by Jayne Joso
“Americans, well what can I say, I never saw you in action, Ralph – so what is there to say?”
“You’re such a tease,” but Ralph was understandably somewhat hurt by this remark.
“You know Ralph, I used to love American girls, but now they cut themselves up like turkeys, sewing the parts back together tight, adding bits in, injecting stuff… I don’t get it, must be so painful, and in the end it isn’t pretty.” He finished on the poorest possible imitation of Ralph, “No man, I like my women real!”
“Shit! Was that supposed to be me?” Ralph laughed now and raucously, “Give it up, dude! Hell, it’s really great to see you, you got better lookin’ if that was ever possible, but other than that I have to say, you ain’t changed a bit! – Can’t say the same for your design, man, that’s shooting right off the scale. I can’t believe what you’re starting to get away with. Still, I guess hanging around with me was bound to rub off somehow, and I ain’t heard you fart once yet!” he chuckled on, “Impressive Alessandro, yup that’s the word for it, darn impressive.”
It would come as no surprise to either of these architects to find themselves part of the very select number invited to compete and design for Charles Ore’s widow. – Gaia Ore, having previously forgone a place that felt like home, would now come to settle for nothing less. She would choose only those architects who, despite their involvement in grand scale endeavours, had proved both in the essays they published and in their builds, that they understood most thoroughly the requirements for a quality of living: the experience of the dweller; that the outside must matter as much as the inside, and that for something to be called home, be it simple or exquisite, lay the prerequisite desire and intention for the balance of aesthetics and tranquillity with utility and rationality. – Ralph, more than any of them hated pretention, and this last part he described as “gotta be comfortable, gotta like it.”
Over the years Alessandro’s boldness had bolted the stable. These days, he was out there, running headlong and free, and nothing, but nothing, could hold him back. Perhaps he had learned a thing or two from Ralph Coover, but however it might be explained, it was a level of confidence that was now way off the sonar. When someone gets it so right, though their ideas seem unfathomable but the drive to prove them whips your feet from under you and shoots you way on up with the buzz of cocaine just from sniffing in the clearest, cleanest air, well what are you going to do? Soon, no one could deny him.
Competitions lined themselves up. There were the usual kinds of restriction in most of the briefs, but the one that irritated Alessandro most was always the given location. The way Alessandro saw it, most clients got this part wrong, they got other things wrong too – like the budgets, Hey, are they crazy! But where they went most wrong was in deciding the site for the new design. Alessandro would rather bow out of a major competition than compromise his belief that The Architect was the one best qualified to choose the setting for his architecture. So whilst Ralph had other architecture floored to create his ideal context, the Italian regularly informed his clients that they had chosen the wrong site and had best follow his advice on where to set his architecture. In the case of a grand naval museum in the US, he argued ferociously that the best place for it was not next to the Mad-Axe Multiplex Cinema, Fun Plaza and Freddy’s Friendly Family Diner! No. Absolutely not. Alessandro Cannizzaro knew the perfect site, and Alessandro Cannizzaro demanded the perfect site. – The museum should be set close to the beach, with the gentle movement of the tide as background, the scenery changing in gradual shades of turquoise, white and grey; the sounds and moods of the sea providing the ideal ‘aural context’; and with the smell and taste of salt in the air to sharpen the senses. This was how the public would best be prepared to appreciate the museum and its exhibits! This was how it should be! He waited whilst the powerful deliberated, praying his bluff would not be called.
The museum… was built by the beach.
He reflected that perhaps all architects need the good fortune of being born to an indulgent Italian mother. He looked again at her photograph, and kissed her.
This powerful but mutable client – and so early on in Alessandro’s career – had generously, and unwittingly, made a rod for the backs of all Alessandro’s future clients. Bravo! He had lift off! From then on it was full-blown architectural thrills and spills all the way, beautifully wild, and just about as far from architectural plain sailing as he could get. Just as he desired. Oh Mama!
Back in the UK, Edwin Ray’s latest design proposals were attracting very little interest. He felt he was losing his edge. He felt buried by the Coover and Cannizzaro mavericks and their novelty architecture! He had much admired Charles Ore. Somehow he felt he knew what he was up against with Charles, a tough contender, yes, but not out of his league, and the two big ‘Cs’ seemed to be jacking up the heat to an unbearable level. Since embarking on realised architectural projects, Edwin suffered terribly when his designs were rejected and he often wished he had been content to bask in the glory of his theoretical success. Of all the architects, Edwin Ray would be especially pleased to receive an invitation to submit a design for Charles Ore’s widow, for that way, he was still a contender!
Ralph coughed a little as Alessandro lit a cigarette, “Zandro, did you read about Charles Ore kicking the bucket? I almost died myself when I read it – died laughing that is, ’course I know I shouldn’t, but shit! How the hell’d he manage to go and die on a piece of fish for heaven’s sake? Eel wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe so. That was really awful.”
“Awful funny!”
