11

Saving Project Smyth

Weeks passed. The long winter evolved into spring. Doug and I worked like old buddies together on two more of Bob Wells' home renovation projects. Then, as it often happens in the construction business, one day he didn't show up for work, and I never saw or heard from him again.

My roommates, Jack and Sue, returned from their long sojourn to Key West and continued selling their crafts locally at weekend shows in Springfield, Alexandria, and Vienna for the next month. One Saturday, they took me to Washington, D.C., for a condensed tour of the Smithsonian museums and national monuments, then dinner at a ritzy Georgetown bistro. "Now that you've seen the layout of the Smithsonian," Jack said, "you can drive or take the train to D.C. and browse the museums at your own pace. It will take you years, if ever, to see everything."

Tracey and I were on speaking terms, but nothing more. One weekend, Jeff gave me two tickets to a George Strait concert. I took Tracey's sister, Tina. She was cute, intelligent, fun, and compatible on so many levels, but there were no sparks.

Bob was a difficult person to figure out. He had five or six major projects in flight; many were half-completed, and the carpenters managing them were either unorganized, unmotivated, or both. They didn't care about advancing their work to the next phase, and no one pushed them. Something had changed in Bob's mood; he wasn't the energetic, gungho, quality-minded builder he was when I met him, and the company was feeling it. Morale was at an all-time low.

Without warning, Bob announced that he was leaving for a month-long hunting trip to Africa, and in a flash, he was gone. Clint was in charge. On the first full day after Bob left, Clint called in sick and was out for several days. The company was flying without a pilot or co-pilot and running on fumes. Workers became wary of the company's stability, and productivity ground to a halt. When Clint came back to the office, some normalcy returned, but not for long. On the second Thursday evening after Bob left for Africa, I got a call from Clint.

"Hey, Matt. I have a favor to ask you."
"Sure, what's up, Clint?"
"Well, Bob didn't leave enough money in the company checking account to pay all the employees this week."
"What?!"
"Yeah, we're in trouble," Clint said, with a calmness that suggested he had already processed the predicament.
"No, Bob's in trouble," I said. "Have you talked to him?"
"Yeah, he asked me if I could skip a payday until he got back, and he wanted me to ask you the same."
"Oh crap. I can, but what about next week? Bob won't be back for two more weeks; I doubt any of the other workers would stick around too long without a paycheck."
"He said he would add more money to the account before next week," Clint said, sounding unconvinced.
"Well, he'd better, or he won't have any employees when he gets back," I said. "Surely he knew about his finances before he left for Africa, right?"
"I thought that too," Clint said, disillusioned.

Week two passed, along with another missed paycheck. One more week without pay, and I would have to pay my bills late. Fortunately, Bob returned from Africa on Wednesday and deposited money into the company bank account, but it wasn't enough to cover the entire payroll. I don't know who he paid, but I wasn't one of them. On the Friday of week three, without a paycheck, I stepped on a sharp screw protruding from a piece of 1x6 scrap fascia. By Saturday morning, my foot was swollen and sore. I could barely put any weight on it barefoot. Wearing shoes helped.

Bob called me on Sunday night and asked me to take over the Smyth residence addition in Arlington, without mentioning my back pay.

"Isn't that John Carpenter's job?" I said.
"Used to be. John quit," Bob said without further explanation.
"I'm sorry to hear that. I liked John."
"It's for the best," Bob said.
"Bob, last Friday, I stepped on a screw and I think the wound got infected."
"I need you on this job, Matt," Bob pleaded. "I will buy you lunch tomorrow."
You'll have to, I thought. I have no money.
"Okay, Bob, but if my foot isn't better tomorrow, I'm planning to see a doctor tomorrow afternoon."
"Just meet me at the office at 8 a.m.; we can drive to Arlington from there."

I met Bob at the office and left before Tracey and Clint showed up for work.

"So what's going on at the Smyth job?"
"It is in bad shape," Bob said. "The Smyths are so upset with me they want to file a lawsuit against the company."
"Good God! What happened?"
"I'm not sure. There were probably lots of things, but the most recent had to do with how John hung their double-entry mahogany doors. They had specially ordered the doors from a company in Kenya and had been waiting for them for four months. John hung them wrong, and now they are pissed."
"What are we going to do?" I asked.
"The Smyths ordered two more mahogany doors from the same millwork company and paid extra to expedite shipping; the doors should arrive sometime next week. Here's the thing: they don't want ANYONE from our company installing them."
"What?"
"You and I know that most of our carpenters are capable door installers, but the Smyths want an 'expert' installer. Here's my plan: We could get a competent, clean-cut carpenter from our company, maybe David, whom the Smyths haven't met, and pass him off as the expert installer from a reputable door company. What do you think?"
"What if David somehow messes up these doors, Bob? Your deception would add gobs of evidence for the Smyth's lawsuit."
"He won't. Have faith, Matt."

The Smyth's home was a sprawling single-story structure with a four-car garage. There was no furniture in the house or indication that anyone lived there, except for a few dirty dishes in the sink.

"Where are the Smyths?" I asked.
"They moved out six months ago so we could get our work done, but the job is taking longer than anticipated."
"How much longer?"
"Three months."
"Oh no!"
"Yep."
"Well, it looks like it is mostly complete," I said.
"Yeah, just a few items remain, mainly the front doors and paving the driveway."

On the way back to the office, Bob stopped at SAMS to pick up a large container of drinking water for the office water cooler. On the way out, he stopped at the concession area and ordered two hot dogs and two Cokes.

