WHEN TAK AND Deena woke the next morning, it was not because of the time—nearly twelve 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.
“Indeed. Are you enjoying the vacation?”
“Sir, I—”
“It’s a simple question, Deena. Have you found this leisure time enjoyable? 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 am enjoying—”
“Perhaps my abrasive tone has escaped 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 being an architect, I would recommend you report to my office on Monday morning, nine a.m.”
Deena swallowed. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be there.”
Daichi hung up.
DEENA HUSTLED INTO the Tanaka firm Monday morning and rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor. Her hands trembled.
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 betray the extent of her fear.
She’d only been to the thirteenth floor once or twice. It was vast. Once past the soundproof sliding glass doors, the receptionist lobby where Angela was housed featured a twenty-foot high ceiling, lacquered white wall paneling and chocolate Spanish marble. An acoustic sound system mimicked a babbling brook, while a seating area comprised of sleek Italian furnishings served as the waiting area.
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. She suspected those doors 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 quiet distress. But the older woman was distracted, her face in her files, so Deena returned, fist wavering, and watched the door open.
Daichi stared at her, his square face hardened by a perpetual frown. He stepped aside and let her enter, his lids heavy under his watchful gaze. 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 earned my undivided attention. Do share what one does with such an abundance of time.”
Deena froze. She’d spent over an hour with his son, trying to anticipate his questions. But they had not anticipated this. Already, she’d been caught off guard.
Daichi’s fingertips formed a steeple and he frowned at her. “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 was demanding. “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 froze steel. “And do you feel that you’ve earned such a celebrated vacation by way of the caliber of your work here?”
She looked away. “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 Hammond. You are 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 wanted to be an architect. It was her father’s dream that she become an architect. The two of them would spend hours holed up in a 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, “it’ll be nothing compared to what you’ll make.” And Deena would look at him and feel pride and purpose.
But he’d been wrong. She would make nothing. At twenty-five, she was done.
Daichi whirled, startling her from nostalgia. He stalked as if to pin her down, his approach quick and confrontational: predator to prey.
“I ask you. Deena. What good is talent without gall? Brilliance without conviction?” His dark eyes narrowed in disgust. “You lack the audacity for greatness. You’ve not the stomach for it.”
It was not the lecture she was expecting. When she opened her mouth, her voice came out small. “That—that’s not true.”
“No?” Daichi stared, as if astonished with the contradiction. “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 her back pressed the chair and her own head began to shake. She sounded stupid, and they both knew it. “What good is it, Deena? What good is any of it? Knowledge? Talent? What purpose can it serve if you sit on your laurels, content to design wheelchair ramps and take month-long vacations?”
He was shouting at her, and she was crying.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
He turned away and a pause followed.
“You’ll be handling the pre-design phase of Skylife. On my desk in one week, I expect to see the following.”
Stunned, Deena fumbled with her briefcase for pen and pad, cursing herself for not considering the possibility she might still have a job.
He paused as if showing her 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 to pace. “Your work will serve as the blueprint for the entire project.” He glanced at his watch. “You have one week. Seven days, to the minute.”
Deena nodded and tucked away 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 just 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. “Leave. And no more vacations.”
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, and 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 fresh ideas. When Deena stepped out of the posh marble lobby, heat and humidity accosted her like a slap in the face. She squinted at the sunlight, paused, and took a deep breath.
Deena rounded the firm and admired its symbolism. The glass sheath 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.
The Tanaka firm stared back at Deena, a towering prism of prestige. It taunted her, warned her that she could not emulate all it encompassed—that she could not be Daichi Tanaka. She feared it was right.
Deena turned to the pristine blue at the building’s backside and lost herself in the lull of the waves. It was there that the answer revealed itself. She could not be Daichi. 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 had 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 said. “You’ve not the stomach for it.”
It was a dare. An attack. A lie. And she had one week to prove it.