SC-Epilogue, Part 5b

Nov 1996 – Jun 1997

✧ ✧ ✧

Trip knocked on my office door about a week later. It was open, and he didn’t wait for an answer before he sank into the chair across from me. It was one of those conversations, so I saved my work and turned to face him.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I think you might be onto something with this tree-hugger nonsense.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “would you repeat that?”

“It’s a unique selling proposition, and we can use it to our advantage.”

He’d been calling me a tree-hugger for years, since before our Master’s degrees. He usually did it whenever I climbed onto my soapbox about the environment and sustainable design. He called me Mother Paul whenever I talked about social responsibility and architecture.

Part of me wanted to blame him for being an asshole, but he was mostly a reflection of the people around him. Harvard had been a hyper-competitive program, and his friends had been old-school capitalist types. The words “social” and “progressive” were anathema in any combination. Case in point, they thought Gordon Gekko was the hero of Wall Street, not the villain.

Fortunately, Trip knew me well enough to realize I’d eventually punch him in the face if he kept calling me a tree-hugger or Mother Paul. And I knew him well enough to stay off my soapbox when he was around. Our unspoken truce had kept the peace for years, although time away from Harvard had clearly changed him.

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, “I might have been a jerk before, but I’m serious now. I think we can use it to differentiate ourselves from the competition.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, “then maybe you should stop calling it ‘nonsense.’”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll do better. So, tell me more about this green building thing.”

“That’s a pretty broad question. What ‘thing’ in particular?”

“Start at the top.”

“The Green Building Council?”

“Yeah. I need to be able to sell it. As far as I can tell, none of the big firms are doing it, so it gives us a huge competitive advantage.”

“Okay. Here goes…”

✧ ✧ ✧

I didn’t think Trip was serious about selling our services as environmentally conscious architects, but he surprised me. He brought in more work over the next month than I thought possible, and almost all of it was green.

Even better, our new clients weren’t just people who wanted houses. We signed a contract to design a three-story office building for a health food company, and an outdoor equipment company wanted us to design a 23,000-square-foot store to anchor a new shopping center. We weren’t big enough to manage the construction as well, but it was a huge step in the right direction.

I worked eighty hours a week and still couldn’t keep up.

“Hire someone,” Trip said when I complained. “That’s your department, anyway. Personnel. You’re way better at it than I am.”

Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him that my people skills were better than his.

“Why can’t you help?” I argued.

“Hiring?”

“No, with the design. You still have your license.”

“Uh-uh. Division of labor. I hunt, you gather. Speaking of which, we need to go to Alabama. Can you fly us?”

“Alabama? What the hell for?”

“Country club. Oh, and what happened to that landscape architect I asked you about?”

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “I’ve been working nonstop.”

“Well, find someone. We’ll need him in Alabama. Hustle up. Time is money.”

“Time is money,” I griped under my breath as I left his office. Still, I caught Shari’s eye on the way past her desk. “Grab your notepad.” I settled behind my own desk, and she sank into the chair opposite. “Sorry,” I said. “I should’ve said please.”

She smiled and nodded toward the wall that separated my office from Trip’s.

“Mmm,” I agreed.

“Anyway, what’s up, boss?”

I smiled at that. She never called Trip “boss.” He was always “Trip” or “Mr. Whitman,” depending on who she was talking to.

“You remember Whitney Arden?” I said without preamble, and Shari nodded. “Is she still with Barbara McKay?”

“I don’t know, but I can find out.” She made a note.

Whitney had been my last intern at Whitman-Hughes, and she had a mind for details. I’d sent her to Barbara to finish her internship. I’d even offered to pay her salary, but Barbara had found the money in her budget. Whitney would have her license by now, and I needed her organizational skills.

“On second thought,” I said, “just get me Barbara’s number, please.”

Barbara was a great architect, but she didn’t have Trip’s talent for business. I suspected she was still eking out a living, just like she’d been doing when I’d sent Whitney to her.

“You got it,” Shari said.

“We’re going to need an interior designer, too. I can do it myself, but…”

“You have bigger fish to fry.” She made a note. “I know someone. You’ll like her. She’s just your type.”

