Tipping the Balance (12 page)

“I’m sorry,” Drew said. Without thinking about it, he placed his hand on Brad’s arm.

Brad looked down at Drew’s hand, puzzled but not unhappy. He shrugged again, a casual gesture of dismissal that Drew could tell hid a pain the other man might not even acknowledge. “It’s just the way it is, you know?”

Drew didn’t. His family had his back, and he knew it. But Brad really needed to get out of his dad’s house. It was just one more datum for Drew’s plan to lure him to working with him and Emily on the Bayard House project. Time to lighten things up. “So other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?”

Brad looked at him for a moment, then laughed. “That’s horrible! And to answer your question, things’re okay. Did I tell you the latest?”

Drew shook his head. “Latest about what?”

“I was invited to join the crew’s alumni oversight committee,” Brad said, snorting at the thought.

“Seriously? I’ve heard Nick mention them before,” Drew said.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, as a vague and shadowy cabal of people looking over his shoulder micromanaging his program in return for every penny they spend,” Drew said.

“That’s about what I figured. Philip—my brother—thinks they want me because my dad donated a boat for my graduation. They scented the money and thought they’d lure me in,” Brad said.

“Your dad bought them one of those shells?” Drew said, one eyebrow arched. “Aren’t those kind of expensive?”

“Twenty to thirty grand, depending,” Brad said. “I’m not sure how much Dad finally spent, probably right in the middle.”

Drew whistled. “That’s quite a graduation present.”

“I didn’t really need anything that I couldn’t get some other way, and this way I can leave something behind for the crew,” Brad said softly.

“Are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know.” Brad was silent for a while.

“You miss it, don’t you?” Drew said, barely audible over the noise of the crowd in the stadium below them. When Brad didn’t answer, Drew said, “Nick’s talked about this before too. I guess it’s pretty common. Crew’s a huge part of your life. It required nearly total dedication and a lot of your time, and now it’s gone.”

Brad nodded absently, unfocused eyes staring out over the game.

“You could always buy an erg,” Drew said, thinking of the specialized rowing machines the crew trained on.

“Oh, hell no!” Brad exclaimed, jerked back to the here-and-now by the thought.

“That sure got your attention.” Drew snickered.

Brad elbowed him. “Mean!”

“Ow! Brute!” Drew yelped.

Brad eyed him askance for a moment. “Someone’s ticklish!”

“Am not! No fair!” Drew gasped out, doubled over, trying to reduce the vulnerable areas.

Then Drew met Brad’s eyes and Brad froze.

“Sorry, man,” Brad coughed. He returned his attention to the game, resolutely looking straight ahead.

Drew got up and wandered off to the concession stand and brought them both beer and popcorn. Brad muttered his thanks but still wouldn’t look anywhere but at the game.

Drew kicked back in his seat again and pretended to care about the game. He was really just there to spend time with Brad, but he was willing to play along.

He looked at the posters of who he presumed were famous athletes, ball players by the looks of their uniforms, but he wouldn’t have bet money on it.

That took all of three minutes. For lack of anything better to do, he started tossing popcorn up and trying to catch it in his mouth. His aim was lousy, but he persevered.

Once Drew mastered the basic toss and gobble, he increased the difficulty by increasing how far up he tossed the popcorn before catching it. Points off for choking.

During one particularly challenging toss, Drew bumped smack into Brad while trying to get his mouth under the kernel during its descent.

Brad glanced at Drew. “What’re you doing?”

“Pretending I’m a seal and catching fish tossed at me?” Drew said, eyes merry.

“You don’t actually care about this game, do you?”

“Nope,” Drew said. He grinned. “But I’m still having a good time.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“Because you asked me to,” Drew said cheerfully. “You said you wanted company, and here I am. What’re your other two wishes?”

Brad laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“No, just highly improbable,” Drew said with a smirk.

“Huh?” Brad shook his head. “So… how’re the plans for that renovation of the Bayard House coming along? I tell you, that’s just too cool. Getting to do that, I mean.”

“I haven’t gotten the bid yet,” Drew said dryly. But there it was, an invitation to make his pitch to Brad if ever there was one.

Brad grabbed a handful of popcorn and leaned forward. “So how’re the plans going?” he asked eagerly.

“It’s nerve-wracking,” Drew said, “and to tell you the truth, I’m not sure this is something Emily and I should be contemplating at this stage in our careers. Another two or three years, sure, but now?”

