by Ciji Ware
“Like what?” he asked curiously.
“Such as my hiring Loy Chen to make me supper each night, or my having dinner occasionally with Angus McClure, or—”
“Did you tell her he’d proposed marriage?”
Amelia was aghast and must have appeared as shocked to J.D. as she felt the night when Angus finally lured her to dinner at Tadich’s restaurant and then, out of the blue, brought up the subject of marriage.
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“Angus told me,” he said, shrugging. J.D. gave her a sly wink. “And he also told me you’d turned him down.”
“Oh Lord!” Amelia said, hating that her cheeks felt hot.
Angus had only gotten so far as to say he thought that the time had come for them both to settle down before Amelia had made it clear as gently as she could that she would decline his or any offer of marriage. Angus had been a stalwart friend, and she cared greatly for his welfare, but like Etienne, he assumed she’d give up architecture once she became a wife—which told her that he understood her not one whit.
J.D. laughed. “I’m warning you, Amelia, he’ll try to ask you again.”
“Good heavens! Let’s not get off the subject. Julia Morgan has just discharged me, and that’s bound to be all over San Francisco in a day or two. And by the way, she was furious you’d egged on that reporter to gain publicity for the Bay View. Frankly, I think she disapproves of you nearly as much as she does of me!”
“Maybe that’s because she knows I think you can do just as good a job as she can.”
“You didn’t say that to her?”
“I didn’t reveal all my secrets,” J.D. said, clearly enjoying this conversation.
“Oh for pity’s sake, this is serious! The woman has given me the boot after all the struggles we’ve shared as fellow students and architects.” She gazed at the pounding surf. “I feel absolutely wretched about it.”
“Amelia, you did nothing wrong,” he said gently. “It will all work out, I expect.”
Amelia severely doubted that, but found it supremely ironic that it should be J.D. Thayer offering her solace in this situation. He speared a piece of shelled crab with his fork and paused before popping it into his mouth. “Actually, I think she likes you very much.”
Amelia slowly looked up from her plate and asked warily, “Why do you say that? She’s just sent me packing.”
“She definitely admires your work or she wouldn’t have given you the Bay View to design and eventually oversee, but I imagine she figured she’d have you under her control a good while longer.”
“Control?” she said slowly. “Is that what you think this is about?”
“I do indeed, but if I’ve learned anything about you, Amelia, I would advise Miss Morgan that’s quite out of the question. Now, eat your lunch and let’s get back to work.”
***
On the drive back from the Cliff House, Amelia attempted to relax against the back of the passenger seat while J.D. talked.
“Julia Morgan looked positively stricken when I said I preferred to keep you on this job as architect and site supervisor.”
“Positively furious was more like it, I expect. And by the way, why did you tell her you wanted me to continue at the Bay View instead of her?”
“I’ve observed that you can do the job, and I’m fast running out of funds,” J.D. said flashing a grin across the front seat. “That means that I can better afford your fees than Julia Morgan’s.”
So he didn’t prefer her skills, just her price tag.
“Oh. I see. My difficulties with my employer have done your bank account a good turn, is that it?”
“Your former employer,” J.D. reminded her. Looking pleased with himself he added, “But absolutely. I think I’ve got myself a bargain. You’re good, don’t you realize that yet? And if it soothes your spirits any, in my opinion, Miss Morgan overreacted to Hopper’s article in the Call. I know your intentions were pure. I watched you try to credit her for everything, even though you did all of the work.”
“Promise me you didn’t voice that opinion to her!”
J.D. shook his head, his eyes alight with amusement. “I’d seen Hopper’s piece in the newspaper and figured it would land you in hot water. I went down to her office this morning and explained exactly what happened during Hopper’s visit to the site, but she was unbending about what she considers your insubordination. As far as I was concerned,” he added, “her attitude annoyed me. I didn’t like being forced to choose.”
“Well then, given what you told her about how that reporter behaved, why would she still insist you pick either her or me?”
