Scorpio Rising

by Monique Domovitch

  “A gift from my parents,” explained Andrew. “Believe me, I pay for it. I pay very dearly for it.”

  Alex did not understand, but nodded all the same.

  It was a beautiful day for a drive. The autumn sun was shining in a clear blue sky and the air breathed a chilly hint of the winter ahead. As they left the city, driving further into the country, Alex was awed by the scenery. Everywhere, the trees were aflame with yellow, orange, and red foliage. He had never seen such colorful leaves in his life. He sat back and relaxed, enjoying the purr of the powerful engine and the breathtaking scenery.

  The car turned into a rough dirt road, bumping along for a few miles before the construction site came into view. The development was huge. It covered nearly a hundred acres. Toward the north end were rows of completed houses, sitting on bare land—not a tree or a blade of grass anywhere to be seen. Southward, construction was just beginning. Huge mechanical cranes bit into the earth, belching clouds of dust. Bulldozers pushed away mountains of earth, stirring up yet more dust. It was everywhere, rolling in like thick fog, settling on everything and painting the area dull, monochromatic shades of gray.

  At the entrance, a large sign proclaimed that every one of the hundreds of houses to be built on this site would be a Brandon-designed home.

  Andrew felt a surge of excitement. “Let's go find the model homes.” He stepped out of the car and headed toward the rows of houses. Minutes later, they found them, six houses with advertising panels, each showing a different floor plan.

  They crossed a long narrow board bridging the trench, and were greeted at the entrance of the first house by a friendly salesman. “Hi! Fill this in and I'll be right with you.” He handed them a form.

  “Thanks, but we're not looking to buy,” explained Andrew. “We're with Brandon and Company. Do you mind if we take a look around?”

  The man’s friendly attitude changed into nervous enthusiasm. He put away the forms, almost bowing in his effort to please. “Sure. No problem. Why didn't somebody tell me they were sending you guys out here? All I have to offer you is a cup of coffee. Would you care to look at the brochure while I go turn on the percolator?”

  “Sounds good,” Andrew replied.

  The man introduced himself as Sidney Leopold, gave them the advertising material, and hurried to the kitchen. “This is a great kitchen. It's fully equipped with all the latest modern appliances,” he called out over his shoulder. He laughed nervously. “I couldn’t tell you how any of those gadgets work, but they sure impress the ladies. And in the end—” The sound of water running drowned out his voice for a moment. “—who make the final decision.”

  Andrew opened the prospectus and scanned the first few pages. There were artists’ drawings of beautiful homes on perfectly tended lawns and with shiny new automobiles sitting in each driveway. They each had impressive names—the Aristocrat, the Ambassador, the Executive—names that conveyed success and prestige.

  Andrew nudged Alex. “Look at this.”

  Alex leaned over to see. On a loose printed page, was the price list.

  Andrew checked them quickly. “I'm surprised at how much they charge. Don’t those prices seem high to you?” He grew quiet for a few minutes and then said, “Considering the building cost per square foot, these houses are being sold for…” He performed the calculation in his mind. “I can't be right! Or am I? Almost eighty percent profit? That's unheard of.”

  Sidney reappeared, carrying two brimming cups of freshly percolated coffee. The conversation stopped.

  “Here you go. Hope it didn't take too long.”

  “No, not at all.” Andrew did some social chatter, while Sidney, acting as guide, gave them a complete tour of the model homes, along with a running commentary.

  “Each house is decorated in a different style. That way, there’s something to please everyone. Most people have no imagination. If you show them an empty house, they can't visualize how it will look with furniture.”

  Alex listened eagerly as Sidney showed them through a home decorated in soft shades of blue accented with touches of yellow. “It doesn’t hurt that our model homes are decorated by professionals. Most buyers could never make their home look this good.”

  “I feel as though I'm getting a quick course in marketing.”

  Sidney laughed. “It’s all part of the selling process.”

  After the tour, Andrew thanked the salesman for his time.

  “My pleasure.” Sidney shook hands with the two men. “Feel free to wander around,” he added as he spotted a young couple. “Sorry, got to go,” he whispered. “I have some potential buyers.”

  As soon as he was out of sight, Andrew motioned to Alex. “Come with me.” He pulled out a small army knife and a screwdriver, and went back inside the last of the houses they had just visited. There, with his ear to the wall, he knocked until he found what he wanted. Then, using his knife, he scraped away a bit of the paint.

  “What are you doing?” asked Alex, nervously standing guard.

  “I want to find out what grade of materials Brandon uses.” He picked up a few chips of wood and looked at them closely. He stuck his finger inside the hole he’d just created and felt around. “Not very impressive.” He folded the knife and put in his pocket. “Follow me.” He went outside and walked around, checking the foundation. “Just as I thought.” He shook his head in disgust. “Let's go back inside.”

