Chapter 8

 

November, 1978

 

Juliette took the cassette from the dictation machine and put in a fresh one, ready and waiting for Al’s next batch of letters. A month into her new job and she was beginning to feel more confident. She’d bought a plant for her desk, taken all the tags off the new clothes, and had even gone out to lunch with Sheila a couple of times. She knew how Al took his coffee and which files he preferred to keep in his own office, although she still hadn’t a clue why some were different than others.

“Juliette, I need five copies of this bid.” Al Proletti walked through the connecting door from his office, wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt for the first time with today’s cooler weather.

“Certainly, Al. Right away.” She reached for the sheaf of pages, which he shifted slightly so their fingers touched as she took them.

She blushed and pretended she hadn’t noticed.

“Put those on my desk when you’re done,” he said. “I’ll be at the Bingham site for an hour or so, then I want you to go with me out to the Rossmoor job.”

He turned away, plucking his jacket from the back of his desk chair before walking out the other door into the lobby. She could hear him giving instructions to Sheila, then the outer door opened and closed. Juliette headed for the copy machine which sat in an alcove off the hallway, placed the bid sheets on the paper feed and set the controls.

While paper hummed through the machine she went back to the boss’s office where she picked up his sticky coffee cup and stuck three stray paperclips into the little magnetic holder where they belonged. Sheila spotted her through the open doorway.

“You know where the Rossmoor job is, don’t you?” the older woman said with a sideways grin.

Juliette shrugged.

“Out near Al’s house.” Sheila glanced toward the closed door of Marion Flightly’s office and lowered her voice. “All the new girls eventually get a tour of Al’s house.”

“What are you saying?” Juliette carried the dirty coffee cup and detoured to stand in front of Sheila’s desk. “That he’s coming on to me?”

“Al comes on to all women. Surely you’ve already noticed. He means nothin’ by it. It’s just his way.”

“Have you been to his house?”

“Sure.” Sheila took a long drag on her current cigarette then tapped the ash into the ashtray that already held four butts. “Once on a private tour, four times for the company Christmas parties. It’s quite a place.”

Juliette carried the cup to the little kitchenette, last door at the end of the hall, where she rinsed it and placed it on the drying rack before going back to check on her copies. As she collated and stapled the bid pages she wondered what Sheila had meant by ‘tour.’ She’d watched, in the early days of the new job, assessing the office relationships, speculating on whether Sheila and Al might have had something going. She’d pretty much come to the conclusion they didn’t—Sheila was a few years older than the boss, and she was married—until the remark about getting the tour. Then again, she’d said Al didn’t mean anything by it. Juliette shrugged it off and returned to the pile of files on her own desk.

It was after eleven when Al breezed in, picked up the bids Juliette had stacked on his desk, and peeked into her office. She shut off the dictation machine and removed her earphones.

“Ready for the Rossmoor job?” he asked. “Bring a note pad.”

Well, that sounded safe enough, she decided as she neatened her desk and picked up her steno pad and sweater. Outside, the day had warmed a bit and she ended up draping the sweater over her shoulders. Al led the way to the back lot where he bypassed the company pickup trucks and ushered her to the passenger side of his Porsche. Her heart did a little flutter.

Back in Texas muscle cars were the dream of every boy in high school but none of them dared set their sights on a car this magnificent. Bobby Ray Jackman’s Competition Yellow Boss 302 Mustang was the coolest car she’d ever set foot in, going to the Cree-Mee Drive In for a burger. She touched the door of the sleek black Porsche and settled into her seat. It smelled like expensive leather and the tinted windows sealed her into a private little world.

Al slid into his seat, turned the key and put the car in gear, almost in a single movement. A second later they were making the right turn onto Greenlee Boulevard. He whipped through the lane changes with a swiftness that nearly took Juliette’s breath away. When he pulled into the fast lane of the Interstate, Juliette let herself slip into a little fantasy where the Porsche flew past the yellow Mustang, with Billy Ray gaping at her in astonishment. She smiled through the side window as if he were really there.

“Nice, huh?” Al Proletti said, catching her in mid-smile.

She flushed. A glance at the speedometer told her they were at least thirty miles per hour over the speed limit. Proletti shot a glance toward his side mirror and zipped across three lanes of traffic to take the next exit. Ten minutes later they pulled to the curb in front of a chain link-fenced job site. A sign showing an architect’s rendering of a huge Spanish-style building announced that Pro-Builder Construction was general contractor on the new Rossmoor Golf and Country Club.