J.D. wheeled the Winton through the upper gate of the Presidio and drove the winding road through cool stands of trees before he answered. “Just like you, my dear Amelia, Julia Morgan likes to win and is willing to take risks to do that against all competitors. She figured she was Queen Bee. She looked utterly shocked when I said I would happily retain the services of the architect who had thus far done such a fine job.”
“Oh good Lord,” groaned Amelia. “What must Lacy and Ira think?”
“If they’re your friends, none of this will matter much.”
But Amelia doubted that. Perhaps their pleasant association couldn’t withstand this break with Julia and she would lose three associates instead of one. Wouldn’t Lacy automatically side with Julia?
Meanwhile, J.D. pointed to a package he’d placed on the floorboards when he’d entered the Winton. “You didn’t eat your lunch, so I had the waiter pack it up for your supper.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“And I want you to move into the Bay View so we won’t waste time or money housing you now that this break with Julia means you have to leave the Fairmont’s basement. Your traveling back and forth to your aunt’s in Oakland by ferry would eat up time.” Amelia looked at him with alarm, but before she could respond, J.D. added, “And you’ve got to learn to drive the Winton. I’ll need you to fetch supplies and be able to get to the docks in record time when goods and equipment arrive, instead of sending our workers who need to remain on site, or having you spend most of the day riding a cable car to and fro. We’re on a tight schedule and a strict budget, my girl.”
“I’m not your girl,” Amelia said under her breath.
“What did you say?”
She wasn’t anybody’s “girl,” not even Julia Morgan’s. As of today, she was Amelia Bradshaw, architect—and single practitioner. She would show Julia someday she’d made a big mistake to discharge her so unfairly. She was on her own now, and she’d better toughen her hide and show all of them what she was capable of. She would do whatever it took until the reconstructed Bay View reopened its doors before the Fairmont Hotel could have its roof repaired!
“Look, Mr. Thayer,” she said, eyeing him steadily. “We might as well deal with one particular subject right now. People will talk no matter what we do, but if I’m to live under your roof and we’re to work together on this project as business partners, we both must agree we will maintain a strictly professional association in every regard.”
For the second time that day, J.D. appeared mildly amused, which irritated her no end. “That sounds eminently sensible.”
For some reason, she was even more irritated that he’d agreed so readily, but also relieved. She tapped her finger on the vehicle’s window ledge and then realized it was something she’d seen Julia do many times while she was playing for time.
“Good,” she said crisply. “That takes care of that problem. And how long will your funds last, if I may ask?” She could very well be unemployed again before long.
“The money will last until the wall shingles are in place. I’m due for a second loan to finish the interior and pay for the furniture we ordered C.O.D.,” he added.
His money would last only two more weeks!
“But I’m actually not that worried, Amelia,” he continued. “I’m betting Loy and his crew will dig the
last few feet of rubble very soon and secure your grandfather’s safe. Even if the gold bars melted, they’re still legal tender.”
The fellow was a high-stakes gambler for sure. J.D., her late father, and Ezra Kemp were probably different versions of the same kind of man. Into her head popped a vision of the partial poker hand she habitually kept in her skirt pocket.
She gazed at the dazzling blue-green bay as the Winton left the boundary of the Presidio and sped down Lombard Street. Amelia squinted against the water’s glare. A deep sense of melancholy about the breach with Julia settled into her chest that the spectacular scenery could do nothing to assuage.
***
It was mid-afternoon when they pulled up in front of the Bay View. All was quiet on the building site.
“That blackguard, Kelly!” Amelia exclaimed. “Look! His crew left this wall half shingled and they’ve gone home for the day!”
“Without you here, cracking the whip, I can see we’re in serious trouble,” J.D. replied, only half in jest. “Good thing I rehired you.”
Just then, a tall, rotund figure suddenly stepped from the shadows at the hotel’s entrance.
“However you two slice it, I think you’re both in serious trouble.” Ezra Kemp walked toward their car and glanced down at the passenger seat. “Heard you got sacked today, Miss Bradshaw.”
