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Why are you sucking your thumb, Debra, John Windom asked. Are you unhappy?
I miss my kitty, she said.
John had figured out what she meant when she referred to her kitty.
Mama and Papa said I could play with my kitty to get the good feeling if I was in my room with the door closed, she added. I don't have a kitty. I have a pee-pee. I miss my kitty.
Debra if you play with your pee-pee, you can get the good feelings you got when you played with your kitty, John said.
Can't either, she said. No happy button. And no door to close.
Like Debra, John craved the sensations of an orgasm again. He had no control over the body they shared. Control rested solely with Debra, but he could feel her emotions and shared her senses.
Can, too, John said. I'll teach you how it's done.
Really? She said.
Yes.
What about no door?
Don't worry about it. You can play with your pee-pee under a blanket. Loosen your pants and push them and your underwear down.
'Kay," she said.
Like Marlene, Angela Bright was a petite woman, a brunette with dark-blue, almost black eyes, and pouty lips. Shelly had said Angela had a girl-next-door look about her, but she'd arrived looking beautiful and professional in a winter white pant suit, the antithesis of the girl next door.
I offered her a drink, and she asked for coffee, so I poured a cup for me as well as her. We doctored the coffees to fit our tastes and carried the cups with us to the room in the inn I'd designated as my architectural design studio. She sat in a love seat, and I took a hard-back chair.
"Did Shelly tell you about the condo project my family plans to develop on this site?" I said.
"She did. She also told me that you hit on her."
"I did," I said, crinkling my nose with a smile. "She's a sexy woman. She also turned my seduction attempt aside so expertly I was neither hurt nor offended."
Angela chuckled and sipped some coffee. She looked around the room and said, "You've got some expensive equipment here."
"Yes, except for the renderings, the preliminary design work for the project is on CAD. I've also scanned the renderings, so I have a digital copy of them as well. I assume your firm uses CAD for your work."
"We do. That'll make it easier to transfer your work to us, so we can proceed with the working drawings. If you hire us, that is."
"Tell me about your firm," I said.
She rattled off past-client names, projects, and awards. The firm had an impressive list of accomplishments. I had no doubt that they could do the grunt work, but...
"Is your firm working at capacity right now, personnel-wise I mean?" I asked.
"No, winter is our slow season," she said.
"Good. If we award the job to your firm, will we be interfacing with you or someone else in your firm?"
"Me," she said and swallowed the last of the coffee in her cup.
"Do you do custom home work?" I asked, which surprised her.
"Yes," she said.
To satisfy her curiosity, I told her about the eight acres we'd purchased for our little compound. "I've started the preliminary design work for the structures on the acreage: a house for my parents and a house for me, plus a separate design studio for me and office facilities for my father's development business, a stable for six horses, a lighted dressage arena, and equipment and storage facilities. We'll develop the compound concurrently with the condo project, and we'll hire the same architectural firm for both projects."
"When will the preliminary design work for the compound be finished?" she said.
"A week to ten days," I said, "but we won't close on the land until mid-April."
"That works for me," she said. "We'll get a firm handle on the condo project before we have to dive into the working drawings for the compound."
"Does your firm have audio/visual facilities for professional presentations?"
"We do," she said. "Bob Daniels, one of the partners in the firm, is very proud of the facility. It was his baby."
"Good. If we come to an agreement, we'll use the facility for lender presentations," I said. "One more question, and then we'll get to the preliminary design work for the condo project. We haven't selected the marketing and sales organization for the condos. Do you have any recommendations?"
"How many condos and how much will you be asking for them?"
"Thirty units," I said. "We went with a ten-per-acre density, and originally believed they'd sell for an average of $500,000 per unit. My father thinks we can get more. He's talking an average of $650,000."
"Around $20,000,000?"
"Yes," I said.
"Stan Michelson and his crew would be the best local firm you could hire to market the condos," she said.
I asked for and she gave me Michelson's contact information. Then I did my dog-and-pony show with the preliminary design work, except the show was very informal: one easel, no special lighting, and after I finished with a design board, I dropped it casually to the floor before moving to the next one. I'd allotted an hour for the get-acquainted and fact-finding conversation and the presentation. We used up two hours. Angela asked a lot of questions, some of which I could answer; others concerning detailed specifications I couldn't answer. I was, after all, at the preliminary design stage.
