Gridiron

'Rosa, could I have a pitcher of frozen margaritas, please?'

'Yes, sir, right away.'

In the living room Mitch looked for something to sit on. There were six plain white dining chairs grouped around a dining table. A leatherand-stainless steel recliner and, on two sides of a square glass table, two pairs of Barcelona chairs, twin acts of homage to the great Mies van der Rohe. Mitch tried the Barcelona chair and was immediately reminded of why he had got rid of his own.

He collected a copy of LA Living off the glass table and switched to the recliner. This was the issue he had heard about but not yet seen: the one with Joan Richardson lying naked on a sofa of her own design like some grande odalisque — with the accent on grande, he thought. The issue that had been the cause of her legal action against the publishers for failing to retouch away the large curl of pubic hair that was clearly visible at the base of her fat, Earth Motherish buttocks. With her small, delicate feet, legs swelling rapidly upwards to her Percheron mare's hips, narrowing to a small hoop of a waist, and then swelling once again into the formidable delta that was formed by the plastron of her breasts and her Hulk Hogan-sized shoulders, Joan Richardson bore a strong resemblance to the Fernando Bolero bronze outside the Gridiron. Los Angeles magazine had dubbed the fat lady bronze 'the Venus de Meatloaf'. But around the office they called it JR.

Rosa returned with the pitcher of margaritas and placed it and a tall glass on the table. Mitch sipped it slowly, but it was another hour before Richardson finished what he was doing, by which time the pitcher was finished. Mitch noticed that Richardson had changed into riding pants and boots. He looked like some tyrannical film director of the silent era: D. W. Griffith, or Eric von Stroheim. All he needed was a megaphone.

'OK, Mitch, let's have that brunch,' he said, rubbing his hands. 'Rosa!'

He placed an avuncular hand on Mitch's shoulder. 'So, how are you, buddy?'

Mitch smiled thinly. 'Fine,' he said, although he was angry at having been kept waiting for so long. 'Have you been riding?'

'Oh, you mean this get-up? No, I'm playing polo at twelve,' he said. Mitch glanced at his watch. 'It's eleven-fifteen, Ray,' he said with more than a hint of accusation.

'Damn. Those drawings took longer than I thought. Well, we can still have half an hour together, can't we? You know, we never talk any more. We should spend more time together. And now that the Yu building is almost out of the way, we will. I know we will. Our greatest achievements are ahead of us, I'm certain of it.'

'I've been thinking that I'd like to do more designing,' said Mitch.

'Maybe that factory the Yu Corporation is planning to build in Austin.'

'Sure, Mitch, sure.' Richardson sat down on a Barcelona chair. 'But, you know, anyone can design. It takes a special kind of architect to be a good technical coordinator. To translate those rarefied architectural concepts into practical instructions for the poor bastards who have to build them. Remember that idiot Grabel's design for the roof? A piece of shit. You were the one who fixed it, Mitch. To Grabel it looked like the same roof as before. He didn't understand how impractical the original design had been. It was you, Mitch, you who took it, who looked at the different ways you could do it and who came up with the best way of achieving that roof, practically. Most designers arejust frigging themselves. I know what I'm talking about. They design something because they think it looks nice, but you, you take what looks nice and make it look real. You're bored. I know you've been bored for a while now. It's always like this at the end of a job. But it'll be different when you start something fresh. And don't forget there's a substantial share of profit coming to you on this job, Mitch. Don't forget that, buddy. There's going to be a large cheque due to you at the end of the financial year.'

Rosa arrived with a tray. Mitch helped himself to some orange juice and some kedgeree and started to eat. He wondered if Ray's little pep talk had been the real reason for asking him over. Certainly he thought Richardson could ill afford to lose another senior member of the firm so soon after Allen Grabel. And Ray was right about one thing, at least: good technical coordinators like Mitch were hard to find.'

'When's the practical completion inspection?' asked Richardson, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

'A week Tuesday.'

'Hmm. That's what I thought.' Richardson raised his glass. 'Cheers,' he said.

Mitch tossed his back.

'Tell me, Mitch,' said Richardson, 'are you still seeing Jenny Bao?'

'It would be hard not to. She's the feng shui consultant on the Yu job.'

Richardson grinned unpleasantly. 'Come on, Mitch, you know what I mean. You're fucking her. And why the hell not? Good luck to you, that's what I say. She's a beautiful girl. I wouldn't mind fucking her myself. I always fancied having Chinese, only I never did. Is it a long-term thing, do you think?'

Mitch said nothing for a moment. There seemed little point in denying it. So he said, 'I hope so.'

'Good, good.' He shook his head. 'Alison know about it?'

'Why the sudden interest?'

'Hey, we're friends, aren't we? Can't I ask a friend a friendly question?'

Richardson smiled.

'Is it a friendly question? More to the point, Ray, how did you find out?'

'I've known about it since you took her to the marble factory in Vicenza.' He shrugged. 'A German client was staying at the same hotel as you.'

Mitch put up his hands. 'OK, OK.' He forked some kedgeree into his mouth. He had little appetite now his secret was out. 'You're not eating,' he observed.

Richardson glanced at his watch again. 'I don't want to spoil my game,' he said. 'Besides, I'm not really hungry. You can sure pick them, Mitch. I'll say that for you, buddy. I never figured you for the type.'

All of a sudden Mitch disliked himself almost as much as he disliked Ray Richardson. 'Neither did I,' he said unhappily.

'Look, Mitch, I want you to ask Jenny a small favour.'

'That means it's a large one. What is it?'

'I want you to get Jenny to sign off on the Yu building's feng shui before we go ahead and make the changes.'

'Why?'

'I'll tell you. Mr Yu himself wants to make the inspection, that's why. And he'll feel a lot happier walking around the place if he knows your fucking girlfriend has given it the OK. OK? He'll be less likely to find fault with things. If there was time to make all her half-assed changes before he came on site then we would, but there isn't. It's that simple. Look, Mitch, it's really only for one day. After that she can tear the certificate up again, come up with some new objections if she wants to. But as soon as YK gives it the nod we can hit him with our fees. It's been an expensive few months, what with opening the German office.'

'I hear you. But I'm not sure she'll do it. I know it's a hard thing for someone like you to understand, but she's got principles.'

'Promise her a week in Venice. The two of you. Any hotel you like. The Cipriani, if you want. I'll pay.'

'I'll try my best,' Mitch said wearily, 'but she won't like it. She's not just some kind of fairground gypsy, Ray. It's not a question of crossing her palm with enough silver. Jenny believes in what she does. And don't forget two people have died in that place. Jenny certainly hasn't forgotten.'

'But you will try and persuade her.'

'Yes. Yes, all right, I will try. But it won't be easy. And I want your word, Ray. That if she does sign the certificate, then she won't get screwed. That we'll carry out all the changes like we're supposed to.'

Richardson shrugged. 'Sure. No problem. And screwing her? Well that's down to you, buddy.'