Crimson Footprints (20 page)

“
You’re killing me, Dee. I
can’t—”

She turned and kissed him,
swallowing his words. Emboldened, he met her head on, his mouth
opening with hunger. He gripped the back of her head and tilted,
wanting more than her kiss could give. With a grunt of frustration,
he inevitably pulled away.

Tak sliced the crowd in his
rush to the bathroom, hand clasped tightly with Deena’s. The two
disappeared into the men’s restroom, and as John watched, a slight
smile crossed his lips. He turned back to the bartender and nodded
towards his now absent cousin. “Give me your best, on his tab.
Clearly, I’m gonna be here awhile.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

When Tak and Deena woke the
next morning it was not because of the time—nearly noon by then—or
the bright rays of sun baking the window, but rather, because of
the blare of Deena’s cell phone. Groggily, she reached for it,
frowning at the disturbance of her sleep, and the pulsating of her
skull.

“
Hello?”

“
Deena! What an unequivocal
pleasure. To hear your voice on this, the twenty-third day of a
thirty-day vacation.”

Deena bolted upright.
“Daichi?”

Next to her, Tak sat up,
startled.

“
Indeed. Are you enjoying
your holiday?”

“
Sir, I—”

“
It’s a simple question,
Deena. Have you found this leisure time pleasurable? Fulfilling?
Satisfactory at the very least?”

“
Sir—” Deena swallowed.
“It’s been satisfactory, yes.”

“
Twenty-three days away and
‘satisfactory’ is your assessment? A disappointing conclusion for
those of us who continue to toil.”

“
Well, no sir. I’m enjoying
my immensely. I—”

“
Perhaps my abrasive tone
continues to escape you. Could it be that your idle time has led to
atrophy of the mind, leaving you unable to assess an individual’s
given demeanor?”

“
No sir, I can tell that
you’re upset.”

Deena glanced at
Tak.

“
Good. Provided you’re
still interested in work as an architect at the Tanaka Firm, I
would recommend you report to my office on Monday morning, 9
a.m.”

Deena swallowed. “Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir. I’ll be there, sir.”

Daichi hung up.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

Deena hustled into the
Tanaka Firm Monday morning and rode the elevator to the thirteenth
floor, hands trembling. Sliding glass doors parted for her as she
stepped off the elevator and onto the gleaming marble logo. Angela,
Daichi’s secretary, greeted her with a tight-lipped
smile.

“
He’s waiting for you,
sweetheart.”

Her eyes were
sympathetic.

Deena swallowed and gave a
nod, unwilling to speak and thereby give voice to the extent of her
fear.

She’d only been to the
thirteenth floor a few times. It was vast. Once past the sound
proof sliding glass doors, the receptionist lobby where Angela was
housed, featured a twenty-foot high ceiling, lacquered maple wall
paneling and chocolate Spanish marble flooring. An acoustic sound
system mimicked a babbling brook, while a seating area comprised of
sleek Italian furnishings furnished the waiting area. She’d seen
the same set in an interior magazine with a list price of nearly 30
grand.

The entrance to Daichi’s
office was nearly as daunting as the man. Massive round-top double
doors of thick African mahogany were made even more prominent by
the polished Tanaka logo inset in stained Tiffany glass. The doors,
she suspected were worth more than her salary for the
year.

Deena raised a fist to
knock, took a deep breath, and shot Angela a single look of poorly
suppressed distress. But the older woman was distracted, her face
in files, so Deena returned, fist wavering, only to find the door
open.

Daichi stared at her, his
square face hardened by a perpetual frown. He stepped aside and let
her enter, lids heavy with his watchful gaze. When Deena entered,
he slammed the door behind her, and took a seat behind a dark,
broad desk.

“
Close to a month of
vacation, Ms. Hammond, and you’ve have earned my undivided
attention. Do share what one does with such an abundance of
time.”

Deena froze. She’d spent
close to an hour with his son, trying to anticipate his questions.
But they had not anticipated this, the first.

Daichi’s fingertips formed a
steeple over which he shot a critical frown.

“
Are you…unable to
recall?”

“
Yes, sir. I
remember.”

“
Well, I’ve not the time to
linger, in case you were wondering.”

She lowered her
gaze.

“
I went on a road
trip.”

“
Oh? Where?”

“
A few places. Atlanta.
Memphis. St. Louis.” She wanted to stop, but his silence seemed to
demand more. “Chicago. Cleveland. New York.”

“
Ah. And did you see the
Gateway Arch? The Willis Tower? The Empire State Building,
perhaps?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
How charming.” Daichi’s
smile was ice. “And do you feel that you’ve earned such a
celebrated vacation by way of the caliber of your work
here?”

She lowered her gaze. “I
don’t know, sir.”

“
Well I do.” Daichi stood.
He rounded the desk, hands clasped behind his back.

“
You are an undisciplined
talent, Deena. Neither hot nor cold. Idealistic yet ambivalent,
presumptuous and timid. You are as inconsistent as you are capable,
a greater sin than ignorance. And with your tepidness, you’ve
proven yourself dispensable.”

Daichi ventured to the broad
floor-to-ceiling windows and frowned down at the cobalt waters of
Biscayne Bay.

Deena’s vision blurred. Even
as a pig-tailed girl she’d wanted to be an architect. It was her
father’s dream that she become one. The two of them would spend
hours holed up in a single room, drawing and planning, measuring
and building a small-scale community they called Hammondville. The
name still made her smile; it was so stupid. Back then, they’d
maneuver the streets of Brickell, admiring the brilliant towers of
Miami. “That one there,” her father would say, “nothing compared to
what you’ll make.” And Deena would look at him and feel pride and
purpose.