When I finished, she asked, "May I see the preliminary work you've done on the compound?"
"It's rough at this point," I said.
"I understand. I have a reason for asking," she said.
I showed her what I had, mostly on the computer while she looked over my shoulder.
After seeing my rough preliminary designs, she sat back on the sofa and said, "Debra, you're a better designer than anyone in my firm. I asked to see the preliminary designs on the compound because I want to work with you to finish them, be a fly on the wall, so to speak. No charge and I don't want any credit for the work. What I want is to learn from you. We have competent draftsmen in the firm that can do the working drawings, and I'll supervise them. And I'll interface with the various engineers we'll engage for their specialties." She smiled. "I'm a good designer. Working with you will make me a better designer. I don't need or expect an answer right now, but please say you'll at least consider my request."
As Aaron MacDonald, I worked solo, designed the projects I was awarded, and had arrangements with two other architectural firms to do the grunt work. The idea of supervising an employee gave me the shivers. But Angela wasn't talking about an employer/employee relationship. It might be fun to work with another designer, toss ideas back and forth, have Angela pursue one approach to a design problem while I pursued another, not to mention that Angela turned me on more than Shelly. Working together could evolve into a more intimate relationship—or not. Angela and Shelly were involved romantically. I wouldn't intrude on their relationship. One quandary had to be overcome to make the collaboration work, though.
"Angela, we're sitting in my design studio. As you can see, it isn't big enough for two designers to function properly." Then an idea occurred to me. "Come with me," I said. I walked her to the room in the inn that I'd commandeered for my art studio. It was next to the design studio.
Over the past month, I'd had some successes with watercolor paintings that I had not destroyed—yet. They were matted and pinned to the studio walls. A large, unfinished canvas sat on an easel. It was an acrylic painting of Cathedral Rock at sunset, an artistic cliché in Sedona, perhaps, but a majestic Arizona sunset as the backdrop for one of Sedona's premier red rock formations had captured my attention and imagination.
"This is my art studio," I said. "If we tear out..." That's when I noticed Angela wasn't paying any attention to me. She was studying my paintings.
"You did these paintings?" she said, her voice projecting disbelief.
"Yes. As I was saying, if we tear out a portion of the common wall between the two studios, with a little rearranging, I think there will be room for the two of us to work together."
While continuing to look at my paintings, she said, "Yes, that would work."
I chuckled. "You like my paintings, huh?"
"I love them! Your talent for composition and color is amazing."
"Thank you. I've decided that art will be my life's work."
She turned to me and said, "How old are you, Debra?"
"I'll be twenty in April," I said.
"Shelly told me your cockamamie story, what she referred to as a collection of lies. Like her, I didn't believe your story. After witnessing first hand your architectural design expertise and your astonishing talent as an artist, I'm inclined to accept your story. I can think of no other explanation for a person as young as you with no education or training but with the abilities you can so adroitly demonstrate."
I chuckled. "Idiot savant comes to mind."
She laughed and said, "Or prodigy if we were talking about art only. Exceptional architectural design demands more than innate ability, though. Architecture demands in-depth knowledge beyond artistic talent. The profession requires knowledge of the various engineering specialties, building and zoning codes, construction materials and methods, and many other knowledge-based skill sets that cannot be labeled instinctive or innate. We're talking about proficiencies and knowledge that must be learned, Debra." She shook her head as if in denial.
"Did Shelly tell you about Hector?"
She laughed and nodded. "Hector sounded like the biggest lie of all."
