“This is amazing,” Phylicia said, running her fingers along a carved mantel. “Just look at the craftsmanship.”
“This is characteristic of many of the homes in this neighborhood, isn’t it?” Jamal asked.
She nodded. “The houses in this area were built around the same time period as Belle Maison.” She looked over at him then dropped her face into her hands. “Oh my God, you’re going to ruin this place, aren’t you?”
“Hey!” Jamal protested.
“Why? Why? Why?” she muttered. Her muffled voice held a painful edge. “Why don’t you rent out some office space in the CBD?”
“I don’t want to be in the central business district,” he said, walking over to the fireplace. “And I will not ruin this house. I’m going to update it with more environmentally friendly materials.”
Phylicia groaned, the sound not unlike a wounded animal being kicked in the stomach for good measure.
“The house is very sound, but could probably benefit from a bit of updating,” the Realtor said.
“The whole point of my firm will be to combine the old with the new,” Jamal explained. “I’ll probably replace the windows with a more energy-efficient brand, and add insulation. I can cut the energy costs by more than thirty percent.”
“If you can pull off something like that while maintaining the integrity of the house, you will have a lot of business coming your way,” Tiffany said.
“Thank you,” Jamal said. He turned to Phylicia. “At leastsomeonethinks my ideas are good.” She just rolled her eyes.
As they continued their tour, Jamal pictured how he would set up the rooms. The first floor would house displays of green technology and a media room where he could show his clients video clips of how things worked. The second story would house the offices. The third floor was the perfect space for him to convert into living quarters for those days when he didn’t want to make the hour-long drive back to Gauthier. The two bedrooms, bathroom, small living area, and decent kitchen would suit his needs just fine.
“So, what do you think?” Tiffany asked.
It was perfect.
In fact, the house was so perfect, he was tempted to write a check right now.
But something held him back, and it didn’t take much soul searching to pinpoint just what it was.
Fear.
Jamal hated to put that label on it, but it could not be denied. It was the same fear that always traveled along his spine whenever he thought about finally getting serious about his firm. He hated that fear. And he knew exactly what was driving it, which made him hate it even more.
You can do this,he told himself. Despite his father’s insistence that he wouldn’t be able to succeed without falling back on the Johnson name, Jamal knew that he could make this architectural firm work.
But instead of the wordsI’ll take itpouring from his mouth, he said, “I’ll have to think about it a bit more. Let me know if the owners get any more offers.”
“Of course,” the Realtor said.
He ushered Phylicia out of the house and climbed into his truck, then headed back toward the Pontchartrain Expressway.
“Would you mind taking a short detour?” Phylicia asked. “I want to see what they have at the Green Project in the Ninth Ward. They may have some pieces we can use at Belle Maison.”
“The Green Project?” he asked.
“You mean you haven’t heard of it? Mr. President of the Environmentally Friendly Club?”
“Uh-oh,” Jamal said. “Will my membership be revoked?”
“It just might.” Phylicia laughed. She guided him to the Saint Roch neighborhood, where the huge warehouse of reclaimed building material was located. They picked through vintage ironwork, brass doorknobs and bathroom fixtures, and even intricately wood-carved faceplates for light switches.
“I cannot believe you’ve never even heard of this place,” Phylicia said. “I would have thought that as someone who’s about to open an architectural firm specializing in green technology, you’d have scoped out places like this one.”
“I’m sure I would have run across it eventually,” he said. “I’m just not at that point in my plans yet.”
“How far are you?” she asked.