“Um…”

“Not like that,” Shari laughed easily. “I mean professionally. Besides, you aren’t…” She nodded again toward Trip’s office.

“No.”

I didn’t think Trip had ever slept with anyone who worked for us, but I wouldn’t have ruled it out. He wasn’t the type to cheat on Wren, either, but he probably wouldn’t consider it cheating if it only happened once.

Shari read my expression and nodded ruefully.

“Moving on,” I sighed. “Give me your friend’s name. That’ll take care of the interiors. Now, let’s talk about a structural engineer. Do you know anyone?”

“A few,” she said as she wrote, “but I’m not sure how happy they are where they are. I’ll ask around. We might have to put ads in the paper.” She lifted her pen and studied me for a moment. “Do we have the money for all this hiring?”

“We should,” I hedged, “but that’s Trip’s department. I’ll need to talk to him about salaries. We have money in the bank, but…”

“We don’t have the cash flow yet,” she finished.

“Exactly. Anyway, I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, let’s keep going. What happened to that landscape guy? Drake something?”

“Robert Drake. Goes by Bob.”

“Can you call him? Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t get back to him sooner.”

“No problem. I’ll handle it.”

“Also, let’s find someone to take over the phones and front desk.”

Shari raised an eyebrow.

“You have more important things to do.”

“Such as?” She grinned. She was enjoying herself.

“Being a real office manager, not just a glorified receptionist. First things first, though. If we hire all these people…”

“We’re going to need a bigger office. I’ll talk to the landlord. The space next door is available.”

“Okay. Thanks. What else?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Let me start making calls.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The phone rang on Christmas afternoon, and I heard Laurie answer it. I went looking when she didn’t yell for Christy or me. We’d already talked to Christy’s parents and the Carmichael side of the family. My own parents were coming for dinner, so it probably wasn’t them either. I figured it was Erin. Sure enough, Laurie was chattering away.

“Uh-huh, three of them. Labrador retrievers. No, little ones, puppies. They had bows and everything, just like regular presents. They were from Santa Claus, but he must’ve told Daddy and Mommy, ’cause they were waiting for us with the video camera. Oh my gosh, they’re so adorable! The yellow one’s a girl. We’re going to call her Molly. The black ones’re boys, Spike and Bucket. No, Bucket. Susie named him.”

We were still scratching our heads about that one. At least the other two made sense, as Laurie was happy to explain.

“Daddy says they’re good swimmers. The dogs, I mean. So I named mine Molly, ’cause of the Unsinkable Molly Brown. I did a report on her. Emily named hers Spike. He’s the dog in Rugrats. Do you watch Rugrats? Oh, you should. It’s really good. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, I wanted to call him Doug, but Daddy said it was Em’s choice. We don’t know why Susie picked Bucket, but Daddy said we can call him Buck, so that’s his name.”

She talked for a little while longer and thanked Erin for the gifts she’d sent.

As she did, I surveyed the living room. Kids and dogs had left toys, boxes, and bits of wrapping paper that radiated outward from the Christmas tree. Laurie’s presents sat in a haphazard pile where she’d opened them by the hearth. Emily’s were stacked neatly under the tree, with the boxes in ascending order of size. Susie’s were all over the place, wherever she’d left them, although she at least had the excuse that she was only two.

“Hold on, Daddy’s here,” Laurie said. “Okay. I love you too. Merry Christmas. Bye. Only, don’t hang up. I’m going to give the phone to Daddy. Don’t hang up, okay?” She hopped off the couch and passed me the handset. “It’s Aunt Erin,” she said politely. “Where are the puppies?”

“Asleep with Em in her room. I think you wore them out.” She ran off, and I called after her, “Remember to knock if her door’s closed.”

I listened for a ruckus but didn’t hear one, so I relaxed and sank to the couch. I raised the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Er. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Laurie was telling me about the puppies. She sounds so mature. And so articulate!”

“It runs in the family,” I chuckled. “You doing okay? Did you and Tom have a good Christmas?”

