Chapter 11
As the days went by Nora doggedly drew detail after detail for the women's club, at first meticulously rendering the intricate
design of the facade's brickwork, then tracing details of the heating ducts. Nearby, Nast, Dolan, and Fergus were busily finishing
details for the Grand Central project before the final judging. Everyone was optimistic that they would win the contract and
the entire drafting room buzzed with anticipation. Grand Central would be their largest contract since the Pennsylvania Station,
which was still under construction years after its inauguration.
George was away from the office much of the time.
Sometimes Nora would arrive at work to find plans already placed on her desk with written explanations or instructions, which
she would complete and leave in his office to be collected whenever he made an appearance.
Rarely did they connect in person beyond a few hurried instructions before he dashed off again.
As the day to announce the winner of the Grand Central competition drew near, tensions were running especially high. Nora
had been the brunt of an inordinate amount of hostility when one afternoon, George appeared in the doorway and shouted, "Bromley,
my office," and disappeared again.
He sounded so much like Mr.White that Nora cringed. She was willing to be barked at by Mr.White, but not by George Douglas.
She rolled up the plan she'd just finished, shoved her writing implements into her pockets, and, her chin held high, went to see what he wanted.
George was standing at his drawing table, braced on his hands and mumbling to himself. Nora drew herself up, put the plans
on the desk behind him none too gently, and was about to remonstrate with him about snapping at her from across the room when
he turned.
He was neatly dressed in a tweed suit, but there was a smear of plaster across his cheek and the shoulder of his jacket. He
winced when he reached for the plans.
She lost her train of thought. Her annoyance turned to a kind of anger. Not at him but for him.
"What happened to you?"
He looked down and tried to brush the plaster dust from his jacket with one hand. The other arm he held close to his side.
"Just a little accident."
"A little accident? What if it had been a big accident? You're an architect. You're not trained to do construction. It's dangerous.
Obviously."
"Nah, I'm careful. Usually."
But Nora didn't want to hear excuses. "You should be working on the Grand Central project. Instead, you're banished to this
silly women's club."
He looked at her curiously. "Do you know how many men—uh, people—it takes to construct a building from a few sheets of paper?
How many workers have to be coordinated, and kept on budget and on deadline?"
"That's why they hire a foreman," she retorted.
"Yes, but for an architect, being on-site is an irreplaceable opportunity to make certain that things are proceeding to plan."
"But you have carpenters and welders and electricians to do those things."
"Yes, but they're forever trying to save money and stretch out the time and will cut corners if you don't keep tabs on them. They don't have the same responsibility to the building as the architect."
"I think it's a waste of your talents."
"So do a lot of others, only..."
"Only what?"
"Only I didn't expect you to be one of them."
She stared at him. "I—I'm not. It's just—"
"Then don't judge it until you try it. You came here to be an architect, start by doing what needs to be done." He reached
for her plans, unrolled them, nodded a couple of times. "These look fine. Gotta run." He rolled them up, reached for his overcoat,
winced as he shrugged into it, and was out the door before she could react or apologize or anything.
She didn't leave right away. Just stood where he'd left her. And gradually her indignation melted into ruefulness. He hadn't
given her a chance to explain.
He should be designing his own buildings, like the one on the easel. She moved closer to look at the drawings on his wall.
A row of what must be apartment buildings, with sleek, unadorned lines, big plain windows. Not at all like Mr.White's designs.
George seemed to be Mr.White's right-hand man. Had his loyalty made him offer to take over the ladies' club? Did Mr.White
depend on him, or did he just use that loyalty to get George to do the jobs he didn't want?
Elsie watched warily as three burly workmen maneuvered the Louis Seize armoire through the door of Sarah Hewitt's sitting
room. "Careful now. Watch out for the edge." She'd promised Sarah she'd fully redecorate the room even though she was appearing
in the Pinero play The Wife Without a Smile , at the Criterion Theatre.
The men carried the armoire across the room to settle it between two bay windows.
Elsie fluttered her hand. "A little more to the right. Stop. Yes, that's it."