Juliette knew bits and scraps of information about the job, the pieces she gleaned from letters she typed and documents she copied. The fifteen million dollar bid was only the beginning, enough to cover earth-moving to form the curving fairways and greens of the golf course. The clubhouse/restaurant pictured on the sign would be added separately. For a girl who’d been living on a little over five hundred dollars a month until recently, those kinds of numbers were surreal.

Al got out of the car and came around to her side. She picked up her notepad and swung her legs around. She struggled a moment to get out of the low car. He didn’t say anything but she hadn’t imagined where his attention went as her skirt slid upward. She smoothed it down and squared her shoulders, standing beside the car and staring out at the massive earth-movers and trucks in the distance.

While the machines crawled over the pale dirt hills, Al had already headed toward the cluster of metal trailers at the front of the property and Juliette followed, tottering on her high heels over the uneven graveled drive. He climbed four steps at the front of the first trailer, opened the door and held it for her. She clutched her steno pad and entered a room with linoleum flooring and walls covered with tacked-up notices and permits. A desk, its surface strewn with papers, sat at one end of the room, but the largest feature was a long worktable where rolled blueprints were unfurled and held in place with two staplers, a metal tape measure and several rocks. A stocky man sat behind the desk, phone to his ear, leaning so far back in his swivel chair that Juliette was surprised it didn’t take off beneath him. He gave her the once-over as she stepped into the room, before he noticed Al behind her.

“I, uh, I’ll call you back, Mr. Sciatone,” he said, snapping upright in his seat, dropping the phone to its cradle. “Mr. Proletti. Didn’t know you was stopping by today.”

“I know,” said Al. His eyes traveled the width of the desk before he turned toward the worktable. He stared at the blueprints, smoothing the top sheet with his hand. “Why aren’t we in phase three yet?”

The man edged his way past the cluttered desk, giving a nod toward Juliette as he passed.

“Sorry. Where are my manners?” Al said. “Juliette, this is Ernie Batista, job foreman.”

Ernie gave her a tentative smile. She never recalled making a man nervous before, but this one was walking on eggshells.

“So?” Al’s question was more pointed this time. “Phase three, Ernie. Talk to me.”

“Well, Mr. Proletti, there was that delay with the concrete delivery …”

“Old news. We got that straightened out three days ago. Why am I not seeing a foundation out there yet?”

“The trench is there, sir, it’s just we had all that rain. An alligator came onto the site and got itself stuck in the trench and none of those bas— uh, guys on the crew would go anywhere close. Finally, Tommy the Shark shot the thing … but they didn’t make such good progress this week.”

Al gave the man a silent stare with his intense blue eyes. “Next guy shirks his duty around here, the gator’s gonna get him.” A long, silent beat went by before Al laughed. “Can you see it now? Some guy shows up to put forms in that trench and there’s this big old gator?”

Ernie’s laugh started as a shaky chuckle but soon he was roaring. Juliette put on a polite smile, not quite sure whether she was meant to be in on this conversation. All at once, Al’s laugh went dead silent.

“Wait outside,” he said to Juliette.

The humor had drained out of the room as if there were a whirlpool in the floor. She dipped her head in a slight nod and did as he ordered. Three seconds later she heard a crash from inside the trailer. She hustled toward the car as quickly as her high heels allowed.

Al’s face was serious when he came out of the trailer but at the car he turned to all smiles. She took her seat and tucked the unused steno pad beside the console.

“Okay,” he announced. “Business done. We’re gonna have some lunch. I got a little something to show you.”

It was as if there had never been a tense moment in the man’s life. She decided whatever had passed between Al and Ernie back there was something purely between them, something that was none of her business. Maybe the men had been friends forever, maybe they joked around like this all the time. She put the whole thing out of her mind as the Porsche roared onto the freeway once again. With her head back against the headrest and the cool breeze from the sunroof, she felt there wasn’t a care in the world she couldn’t handle.

They drove to a part of the city she’d never seen, crossed a bridge and entered a drive where a guard saluted Al and a gate swung silently open revealing large lots with mansions set well back from the streets. He took the turns confidently. Juliette watched for a restaurant, wondering if her simple black skirt and purple blouse would be elegant enough for any place around here.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his fingertips light on her forearm. “You look beautiful.”

