Oh, did we forget to mention, Stella? It burns.
Law, I miss a smooth glass of whiskey.
Whew. I don’t. That stuff killed me.
“So what do you do?” Kiyoko’s voice drips with honey.
“I’m an architect,” Starkweather says. He leans toward her and winks. “That’s someone who builds buildings.”
Kiyoko’s hands curl into fists. But her face somehow remains plastered with a brilliant smile. “No way! Did you build the Empire State Building?”
“Well, no, I—”
“Or how about the White House? I hear that’s a real beauty.”
“No, no—”
“Or ooh! Grand Central? That’s my favorite building in all of New York.”
Starkweather holds up three more fingers to the bartender, who rushes over and refills our glasses. I blink. I drink. I wheeze.
How is Kiyoko doing this?!
They’re chattering more. Three more fingers get shot at the bartender. Three more amber-colored drinks are poured. Starkweather slurs, “Wanna see my blueprints?”
I can’t drink another, I’m sure of it.
Toss it over your shoulder, lass.
There’s a potted plant right behind you.
If you only knew how many young women have watered that plant with their cocktails.
I quietly dump the whiskey into the plant. By the time I’m done, we’re scrambling off the barstools and out the door, tailing Starkweather.
“C’mon, Rose!” Kiyoko says, eyes wide and wild. “Mr. Starkweather is going to show us his blueprints! So exciting!”
I walk back to the offices in a spinny, dizzy, stomach-gurgling haze. We pass the security guard with ease, and as Kiyoko glides by him, she scratches the corner of her pouty lips with her middle finger.
The elevator is hot and cramped. Butding!We finally make it to the right floor.
“Ding!” I repeat.
Our girl is tipsy, y’all!
More than tipsy, I’d say!
“Shhhh!” I whisper, and whirl about to shush Spirit. Starkweather narrows his eyes at me before leading us down the hallway to his office. There are a few people scattered at desks, thank goodness.
Starkweather’s office has a view of Trinity Church and the graveyard. Something about that feels inevitable, like Spirit reminding me yet again of the ever-presence of death. The architect rolls out a tube of inky blue paper and Kiyokoooohs andahhs. She does this again and again, cooing over this creep’s drawings. None of them are the blueprints for the Potter Building.
She’s going to have to take matters into her own hands.
Kiyoko realizes this. She taps one of the blueprints and says, “This is reminiscent of the Potter Building, is it not?” And then, because I guess she can’t stop herself from giving Starkweather a hint at how clever she truly is: “I mean, the combination of Queen Anne and neo-Grec styles.”
Starkweather sways, drunkenly amazed. “You know that building?”
Kiyoko smiles. “Oh, yes. My aunt Carole lives there. I love that building.”
