Chapter 8

Summer 1904

Manhattan

With summer, heat descended on the city. It seemed to Nora that even the nights refused to cool, which made the following

day even more unbearable. The streets were sticky and smelled of rotting food and horse manure. Even leaving for work before

the sun rose over the skyline left Nora's collars soaked with perspiration by the time she reached the drafting room. Her

lightweight spring skirts felt more like the heaviest wool rather than gabardine.

At McKim, Mead, and White, the draftsmen were coming in earlier to spend more time in the controlled environs of the drafting

room. After all, you couldn't have sweat dripping off noses and onto newly drawn plans.

Mr.White was rarely seen and Nora finally learned from the girls downstairs that he intended to spend most of the summer

in Europe buying furnishings for the Payne Whitney mansion. She had studied the periods of art and their furnishings as part

of her curriculum, but the only real experience she had with "decor" was the lumpy and sagging sofas of their old apartment

on Perry Street or the infrequent student trips to the museum.

Besides, these days, more and more people were furnishing their houses from catalogues and furniture stores, or going to dealers

who had inventories of such things. That was fine by her. She'd just concentrate on the building proper.

With the bosses away, either on buying trips for clients or in Newport or Long Island for the social season, the business was being run mostly by George and several other senior architects. And while they were going about their suddenly burgeoning responsibilities, the others found time to linger over lunch, engage in a bit of horseplay, and think up new ways to harass Nora.

The one silver lining was that she got to spend longer lunches downstairs with the three secretaries and even met some other

girls who worked at the bank on the first floor.

Her treks out to Brooklyn for Sunday meals were even more debilitating. Fully pregnant now, Louise had sunk into a vile temper

from which she refused to emerge. Their mother had taken over all of the cleaning, cooking, and seeing to Little Don, as well

as looking after Rina, Louise, and Donner, who Rina informed Nora was usually away from home all day and came in late reeking

of gin.

Nora promised her she was saving money to move them out.

"Mama won't leave her now. I don't think Louise can manage alone."

On Nora's next visit, she took fruit and sausage and a bag of hard candy. But instead of assuaging Louise's temper, she'd

just made things worse.

Mama decided it would be best to discontinue Sunday lunch until Louise had delivered and recovered. Rina argued, but Mama

insisted. "As soon as the baby is born, things will go back to normal."

Nora missed the two of them, but she felt relieved to be able to concentrate on her work. And without Louise hounding her

for her pay, Nora was able to save extra money with an eye to the future.

Summer finally loosened its grip on the city in September.

One morning just as they were settling down to various projects, Mr. White burst into the room.

"Bromley!"

Nora bolted from her stool in pure reflex. Everyone else stared at Mr.White, who stood feet apart, glowering ominously. He

looked tired. He turned on his heel, not waiting for an answer, and limped out of the room.

Any attempts at a welcome died on the lips of the draftsmen, who merely returned to their work.

Nora scooped up her current sketches and hurried after him, wondering if she'd done something wrong. How could he know anything

unless George Douglas had complained about her? But why would he?

She slipped into the hallway to find Mr.Douglas waiting for her.

"What is it?" she asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

"No idea. He just came in like a whirlwind. I heard him yell ‘Bromley' from my office, so I came out to see what was going

on."

"Did you tell him about my forays into the gentlemen's lunchroom?" It was the only thing that she thought might get her in

trouble.

"Of course not, and I won't unless you ask me to. You seem to be handling yourself quite nicely on your own."

"Thanks."

"Come on, I'll walk you down." He started off without her, a lapse in manners that she could only attribute to his surprise

at Mr.White's unexpected appearance in the drafting room.

And that was when she realized she'd left all her drawing implements behind. God only knew what would be their fate. But she

didn't dare go back.

Mr.Douglas rapped on Mr.White's door, then opened it and stood back for her to enter. Now he remembered his manners. Or was too chicken to lead the way.

Mr. White was leaning over his desk, a roll of art paper spread out on the top and held down at the corners by various objects that must have been within reach.

He made an impatient gesture for them to approach. Mr.Douglas had to nudge Nora forward.

"Did you get those specs on the Madison Square church finished?"

"Yes, sir, I turned them in to Mr.Douglas a week ago."

He glanced up at Mr.Douglas.

"Indeed she did. They were excellent. I started her on the Grand Central Terminal concourse."

"Well, take her off it."

"I don't quite—"

"I need her on something else. Mrs.Harriman and her club ladies are back and they want to see the designs for their club."

Nora had heard he was designing a clubhouse for some society ladies, though Nora couldn't imagine them sitting around drinking

brandy and smoking cigars like she'd heard the men did. She stifled a giggle at the vision it conjured.

"They want to see the completed design. I have the floor plans here somewhere. I've completed enough to give them an idea.

But they won't understand anything without a presentation painting.

