Chapter 9

Someone was shaking her. Nora forced her eyes open, blinked furiously against the sunlight. She'd overslept! She was going

to be late for work. She bolted upright. And slowly realized she was at her drafting table at the McKim, Mead, and White offices.

"Have you been here all night?"

"What?" She looked up, blinked again. George Douglas stood over her, looking as bright as a new penny.

And she came fully awake. "My—" She looked frantically around and found her watercolor of the Colony Club tacked to the easel,

safe and sound. She slumped in relief, then, realizing the state she must be in, attempted to smooth her skirt while quickly

tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He glanced past her at the water jar and the ruined watercolor still lying on the floor.

"What happened?"

Nora shrugged. She was too tired to think. The sun had already been rising when she put the final touches to the women's Colony

Club facade. She tried to shift in front of the destroyed version, but she was too late. He reached past her and lifted up

the discarded first attempt.

His mouth tightened.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Just past seven o'clock," he said, without taking his eyes off the rendering he was holding. "I came in early to check over

the floor plans for the club before today's meeting. What happened here?"

"I wasn't satisfied with the first one so I did it over again."

"So you poured water over it and threw it on the floor?"

She shook her head while her mouth searched for an excuse.

"It was an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"Just an accident. What do you think of the second one?" She tried to pull the ruined one from his grasp, but he held tight.

He lowered the drawing but didn't let go while he studied the new rendering. "Stanford will be pleased. He was right about

you. Just the right amount of femininity to be inviting."

"That's a good thing?"

"Yes."

"Good. What shall I start on next?"

"You should go home and get some sleep."

"I'm fine. I'll just go downstairs and tidy up, if you will—if you will take my rendering to your office." She began gathering

her pencils and other implements together.

"Don't think I don't know what has been going on here. I've wanted to intervene before, but you were handling things just

fine on your own."

When? How? He only came to the drafting room to pick things up, drop others off, occasionally giving an encouraging word or a suggestion

to one of the draftsmen.

"But a word from you and I'll put a stop to it."

She grabbed his sleeve. "Please, no. Everything is fine. I can handle everything here. I've learned so much already. Please,

I don't want to jeopardize my position here."

The outer door opened and Nora took the opportunity to snatch the ruined drawing from his hands and stick it quickly under

her desk.

Fergus Finnegan strode in.

"Back so early?" Seeing George Douglas, he stopped midstride. "Oh, uh, good morning."

"You're early, Finnegan."

"Just wanted to catch up on some work before it got crowded."

"Hmmm." George's eyes narrowed.

Fergus cut a concerned look toward Nora.

Nora shook her head, casting pleading eyes to Fergus.

"Seems there was an accident to her first rendering," George said.

Fergus snorted. "Weren't no accident. Some of the guys—"

"I should have put paid to several of them already."

"No. Please. I can't be a distraction. I want to be an architect."

George Douglas almost smiled. "And so you shall be. But neither I nor Mr.White will tolerate sabotage in this firm. Fergus,

you can pass the word around—discreetly."

"My pleasure."

"If you're finished with this one," Douglas nodded toward the new rendering, "I'll take it away to be mounted."

Nora nodded.

"Nice work, Bromley."

"Thank you."

Nora held her breath until he had unpinned the rendering and carried it to the door. Fergus didn't move until the door closed

behind him. "Gads! Were you here all night?"

"Yes, and I fell asleep, and of all mornings, he comes in early."

"Well, at least it was the Golden Boy's assistant. When the GB himself comes in early, it's only to go directly upstairs to

his private office to sleep it off."

"Does that happen often?" Nora asked, momentarily distracted.

Fergus shrugged. "Don't know what I'm saying. Forget it."

Nora was curious, but she didn't even want to think about gossiping on the job. That would cause huge problems. "Would you

mind my things while I go downstairs to freshen up?"

"Sure." Fergus crossed his arms and stood stiff-legged in front of her desk. "Don't you worry, Miss Bromley. Your stuff is safe with me."

"Thanks, but Fergus?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you just call me Bromley like you do the other guys?"

"Sure thing, Miss—Sure thing, Bromley."

And feeling much better, Nora hurried downstairs to make herself presentable.

"Good heavens, Nora, if we didn't know better, we'd think you were out carousing all night."

