lounge, where she was due to meet up with the Fairchild siblings.

She didn’t really like them, she’d decided. As people, that is. Not one of them was a person she’d spend time with if there weren’t money and a good building on the table. Matt was basically a non-entity as a person, Oliver was too earnest and dreamy, and Alexandra… well, Nora didn’t usually use the word, but Alexandra was a bitch. And not in the fun way. A bitch with delusions of grandeur about herself to boot, which Nora found very off-putting. A little self-awareness never killed anyone, but she felt like Alexandra thought it might, and she seemed to avoid it at all costs.

As she passed over the threshold of the café-bar, Nora looked around, curious. She really had not spent a lot of time in any queer establishments in her lifetime, certainly not one that centered on women. There were a few men sitting at scattered tables enjoying coffee drinks and glasses of sparkling fruit water, but in general the clientele was female. Women were in the posters on the wall, a woman’s voice was streaming out of the speakers—Nora thought it might be Melissa Etheridge—and the two people behind the bar who were staring at her were both women.

One of them had to be the owner. Emily? Emma? No. Esme. The owner was Esme. And since the bar had been here for twenty years, Esme was probably not the stocky young woman in the chef’s coat with the tumble of black curls spilling over her brow. Nora glanced at the other woman and nearly tripped over her own feet.

Wide brown eyes. Long, thick chestnut brown curls down to her waist with a hint of red and threads of silver shot through them. She was older, Nora could see that in a few gentle lines on her heart-shaped face, but there was a youthful air about her as well. She could be any age between 35 and 55, in Nora’s opinion.

She was Nora’s opposite in so many ways. Soft, curvy, in a simple white sleeveless top. Nora wondered if, behind the Spanish tile-topped bar, she was wearing loose jeans, flowing pants, or a maxi-skirt. It would be one of the three, certainly not anything like Nora’s designer suit and heels.

Nora knew this because looking at Esme was like looking at Leah. Taller, and of course the hair and eye color were different, but Nora saw so much of Leah in this woman. She wondered if Esme smelled like roses, or fresh grass, or lilacs? What did she like to read? How did she relax? She looked gentle, and while there was concern in those big brown eyes, Nora thought she saw an innate kindness, too.

She thought about walking over to the bar to introduce herself, but then a voice she personally found grating rang out over the chatter in the bar. “Nora!” It was Alexandra Fairchild, bustling over with a smug, avaricious look on her face. “Thank you so much for coming out.”

“Of course… Alexandra, was it?” Of course, Nora knew the woman’s name perfectly well. They’d met a few times already. But she just couldn’t resist an opportunity to get under the irritating woman’s thin skin. She felt her mouth curving up into a half-smile as she saw a flicker of annoyance in Alexandra’s eyes. She went on as if nothing had happened. “Interesting place you’ve got here.”

Oddly, she meant it. The Indigo Lounge was interesting. It was in entirely the wrong place for what it was, for what the neighborhood was becoming, but she couldn’t deny that it was an amazing space, just like Leah had said all those years ago.

“Oh, it’s not ours.” Alexandra waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just one of the retail spaces that come with the building. Come, let me take you around and show you what you’re dealing with. We’ll come back for lunch.” Alexandra swept past her in a clear effort to regain the upper hand after Nora’s little prick to her ego. Nora had to take a moment to stifle the grin that was threatening to spread across her face, and she looked around the Lounge one more time.

It felt, in some peculiar way, like she’d come home. She sighed before she turned and followed Alexandra out to the Fairchild Building’s main entrance. The Indigo Lounge was incredible. It was too bad she was going to have to get rid of it.

“What did you think?” Oliver Fairchild leaned back in his seat at their table, smiling in what Nora was sure he thought was a charismatic and appealing way. To her, it was inauthentic, all of him was. His brown hair was too perfectly gelled back, his suit didn’t hang right on his body, everything about him screamed that he was trying too hard. She much preferred the Oliver she’d met before, in his linen pants and open button-down. He looked like a friendly frat boy, but at least that seemed to be closer to his real personality than this vaguely desperate polishing could ever hope to be.