“We did. It was low-key. Sounds like the opposite of you and the girls.”

“Yeah, it was pretty crazy around here. Everyone’s worn out at this point—kids, dogs, and grown-ups too.”

We chatted for a couple of minutes and caught up.

“Okay, let’s get serious,” she said at last. “I wanted to talk to you before Mom and Dad get there.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I have news.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Oh, God, no!”

“Just checking,” I teased.

“No, but Tom and I are talking about getting married.”

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you. We moved in together in August. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to tell Mom.”

“Seriously? You know I don’t tell her things unless you say it’s okay.”

“I know,” she admitted. “But… I guess I wanted to make sure before I told anyone. Anyway, I’m not going to mention the wedding to Mom until we decide a few things.”

“Such as?”

“We’re thinking spring break.” She told me the date. “Does that work for you?”

“I’ll have to check the school calendar,” I said, “but it should.”

“Awesome. Next, we want a small ceremony, just family and a few close friends. Something like Leah and Mark had. But Mom’s gonna try and talk me into a lavish affair. Tom’s publicist wants the same thing, but he can handle her. I need your help with Mom. I mean, I don’t want a big all-day thing like you and Christy had.”

“Well, you aren’t Catholic, so you’re off the hook there. The rest is up to you. I mean, yeah, Mom would like to do the whole mother-of-the-bride thing, but she knows it’s your decision.”

“I hope you’re right,” Erin said.

“Trust me.” I paused, and we shared a long-distance smile. “I’m happy for you, Er.”

“Thanks. I’m happy too.” She laughed softly. “I was beginning to wonder…”

“Nah. We always knew it would happen. Leah even called it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she said you’d be thirty before you settled down.”

“Eh, thirty… thirty-one.”

“Exactly. Close enough. So, what’re you thinking? Beach wedding and the Macarena? Sesame Street and Tickle Me Elmo? Oh, I know…!”

✧ ✧ ✧

Paul+Hughes Design continued to add clients and employees at a blistering pace, which created a different kind of problem.

“I think we might be growing too quickly,” Trip said one evening over a glass of whiskey, our standard debrief at the end of the day.

“Is that really a thing?”

“Absolutely. If we spend all our time getting new clients, we can’t take care of the ones we have.”

“Makes sense. Even with the new people, my group’s been going full-throttle since Christmas. We haven’t missed any deadlines, but we’re looking at serious burnout if we keep it up.”

Trip and I had taken a short break for Erin’s wedding, but we’d returned to the same workload we’d left.

“Yeah,” he said judiciously. “I think I’m going to slow down on the new business front.”

“We also need a break,” I added, “something like a company picnic. And maybe bonuses for everyone, for all the hard work.”

“Profit sharing? Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Let Shari plan it. The picnic, I mean.”

“That’s your department.”

“Mmm. And speaking of Shari, I think we need to elect her to the Board of Directors.”

“No,” Trip said immediately, although he frowned and thought about it. “Why?”

“The Board has to represent the whole company,” I said. “It can’t be just the principals. The regular employees need a voice.”

“That isn’t technically what the Board is for, but it doesn’t matter. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“You know this isn’t a democracy, right?”

“It’s an oligarchy,” I said. “But we live in a democracy, so it’s what people expect. We need to listen to them.”

“So you’re a politician now, too?” he laughed. Then he paused and eyed me curiously. “When did you become such a socialist reformer? I mean, you used to be a good capitalist like me.”

“I’m still a capitalist,” I said, the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “But I also know how to build a house.”

“So do I. But… what the hell does that have to do with capitalism?”

“My designs are just pretty pictures without the people who swing the hammers.” I waited for him to make a snarky comment about sickles, but he didn’t make the connection to the old Soviet Union.

“That’s true enough,” he said instead.

“So we need to add Shari to the Board,” I repeated.

“Gimme a sec.” He stared into space and considered it. “Do you trust her?”

“Completely.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She’s friends with everyone, and she understands the business side.”

“She’s totally loyal, too.”

“To you or the company?” he snorted. Then he quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you aren’t…?”

I didn’t dignify it with an answer.

