Chapter 10

Whatever Fergus had said in Nora's absence, there was a lot less tension in the drafting room when she returned, except perhaps

from Mr.Nast, who still seemed determined to make her life miserable. But she could deal with him. And now she knew she at

least had one friend in Fergus. Along with being accepted by Dolan, Allaby, and a few others, things were looking up.

George Douglas assigned her some detail work that kept Nora busy for most of the morning and into the afternoon. She assumed

Mr.White had taken the rendering to the ladies' meeting, but so far she hadn't heard him return. It was an honor to be chosen

for such an important part of the procedure, but what if they didn't like what they saw?

What if they hated it? Would he blame her? She'd done her best, under the circumstances.

She ordered herself to stop worrying, and almost had, when the door banged open and Mr.White, carrying several rolls of floor

plans and limping painfully, lurched into the room.

After a brief, surprised look, all the men went hurriedly back to work. Nora did, too. It was obvious he was in a thunderous

mood. And Nora was afraid it was because of her.

As he made his way across the room, Nora became aware of George Douglas running in behind him. Nora sat immobile as the two

men converged on her.

"Bromley!" White bellowed in a miasma of gin.

Nora suspected everyone in the room must have jumped.

White pulled the top off the tube, dumped the rolls of floor plans onto her drafting table, and shoved the tube at George.

"Now they want a place for their dogs to lounge while they're lunching. A dog lounge. You're a woman, you figure out a place

to put them."

Nora was so astonished, her concerns about her presentation drawing fled.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper that he riffled through, then shoved one of them

at her. "Give 'em a dog house, make it appealing, add it to the plan, then bring it to my office. I penciled in the dimensions.

George, I need you. I'm dining with the Payne Whitneys, and I—" He took George's arm and propelled him toward the doorway,

leaving Nora helpless to even ask if the ladies had liked the presentation.

Then a high-pitched "Arf, arf" hit her ears. She didn't have to guess where it came from.

She bolted off her stool and strode over to Nast. "What is wrong with you? What do you have against women in architecture?

We hold a pen as you do, roll our paper the same way, can take perfect measurements, perhaps even more fastidiously than men.

We want to join you in architecture, not take your jobs, if that's what you're worried about. We just want to work."

Sit down and shut up. This "distraction" would get her fired for sure.

She held her ground as her hopes for her future came crashing down around her. But if she was going to be fired, she would

go down standing up for herself. Nast had deigned to turn his head just enough to see her without really having to face her.

She took a step toward him and peered over his shoulder.

"And if you question my ability, I can tell you—that arch you've just drawn? You miscalculated the angle of the arc by at least six degrees and it will probably collapse if built."

She didn't wait for his reaction, which would undoubtedly be rude, but went back to her desk to figure out what the needs

of a dog lounge would be.

She kept her head down, arranging the various papers White had left with her.

And heard, "Bravo, Bromley," whispered from a nearby desk. She didn't look up to see who had said it.

She found the scrawled dimensions, followed by a note under 8 lbs , which she assumed was the size of the dogs allowed. That made things a bit easier and would be in line with the dimensions

given.

Unfortunately, Nora's only firsthand knowledge of dogs were the mangy half-starved curs that roamed the streets of the Lower

East Side, rummaging in garbage cans and fighting each other for the spoils. Dogs who would attack people if they got too

close. The people she knew didn't have pampered dogs with special rooms where they could "lounge."

Why would they even bring their dogs to the club just to sit in a room until they were picked up again? Why not just leave

them at home? Didn't they have servants to look after their pets?

Not her concern, Nora reminded herself. It wasn't the dogs' fault. She tried to conjure up her brother's castles in the air.

She would make such a place for dogs. A safe place large enough for them to play, an area for food and water. And for the

beds that had been scrawled on the spec sheet, she pictured soft pillowed couches where sleep was a comfort, and not a lapse

in your will to survive. And a special place for them to do their business away from dainty slippers and trailing hems.