Nonetheless, she smiled and inclined her head in a slight nod. “The atrium area was as gorgeous as I’d always heard it was. I can’t believe I’ve never made the time to visit it before.”

“Well, if you buy the place, you’ll have all the time you want to see it over and over again.” The inauthentic smile widened. “Right, Matty?”

The youngest Fairchild, who was a successful CPA, but looked like a lanky, pale, and extremely morose undertaker, nodded and made a vague noise that might be assent. Nora didn’t think he’d uttered more than five words in the past several meetings.

Alexandra poured herself some lemon-cucumber water, vibrant green and yellow slices tumbling into her glass. She took a long drink, set the glass down, and looked at Nora. “So? Now you’ve seen the place. Will you take it off our hands?”

Even her brothers, even the normally expressionless Matt, seemed shocked at her bluntness. Nora appreciated a direct approach, but coming from Alexandra, it just seemed like a crass money-grab. She smiled politely. “My interest remains. I think we’ll need another meeting to discuss the price.”

Alexandra’s return smile was steely. “Fifteen million is an extremely fair price for a heritage-rated building with as much history as the Fairchild has, with the location it’s in.”

“It’s a well-located heritage building that you can’t keep occupied.” Nora raised an eyebrow. “The office floors need refurbishing. The atrium is beautiful, but you’ve clearly had upkeep issues with it. And I’m pretty sure I spotted mold on the exterior in several spots, so that’s going to need to be taken care of. And that’s expensive for a historic building.” She lifted her cappuccino to her lips and stifled a grimace; it had cooled while she toured the building with Alexandra. Whose bright idea had it been to order coffee before a building tour? “As I said. We’ll need to meet again to discuss it.”

Alexandra’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Okay. When would you like to schedule it?”

“I’ll have my assistant reach out to your office.” Nora got to her feet. “Please excuse me. I’d like to get a fresh, hot cappuccino on my way out.”

Leaving the three startled Fairchilds behind her, she picked up her briefcase and made a beeline for the bar. While she did want a fresh drink, her primary objective was to meet Esme. Her eyes had been drawn to the bar owner as soon as she re-entered the Lounge, and to her surprise, the attention seemed mutual. She’d felt Esme’s gaze on her all through the brief discussion with the siblings. It was a bad idea to indulge her interest in someone she was aiming to put out of business, but something kept pulling her to Esme, and she wanted to know more.

Nora smiled and placed her bag on the bar top. “Hi there. I’m on my way out, but I wondered if I could get a fresh oat milk cappuccino to go?” She extended her hand. “I’m Nora. Nora Hartley.”

To her surprise, Esme’s eyes met hers and narrowed. “Esme Bloom. The owner ,” and she emphasized the word, “of this establishment.”

A sudden hostility crackled off of her, and Nora nearly took a step back in surprise. Earlier, Esme had seemed gentle, worried, kind in demeanor. Now, she looked like she might reach across and slap Nora rather than shake her hand. Nora cleared her throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” Esme pointed towards the door. “Please leave.”

Now, that really did rattle Nora, and this time she took that step back. “Come again?”

Esme’s finger moved to point at a neatly hand-lettered sign taped to the front of the cash register. She read it aloud, slowly, as if Nora were deficient. “Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone,” she said, lifting her chin high. “This is me refusing. Goodbye, Ms. Hartley.” With a snort, she turned her back on Nora and walked away, lifting the bar passthrough and stalking off towards the Fairchilds.

Nora noticed she was wearing a long, full floral skirt. That answered that question, at least. Leah had also favored long skirts.

But Nora could see now that Esme was not Leah. Not even a little bit. Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself together and left the Lounge as she’d been asked, feeling like she’d just been run over by a semi-truck.