"I don't have time to do it. I've just barely returned from Europe, where I picked up some beauties for the Payne Whitney

House. It will take another couple of buying trips; there is still a lot of house to furnish and Mrs.Whitney is anxious for

it to be completed." He shook his head as if he couldn't believe the vagaries of women wanting a habitable home for their

family. "And I'm due in Sheepshead day after tomorrow."

"The races, sir?"

"As always."

He paused to rummage through the stacks of art paper on his desk, then looked behind him at a chest with renderings thrown haphazardly across the surface.

Mr.Douglas stepped forward to intercede before he made a total mess of things.

"I believe we filed those floor plans before you left for the Continent in May."

"Right, so we did." White looked around the office.

Mr.Douglas reached past him, pulled open an oversized drawer, and lifted out a large cardboard folder.

"Voilà, eh, George?"

"Yes, sir."

"Spread 'em out on the desk. Bromley, come take a look."

She stepped forward, still at a loss as to what was expected of her, and watched as Mr.Douglas lifted out a sketch of the

facade of a building, mainly pen-and-ink with several changes made in pencil: circles, arrows, scratch-throughs, and scribbled

notes.

"Nice Federal facade, brick face, not red, but rose and gray in this pattern"—he rummaged through some smaller papers, found

one—" this pattern, headers facing out."

Nora longed for a pencil to take notes, but Mr.White plowed ahead.

"...and these windows..." He paused to pick up a mechanical pencil and made some adjustments, then used the pencil to

point at each fixture as he explained them. "They're two stories high, assembly room in front, gymnasium behind, but you don't

have to worry about that now. Balcony. I have a sketch here of the original balcony that it's patterned after." Before he

could turn and search for the sketch, it appeared before his face. He took it from Mr.Douglas. "So across the front..."

He put up his hands, palms facing out, then opened them like a curtain. "Delicate, ladylike, while complementing the brick,

the two enhancing each other, portraying longevity, strength, without being ponderous. See where I'm going?"

Nora nodded. She was imagining it in situ, finished, a delicate but sturdy work of art.

"Dormers across the roof; the detailed dimensions are listed somewhere. George will find them for you. Can you do it? By tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, sir?" interjected Mr.Douglas.

"It's their regular meeting day. They've rented a temporary meeting place two doors down from the construction site. Probably

meaning to keep an eye on the progress. So, George, make sure they aren't continuously sticking their lovely noses into the

actual construction and making suggestions. Now, can you do it?"

"Yes, sir. I'll—" Nora stopped herself before she continued with "I'll try." She would do it. She would do anything to prove her worth. He would have no excuses for giving her work to someone else. Even if it

meant... working on a ladies' club.

"But what about the Grand Central designs?" George Douglas frowned in confusion; they'd obviously discussed assignments at

some point since his return.

"I'll put Nast on it. Or Finnegan, he's adequate."

"He actually has some good ideas, sir."

"Fine, though I could do with fewer ideas and more grunt work. Oh, pardon me, Bromley. Forgot you were here."

He patted her shoulder and rested his hand there for a long second, before Mr.Douglas cleared his throat and his hand moved

away.

"I'm counting on you. The ladies were impressed by your design school sketch. I should have thought of this before. Make it

feminine, calming, comfortable, so they won't change their minds again. God, those women have an opinion about everything.

Not sure I should be abetting them in this club idea, but..." He shrugged as if to say, What can you do? "If you have any questions, ask Douglas; he's in charge."

Nora looked at George Douglas; his expression said this was news to him.

"I'll need it by tomorrow morning for their noon luncheon meeting."

"There's only one thing, sir," Nora said.

"What?" The word was imperious, and both men turned to stare at her as if she'd spouted blasphemy.

"I don't have watercolors with me. Or even own ones good enough for a presentation rendering."

"Oh, that's all. George, get her what she needs. And take these away. Get her an easel or some such. Tomorrow morning, Bromley."

"Yes, sir."

Mr.Douglas quickly rolled up the sketches and ushered her out the door. It had barely closed behind them when he said, " Can you do it?"

Nora finally took a deep breath. "I'll have to. But I'll have to stay late."

"Fine. Just get the night watchman to lock up after you leave. I'd stay, but I have a night class tonight."

"A course in architecture?"

"Actually, I'm studying business at Columbia."

"You're not giving up architecture?"

"Far from it, but one should be prepared for the future."

"Oh." They'd reached his office and she followed him inside. A bit of rummaging and he brought out a wooden box of paints

and another of brushes, which he inspected before handing them to her. "I think they're usable. I try to farm out the watercolor

renderings. Design and mechanical drawing is my forte, if I have one. I like the geometry of it all."

He took her back to the drafting room, where their entrance caused bald-faced curiosity. And after Mr. Douglas deposited the watercolors at her drafting table, dragged over an additional stand so that she could spread out her paints, and brought her an easel to prop the original facade sketch on, their curiosity was unmistakable.

Mr.Douglas, who seemed unaware of the attention he was causing, found several jars that he filled with water from a sink

that was located in a closet that Nora had never noticed before.