“I’ve merely changed employers,” she replied coolly. Her mind was whirling over how swiftly one of the workers, overhearing J.D.’s conversation with her at the curb, had reported events back to Kemp.
“Well, does your employer have the funds to pay you, or will you be recompensed some other way?”
Amelia stared at Kemp, outraged by his innuendo. Meanwhile, J.D. exited the Winton and strode toward their unwelcome visitor.
“To what do I owe the occasion, Ezra?”
“Same as before… I want the money you still owe me for the gambling club we built.”
“And to emphasize your point, you told Spitz, Jake Kelly, and his men to depart early, am I correct? Well, you’ll be pleased to learn the bank’s approved my second loan and the paperwork is being drawn up as we speak.”
Amelia knew for certain J.D. was bluffing. He’d just told her he was waiting for the loan to be approved, but she had to admire his cocksure attitude in the face of Kemp’s attempt to intimidate him.
“I’m not waiting for paperwork, J.D.” Kemp said, his eyes narrowing. “I want you to stop employing those Chinks and pay me what you owe me. Now.”
Amelia could feel her pulse racing. Had carpenter Kelly’s oft-voiced suspicions about the Chinese night laborers been relayed to Kemp?
“Well, wait you must, I’m afraid,” J.D. told Kemp pleasantly. “But not for long.”
“I’m not waiting,” Kemp declared. “And I expect you to appear for supper tonight, as we’ve agreed.”
“Terribly sorry, Ezra, but I have an obligation that just came up. Perhaps next week, when I bring you that bank draft.”
Kemp eyed Amelia speculatively. “I don’t think you understand how it will affect your health if you don’t meet your previous obligations, Thayer. But maybe there’s a better way to make my point clear.”
And without further comment, he strode down Jackson in the direction of Chinatown.
“He’s out-and-out threatening you!” Amelia exclaimed when Kemp was out of earshot. “The man is outrageous! And now, half your construction crew are beholden to him and not you.” Thayer didn’t reply. Before she could exit the motorcar, J.D. resumed his place behind the steering wheel. “What are you doing?” she demanded as he put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the curb.
“You, my dear Miss Bradshaw, are about to have your first driving lesson. We’re both going to need speed and mobility if we’re to outfox the nasty Mr. Kemp, not to mention saving money every time I send you to fetch supplies instead of one of our workers.”
Twenty minutes later, the pair retraced the route to the Presidio and J.D. pulled the Winton to a stop on the parade grounds.
“This is madness!” Amelia exclaimed. “I have absolutely no idea how to operate this enormous machine.”
“Would you like to learn?”
Amelia’s gaze roved the length of the shining blue, open-aired motorcar that had been her grandfather’s delight. The notion of being at the controls of such a powerful contraption overcame her trepidation at learning such a dangerous skill. Who cared who her instructor might be?
“In actual fact, I’d love to! But do you think I’m strong enough to control such a machine on these steeps hills?”
“Well you turned the crank just fine on your own on the day of the quake, remember? Driving it is the easy part.”
“It would be wonderful to be able to go on needed errands when you were busy somewhere else… but—”
“We’ll make this short and sweet.” J.D. killed the engine, reached down to the floor of the vehicle, and retrieved the crank. “Step one. Remember how to start it?”
As they often did when something triggered a memory about the quake, frightening recollections of that day once again sprang to the surface. The smoke. The terror that the car might not start or that she’d break her arm trying, and then they would all burn to death. Amelia pushed these unwanted thoughts aside.
“Yes. Yes, of course I remember how to start this vehicle. Hand it to me, please.”
She exited the car, inhaled deeply, inserted the crank into its narrow shaft, and gave it a few forceful twists, vastly relieved when the motor turned over, caught, and began running.
“It always starts up wonderfully well,” J.D. said.
“Of course it does. My grandfather only bought the best,” she replied tartly.