"Ah," sighed Sara, peeking in the doorway. "Elsie, you make even directing movers look graceful."
Elsie motioned her friend into the room. "Do I?" Of course she was graceful, everything she did had an innate grace. Her acting,
her dancing, her life, her interiors. She had learned from an early age that if you're not born beautiful—she'd been an ugly
child—you must be graceful, surround yourself with beauty, and from that beauty will spring your own. It had worked so far.
She nodded dismissal to the workmen and waited for Sarah to join her.
Sarah took her elbow and squeezed it affectionately. "I just love it. Thank you so much for agreeing to humor me. Ever since
the first day I saw what you did with Irving Place, I knew you would understand exactly what I wanted."
"Louis Seize does show off these new textiles wonderfully," Elsie agreed. "And I say if it was good enough for Marie Antoinette,
it's good enough for us."
Sarah laughed delightedly. "I agree."
"Actually, I have a couple of smaller pieces that I'm storing in the hall of Irving Place that I think would go perfectly
with the unicorns tapestry. I'll have them brought over. Bessie is threatening to rent a storage room since she swears she
can't take a step anywhere in the house without stumbling over some newly purchased objet d'art."
"Poor Bessie. Well, you'll just have to find more places to design, won't you? It's so rare to find someone who understands the importance of decorative arts in our lives. My sister, Eleanor, and I work diligently toward expanding Papa's museum at Cooper Union. We're already stuffed to the rafters; we'll never have the space to properly display the textiles that Anne's father donated.
"I wish you could design the entire Cooper Union Museum just like this to see the textiles in situ, as it were. I'm hoping
when the club opens, it will reserve a little gallery space for the decorative arts."
Sarah sighed. "I know acting is your first love, but if you ever get tired of working nights and touring all over the country,
I bet you could do just what you're doing for me... for others."
"You mean become a professional decorator?" asked Elsie. "I don't think there is such a thing."
"Well, there should be," Sarah said half-apologetically.
"Actually, Bessie has mentioned it. I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be better to—" Elsie broke off. "Oh well, a subject
for another day. Now let me tell you what I have planned for that little alcove over there." They both turned their attention
to the niche in the far wall, the subject of Elsie's future being deftly turned.
Elsie wasn't quite ready to contemplate life after acting. A tiny thread of her still clung to the notion that the next play would be the one that would catapult her to success. God knew it wouldn't be this one.
The Wife Without a Smile was turning out to be a bit of a dog. Rehearsals had been hilarious. But Elsie was afraid it was one of those cases where
the participants enjoyed themselves more than the audience would. Pinero had written some excellent plays; unfortunately,
this was not one of them.
"Do you have time for tea? Please say you do. I can have our chauffeur drive you straight to the theater."
"Why not?" Elsie said more enthusiastically than she felt. "I think I can squeeze past the stage door guard just before hour call." God knew she played opposite some actors who rushed in every night just in time to slap on some grease paint and stride onstage reeking of their last drink. Elsie de Wolfe traipsing in at hour call reeking of Earl Grey wouldn't raise an eyebrow.
Nora didn't usually heed the newspapers, except for headlines shouted by the corner newsboy. Still, she knew exactly when
the draftsmen learned they had lost the Grand Central contract. It had been awarded to the firm of Reed and Stem, experienced
railroad designers, and the commission had decided on their utilitarian design.
Like a fast-moving storm, the atmosphere changed in the drafting room. Hands that had been busy with railroad details were
now idle. The men who had been assigned exclusively to the contest waited to see what they would be assigned next.
Nora felt their disappointment. She had hoped to be assigned to the station once she finished with the ladies' club.
Mr.White had been out of town when the decision was announced. For days after, he didn't make an appearance. When he did
return a week later, he merely looked in on the drafting room before holing up in his private office upstairs for another
few days.
When he finally reemerged, he acted as if nothing had happened. He strode into the drafting room, sheets of paper dangling
from his hands, then paused to peruse the room, almost as if he were counting heads. They'd lost several draftsmen already
that fall: two had quit, one had been fired, and another had just stopped showing up for work. There was speculation that
losing the contract meant that more draftsmen would be let go.