  Next, he looked at the wiring and the plumbing. He stood inside closets and crawled behind staircases. His inspection was thorough. In the end, he shook his head in disbelief. “As far as I can tell, the houses are built according to code. But I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They’ve used the cheapest possible materials everywhere and the workmanship is barely acceptable.” He folded his knife and put it back in his pocket. “The floor plans are pathetic. I've already thought of half a dozen ways to increase the living area without adding to the cost of construction.”

  Andrew looked thoughtful for a moment. “That certainly gives us a thing or two to think about, doesn't it?”

  “Sure does,” said Alex. Little did he know that Andrew had just had an idea.

  They returned to the parking lot, passing by the construction area again. Andrew was almost hopping with excitement. The smell of the freshly cut wood in the dusty air and the sight of the men pounding away at the skeleton of the houses had awakened a strong feeling of purpose. “This is what I want to do,” he said suddenly.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Alex.

  “This is what I want to do. I want to be a builder, not an architect! There is no reason for anyone to build houses this poorly. No matter what kind of budget Brandon has, he should build his houses with pride. He should build them to last. The way he throws these together, problems will start as soon as the buyers move in. When I build them, my houses will be beautiful and strong.”

  Alex had never seen Andrew so enthusiastic. “If that’s what you want to do, there's no reason why you can't,” he said with conviction as they reached the now dust-covered Corvette. They climbed in and headed back toward the city in silence, each dreaming his dreams.

  Someday…

  * * *

  Over the next few weeks, Alex realized what a Godsend the visit had been. Suddenly, he knew at a glance what was right on a plan and what needed changing. He worked with new urgency.

  Meanwhile, Andrew had fallen into the habit of eating lunch at Alex's drafting table and watching him work. Although intrigued by Alex's ideas, he never participated in Alex's projects. Every now and then, he asked a question or offered a suggestion.

  A few times, Alex tried to persuade Andrew to join him in his projects. “Don't just sit there. Why don't you help me?”

  Invariably the answer was the same. “You’re the architect, not me. I want to be a builder.”

  “So when are you going to do something about it?”

  Andr
ew shrugged. “When I'm ready, I'll let you know.”

  Within a few months, Alex had created a dozen house plans far superior to any, previously produced by William Brandon & Company. At last, he felt ready to show Bill Brandon.

  * * *

  “Come in.” In the year since Alex had joined the firm, Bill Brandon had gained more weight and lost more hair. He greeted Alex enthusiastically and invited him to sit. “So you have something to show me. Always interested in looking at young people’s work.”

  Alex put the stack of plans on the desk and carefully unrolled them. Brandon watched with mild curiosity. “That's an impressive amount of work.” He puffed on his cigar and leaned forward to study the plans. For the next few minutes, Alex waited anxiously while Bill Brandon silently puffed his way through the stack of plans. Finally, the big man pushed it away and leaned back. “These are all yours?” He sounded impressed.

  “Yes, sir. I've been working on them during my spare time.”

  “Not bad.” Brandon flipped through the stack again and pulled one out at random. “Actually they're pretty good. Some of them show originality. Mind if I keep these for a few days?”

  “Not at all sir.”

  “Very good. I'll get back to you.”

  * * *

  Andrew was busy putting the final changes to a bathroom design when Alex walked over. Andrew looked up from his work. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” he said.

  “I did it. I showed Brandon my plans.”

  Andrew whistled softly. “Great! How did he like them?”

  “He said they were good. In fact, he said they showed originality.” He grinned. “It's just a question of time before I'm transferred upstairs.”

  Andrew seemed genuinely happy for him. “I hope you get the promotion. Unfortunately, I probably won't be here to see it happen.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Come on, tell me.”

  Andrew lowered his voice. “I'm leaving this place.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I'm toying with a few ideas,” Andrew said, but no matter how Alex pushed, he would say no more.

  Alex laughed. When Andrew was in one of his secretive moods, nothing would make him talk. “I've got a few ideas of my own, and one of them is called, ‘Anne Turner,’” said Alex. He winked and walked away.

  “Hah! Good luck.” Andrew watched his friend strut over to his drafting table. “Anne Turner has more sense than to go out with a bum like you. If I asked her out, it would be a different story.”

  Alex turned back. “May the better man win,” he called out jokingly.

  * * *

  In the four years since Alex had started at Durring & Durring, the decrepit warehouse had only worsened. Alex looked around at the shabby, rundown area with affection. Now that he was leaving, he felt strangely sad.

  Barney was equally sad. “I'm sorry to see you go, kid. This place won't be the same without you. I'm no good at saying goodbye, but…” He shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. “You've got what it takes, kid. You’ll be a great architect one of these days.”