The too men drank down their bourbon and shared a quiet moment – on the verge of respect. “D’ya go the funeral? I thought as maybe you knew him? I read he studied in the US, but never crossed paths with him myself. From what I heard, the guy always struck me as something of an asshole…”
“No, I nearly met him, a few times, but no, I wasn’t at the funeral.”
“His wife’s a looker, you see her alongside him in one of the magazines? ’Course they all did darn long articles on him after he’d gone.”
“Yes, she looks very attractive,” Alessandro exhaled and examined his cigarette, “You know, I would really like to meet her.”
“Hey! What kind of an ass are you? Jumping his Mrs before he’s even cold!”
“No!…”
“Gotcha!” Ralph chortled, “Hey, just kiddin’ around Zandro! Take it easy. I couldn’t give two hoots about old Ore, the guy’s been dead ages now anyhow. You get yourself in there, tickle her toes an’ all. Maybe even buy her some of them fancy shoes you’re always on about!” He chuckled warmly now, downing another bourbon.
After Ralph had left, Alessandro wondered if enough time had elapsed to permit another letter to the widow. And it didn’t take him long before he decided that yes, time enough had passed.
Letter: From the Italian
Alessandro Cannizzaro to Gaia
Dear Mrs Ore,
I should like to call you Gaia, if you would permit. Somehow, I feel I know you, I don’t know why, but I sense in you something of a kindred spirit. I do not worry that you will find my words too bold, for I believe you will appreciate them as honest. Your last correspondence was most kind, you have a generous nature.
I think that a change of atmosphere, of air, of company, can all be quite therapeutic, and it is in this belief that I should like to invite you again to my country. I think you are very polite and would not accept on first invitation, and so I make it again, and hope that time enough has passed for you to feel able to accept and take a small journey. Italy waits for you.
Yours
Alessandro
Alessandro immediately began to fantasise that she might accept:
First, you have to have a brilliant idea,
When you got the brilliant idea –
Then
you start to make believe it’s true,
And once you can see it as a full picture,
A reality,
Then, you as good as have it!
Alessandro had no problem implementing this theory of success, it had certainly worked with his architecture. He mailed the letter, confident in the belief that this time, she would indeed accept.
Chapter Fifteen
Plans
Gaia now made a study of Selené’s letters. She began to copy them out in parts, paragraphs, sentences, single words, paring down as she went:
Build your own house! Take a lover! Take up gardening! But do something. Move life in some way, make shape, make waves, shake it a little. Without that, the rest of us are also dead.
Go to Italy!
Will you live all your life as your shadow? Have you ever thought of taking part in your own life, come on, so far you have just been a passenger.
You have been too long asleep.
Darling, take up the challenge!”
Another cigarette, a drop more whiskey, then she scribbled over some parts, blocking them out, refining the list. Fine-tuning.
These days she only slept in her study. She had long since accepted Charles’ room as a ‘purely’ creative unit, and it had never really been a room for lovers, never really their bed-room. She didn’t even like to go in anymore. She sat in her study at the desk in the rosy-jamas, hiking socks and an old cardigan. Halfway through a pack. The list was now quite modest:
house
lover
gardening
Italy
passenger
She scrutinised the words, wondering, questioning. She would deal with each in turn starting from the bottom of the list. She drew a line under passenger, Selené was right, she had always been a passenger in her life. She had never taken control or responsibility. She had taken the easy route, followed someone who was driven; luxuriated in their success and its rewards; never taken risks of her own design. She began to appreciate that reflected glory was only that, nothing more than a shadow of feeling.
Italy, she put a question mark by its side, she’d always wanted to go; now she had an invitation, a repeated invitation – Mr Cannizzaro seemed curious and kind – she looked down at her pyjamas and smiled, amused. Perhaps.
Gardening, no, that wasn’t going to be part of the plan. She struck a line through it straight away. Gardening… no, that felt too challenging.
Lover, she glanced down again at Italy, and perplexed, left it as it was.
House, house she thought, home, Charles what did you build? She had wondered previously about the ‘new house plans’ he had evidently shown Selené, but for some reason she had never wanted to see them. Never thought to ask Selené for details, or where they might be. And neither would she. She couldn’t have answered why, she simply felt… disinclined. There were moments when she felt she ought to try to find them, and more than that, perhaps even have them followed through – other widows would! She stopped herself and exhaled. Ought to! What rubbish! Passenger! She felt she could hear Selené’s voice, as though she would know it without ever having heard it, Passenger!
Passengers, she concluded, are those who: ought to, ought to do this, ought to do that, but since she was no longer going to be a passenger, then from all associated obligations, she was absolved; but other widows, and what they would do? Other widows be damned. She scribbled out passenger aggressively. Now she was left with a remarkably short list:
house
lover
Italy
She put down the pen, pleased. She rolled her shoulders in satisfaction, poured another whiskey, and lit up afresh.
Letter: Onwards and Upwards
Gaia to Selené
Dear Selené,
Alright, finally I got it! Je comprend! You are right about so many things, I almost hate you for it! And this time, trust, that for once, I am jesting.