And like the days spent watching her brother draw, the anger, fear, and hunger dropped away and her imagination took off. In a matter of minutes she had carved out a space from a basement cloakroom, near an exit. Then for good measure, she took out her borrowed watercolors and made a quick presentation sketch of the interior. And found that she was quite pleased with the results.

Not that it was real architecture, more like a flight of fancy. But hopefully it was what they wanted and she'd get paid for

her bit of nonsense.

While the watercolors dried, she spent the time looking over the other floor plans of the ladies' club. There was a swimming

pool in the basement. Now there was something she'd like to see. And not only a swimming pool, but dressing rooms, sitting

rooms, a steam room, and Turkish baths; a hydropathic room and massage, manicure, and hairdressing rooms. Nora had never heard

of half those things.

The first floor held the usual first-floor areas: parlor, coatroom, office, lounging room, reading room, and something called

a strangers room. What on earth would they use that for?

The second floor was two stories high and divided in half by a gymnasium in back and an assembly room in front with lounging

and dressing rooms in the middle.

Nora smiled, trying to imagine the ladies changing out of their feathers and jewels and into the bloomers worn by the "new

women" in their craze for exercise. Walking to and from work was enough exercise for Nora, and running for the trolley or

away from the gangs of urchins that used to torment her was more exercise than she ever cared to do as a hobby.

There was a floor to house the workers and one at the top for restaurants and guest bedrooms. The ladies would have everything

they needed, right here in one place.

She had to admit, she'd like to see what it looked like finished. Draftsmen never saw the fruits of their labor. Even architects

rarely visited their sites. The actual building was turned over to a foreman, who directed the construction crews, plumbers,

and electricians.

This digression from her actual work was interrupted by the entrance of George Douglas, who called out the names of six men and motioned them out of the room. Fergus, the odious Mr. Nast, and four others she hadn't met in all her months of inhabiting the same room followed Mr. Douglas out.

Mr.Allaby, whose desk was nearby, slumped in his seat.

"Psst," Nora hissed to get his attention.

He turned.

"What's going on?"

"I think he's choosing the men to work on the final plans for the Grand Central Terminal contest. They're choosing the winner

in a few weeks."

"Oh." The new train station would link New York to the north, south, and west. That would be something to work on. She glanced

at her painting of the dog room and felt disappointment wash over her. You're a woman, you figure out a place to put them... Mr.White's words came back to her like an indictment. Was that all she'd been hired for? Doing the work that no one else

wanted?

The men returned a few minutes later with worksheets.

Mr.Nast paused before sitting down. "How's the doggie room coming? Guess you won't be taking our jobs after all." He wiggled

his spec sheet at her. "We'll be busy on the Grand Central Terminal project. Arf, arf."

He sat down.

Nora tried to tamp down the anger that was threatening to erupt. She'd already gone too far today. She gritted her teeth,

clenched her fists beneath the drafting table, and willed her painting to dry faster. She couldn't even escape down to the

secretaries' office to spill out her feelings. She didn't dare leave all these plans and drawings. It would be a total disaster

if something happened to them now.

When the paper was dry enough to move, she slowly rolled up all the plans and returned them to the case. Then, for once leaving her paintbrushes and paints out—let them destroy company property if they would—she carried her watercolor and plans to show to Mr. White.

As soon as the drafting room door closed behind her and she was alone in the empty hall, she growled and stamped her foot.

She should be on the Grand Central team. She hadn't been here as long as most of the others, but she was as good as they were,

better than some of those chosen.

Raised voices coming from down the hall—Mr.White's office—stopped her next outburst. Mr.White was arguing with someone.

Perhaps this was not the time to interrupt him. She knocked on George Douglas's office door. There was no answer. Maybe he

was the one Mr.White was arguing with.

She took a few steps closer.

"None of the work on the church is finished, the Payne Whitney commission is hanging over my head, and now the Colony Club

with forty women who can't make up their minds."