“Yeah, good thinking. You wouldn’t want to reach for the brass ring. You might throw your back out.” Brad shook his head. When Drew stared at him, Brad said, “What? I heard that somewhere. Look, it’s a good thing Stuart didn’t talk that way before the PCRCs this spring. That kind of talk gets you nowhere fast.”

Drew looked at Brad long enough to make him squirm. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

Brad shrugged uncomfortably. “Even a blind man hits the target once in a while. Seriously, tell me everything about this.”

As scared as he was by this greatest challenge of his life to date, Drew found Brad’s enthusiasm intoxicating. So Drew told him where they were in the design process, from issues about preservation versus adaptation to just how close to period style they were taking the furniture. “I’ve actually got some sketches in the car—”

“Then why we’re sitting here watching the home team get slaughtered?” Brad demanded, jumping to his feet. Drew made a show of hesitating, one final check to make sure the hook was baited.

Brad grabbed his arm. “C’mon. I want to see your plans.”

Smiling faintly, Drew led Brad out to his car. Drew pulled his design books out of a leather messenger bag, and they sat in the backseat of Drew’s BMW, where there was more room. Brad pored over each one, holding them up the better to see them under the car’s dome light and asking probing questions. At one point, Drew just sat back and watched him, wondering how anyone had ever thought Brad was nothing more than a dumb college jock.

“What kind of conduit are you using?” Brad said at one point.

“Well, given that we haven’t had the tour of the site yet, I’m tentatively planning on—”

“What’re you doing in there?” a voice demanded from outside the car as something tapped on the window.

Brad put the window down. Outside, the parking lot was empty and the summer sky almost dark.

“Now, you boys need to go find a hotel room, and not… what’re you doing, anyway?”

“Sorry, sir,” Brad said sheepishly to the private security service patrolman. “We’re going over some renovation plans and lost track of time.”

The patrolman leaned closer to the open window and shined his flashlight onto the plan. “Humph. That’s a new one, and with twenty years in private security, I don’t get to say that very often. This isn’t the best neighborhood, boys, and it’s getting late. I’d be a lot happier if you took this to a coffee shop.”

Brad looked at Drew. “Sure. Unless we’re done?”

“No, actually, there’s quite a bit more to see, and I had some questions for you,” Drew said.

“Have a good evening, boys,” the patrolman said as he walked to his golf-cart.

“I know where a 24-hour restaurant is not far from here. I don’t know if the food’s up to your standards….” Brad trailed off.

“I’ll be brave,” Drew said.

“Cool! Then follow me,” Brad said, shoving papers aside.

“Why don’t I drive you to your car?” Drew suggested. “As the rent-a-cop said, it’s getting late, and this really isn’t a good part of town.”

Twenty
minutes later and they were in a booth at Denny’s, coffee, drawings, and plans spread out before them. Drew watched with amusement as Brad set each drawing out in sequential order based on the photocopied layout of the original mansion.

“So walk me through it,” Brad said.

“Well, as you can see, I’ve only got rough conceptual sketches, and at that, only for about half the rooms,” Drew said.

“So when’s this bid due?” Brad asked.

“A couple of weeks,” Drew said. He bounced his leg up and down. He oscillated between trying not to think about it and thinking about it too much. He liked his challenges, but that didn’t mean they were easy on his nervous system.

“Like living on the edge much?” Brad said with a small smile that made Drew’s heart beat a little faster.

“It does add a certain zest to my life, yes,” Drew said.

Brad looked at the plans again, a little enviously to Drew’s eyes, but that could’ve been wishful thinking, and where Brad was concerned, Drew’s wishful thinking seemed to be in overdrive.

“This sounds really great,” Brad said wistfully.

“There’s one problem,” Drew said. “Neither my partner nor I know enough about the building trades. I know real estate, and that’s not the same thing. I flip houses and am new to renovation, but that may not be enough. Emily’s a designer. She’ll make the Bayard House look like it did the day after the servants cleaned up after uncrating all the furniture. She’ll find just the right chiffonier to hide the receptionist’s workstation in for the front hall, but making sure the wiring works? Not so much.”

“You’d need a contractor, ideally,” Brad said, leaning back against the booth’s vinyl back, “but the only ones I know work for my father. No offense, but I don’t think you could afford to poach them, even if they’d be interested in something like this.”

“I don’t want your dad’s contractors, I want you,” Drew said.
In more ways than that one too.