Then he nodded to her and left the room.

Nora sat down and, determined not to give the others the satisfaction of her notice, she began organizing her supplies on

the extra table.

She took a long time to study the sketch of the facade, trying to absorb what Mr.White felt when he designed it. That wasn't

hard to do, even where the original had been hastily drawn over where she supposed he—and the ladies—had changed their minds

about what they wanted.

The capitals of the Corinthian columns had been redrawn to take on a smaller profile, a note and an arrow pointing toward

the balcony with S Car written beside it. She looked through the subsidiary sketches and found the original balcony he'd taken the design from,

an existing home in Charleston. Its delicate ironwork would be a nice juxtaposition against the columns, dormers, and brick.

When at last she felt she "saw" the design, from the overall feeling of the whole to the nuances of the details, she got out

her straightedge and other implements and began to transfer the original drawing to a new sketch. After meticulous gridding,

measuring, adjusting, and double-checking, she had a pencil drawing that precisely recorded the original and was of a quality

of which anyone would be proud.

She stretched her back, rolled her head, trying to loosen her tense neck muscles, and realized she had missed lunch. Well,

she wouldn't leave her drawing until it was finished and deposited on Mr.White's or Mr.Douglas's desk.

She was taking no chances on sabotage today.

But she did walk around, forcing the circulation back into her legs and limbering up her fingers, never venturing far from

her workspace and never taking her eyes off her work.

Then she went back to turn the pencil sketch into a color rendering.

Watercolor was like an old friend. And though she'd been away from it for a while, when she picked up the brush, it was like

she'd never put it down.

She only left her desk long enough to change the water, and even then she hurried. Occasionally, she became aware of someone

walking close by, slowing down. Curious, perhaps? That was fine as long as they didn't get too close.

The afternoon wore on, and soon the other draftsmen began to pack up and leave for the evening. Nora was just finishing a

little clean-up detailing. She would have to wait until it dried before adding the pen-and-ink delineations.

"Wow, that's some rendering." It was Fergus, and he was studying the watercolor on her drafting table. "Well done."

Once Fergus had broken the ice, a couple of others wandered over to peer over his shoulder.

"Now, fellas," Fergus said, "let the lady work. Give her room."

The other men stepped back, but one even complimented her color choice. Fergus winked at her and turned away, only to run

into Mr.Nast, who for some reason had chosen that exact time to walk past.

"Watch what you're doing, Finnegan. I came to see what you're all gawking at. Is Bromley showing you her Florodora act?"

He leaned over; the little group swayed forward against his weight.

"Hey, watch it, Nast!"

"What-ho?" Nast grabbed Fergus's shoulder, shoving him against one of the other men, who staggered forward and fell against the desk. The water jar bobbled.

Nora and Fergus both made a grab for it, but it was too late. The jar tipped, then fell over, splashing water over Nora's

drafting table and over her almost-finished rendering, before rolling off the table and crashing to the floor.

Nora froze, not even attempting to try to save the drawing. They all watched, helpless, as the delicate shades ran into each

other and then off the page.

Fergus grabbed the rendering and tried to shake the water off, but only managed to spray paint over the rest of them. The

colors that were left on the paper merged into a muddy mess.

Fergus turned on Nast. "You did that on purpose."

"Me?" Nast said. "It was Dolan here that knocked over the water."

"Because you pushed me," said the man, nursing his side.

"It was your clumsiness," Nast said. He turned and walked away.

Dolan lunged for him and the two men went down.

So much for not causing a diversion.

Her painting was destroyed, the men were fighting, and she would be fired tomorrow for certain. She couldn't even cry; the

pain and sense of betrayal she felt was much deeper than tears.

The two fighters were soon broken up and Nast returned to his drafting table as if nothing had happened.

Dolan stood, brushing himself off. "I'm so sorry. It was Nast's doing. I would never do anything to undermine another architect's

work."

Nora nodded, she couldn't speak. Her work, her dreams, lay in a puddle on the drafting-room floor.

"What are you going to do?" Dolan asked sympathetically.

Nora shook her head. "By tomorrow morning?"

"He needs it that soon?" Fergus asked.

Nora nodded.

"But that could take hours," Dolan said.

"So she'd better get started," Fergus said. "Dolan, get some clean water. Allaby, get a rag and let's clean up this mess."

Several other men joined in and made short work of it. Nast didn't even look to see what they were doing, just bent over his

work, and Nora wondered how he could not feel the flame of anger that burned in her eyes.

"Is there anything else we can do?" Fergus asked.

Nora shook her head. "But thank you. I'll just sit here a bit."

Gradually they all left for the day, some glancing her way out of curiosity, some with a sympathetic look or nod. Fergus paused

as he passed her desk, gave her an encouraging nod, then joined the others.

And when the workroom was empty but for her, Nora laid out a fresh sheet of paper and began again.