Nora looked quickly to make sure the three secretaries were the only ones around and then sank into an extra chair. "I never

left. The ‘boys' ruined the design I was working on and since it was due today, I had to finish it. Then I fell asleep and

George Douglas found me like this." She gestured to her paint-stained and rumpled clothes. "I was sure I was going to be fired."

"George wouldn't do that. He's a sweetheart," said Sadie, and sighed at her typewriter.

"Like you would know," Lavinia said. "He's all business all the time. Alas."

"I came to see if one of you has a comb I could use."

"You're going back upstairs?" Lavinia asked.

Nora nodded. "Anything to keep this position."

"Well, you're going to need more than a comb," Higgie said. "When was the last time you ate?"

Nora shrugged. "Breakfast yesterday?" she guessed.

"Honestly, you can't compete if you're not taking care of yourself. Sadie, go down to the lunchroom and make some coffee."

Higgie reached into her desk drawer. "Here." She thrust out a package wrapped in brown paper. "It's just cheese and bread,

but it will keep you going until you can go out for lunch."

Lavinia handed Nora a comb.

"Thank you. I'll be back in two shakes." Nora stood, but her back twitched and her knees felt like cement. Sleeping bent over

your desk after spending the day working bent over your desk was bound to have some drawbacks.

She hobbled away to the lavatory, where she splashed water on her face and fixed the worst of her hair, then took a closer

look in the mirror over the sink and sighed. Her eyes were puffy and she looked pale. She retucked her shirtwaist into her

skirt and smoothed her hands down the front, which had taken most of the spill and would probably never be completely clean

again.

It would have to do. But as soon as she got a little ahead, she was going to refurbish her wardrobe. And ask her mother for

advice about getting out stains.

Daisy set out from Thirty-eighth Street in good time to make the meeting. In fact, she'd left early. Even though the Morgans'

residence was only a couple of blocks away, she wanted to have time to swing by the building site on her way.

It was something she did whenever she got the chance. It seemed to be an interminably long process, though Bordie assured

her that "these things take time" and progress looked steady to him. She took him at his word, though she still wished they

would hurry.

She'd been appalled when she first saw the depth of the hole they'd had to dig in order to accommodate the swimming pool and

other facilities that would be housed in the basement. Swimming underground. It was still something she couldn't quite imagine.

She had to consciously not worry about how the pool would be kept clean and free from leaks and bacteria and a million other

things that she didn't understand and couldn't help if she did.

And today it did look like they had made progress; there seemed to be more steel beams than before. Steel. Stanford had assured them the club would include all the most modern advances in construction as well as interior conveniences.

Electricity throughout, fireproofing, the most advanced system of heating and proper ventilation. Important things, to be

sure. Still, she couldn't help wishing they would move a little faster.

Today Stanford was presenting the final facade and floor plans to the board and the building committee. The operative word

being final . Fingers crossed that any additional changes by members would be minimal today.

Daisy had shown a good deal of patience while the ladies fought for additions and modifications, but today she planned on

pushing through all but the most egregious deficiencies of the plans.

She didn't expect there to be any. Stanford had proven himself through some of the architectural gems of the city and throughout

the country. She had no doubt the Colony Club would be one of them.

Today's meeting was being held at the Morgan mansion. It was an auspicious place to finalize the design with McKim, Mead,

and White, who'd also designed J. P.'s expanded library next door. Which, she reminded herself, had been under construction

for at least two years and still wasn't finished.

Stanford had promised the club would be ready by the end of next year. Daisy would just have to trust in that.

Anne met Daisy at the door.

"It's so exciting. Come in. Bessie is already here. She brought Elsie." Anne bustled her into J. P.'s personal library, a

large room that would soon be replaced by the building next door that would eventually contain his entire collection of books,

drawings, maps, and manuscripts.

At the far end of the room, two rows of chairs were arranged in a semicircle in front of a long mahogany table and two easels large enough to almost hide the beautiful Florentine fireplace behind them.

Bessie, dressed in a tailored houndstooth suit, held court with Sarah Hewitt and several other women gathered around a tea table covered with urns and cakes and delicate

china. Next to her, Elsie, petite and graceful as always, cast her gaze around the room, no doubt thinking of ways to bring

the rather somber furnishings of the Morgans' library into the modern period.

Sometimes Daisy thought Elsie had missed her true calling.

"Elsie, so glad you could make it," Daisy said. "I thought you might already be in rehearsal."

"We start next week. The play opens the second week of December."

