I had been working as a junior architect at the firm of Robert Johnson and Co for about six months. My boss, Robert Johnson, frankly was a bit of an arsehole; a dictatorial bully, the kind of guy who seems to get off simply by ordering people around, lording it over his employees. Not that it bothered me. It was a good company with some good people doing the sorts of work that interested me -- and there was plenty of it. To be honest, this was a great opportunity for me, and one I had no intention of wasting on account of the boss being a pig of a man.
My career path hadn't exactly gone to plan since I graduated. Maybe it the fact that I was ambitious, or that I had a firm belief in the integrity of my ideas that wouldn't allow me to easily compromise, but I hadn't been able to hold down a job in the industry for more than about six months. I was fortunate that I had an uncle who had been an architect, now retired, because his guidance has been invaluable. He took me aside a year or so ago and gave me some advice. The gist of it was that yes, he could see I had talent, but I was still young and there was still a lot for me to learn even if I didn't think so. Talent is one thing, he told me, but commitment and reliability are important in a young architect, and the way I was going, chopping and changing between firms, I ran the risk of gaining a reputation for being difficult to work with. Find a decent firm, he advised, knuckle down and do what I was told, even if I didn't always enjoy it or agree with what they were doing, and try to stay there for at least a few years. Establish myself as a serious, reliable professional.
I took this advice when I got the job with Johnsons, and so far it seemed to be paying off. I mean, if I didn't like my boss, I at least wasn't alone -- many of the other architects straight out hated his guts. But like I said, this company had lots of exciting projects, and I was learning a lot working with some pretty talented guys. And after six months, I was starting to feel for the first time in my working life that I belonged somewhere. It was a good feeling.
I felt as though I had passed some kind of test when Johnson came into my office and berated me over an apartment block design I had worked on. 'Crap' and 'kindergarten stuff' were the kinds of words he used to describe my design of the swimming pool and gym area, but I just took the abuse in my stride -- even though I felt he was just finding faults as a matter of habit, as if to justify his own existence by pointing out what a bunch of fuckwits he's got working for him. What is it with these older guys? The other day he sacked a colleague, Ray, a brilliant guy who could design anything, simply because he didn't like the colours Ray had chosen for a staircase. Ray had done some very long hours on that project, and I guess he couldn't contain his frustration when Johnson started picking faults. When Ray tried to defend his work, Johnson just got more and more worked up until eventually he just showed him the door. It's just no way to treat people, especially good people like Ray.
But when Johnson began to get stuck into my gym design, I just sat there and took it in my stride. It felt quite liberating in a strange way to sit there while he ranted and raved -- I knew my work was good, even if he didn't, and his opinion didn't bother me on a personal level, because I didn't like him and didn't respect him. But I did want to keep working for him, so I was prepared to put up with his shit.
"Sorry about that, Robert. You're right, I see what you mean now," I said, thinking what a suckhole I'd become. "Don't worry, I will fix it as you suggest."
"Good," he barked. He got up to leave the room, but then he paused at the door.
"Oh David," he said, "are you free after work?"
"Um, yeah?" I replied.
"Good. I'd like you to drop round my house after work. I'm planning a renovation and I'd like a second opinion on some of my ideas."
"Um, yes, of course," I said, taken a little aback.
"Good. I'll expect you around six."
And then he walked out.
I was surprised that the old bastard would want my help with his own place. Especially as my gym design was 'crap'. Hanging out with that cranky old fool after hours was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew that if I said no I'd be pretty much kissing goodbye to my job. Still, I had to think of it as a compliment -- but, I thought to myself, I'd better be careful how many changes I suggest. He's just as likely to fire me on the spot for not appreciating the 'quality' of his work. Better hold my tongue, be diplomatic -- just like my old Uncle said.
Later that evening Robert greeted me at the door and showed me inside.
"Welcome, he said, "take a seat and I'll get you a drink. Beer?"
"Yes, thanks," I said. He was sounding uncharacteristically pleasant -- but then I could hear his wife milling about in the kitchen. I guess it wouldn't do to start yelling at your employees in your own home.
The house was something else. Large, as I'd expected, but thoroughly modern. You could clearly see the influence of the type of work we do in the clever use of open planned areas. To be honest, I couldn't see anything much I'd change at all. In fact, it had to be barely more than a year old, judging by some of the workmanship. I found it odd that he even wanted to renovate. I particularly liked the way they'd decorated it. Architecturally it was a thoroughly contemporary building, but it was fitted out with a bold selection of colours, predominantly white but with a lot of red and lime green furnishings. Often people fall into the trap of trying to make their new place look as cool as possible, because when you've already got a cool looking building it's very easy to go over the top with the furnishings and end up with a clashing mess of colours. But this was a really nice balance.
Soon Robert had returned with drinks. He handed me a beer and called out to his wife.
"Oh honey, come and meet David, one of my employees who's just dropped by."
Robert's wife soon appeared from around the corner of the kitchen wall. My God, I thought to myself: what a stunning looking woman Mrs Johnson was! Probably early 30s, but not an ounce of fat on her beautifully toned and slightly muscular body, which was on clear display under the skin-tight gym gear she was wearing: light blue lycra shorts and tight crop top, white. Yes, very nice, I thought to myself as I watched her walk towards us. She was cute too: short dark hair, a flashing, warm smile and lovely blue eyes; such a gorgeous face. Evidently she was off to the gym, and with a body like that she'd be the sort of chick you often see at the gym that just makes your day -- when you feel like thanking the Lord for providing the perfect female form upon which we can feast our eyes. I just had to wonder what a fine piece such as her was doing married to such an arsehole -- probably a trophy wife.
"Elizabeth," he said, "this is David."
"Nice to meet you, David," she replied.
I greeted her and she smiled. The kind of warm, gleaming white teeth smile that alternately either melts your heart or gives you hard on. Or both at the same time. For a moment I was almost mesmerized as she looked into my eyes.
"Come David," Robert said, "I'll show you around the place."
"Well, I'll leave you two guys to it," she said. "I'm off for my evening run. Nice to meet you, David."
Elizabeth sauntered off, and I watched her tight, muscular arse gently shift as she walked through the room, pausing to bend over to grab her keys. Such perfect legs...
"OK, honey, I'll just see you out," said Robert as he escorted his wife to the door. For a moment they stood at the door discussing something which I couldn't hear, and then she was gone.
Actually, I wondered to myself, that girl seemed familiar; as though I'd seen her before. Yes, I remembered -- I'd seen her in the office the other day, in Robert's office. I remember her now; she was dressed in a cream coloured business suit, jacket and tight-fitting skirt. I remember at the time thinking what a hot looking client he'd got, but in reality it was only his wife.
"Well, what do you think?" he asked. Such had been the impression his wife had made on me that for a minute I thought he was asking what I thought about his woman. Of course, he was talking about the house as we walked from the living room into a second opened area that seemed half office, half entertainment room. It was an impressive residence by any standard.
"Well, what do you think?" he said again.
"I think it's excellent. It's excellent as it is. I might have done the kitchen a little differently, but that would be all."
"Hmm," he said, almost grumbling. "I did the kitchen myself."