Nora held her breath; she guessed most of the others did, too.
His gaze alighted on Nora, blinked as if he was surprised to see her. She lowered her head and tried to be invisible.
Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor. Several sheets of design paper appeared on the desk before her.
"See what you can make of these." Mr. White leaned past her to point at the page. "The basement ventilation conduits have to be adjusted to accommodate the additional room as well as circumventing the cantilevers of the running track. And without having to change the plumbing, or losing any more space from the other rooms. Damn dogs. Find a way to make this work, then bring it to my office."
Nora nodded without looking up. "Yes, sir."
Only after he'd walked away did she look up to find Nast, Dolan, and Fergus all looking back at her. Dolan smiled, Fergus
gave her a thumbs-up, and Nast sneered. Nothing had changed in the drafting room.
It took her several hours to find a plan that might work. She was a little out of her depth in the area of ventilation. When
she had come up with the best she could do without consulting the plumbing contractor, she rolled up her drawing and carried
it to the office.
Nora's knock had grown more confident over the months. Even so, it went unanswered. She knocked again, then opened the door
just a crack. He was standing at the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared outside.
And her heart broke just a little to imagine the disappointment he must be feeling to be passed over in favor of another firm.
"Mr.White?" she said quietly. "I've brought the ventilation specs."
He turned toward her and she stepped back involuntarily. She'd expected a contemplative, disappointed man. Or perhaps a stoically
philosophical man. After all, he did have more work that would keep him busy.
But the intensity that rolled off him was staggering. Whatever he was feeling, she couldn't guess, but it was powerful and
frenetic. And her thoughts shot back to the conversation she'd overheard just a few weeks before. Had losing this contract
been the last straw?
She took another step back at the force of his emotion.
"What?"
Nora forced herself to put the plans on his desk. "The Colony Club ventilation changes."
"Ah. Yes." He walked over to his desk and sat down to peruse them.
Like the others, she'd been disappointed about the lost contract, but it wasn't until she saw him sitting at his desk that
it really hit her. Where the giant rendering of the Grand Central Terminal had hung behind him, there was now only a blank
wall. Mr.White seemed smaller in the absence of all that magnificent inspiration.
Which was ridiculous. He wouldn't let losing a contest get him down. There would be other bigger and more profound projects
for years to come. Maybe even a hospital. And she would make herself so indispensable that she would someday, like George
Douglas, become the right-hand man to the greatest architect in the world.
She watched closely as his index finger moved from the drawing to the spec box and back again.
Finally he looked up. "Take them over to George at the site. Make sure he gets them and they don't sit around somewhere until
the foreman remembers that he was supposed to act on them. MissHiggins will give you cab fare."
It took a moment for his order to sink in. When it did, it shattered her momentary glimpse into the future.
"Well?"
They hired messenger boys to deliver plans and goods among the various projects. She'd never once heard of a draftsman being
asked to deliver plans somewhere. And now, after the months of being ridiculed, then ostracized and ignored by the majority
of her coworkers, while throwing herself into a project she didn't care about, Nora was being demoted to errand boy?
She bristled, but bit back her retort, remembering Professor Gerhardt's warnings that she'd have to work harder and be better than the rest. It was unfair. But it was the state of the world.
"Perhaps sooner than later?" Mr.White suggested.
Nora started. "Yes, sir. Right away."
She picked up the plans, carried them to the door. She'd made it this far, further than most women. She would do what she
had to do to succeed. She'd been working solely on a building without ever being curious as to its location. Surely that wasn't
the way it should be. George had decried architects who didn't bother to go to the site of their designs. Well, now she would
see hers.
She opened the door, then turned back again. "Please, sir, where is the Colony Club?"
How could she not know where the club was? Nora thought as she waited for the trolley to come. She'd only asked Higgie for
trolley fare because she was too embarrassed to tell them she'd never ridden in a cab and she wasn't sure that the driver
wouldn't try to cheat her by driving around in circles.