  Alex felt a lump form in his throat. Ever since starting at Durring & Durring, he and Barney had enjoyed a special relationship, one that had been as beneficial to Barney as it had been to Alex. Barney had come to accept the death of his son, and Alex had enjoyed the fatherly attention of the old man.

  “Thanks Barney. Those words mean a lot to me.” He felt as awkward receiving the compliment as Barney felt giving it.

  “I mean it. Someday, when you're a big shot, I'll come over and you can show me around your buildings.” Barney gave him a soft punch on the shoulder.

  “You can count on it. Or better yet, you can come and work with me. How's that?”

  “You'll have to get rich fast. I'm not a young man anymore.”

  “Deal.” Alex slapped Barney on the back and Barney did likewise. It was the most affection they could display.

  Alex turned and walked away. A part of his life had just ended. After one year at Brandon & Company, he felt secure in his position and it would be crazy to not put all his energy into his long-term goal.

  With his last Durring & Durring paycheck in his pocket, he hopped the bus and quietly rode home. In his mind, the same thought played repeatedly. Someday… Lately, he felt that someday was getting closer.

  * * *

  Alex was home, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Since his first day in the city, he had never bothered finding another apartment. This is good enough for me, he told himself whenever the idea crossed his mind. Besides, this is the cheapest I'll find in Manhattan, and I’d rather save the money.

  Now that Alex no longer worked nights, the dinginess of his surroundings, the cracks in the plaster, the dust on the floor, and the faded furnishings depressed him. It reminded him of the apartment in Brooklyn and of Marlena. I'll be damned if I ever live in poverty again, he thought. He pulled himself off the bed and threw himself into a frenzy of cleaning. He changed the burnt ceiling bulb, took out the garbage and swept the floors.

  Afterwards, he sat on the bed, overcome with anxiety. He had nothing to do. It was a strange sensation, one that left him feeling nervous, jumpy. He wanted—no, he needed something to keep him busy. I could go out. After years of double shifts, however, his social life was nonexistent. Apart from his coworkers, he had no relationships. It’s time I made some changes in my life. His mind wandered to Anne Turner, as it frequently had over the last few months. He’d often thought of asking her out, and had even joked about it with Andrew, but for some reason he never dared. On the few occasions at work when he’d exchanged a few words, he’d been surprised at how pleasant she was. I think I could handle a couple of dates with her. Alex resolved to do something about it soon.

  He picked up Modern Design & Architecture and settled in comfortably for an evening of reading. He was flipping through pages when an article grabbed his attention.

  Every year, in cooperation with a major city, the magazine sponsored an international design competition. This year, the chosen city was Paris, and the contest involved the construction of a large commercial building. The aerial photographs of the area showed a square block of medieval buildings. It was just the kind of project that stimulated his imagination.

  Here is something I can do, he thought, still desperate for some way to keep busy. He read the regulations thoroughly. The contest deadline was three weeks away. If he worked like crazy, he might be able to complete the rough sketches and preliminary plans. I don’t have to do this. I can just take it easy for a while, go out, have fun and get to know Anne Turner. Isn't that what any normal person would want to do? Whoever said I was normal? he thought as he made up his mind.

  He jumped off the bed and crossed the room to his bookshelf. For the rest of the night he looked up every example of large commercial centers he could find. There were a few particularly interesting ultra-modern glass and steel designs, as well as some beautiful examples of older restored buildings.

  Too bad I can't combine the two styles. He stopped for a moment, when the thought hit him. Why not? Like a man possessed, he worked the rest of the night on his wild idea.

  A few days before the contest deadline, Alex added the last touches to what he thought to be an original, cost-effective, and aesthetically pleasing proposal. The plans were impeccably drawn, the ink sketches of the proposed project beautifully executed. It was work he felt proud to call his own.

  He filled out the information sheet and, at the last moment, added the name of William Brandon Architecture & Design alongside his own. Nobody had ever heard of Alex Ivanov. Having the name of a reputable firm on the entry form would only add weight to his application.

  He rolled up his plans, slid them into a cardboard tube and dropped them off at the post office. If nothing comes of this, William Brandon will never hear of it. If I win, he can only be pleased about the publicity it brings his company. Alex headed for the office.

&nb
sp; Anne Turner looked up as Alex walked in. “Good morning, Alex.”

  “Good morning.” He approached her desk and gave her his friendliest smile. “Anne, I'm hoping you can help with a problem I'm having. I would very much like to ask you out to dinner Saturday night, but I'm worried you might turn me down. What do you think I should do?”

  She laughed. “I guess you'll just have to take your chances,” she replied with a twinkle in her eyes.

  * * *

  Andrew hunched over and painstakingly burnishing each small Letraset symbol onto the completed plan before carefully lifting the tissue paper. “Shit!” Half the lettering had come away with it. “I hate doing this.” He bent over his work and started over.