"Alas," Sarah said. "I've been trying to tempt Elsie into helping me decorate my morning room for ages, but she's always being

whisked off to the bright lights of the theater."

"Nonsense," Elsie said. "I'll have plenty of time to do both." She sighed sweetly. "Arranging rooms actually gives me more

energy for the theater."

Several other women entered and Anne excused herself to greet them.

She returned almost immediately with Helen Barney and Kate Brice, carrying an edition of the Sun . "Now they're accusing us of smoking and drinking, and we don't yet have a building to smoke in even if we wanted to."

"That's not all," said Mary Dick, from where she was sitting on a small sofa talking with Mrs.Perkins, one of the established

elders of many women's charitable organizations. "The anti-smoking group already sent us a pledge to sign to forbid smoking

in the clubhouse. I wrote them back politely saying that since we as yet didn't have a clubhouse, it would be premature of

us to sign anything at this time."

"And so it continues," said Sarah. "I don't know what all the fuss is about. You'd think we were planning to walk naked down Fifth Avenue."

"For the Easter Parade, delicious," squealed Kate, and cast Daisy such a mischievous look, it was hard not to smile. But this

was serious. The idea of a club was purely innocuous as far as Daisy could see, and yet it had managed to threaten the male

order, the church leaders, the moral pontificators—and their wives.

Kate Brice threw up her hands. "My pastor actually stopped me after services and strongly advised me to put away the notion

of belonging, because..." She lowered her voice and said in a creaky imitation of the pastor, "?‘If women are bored with

their home life, perhaps they are not aware of their duties to their husbands and their children.' Well," said Kate. "A less-refined

woman would have kicked him in the shins. I merely asked him in my meekest voice, ‘Oh, is that why men go to their clubs?

To shirk their responsibilities?' I beat a hasty retreat before he said anything more that would tempt me to tell him exactly

what I thought of his wrong-headed ideas."

"That's all fine for you," said Emmie Winthrop. "But it's serious that so many people are upset."

"Yes," Daisy said, stepping in to curb the argument, one they seemed to have in some form or another every time they met,

whether for a luncheon or a concert or a political lecture. "All the more reason for getting our clubhouse built and occupied.

Once they see for themselves that it is a... a..."

"Den of iniquity?" suggested Bessie, straight-faced.

"A place for the betterment of ourselves and consequently for the betterment of society and our families, they will come around."

Bessie hmphed. "I doubt it. You know what they say about horses and water."

"Where is Stanny?" Elsie said. "I long to see what he has planned."

"And so you shall," said Anne, looking toward the door, where the butler was about to announce their guest of honor.

Daisy was always taken a bit aback whenever she saw him. Large and vivid. With fiery hair and a mustache that announced his

entrance into any room. He was followed by two of the Morgans' liveried servants carrying several cardboard tubes and a large

rectangular shape covered in oilcloth that had to be the rendering of the club.

Conversation stopped altogether for a split second, then Anne moved forward to greet him. While Stanford made his way around

the room, conversing with each group of women, Anne directed the servants to the front of the room, where they immediately

set the rectangle on one of the easels and the tubes on the table before discreetly moving to the side, waiting in case they

were needed again.

"Hmmph," Bessie said. "You'd best call the meeting to order or they'll keep him chatting all afternoon. He's a busy man."

"I was just thinking that," Daisy agreed, though she'd been more concerned with her own curiosity than Stanford's plans for

the afternoon.

Daisy took her place at the front of the room and rapped her gavel sharply on the table. She'd learned almost immediately

that a weak gavel was no better than a whisper to a room full of ladies enjoying themselves.

"Ladies," Daisy announced. "Please be seated." For once the members didn't dawdle, but quickly took their seats and turned

expectant faces toward Stanford White and the covered painting behind him.

"Please welcome Mr.White, who has so graciously taken time away from his work to be with us today." She paused briefly to

let that soak in.

Enthusiastic applause, dulled only by the tea gloves worn by the participants.

Daisy ceded the floor to Stanford. He needed no introduction. They'd been waiting for him with bated breath for the last two years or more.

As Daisy sat at the end of the first row, Stanford said, "It's wonderful to see you ladies looking so fine. The halls of Newport

and Long Island must be dimmed in sadness now that you've returned to the city."

Titters, sighs, all the usual responses to his inimitable charm.

Daisy smiled and thought, Just get to it, please.

"Ladies, I offer you..." He whisked the cover off the rendering with the flourish of a magician. "The Colony Club."