But he’d been wrong. She’d
make nothing important. At twenty-five, she was done.

Daichi whirled, startling
her from pain-filled nostalgia. His approach was quick,
confrontational, as he closed the space between them.

“
I ask you, Deena. What
good is talent without gall? Brilliance without conviction?” His
dark eyes narrowed in disgust. “It’s but spilt milk before the
mouth of a hungry babe. You have nothing because nothing is what
you desire. You lack the audacity for greatness. You’ve not the
stomach for it.”

When Deena opened her mouth,
she found her voice small, weak against the weight of
accusations.

“
That—that’s not true,” she
said.

Daichi stared down at her,
as if disgusted with her presence.

“
No?” He raised a brow.
“How many designing competitions have you entered? Prizes have you
vied for?”

Deena shook her head.
“I—I’ve been busy with other projects. I’ve had a full
load—”

He stared at her until she
lowered her gaze,, too ashamed to continue.

“
What good is it, Deena?
What good is any of it? Encyclopedia-like knowledge? Limitless
talent? What purpose does it serve when you sit on your laurels,
content to design wheelchair ramps and take month long
vacations?”

He was shouting at her, and
she was crying. She could think of nothing to stop it; she knew it
disgusted him, yet she could continue and murmur heartfelt
apologies for disappointing him all the while.

“
I’m sorry. I don’t know.
I’m just sorry.”

He turned away.

“
You’ll be handling the
pre-design phase of Skylife. On my desk in one week, I expect to
see the following:”

Stunned, Deena glanced
around wildly before common sense instructed her to grab her
briefcase. She fumbled with it for pen and pad, cursing herself for
not considering the possibility she might still have a
job.

He paused, his first showing
of mercy.

“
I expect to have the
agenda for this project. Concrete goals. Anticipated obstacles.
Your design team.”

“
My design
team?”

“
Yes.” Daichi turned to
her. “The individuals you anticipate will best be suited to carry
out your vision. You should have covered this in an undergraduate
course.”

“
Yes sir, I did. But where
do I get them? From here? The firm?”

Daichi rolled his eyes.
“From Bangkok if need be.”

He began a slow pace. “Your
work will serve as the blueprint for the entire project.” Daichi
paused to glance at his watch. “You have one week. Seven days, to
the minute to deliver what I’ve asked for.”

Deena nodded and tucked away
horribly scribbled notes into a rough and tumble
briefcase.

“
Failure to provide this
will be indicative of your desire to no longer be in my employ. Do
I make myself clear?”

“
Crystal, sir.”

Deena stood and hesitated,
briefcase in hand. “Daichi, I—I want to apologize for—”

He held up a hand. “You are
young. And it is to this that I attribute your inability to
ascertain the best time to exit. So I will tell you.” He gestured
to the door. “Now. And no more vacations.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Deena sat staring at her
desk as she contemplated how to lay the groundwork for a structure
worthy of the Tanaka name. In a week’s time, she was to turn
nothing into something and something damned good. Failure meant the
loss of her livelihood.

She thought back to her
initial conversations with Daichi about the project. In them,
they’d agreed that originality, consciousness, sustainability and
function were most important. And the more he talked, the more
Deena came to know how he’d earned his rightful place as a
brilliant mind in the annals of architecture.

“
You err when you think of
sustainability as a set of practices to reduce our carbon
footprint,” Daichi told her. “You must look at it as survival.
Whose survival you might say? Ours is the obvious answer. Or the
planet’s, perhaps. But as an architect, you must look at it as the
survival of the building. What is the building’s unique
contribution to the community? To our craft? To the world? When you
can answer that, you’ve created a design that is truly
sustainable.”

Deena stared at her desk.
Her task was clear. She was to create a building whose contribution
to the world was unequaled. She had one week to lay the groundwork
for it.

An hour later, she abandoned
her staring contest with the desk in the hopes that fresh air would
bring fresher ideas. When Deena stepped out of the posh marble
lobby, heat and humidity accosted her like a wall to the face. She
squinted at the sunlight, paused, and took a deep breath of the
stifling.

Deena rounded the firm, eyes
on the structure in admiration of its discretely layered symbolism.
The glass sheath of the building invoked fluidity, the running
water, renewal. Its triangular shape was a primitive symbol for
fire; the only naturally occurring element man could create. Thus,
fire as an element, bridged the gap between mortals and gods. At
least that was the way she’d learned it.

The Tanaka Firm stared back
at Deena, a towering prism of prestige. It taunted her, warning her
that she never emulate all that it encompassed—that she could never
emulate Daichi Tanaka. Somehow, she knew it was right.

Deena turned to the pristine
blue bay at the building’s backside and lost herself in the lull of
the waves. It was there that the answer revealed itself,
eventually. She could not be Daichi. That much was simple. And as
she remembered his words, she understood. Understood that this was
a dare. A dare to challenge his ideals, not as a scrubby college
kid asserting herself in a snow-covered parking lot, or as a
green-nosed intern in the heat of debate, but where it counted—out
there, in the world. And in doing so, she would fly in the face of
those who claimed he was the last word in contemporary
architecture—unapproachable, unequivocal and
irrefutable.

She could do this. She lived
through her father’s murder, her grandfather’s abuse, and put
herself through the toughest college on earth. She could do this.
She would have to.

“
You lack the audacity for
greatness,” he’d told her. “You’ve not the stomach for
it.”