Higgie merely raised her eyebrows, muttered something about cheapskates, and handed her twenty cents out of the petty cash
tin. "Get some hot tea to warm yourself when you get there. The weather's turned cold this year."
Nora thanked her and set off for the trolley stop that would take her up Madison Avenue to the site. By the time she disembarked
at Thirty-first Street, she was frozen to her bones. She'd already bought a new skirt and two shirtwaists that had been on
sale with a bit of her new salary. The rest she'd carefully squirreled away in the women's section of the bank downstairs
from McKim, Mead, and White.
But if she had any extra after the next paycheck she would buy a heavier shawl to wear over her shoulders. And maybe next year if all went well, a new winter coat.
When the trolly let her off, she stood on the sidewalk across from the Colony Club, just taking in the sight. She recognized
the pattern of the brick. Lord knew she had worked on it enough. A soft rose color, it was unique in that the pattern was
made up of smooth sides against rough headers. According to Fergus, it had gotten derisive reviews in the newspapers. Well,
pooh on the reviews. The brickwork was precise and elegant.
She crossed the street and stopped in the open doorway, peered inside at a maze of wood and steel, a skeleton of the building,
the foundation on which everything would stand.
Nora sucked in a breath and stepped over the threshold. A thrill ran through her. She was standing on a construction site,
surrounded by steel and concrete and sawdust. The first real building she had worked on. No matter it was a women's club.
It was also her building. Her building.
This was where she belonged. We're here, Jimmy. We're actually here.
She took a cautious step inside. The floor held. Of course it did. She took another, and another, as the sounds of construction
echoed from inside.
She walked toward the sound, past a temporary shed where tools were stored and another small structure that looked like the
foreman's office. Down a hallway with weight-bearing walls of steel and brick into an open area filled with ladders, sawhorses,
and scaffolding.
No one seemed to notice her and she didn't see George Douglas anywhere, so she wandered across the floor past steel beams
that rose like a geometric forest above the first floor. Past rectangular cutouts for windows that would someday be filled
with glass panes.
"Hey, you!" A heavyset man hurried toward her, breaking her reverie. "Excuse me, miss, you can't be in here. Step away from that opening. This is a working construction site and a dangerous place for young ladies."
"I came to see Mr.Douglas."
"If you'll leave your name, I'll tell him you were here. But you can't stay."
Yes, she could. And she would. She had every right to be here. This was just like the first day she'd come to McKim, Mead,
and White and some man tried to prevent her from entering. She had breached that bastion already. Earned her place in the
drafting room. Now she would have to earn it once again.
"I have something for him. Where is he, please?"
"He had to run an errand, but the foreman is here and I'll make sure he gets whatever it is."
"I was told to give it directly to Mr.Douglas. I have changes for the ventilation ducts and he needs to see them immediately,"
Nora insisted.
"Again? They just finished rerouting them to avoid the running track cantilevers. A running track for society ladies, dumbest
thing I ever heard of. If they wanna run, they can stay home and run after their children. That should keep 'em busy."
"Nonetheless, I need to leave these plans."
"You just leave those here and I'll be sure he gets 'em when he gets back." He was already nudging her toward the door. "I'm
sure if he has questions we can figure it out or he can take it up with Mr.White."
"Mr.White gave specific orders. I'll just wait and he can take it up with me."
"You?" The word exploded like an accusation.
"I drew the specs. I think I can best explain any questions about them."
"Sure you did. Now run along with you."
"Where's the foreman?"
"He's up there." He pointed to a scaffolding that rose almost to the ceiling.
"Oh, good. I'd like to introduce myself."
The man groaned. "I'll call him down, if that'll satisfy you."
Nora shook her head. "No need. Hold this for a minute."
"Huh?" he said as he grasped the tube automatically.
She untied her shawl and threw it over a nearby sawhorse. And tossed her coat after it. In one deft move, she stuffed the
hem of her skirt into her waistband, snatched the tube of plans from him, and tucked it under her chin. Before he realized
what she was doing, she'd swung herself up to the first rung of the scaffolding.
"Miss, stop! You can't do that."
"Sure I can. I'll show you." She was out of reach before he even moved to stop her.