J.D. looked at her briefly and then put the car in gear. “I’ve brought you back to the Presidio because there are plenty of open spaces here, and no chance of mowing down any unsuspecting pedestrians.”
The parade ground was deserted in the late afternoon, with only a few tent dwellers curious enough to stand on the sidelines.
“Right,” J.D. announced. “Now we’ll see how well you can shift the gears. Switch seats with me.”
As the sun dipped over the bay, Amelia struggled under J.D.’s tutelage to coordinate the motions of her hands and feet and succeeded only in grinding the gears so badly she thought the metal parts would fall onto the parade ground.
“No, no, no, Amelia!” he chastised. “Gently! Smoothly! Don’t attack it as if you were in a boxing ring.”
“You’ll have to get out of the car.”
“What?”
“You’re giving me fits, barking orders like I’m one of your carpenters. Get out of the car and let me see if I can do it on my own.”
“All right, but—”
“If I don’t get the hang of it this time, I’ll quit. It’s starting to get dark and I’m afraid I’m going to destroy this poor machine. That would even be worse than not learning to drive it.”
J.D. exited on the passenger side and stood a few feet distant.
“Stand behind a tree, please.”
“For heaven’s sake, Amelia.”
“I mean it. Over there. Behind that cypress.”
J.D. disappeared behind the tree trunk while Amelia took another deep breath. With renewed determination, she put a gloved hand on the gearshift. She released the brake and the car began to roll down the slight incline. Slowly, she shifted the lever while moving her feet in a similarly smooth manner. The car traveled forward relatively smoothly.
“I did it!” she whispered. A buoyancy, like air in a boat’s sail, filled her chest as she made a wide, arcing turn and started up the incline.
Her feeling of triumph was short lived when the engine immediately began to strain. Downshift… downshift sl—o—w—ly she cautioned herself and felt a flush of victory when the gears meshed, caught, and gave the car a boost up the low hill. Giddy with glee, she promised herself that if she ever returned to Paris, she’d drive right down the Ch
amps-Elysées, her hair pulling free of its pins and streaming behind her.
For the next fifteen minutes she piloted the car in slow circles, shifting the gears with reasonable skill and braking as required. At length, she made a final, slow turn at the north end of the open area and coasted downhill, intending to halt just shy of the cypress tree where J.D. was waiting with what she could only judge was the broad grin of a proud papa.
Ten feet away she shifted her feet, planning to glide to a perfect stop. Instead, she mistakenly put a foot on the accelerator and the motorcar lurched forward. At the last possible second, she swerved, missing the tree by inches. She finally managed to screech to a stop, though by this time, her entire body was shaking.
J.D. peered from behind the tree. “Perhaps you think you have good cause, but convince me, please, that you didn’t intend to kill me.”
Amelia’s forehead rested against the steering wheel and her breath came in gasps.
“I did not… intend… to run you over,” she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve. “But I nearly killed myself.”
“Nonsense! You did wonderfully well!” J.D. walked to the driver’s side and patted her on the sleeve. “You should have seen this car when I first started to drive. I had to have plenty of dents knocked out of it. All it takes is practice, but you did it. You can drive!”
Amelia raised her head to the scattered applause from a few refugees standing on the edge of the field. She smiled weakly and waved at the motley crowd that had no other amusements than to watch her herky-jerky efforts to tame the horseless carriage.
She looked over at J.D., her feat beginning to dawn on her. “I can drive,” she breathed. “I can actually drive this blasted machine.”
“All right, all right… no resting on your laurels.” J.D. climbed into the passenger seat. “Put us in gear, my dear Miss Bradshaw, and let’s see if you can get us safely to Tadich’s.”
“Tadich’s? With you? I can’t do that,” she blurted.
“Why not? You’ve gone there with Angus.”
“Once. And he’s not my employer. No, you’re very kind, Mr. Thayer, but I’ll just drive us back to the Fairmont, and you’ll have your evening to yourself.”