Closer (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Had he lost her or had he pushed her away
?

Sven sank deeper into his black leather sofa and stared at the Monet painting.  He had spent the morning counting and recounting the water lilies, certain every time he tried he lost one more lily in the process.  It had been a bad morning with visits from both Celeste and Inez, and now his eyesight was failing him again.  He had one more day until the opening of The Spire, and then he would be forced to come to a decision about going to Shanghai.  But all of it seemed impossible—even meaningless—without her help. 
But it was more than her help that he wanted
, he thought, while his unpatched eye drifted over the blurry water lilies.  It was also her companionship that he craved.  She had come this morning to check on him, exactly as she promised she would, and somehow, for some reason, his bitter and hardened heart had pushed her away the moment there was conflict between them. 
Yes, he had pushed her away
. 

He heard the familiar ring tone from his pocket. 
His office
.

“Yes,” he answered, irritated.  He wanted the caller to know he was interrupting him.

“Are you alone or with your new girlfriend?” Hans fired at him in Dutch. 

Sven paused, resisting the urge to fling an answer back at him.  The only time they spoke in Dutch was when they weren’t alone and they didn’t want to be understood by the people around them.  Hans clearly wanted to discuss something covertly.

“That depends…do you want to discuss business or my sex life?”

“Business, Sven.” Hans sounded faintly amused. “I know you hold your sex life in high regard, but it’s of little interest to me.”

Ironic
, Sven thought.  Especially since he was now the one sleeping with Celeste.

“I don’t think it’s wise of you to be holding out on signing the Shanghai deal,” Hans warned him. 

“Is that why you sent Celeste here this morning?  To convince me to sign on as lead architect?”

“I thought that she would have more influence than me.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Sven sighed loudly and stretched out his legs.  He was already growing bored with the conversation and he wanted Hans to know it.  “Neither of you have any influence on me.”

“Ahh, I see.  Then, Celeste is right.  The only one who influences you these days is the little girl.”

Sven suddenly rose from the couch.  The way he said
klein meisje
made it sound like Sven was fucking an under-aged teenager, and if Hans had been there—standing in front of him—Sven would have lunged at him with the same violence that inspired the accident on his yacht.

“You mean Inez,” Sven corrected him.

“Yes, the Mexican.  Celeste says the only way you’re going to Shanghai is if she goes with you.  She says you’re in love, but I told her you’ve never been in love in your life.”

“I’m sure Celeste appreciates hearing that,” Sven replied wryly.  But Hans dismissed him.

“Are you really letting your cock determine whether or not you’re going to sign onto the biggest deal of your career?”

“I thought my sex life was of little importance to you,” Sven shot back.  His patience was waning and his brother’s crudeness reminded him of how different they were and everything he hated about sharing the van der Meer name with him. 

Hans laughed.  “It’s true, although the little girl certainly has put a spell on you.  Watercross won’t wait for you forever.  After the opening tomorrow night, he’s headed to Shanghai to meet with the Chinese officials about finalizing the construction permits for the Li Long Towers.  I’m planning on joining him.  You should be there as well.”

“And what will you do if I’m not?”

It was a veiled threat and Hans understood it.

“Watercross is selling The Spire to Harvey Zale.  He’ll have the capital and the clout.  I carry the van der Meer name.  We’ll find a way to move forward without you.  Can you say the same thing, brother?”

The line fell silent and for a brief moment, Sven simply didn’t care. As if Hans feared he had lost Sven’s cooperation completely, he softened his tone.  “Watercross still needs an architect to design and build the towers, and there’s a new opportunity here to rebuild the van der Meer empire.”

Rebuilding an empire
.  Two years ago, Sven had felt like an emperor, striving for professional acclaim through his most ambitious endeavor—his design and construction of The Spire.  Now, as he sank back down into his leather sofa, he could barely count ten water lilies on the Monet painting and his head ached with remorse while considering everything he had lost during his quest for greatness.  He had become a shadow of the man he once was, and that man was someone he had no desire to become again. 
Who was he now
?  He dared not pose the question.  He only knew that he felt financially and professionally trapped and going to Shanghai seemed like the only option for maintaining his shadow rather than endure the consequences of it disappearing completely.

“Bring the contract with you tomorrow night,” Sven finally said, rubbing his forehead and surrendering himself to the undercurrent of pain that had plagued him.

He didn’t wait for Hans’ response.  He simply hung up, ending the call, and tossed his phone to the other end of the sofa.  His mind immediately focused on her.  He was willing to pay her whatever she wanted to come with him.  Double, even triple per night. 
But would she be willing to accept him
?  He doubted it.  She thought the worst about him in every way and his actions towards her this morning reinforced all those beliefs.  Still, a fleeting hope simmered beneath his stubborn pride and he quickly retrieved his phone.

“James?” he called into the receiver.

“Yes, sir?” his driver attentively answered.

“Did you already return Miss Sanchez to her home after her fitting at Ebony’s?”

“Yes, sir.  Of course.”

Sven paused and hesitated before launching his next inquiry. “Was she accompanied by a man?”

“A man, sir?”

“Yes, like a boyfriend.”

“No, sir. There wasn’t anyone with her except her baby.”

A rush of confusion coursed through Sven’s chest.  “Her baby?” He rubbed his furrowing brow.

“Yes, sir.  After Ebony’s, she instructed me to return to the apartment building at Paulina.  She told me not to wait for her because she was done for the day, so I idled the car at the curb for a few moments to check my phone messages.  But then she came out again, saying she had changed her mind, and asked if I would drive her and her baby to the mansion in Ravenswood Manor. So of course I drove them there.”