A loud bang made Nora jump. Just a fist banging on a desk. Mr.White? Mr.Douglas would never dare. She shouldn't be listening.

She told herself to hurry away before she got caught out, but she couldn't make herself move.

"I've had to sign everything over to my wife, rent out the house, all her incessant demands. This will drive me to bedlam!"

Nora crept a little closer.

"Sir, keep your voice down; do you want the whole world to know?"

"Hell, the whole world knows; they just choose not to see. I've had to sign my losses over to the firm. I'm living on a goddamned

contract. And now someone is following me."

"Following you? Surely not."

"I've seen them, more than once."

"Okay. I'll look into it, but you must calm yourself. Try to get some rest. I can take care of things here."

"God save me from this pestilence."

Nora stepped back, trying to free herself from the paralysis that had overcome her. Go back to the drafting room. Pretend she'd never been here. Were the others aware of the troubled waters that surrounded them? She certainly wouldn't

tell. All she wanted was to forget everything she'd heard.

But the door opened suddenly and Nora didn't have time to retreat.

For an earth-stopping moment George Douglas stared at her, his emotions boring into her with a precision that held her pinned

like a plan to an easel. He closed the door behind him.

"What did you hear?"

"N-nothing. Mr.White wanted to see these. He said to bring them to him when I finished. I'm finished," she said quickly and

hoped her words weren't prophetic. "Take them." She thrust the plans and watercolor at him. No way was she going into that

office after what she'd just heard. She didn't care if George Douglas thought she was a nosy parker. She didn't want to know any more than she'd already heard. She didn't want to know even that much. She wanted to think of Mr.White as a great architectural talent, a genius, not some broken man on the edge of hysteria—and ruin.

George took everything and Nora didn't miss that his hands were shaking slightly. "Thank you, MissBromley," he said stiffly.

"I'll, uh..." He lifted the drawings just as "Is that Bromley out there?" rumbled through the door.

Nora and George looked at each other.

"I guess he wants to see you."

Nora swallowed. A few minutes ago, she had been ready to read him the riot act for leaving her off the Grand Central team,

now her knees were quaking at what she might find inside that office.

George led the way.

"Well, what do you have for me?" White asked before they'd actually gotten inside. Mr. Douglas nudged her ahead, shut the door, and carried her plans to the desk before Nora could answer.

White, who had been standing at the window, returned to his desk and spread out the floor plan, placed her detailed watercolor

to the side. His head snapped from one to the other, comparing, analyzing, and... eons ticked by while Nora stood in the

middle of the office and watched her future play out before her.

"Well, come tell me what you did here."

Nora jerked forward and went to stand beside him.

"I thought the best place to accommodate the, um, dogs, would be to take space from this cloakroom and from the area next

to it, since this doesn't appear to be a retaining wall."

White stiffly lowered himself into his chair. He picked up her watercolor with its silly cushions and dog runs and food stations.

Nora was suddenly embarrassed. What had possessed her to think that this piece of whimsy would be acceptable to anyone? Castles

in the air, she'd told herself, but dream castles for dogs didn't pay. Bricks and mortar did.

"I..."

"I knew you'd come through, Bromley." White tapped his finger on the page. "It's a doggie harem. They'll love it. George,

she can assist you on the clubhouse project. Free me up to take care of this, uh, other." He nodded sharply. "I knew I saw

something in you, Bromley.

"As soon as some walls are up, she can set up over at the construction site. Be close to the project."

George froze mid-gesture as he reached for the plans. Nora opened her mouth to protest, but no words came. He was moving her

off all the other projects and out of the drafting room.

"But what about the Grand Central project? And Penn Station. I was working on the concourse," Nora blurted out. She heard

her words, not believing she'd dared to say them out loud. And quailed at his coming reaction.

But White merely waved his fingers as if flicking off water. "I'll give it to Nast or Finnegan or somebody out there."