“I’m just kidding,” he laughed. Then he turned serious and considered the question. “Yeah, okay, you’re right,” he said at last. “How about this, let’s compromise. We need to keep the Board for its intended purpose, which is to protect shareholder value. It does other things, but that’s our main fiduciary responsibility.”

“Even though we’re the only shareholders, you and me and our wives?”

“The only shareholders for now,” he pointed out. “Still, I agree about the employees wanting to feel like they have a say in the company’s direction. But that’s your job. You’re better with people anyway, and everyone trusts you.”

“What about Shari?”

“We don’t need to elect her to the Board, but we can invite her to attend the meetings. She can take notes and keep the minutes. Our actual discussions are confidential, but she can write something for the newsletter about what the Board decides. Are you comfortable with that?”

I considered it and then nodded.

“Good. Then let’s go back to a point from a minute ago, about the business. We need to split the roles of CEO and President.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“You don’t even know why, do you?”

I stole his line. “That’s your department.”

“Yeah, but this is exactly what we were just talking about. It’s about perception. The CEO sets the mission, vision, and strategy of the company. The President handles day-to-day operations and logistical details.”

“And you’re doing a great job. With both,” I added.

“Thank you, but… the CEO is also the most visible representative of a company, inside and out.”

“Okay. And…?”

“The inside perception is obvious. If I’m both, we have a hard time convincing the regular employees that you represent their best interests.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed.

“The outside perception is similar, but for different reasons. I don’t actually believe all this green stuff we’re doing. Hold on, let me rephrase. I don’t believe it like you do. Yeah, we’re making tons of money because we have a competitive advantage, but money is the only green I really care about.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Thanks, but I’m serious. And I recognize that me being CEO is a business liability. Well, not exactly a liability, but not an asset, either. Being President? Yeah, absolutely. But Wren’s been after me for a couple of months, and she’s right.”

“About what?”

“We’re getting big enough that we need to start worrying about our public image. Maybe not this year, but certainly next. People are bound to figure out that I’m not a real tree-hugger. We need a guy out front who actually believes. That’s you.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, “but what does it mean for the company? I can’t make business decisions like you. I mean, I’m just an architect.”

“That’s basically what a CEO is. You have the vision. I make it happen.”

“Fine by me,” I said. “I never really cared about titles anyway.”

“Well, it’ll make Christy happy. And that’s never a bad thing.”

“Ha! You can say that again!”

✧ ✧ ✧

I’d been building my dream house since college, although it had only ever existed in my head. That all changed once the pace at work slowed to something manageable. I still didn’t have much free time, but I started going through my old notes and drawings. They were scattered through more than a dozen sketchbooks, so it was a trip down memory lane as well.

My tastes had evolved over the years, but I’d never lost my enthusiasm for good design. My skills as an architect had grown, and I had a much better understanding of what worked in the real world (and what didn’t), but my passion was the same.

My house ideas hadn’t changed very much either. I’d fallen in love with the American Craftsman style on the first project that Trip and I had done together. And I’d spent enough time in San Diego to find even more reasons to love it: the Marston House in Balboa Park and the entire North Park neighborhood, which was full of Craftsman bungalows.

The house I wanted would technically be an ultimate bungalow, which was much larger than a normal Craftsman home. The smaller ones were fine, especially as starter homes, but my family wasn’t a starter anymore. We were two adults, three kids, and three dogs. We needed way more space than a modest bungalow.

I still worked best with pencil and paper, so I began a new sketchbook. I showed my early designs to Christy, who asked her usual off-the-wall questions. She was more creative in many ways, and her questions made me see things from a new perspective.

She also added ideas of her own, things that made the house ours instead of just mine. Sometimes I’d open my sketchbook and find two or three pages of new drawings, everything from decorative elements to sketches of how she wanted her studio and workshop laid out. She signed the first ones with her usual chop, CMH, but then she came up with a new one, PCH.

“I still think it’s weird to sign my name like that,” she laughed.

“Why? It’s who we are.”

“Yeah, but— Oh, right. Sometimes I forget. You aren’t a real Californian.”