I feel a sudden rush of soberness, of clarity. It feels, marvellous. I hold your letters very close to my heart. It is time to make a few decisions!
One thing I have in mind, is indeed to find a house, or have one built, one that will be my home. I have never felt at home here, I love certain things about the Construct, but am not, nor have ever been, able to relax sufficiently to call it ‘home’. I am not, however, entirely sure how to go about discovering this ‘place’ that will be home, but perhaps that is just a matter of time, and gradually I will work it out. I have made myself a list of things to help move my weakened state towards something of a recovery, but I have no idea how the various things might be accomplished, if indeed they are possible at all, still, I must try. I am more awake than I have been for months, and that is at least, and at last, something of a start.
My love to you
Gaia
Letter: DIY
Selené to Gaia
Dear Gaia,
Now then, I will get round to discussing your plans, a house and so forth, but before I forget, I must tell you that, finally, I have bothered to look out a few photographs to send you, and I will endeavour to write the dogs’ names on there somewhere, they might amuse. I am a terror for promising things and not delivering.
I recently took on a young man, although hardly that young in the scheme of things, I should say he’s close to fifty-five. Anyway, I took him on, on the pretext of helping me out with the more tiresome aspect of gardening, namely – digging. But naturally, I’m perfectly capable of that myself. Healthy longevity, I tell you darling, if only I could bottle it! I’d make a veritable fortune. Anyway, that’s by the by. The pretext, yes… well I had to invent something as I took rather a shine to him, he’s a horseman, a retired racehorse owner, entrepreneur or so… self-made type of chap. I dare say many of those terms are redundant these days, unfashionable; is it still appropriate to describe a person as ‘self-made’ nowadays? I wonder if it hasn’t been usurped by some other term; and people, in general, make so little of themselves and of their lives anymore, perhaps there’s no need of it at all. Well anyway, this chappy, ‘horseman’ I have chosen to call him, he has wonderful good strong legs, and has become my lover of late. Quite a one he is. I must not allow him to form any unacceptable attachment, I can’t abide those who cling, but I’m sure he’ll be sensible.
Now then, the ‘home’ plans, why not design it yourself? You can’t possibly have spent all that time with Arles, and not picked up a thing or two. In any case, if need be, you could have someone else check over the designs as you go along. Yes, build it yourself, why not?!
Dear girl, I must sign off now, they’re barking!
Love to you
Selené
Letter: Photographs
Gaia to Selené
Dear Selené,
Selené you are so vital, so full of life, and I, still so far from living. As you once pointed out, it may well be something that has been true of me all along, perhaps for my whole life. I have been dead whilst living. I know you will deny it, but you are an inspiration. I’m so lucky that our paths have crossed.
You and the horseman! Goodness, you’ll laugh at me, but I was surprised despite all your ‘waking me, and shaking me’, it seems I have only thought of such scenes in novels or perhaps in film. How magical, that someone’s real life is so infinitely beautiful, so shot through with passion. I am now just thirty-three, but have not half your courage, charisma nor spontaneity, would that I had. Perhaps there is still time.
I love the photographs you sent. The spaniels are gorgeous, and your names for them: Great Catherine – That’s after Catherine the Great I suppose; Lizzy 1st – must be Queen Elizabeth I, and Sulky ’bo, is that after Garbo? Then, Avignon, Cimiez and Toulouse – places you are most fond of in France, like Arles! I love them! The names and the pictures! There was no picture of
you, but I should have expected that now that I know you more, and somehow I have an idea of who you are and how you might appear without visual clues. I am blind, so to say, but not. I can well imagine you chasing after the spaniels and calling out their ridiculous names, so funny, so full of life. I can’t help it, but I do still wish that we could meet.
Did you realise you sent one picture by accident? It was just a tiled floor! I suppose, like me, everyone takes a few odd shots whilst fumbling with their camera. Charles would always scold me for my lack of concentration.
In terms of the ‘home plan’, no, I cannot see me designing it, but I really think that a new place would make all the difference to me. I am toying with the idea of commissioning someone. What do you think?
My warmest wishes
Gaia
Letter: A Competition!
Selené to Gaia
Dear Gaia,
Well aren’t you a one! Where from comes this new found confidence and dalliance with mockery? The spaniels’ names are not ridiculous! And what of you, named ‘Gaia’ of all things, Greek mythology, I know a little, my own name taken from the same, but Lordy, your name means Primeval Earth Goddess! Heavens above, sweet girl! No wonder Charles took a fancy to you. I think you’ll have to agree that even ‘Catherine the Great’ sounds tame next to that. Selené, if you’ve an interest, my own good name, means moon goddess, I think that sits well with one of my disposition, enjoying a solitary life and fond of the dark. Simple pleasures. And by the way, you were right, Sulky ’bo is Greta Garbo, you waken slowly, but now you do at least attempt to open your eyes.