She gave a hesitant smile but felt the tingle of the touch long after he’d returned his hand to the wheel. Now he could read her mind?

The sleek car turned right at a narrow drive where straight rows of royal palms formed a colonnade with a tall fountain sparkling in the distance. Al took the lane slowly and swung around the circular drive at the end. A fawn colored building with red tile roof spread out in two wings with a central portico held by tall pillars. Juliette looked for a placard with the name of the place but saw none.

“Home, sweet home,” he said, pocketing the car key and coming around to her side.

This is a house?

She allowed him to take her hand, assisting her out of the car. He let go, shut the car door, and they walked together up a set of stone steps. The massive wooden door led to a foyer larger than her entire apartment. Overhead, a rib-vaulted ceiling showcased painted scenes, like something from the medieval cathedrals she’d read about in novels. Double staircases rose on each side of the entry, with carved pillars and white stonework forming arches that framed a view through two-story-high windows at the back. She could see a shady veranda and gardens that stretched out of sight and had to remind herself not to gape.

“What do you think?” he asked. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

“I think the construction business must be very good.”

He laughed aloud at that. “Just one of my many endeavors, sweetheart.”

Voices from another room snagged their attention. A crease marred Al’s smooth forehead for a moment.

“Hold on a minute.” He left her standing there and crossed the marble floor, his heels clicking solidly. He pushed open a carved door she’d barely had time to notice, and the voices grew louder.

A low exchange of words, deep male voices. Al returned, leaving the door open, and took her elbow.

“Business that can wait,” he murmured, steering her toward the back of the house and the tall glass doors with the veranda beyond.

She caught sight of two men in dark suits emerging from the room where Al had spoken to them. They seemed large and not especially friendly, but they didn’t say a word as they exited by the front door.

“Hungry? Let’s eat first, then I’ll give you a little tour.” He held the wide glass door open, calling to someone unseen as they walked outside.

A table had been laid with china, linen and silver, an enormous arrangement of tropical fruit in the center. He led her to the chair positioned for maximum enjoyment of the view, while he took the one facing the door.

“Ernestina,” he said to the Hispanic woman who appeared at Juliette’s side. “We’ll have our lunch now.”

 

* * *

 

“You wouldn’t believe his place,” Juliette said later, nearly upsetting her wine glass as she described the afternoon to Carol Ann. Her friend had insisted they meet somewhere for happy hour the minute they got off work, and this little wine bar was closest to the bus route.

“Lunch was lobster salad. But, I mean, there was shrimp and crabmeat in there too, and some kind of herbs or spices …or something. I can’t even describe it. And the fresh fruit! And a bread that just practically melted …”

“In other words, you never had anything like it back in Texas, huh?”

“Oh my god—no. It was amazing.”

“Sounds like something completely fitting for the way you described the house.”

“It was like some castle in Europe, Carol Ann. Seriously, seriously fit for a king.”

Carol Ann’s eyes showed a hint of skepticism as she picked up her wine glass.

“And this guy, your boss, is interested in you?”

“Don’t say it like that. He’s just nice. There was nothing inappropriate or forward about the whole day.” Except maybe the nagging doubt Sheila had put into her mind, the remark about how Al came on to all women.

“Come on … he showed me this huge living room where he said they move the furniture out of the way for dancing at parties, and there was a dining room with the longest table you ever saw. And a library—talk about classy books! They all had leather covers and gold print on the backs.” She left out the part about the two men who’d come out of that room. “He didn’t even take me upstairs. If he was making a move on me, don’t you think he would have wanted me to see the bedrooms. I bet they are totally swanky.”

“I’m just saying, it would be dumb to get involved with him. Guys like that just use girls like us. There’s no future in it.”

“I’m not looking for a future with any man. Not yet, anyway.”

“We’ve been out of school almost five years, sweetie. The girls who went to college are already staking out their men, getting married. The girls who didn’t are married already and have a kid or two. I’m just thinking it’s time to start looking around for the guy who’ll be the one, the man you stick with.”

Juliette drained her glass. What if Al Proletti did turn out to be the one for her? She could certainly do worse. But she didn’t say so to Carol Ann.