The Pool Boy(24)

“Thanks.” I’m blushing again. Dammit.

He saunters away and there’s no way I’m not looking at his ass. I should go back inside. I should move away in case someone saw him walking away from this direction, but I don’t. I want to sit here for a while longer, keep the moment going as long as I can.

So I do.





11





Vera





The Harrison foundation’s office is in a glitzy part of L.A. filled with boutiques and high-end restaurants. I’m pleasantly surprised by the relaxed nature of their offices. They have many windows, and everything is filled with natural light.

The interview itself feels like it is speeding by, but I think it’s going well. The founder of the company, Rebecca Harrison, likes my work. As we get further into it, I realize that she is especially interested in my ELIH designs. The Harrison Foundation, in addition to their more high profile projects, does a significant amount of charity work.

When we’ve finished she asks if I’d like to visit one of their sites under construction. Of course I immediately accept. Seeing designs and concepts is one thing, seeing a building come into existence is a whole different ball game. The design we’re going to see is a new town center, surrounded by houses, stores, and apartments. While we make our way over there, Rebecca tells me more about their charity work—which is also tied to this project. “It’s hard,” Rebecca says. “You have to balance the cost of the pro-bono construction with projects that are profitable, but we do what we can. I’ve chosen for the time being to focus on people who have lost their homes—particularly veterans and their families who have lost their houses due to medical bills.”

“That’s great,” I say.

“I’d like to expand the criteria we use at some point, but we’re not at the place where we have the capital.” She glances over at me and smiles. “We’re not a juggernaut like your father’s company.”

I laugh, trying to hide my nervousness. “That’s really okay with me. I’m looking for something a bit smaller and more personal.”

“Well we certainly are that.” She turns off the main road. “Anyway, several of the homes under construction in this neighborhood are part of our charity initiative. We contract the work to people who specialize in low-income housing. They know how to stretch the money further than we do, and that allows me to take on a couple more charity projects every year. Every little bit counts when you’re helping families survive.”

We’re driving through the bones of a neighborhood now. The skeletons of houses rising here and there. Here on the edges of the neighborhood things are just getting started and it looks more like a wasteland than the suburbs, but I can already tell it will be a nice place to live. Deeper into the neighborhood the houses become more finished, closer to being livable.

Rebecca slows down and points to a house on the right. “This is one of our pro-bono houses.”

It’s a nicely designed house. The framework is for a two-story house, and it looks like the windows and doors have recently gone in and the siding is mostly completed. “Looks like it will be beautiful,” I say.

“I hope so.”

Just then, a construction worker comes around the house carrying several two-by-fours, and I have to keep my mouth from falling open. It’s James. James is working on this house.

My mind goes blank—why is he here? He works construction as well as landscaping? I mean…the fields are certainly compatible, but…

Everything inside of me tells me this doesn’t make sense, but I don’t have time to puzzle it out. We’re driving on and into the town center, which is a beautiful confection of textures and color, a subdued color scheme of greys and blues along with stone and glass. It looks finished—minus retailers in the storefronts.

“This is gorgeous,” I say.

“Thank you.” Rebecca pulls into a parking space in the vast empty lot. “We’re hoping to use this as a model and show towns the benefits of creating built-in communities. If successful, I’d like to think we’ll build them all over the country.” She walks me around the town center, and it’s impressive. In the back of my mind I’m still freaking out about James, but I force myself to focus—this is more important.

After a tour and some final questions on Rebecca’s part, we say our goodbyes. As I retrieve my bag and portfolio from her car, she asks, “Are you sure you don’t need a ride back to my office?”

“No, thank you,” I say. “I’ve got a family appointment, and I’m going to meet them. I’ll have someone pick me up. Thank you so much for showing me this. It’s lovely.” It’s sort of a lie, but a small one. I just know I can’t leave here yet.