"I know what you mean. Angela, put yourself in my shoes. My first memory was a light brighter than the interior of a star. Then blackness descended on me. I woke up to find that I'm a nineteen-year-old female with no knowledge of how to be female. My past is a complete blank. Then I'm told that I'm supposed to be retarded, a nineteen-year-old with a six-year-old intellect. But I'm not retarded. My mind is brisk and clear. I have an intellect beyond of my chronological age. I can speak again. I know how to drive a car and read and write. I know tai chi and krav maga. I'm adept at architectural design and art. I'm a professional poker player. Angela, my parents tell me I haven't spent one day in school. Where did the skill sets and knowledge come from? During a discussion with my parents, I called what happened to me a miracle. My father says it was a gift from God. In the end, I concluded that some controlling force in the universe, like a God, if the force is in fact not God, singled me out for reasons I can't fathom and bestowed gifts of knowledge and know-how on me. That's terrifying, Angela, and when I'm frightened I tend to make light of the situation, instill some comic relief, if you will, so I labeled the controlling force Hector."
"You had no knowledge about how to be a female?" she said.
"Not at first. I didn't know how to put on makeup, for example, and I had to learn how to walk in high heels. So while Hector was generous with some of his gifts, he left out some of the knowledge and know-how I need to function as a woman. He also screwed up in another way. Women excite me sexually, not men. When I finally figured that gem out, I looked to the heavens, shook my fist, and cursed Hector for playing a dirty trick on me."
Angela laughed heartily. Then abruptly she turned serious. "At least you're not a switch hitter, like me. Sometimes I feel schizophrenic, Debra. Shelly hates it that a man can excite me on occasion."
"Is that why the two of you have a relationship but not a committed relationship?"
"Partially, but I'm more reluctant about committing than Shelly. Sexually, I prefer women, but I also want children. Because I'm bisexual that can happen. I won't give up the possibility of future children for any woman." She sighed. "Shelly says we can adopt or visit a frozen semen bank, but..." Tears stung her eyes. "Truth be told, Debra, I not only want children, I also want my children to grow up with a father and a mother, not two mothers. I guess what I want is an almost normal marriage. I say almost, because my future husband must understand my need to be with a woman as well as with him."
I nodded. I knew there were some men out there that would happily accept such an arrangement, especially if Angela were willing to share the other woman with her husband. I didn't express my opinion.
"Let's go to lunch," I said.
Stan Michelson was not a handsome man. He was short, a little pudgy, and was losing his thin blond hair, but I'd never met a man in any of my lives that displayed more energy and enthusiasm. He was also an extraordinary marketer and salesman. He had arrived for our meeting in a conference room at L'Auberge' with a bevy of beautiful ladies. A bevy might be an exaggeration unless four ladies constituted a bevy.
Stan was a licensed real estate broker, and his ladies were licensed agents, but his firm offered more than the typical real estate organization. After I presented the preliminary designs for the project, we discussed what we wanted in a brochure, the advertising media we'd explore, our target markets, and how we'd reach them. Market research wasn't an issue, except for updating the data Stan had already accumulated. And then we talked about public relations and promotional events.
During a break, one of Stan's pretty ladies approached me. "Hi, Ms. Oakman, the condos are awesome. If we can make a deal, I'd like to buy one of them."
I dug deep and finally remembered her name. "Sue Thomas, right?"
"Yes. My daughter and I are living in a house right now, and..."
"How old is your daughter?"
"Candy is five"
"Why a condo instead of a house?"
"I hate yard work, and we have a huge yard. The house sits on an acre. I got the house in the divorce settlement, which was a good thing, but upkeep on the house and grounds is costing me an arm and a leg. If I sell the house, I can pay cash for one of the condos and have enough left over to set up a trust for my daughter's education." She grinned. "Depending, of course, on the deal we make on the condo."
"What about the creek? Won't it be dangerous for your daughter?"
"No. She's a fish. I taught her how to swim when she was a baby. The swimming pool for the project is another plus, and the elementary school Candy would attend if we moved into one of the condos is the best in the city. I talked with Stan. He's a sweetheart. He said I could have the entire commission, not just my share."
"Let's look at the floor plans, and you can point out the unit you prefer," I said.
She selected a four-bedroom unit with a creek view.
"Dad and I tentatively priced that unit at $650,000," I said.
"It's worth more," she said. "While you were doing your presentation, Stan whispered to me that your prices were too low, and I agree with him. A 3,000 square-foot ground-floor unit with a creek view will easily sell for $750,000. Prime condos are going for about $250 per square foot in Sedona, and although the project is small at only thirty units, in my humble opinion it will be considered the best of the best when it's finished."
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