“Neither are you,” I shot back.

“I am too! Never mind. PCH is the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“Oh, that. Well, it’s also Paul and Christy Hughes.”

“Mmm, I know.”

“Besides, all roads lead to my heart.”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed brightly, “you’ll say anything to get lucky.”

“Of course, especially when it works. But it’s true in this case. Now, I have a certain P that wants a little CH. Are you interested?”

✧ ✧ ✧

I showed my house designs to Bob Drake, our landscape architect. He and I had similar feelings about how a building should exist in harmony with the land instead of trying to dominate it.

“This is for you, isn’t it?” he said. “I mean, it’s a personal project.”

“Yeah.”

“For the Lake Lanier property? I thought that development was dead.”

“It is. We may resurrect it, but for now it’s just this.”

“Let me walk the land,” he suggested. “I’ve seen the plats and topos, but I need to put eyes on the ground.”

“Sure. How about this weekend?”

He grinned and checked his watch. “How about now?”

“Hold on, lemme check my schedule.” I picked up the phone and dialed Whitney.

“Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Paul,” I said unnecessarily. She could read my extension on her own phone, but old habits died hard. “What’re we doing this afternoon?”

“Working.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. “What’s on my schedule?”

“It’s on your computer.”

“Yeah, but my computer doesn’t have details.”

“Okay. I’ll add them.”

“No! I mean— No, thank you. Just give me the highlights. I’ll ask if I need details.”

“Why not check your computer?” Her implication was clear: Instead of wasting my time.

“Just humor me,” I said. She sighed, and I could imagine her accessing the computer in her head.

“You have a two o’clock meeting with Darci to go over the Paces Ferry designs. You have a three o’clock meeting with Barbara…”

“Okay, thanks,” I said when she reached six o’clock. “Please clear everything. I’ll be out of the office the rest of the day. I’ll stop by Darci’s desk before I leave. Tell Barbara…”

I finished and chuckled silently when Whitney didn’t ask what I’d be doing instead. She was an exceptional project manager, my de facto right hand, but she didn’t understand subtext at all.

“Is that all?” she asked.

I resisted the urge to suggest a raise. Anyone else would understand it was a joke, but not Whitney. She was too literal, and I’d spend ten minutes explaining.

“No, that’s it,” I said instead. “And thank you.”

“Of course.”

Bob and I spent the rest of the afternoon hiking through woods and thickets. We dodged mosquitos the size of pterodactyls and sweated like Pat Robertson at a gay pride parade. We were tired, itchy, and dehydrated by the time we returned to the SUV and its air conditioning, yet we were both upbeat.

“Well?” I said. “What do you think?”

“The second inlet’s the best site. It has good drainage, and we won’t have to take down too many old-growth trees.”

“What do you think about a pool?”

“Sure, you could put one there. Although you probably wanna check with civil and have them do some tests. My advice doesn’t go below the topsoil.”

Ross Deegan did a site investigation a couple of days later, and he confirmed what Bob and I suspected.

“The site’s fine. You can build whatever you like. Soil strength and compressibility are good, and ground water won’t be an issue. You might have a problem with erosion during construction, but you can mitigate it with silt fences and a turbidity barrier.” He paused and studied me for a moment. “Is this for the big development you guys started a while back?”

“Sort of. You heard about that?”

“Bob was telling me. Sounds like a big project.”

“It is. A lot of civil engineering.”

“Mmm.”

“We’d probably need a full-time civil department. In-house, I mean.”

“Yeah. We’re spending 76 percent of our time on your projects already.”

I chuckled at the engineer mentality. I’d have said three-quarters.

“It gets old,” he added after a moment.

“What does?”

“Looking for new business all the time.”

“Trip’s good at it.”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe it’s time to talk about bringing you and Alex into the company?” I suggested. “For real, I mean, full-time, with profit sharing and everything.”

“How would that work?”

“No clue,” I replied honestly. “That’s Trip’s department. But I’ll mention it to him.”

“Yeah. Definitely time to hitch our wagon to yours.”

✧ ✧ ✧