"But—"

"If that's all..." George's voice broke in from behind her. He took her elbow and propelled her out the door.

They were halfway back to the drafting room when she pulled away. "But I don't want to work on that silly clubhouse for rich

ladies and their pampered dogs. I want to do something meaningful. Projects like a railroad that will carry people all over

the country."

George huffed out a sigh. Took her elbow again, guided her into his office, and shut the door.

"Now listen."

"No, you listen." Nora stopped as a new realization hit her. "You're in charge of the ladies' club?"

"Yes."

"Why? You should be working on the railroad commission, not the likes of Nast. He can't even—" She broke off. You couldn't

squeal on your fellow draftsmen, even if you didn't like them, even if it was true.

"Because I volunteered."

"What? Why on earth would you volunteer for that when you could be working on something much more important?"

"Because he needs someone to do it. He's overworked and... not in the best of health. And if you're thinking this is some

kind of demotion, think again."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned for your own career than a sense of loyalty? Aren't you afraid they'll push you aside if

you don't fight?"

"Not particularly."

"That's because you're not a woman."

His eyebrows popped into two arcs. "Not the last time I looked—" His cheeks flamed. "I mean..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Those guys might get ahead faster, but not in the long run. Bromley, have you ever worked on a construction site?

Even been on one?"

"Professor Gerhardt took us to see one during class, but the foreman wouldn't let us get too close." She was still annoyed

about that. "He was afraid we'd get mussed." She rolled her eyes.

George laughed. "Well, here's your chance." He grew serious. "Do you know most architects don't bother acquainting themselves

with the day-to-day construction of their designs? Of course they have other things to do. But it's amazing what you learn

about form and function, as well as the mechanics of balance and strength, watching a project being built.

"I could have assisted him on the Grand Central project, except that it's not signed yet; there are other companies vying

for the job. But this club is a reality, using state-of-the-art materials, things that you don't normally come across in typical

house or building plans. Picture it. A swimming pool in the basement. The system for getting water in and out is a major undertaking;

the ventilation will use the latest designs. Think about it.

"The Colony Club will be a comfortable, beautiful environment, safe and modern and lasting. So what if it's feminine and a

bit frivolous; it will be supported by a foundation of steel. Literally."

"But what will you do? What will I do?"

"Well, I'll check on the site regularly; make certain that they're following the architect's instructions, make adjustments

when problems come up. You will oversee the project, keep everything on schedule and work out any problems that arise when

I'm gone. I'm guessing that you'll also do some detail work. The brick pattern alone will keep you busy. It's unusual and

will need to be precisely drawn so they don't start cutting corners.

"We'll spend a lot of time going between here and the site. But if you keep your eyes and ears open, you'll be amazed at the knowledge you can gain. Knowledge that will inform your craft. I think being on-site is necessary to truly understand a building, to appreciate architecture as a whole." He shrugged. "Besides, I like it. You understand?"

"I don't know. I've never thought about it before." She'd been too busy juggling her family's needs, her schoolwork, and trying

to carve out a place for herself in a field that didn't want her.

"I promise, Bromley. It might not be as exciting as a big splashy project, but the learning opportunity will be invaluable."

"You're beginning to sound like you're selling me a Banbury tale."

He laughed. A clear-bell kind of laugh, and she smiled in spite of her inner turmoil.

"I would never do that," he said. "It's against my nature."

"Does Mr.White never go to a site?"

"Not as much anymore—he has a bad hip, and he has other commissions taking his time. It's a constant juggling act; when he

starts a new building, he's still designing the interiors for an earlier project, and he also spends a lot of time in Europe

buying interior decor and furnishings for others. It's a constant drain on his stamina.

"Even though he isn't a hands-on architect, I've learned a tremendous amount from him. By spending more time on-site now,

when I decide to go out on my own, I'll be more prepared than any of those guys out there who never leave the drafting room.

"Didn't mean to ramble on. So are you convinced?"

"I guess."

"Well, that's a start."