“The same mansion you’ve taken her to the past two nights?”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

Sven rubbed his jaw, painstakingly allowing every frame of interaction with Inez to flash through his mind.  Then, he replayed them all again with one pivotal revision—
she was a young mother with a baby
.

“Please…” Sven finally said after a long pause of reflective silence.  “Please meet me downstairs.  I’d like you to drive me there as soon as possible.”

* * * *

“Yes, sir.  I’m certain this is it.” It was the third time that James confirmed the address.

Sven peered out the car window at the rundown house.  It had taken thirty minutes to drive from downtown to the Northside and across the river into Ravenswood Manor, and the thought of turning back without her no longer seemed like an option.  He squinted harder.  His vision was fading with every hour, but the bright afternoon sunlight allowed him to make out the familiar silhouette of the nineteenth-century brownstone and its aging white gables.  He had redesigned and modernized so many of them during his first years as a junior architect that now it almost seemed like he was viewing an endangered species.  Pushing open the rear door of the Rolls Royce, he exited on his own and guided himself up the stone stairs with the help of the rotting wooden banister. 

He spotted the kaleidoscope of colors above the threshold of the front door. 
Could it be an original Tiffany stained-glass window
?  Raising up onto his toes to peer through it, he quickly realized it would be impossible for him to make out anything beyond its iridescent blue and green glass.  He swept his hand along the door frame for a doorbell, but failed to find one.  Instead, he zeroed in on the lion’s head door knocker. 
Original to the house
, he smirked, knowing the wear on its bronze patina couldn’t be faked.  He knocked twice using its nose ring, the solid walnut door shuddering with the tolling clank of the metal like an echo through a cavernous tomb.

His smile faded when a woman’s sharp voice belted through the door.  “If you bang on my door again, I’ll call the police after I shoot you dead with my .45”

Sven raised his hands like he was under arrest. “I’m sorry...” he paused, waiting to be mortally wounded before backing away to the edge of the stairs. “I don’t mean to be intrusive.”

“That’s what they all say,” the woman’s voice spat back like a slap.  “Real polite like that, too.”

Uncertain, Sven fell silent.

“Look, I’ll do us both a favor and give it to you straight,” the woman continued without opening the door.  “I don’t believe in God, so I don’t need to be saved.  I don’t need any fancy makeup because I’m old and crusty.  And I can’t eat any of them Girl Scout cookies because of my blood sugar levels.  So unless you’re selling a frontal massage or a pack of Marlboro Golds, I ain’t interested.”

“I’m not selling anything,” Sven replied, surprised at the waver in his voice.  “I’m looking for someone.  Miss Inez Sanchez.  I was told she lives here, but I think I must be mistaken…”

He started to turn down the stairs when the sound of unbolting locks stopped him.  He glanced back at the door and made out a blurry old woman peering out the door.

“You don’t sound like that cheating rat bastard boyfriend of hers.  Are you?”

Sven hesitated.  He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that.  “I hope not.”

“Well…” The woman turned her nose up into the air like she was sniffing him out.  “You’ve got an accent, but it’s not Latino.”

“No, I’m Dutch.  My name is Sven.  Sven van der Meer.  Could you please tell Inez I’m here to see her?”

“Sven van der Meer?  The famous architect?”

“Yes.”

“The one who designed The Spire?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, nuts.”  The woman sighed and suddenly closed the door. 

Sven waited, perplexed by the fact that she seemed to know more than he did about the implications of his own name.  He heard the unbolting of three heavy locks before the door swung fully open.

“So you’re Bachelor Number Two.”

Sven hesitated again. “I’m not sure.  Is that a good thing?”

The old woman shrugged.  “Can’t say I’ve been rooting for you.  I’ve got my bets placed on Eddie, the choral director at the church.  But Inez is convinced he’s batting for the other team.”

Sven peered out at her, trying to make out her meaning.  “You mean…he plays baseball?”

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes.  “No, genius.  Gay.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And still lives with his mother.”

“Yes, well…that could get uncomfortable.”

“Not when there’s a baby to care for.  All hands on deck, you know.”

Sven fell silent.  “You mean…Inez’s baby?”

The old woman snorted like he was the dumbest man on the planet.  “No, genius.  Somebody
else’s
baby that she found on the side of the road.”  Wearing only her flannel nightgown, she shuffled onto the porch in her slippers. “Yes, of course,
her
baby.  My great-granddaughter, Luna.”

Luna,
Sven thought. 
She has a baby girl
. “Well, could you please tell her I’m here to see her?”

“Can’t.  She’s out walking Luna in the stroller.”

Sven’s chest tightened with anticipation.  “Please…could I wait for her then?”

“Depends,” the old woman said, chewing on her thoughts.   “How good are you at bingo?”

“I’m the best there ever was.”  It was a lie.  Sven had never played bingo in his life. 

“You got cash?”  The woman eyed him.

“Of course.”  He withdrew his pocket handkerchief and flashed the bills at her.

The woman turned up her nose.  “I’m legally blind, but I can smell the scent of fresh bills from a mile away.”

“Hundred dollar bills.  Mint condition.”

“We’re going to get along.”

“Better than Eddie, the choir director?” Sven asked with humor in his voice.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.  I’m no sweet petunia that just got picked yesterday, and my granddaughter and great-granddaughter deserve the best.”

“I’ll bet you a hundred dollar game of bingo on it,” he offered slyly.