"Do you want some chips?" he asked.
"No. I'm good. I don't want to fill up on junk, aren't we going to lunch today?"
"Yes. This is lunch."
"Okay, cheap bastard," I whispered under my breath.
"What?"
"Nothing, Bob."

We found a chest-high stand-up table that still had crumbs from the previous customer, and doctored up our dogs with mustard and relish, then commenced consuming our 99-cent meal. "By the way, Bob, I don't know if you are aware, but I haven't been paid in three weeks, going on four, and I am broke. Is there any chance of getting caught up today?" Bob didn't answer my question. Instead, he rattled on about how things weren't going well for him, blah blah blah. I might have sympathized a little if he hadn't just returned from a month-long African sabbatical.

"Bob, while your were in Africa," I began, as a subtle reminder, "I was busting my ass in the heat working for you, trying to keep the projects moving. All I'm asking is to get paid for the work I have done."
"You're right, Matt. When we get back to the office, I'll write you a check."
"Thanks, Bob."

When we arrived, Bob made a beeline for his private office and closed the door. Clint was on the phone, and Tracey was typing away on an IBM Selectric II.

"So, how was your date with my sister the other night?" Tracey said with an envious tone.
"I don't kiss and tell," I said. "Besides, it wasn't a date. After you and I parted ways, Tina called me and said, 'Let's get together sometime.' Getting together is not a date."
"It was a date," Clint blurted, as he hung up on whoever he was talking to.
"See?!" Tracey said.
"Whatever," I said.
Bob emerged from his office and handed me a check with three weeks' pay.
"Thanks, Bob."
"Thank YOU, Matt. Now, let's talk."
Bob grabbed a chair next to Tracey's desk, spun it around, and sat in it backward as if preparing for a this-is-how-it-is speech.
"Matt, I want you to smooth things over at the Smyth job. I don't know how you are going to do it, but I think you are my only hope."
"What do you mean?"
"You are good with people and might be able to reach them."
"You want me to bullsh*t them?"
"Someone has to. I would do it, but they want me behind bars."
"I'm sure it hasn't gotten to that yet, Bob."
"I don't know. Just do what you can. Be the professional you are and try to get the job back on track. We desperately need the final payment for the work we have completed."
"Okay, Bob. Will I be working alone?
"No. Roy will be there finishing up the painting."
"Excellent. And the Mahogany doors?"
"I'll talk to David. Let me know when they are delivered, and we'll schedule a day for him to perform the installation. We need to wrap this job up by the end of next week."
"I'll give it my best shot."

When I arrived at the Smyth job on Tuesday morning, Roy was busy fixing items on the punch list.
"Good morning, Roy!"
"Hey, Matt, Clint told me you would be here. I'm glad I won't be working on this screwed up project alone. Last week, I was here all by myself, and almost went crazy!"
"Well, I'm here now, and I think between the two of us, we can knock this puppy out of the park. Bob says the customers aren't too happy."
"Not too happy? Really? They're pissed, Matt!"
"Jeez, that's what Bob said. I'm not looking forward to meeting them."
"I only met them once," Roy said, "and they were not cheerful. However, they have a daughter who just graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design with a Master's degree in Architecture, who seems okay. She pops in once in a while."
"Is she married? Does she have a boyfriend?" I said.
"Who knows, snobby people don't talk to house painters. So, how many more days of work do you think we have on this nonsensical project?"
"Bob wants to finish next Friday."
"We can do that," Roy said.

The next three days, Roy and I made good progress on the punch list, getting ever closer to putting Project Smyth behind us. Working on the final piddling details is the worst phase of a construction project. There's no romance or gratification in fixing the work of someone who never cared about it from the start. The negative energy was exhausting.

"I'm ready to call it a day, Matt. Do you want to grab a beer? I know a bar that's not too far away." "A beer sounds good about right now. Lead the way."

I followed Roy to a neighborhood bar just beyond walking distance from the Smyth job. We parked our vehicles, strolled into the smoky air-conditioned beer joint, and took seats at the bar. I noticed they had Budweiser on tap and ordered the first round.

"Ah! That first cold beer after a hard day's work always tastes so good," I proclaimed after taking such a big gulp it felt like I had swallowed a golf ball.
"Yes, why do you think that is?"
"I don't know, Roy," I said, still trying to get the golfball down, "but if I could only pick one time to drink beer, it would be after some major accomplishment."
"But beer tastes good any time of day," Roy said.
"That's what makes it a win-win," I said with a smile.
"I think beer is the only way we can maintain our sanity on this job," Roy said.
"We just need to knock this thing out and put this job behind us. The commute from Woodbridge is unbearable. I don't know how the hell John and his wife drove from Culpeper. That's 70 miles from here!"
"They didn't. They drove in on Monday mornings, camped out in the Smyths' house all week, then drove back to Culpeper on Friday afternoon."
"That explains the dirty dishes I found in the sink yesterday."
"Let's have another round, then head out."
"Sounds good, Roy."

Friday afternoon, I arrived at the Smyth residence to find Roy standing on the gravel of an unpaved driveway, talking to a charming blonde wearing an all-business black skirt and khaki blouse.

"Morning, Roy," I said as I approached them.
"Good morning, Matt. I would like you to meet Christine Smyth."
"Hello, Christine."
She nodded without saying a word, but almost cracked a smile through her stuffy veneer.
"She is the Smyth's daughter."
"Thanks, Roy, but a blind man could have figured that without his cane."
Christine laughed.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Matt. Are you the lead carpenter?"
"I suppose so, but I'm also the only carpenter at this phase of the project."
"I guess that would make me the lead painter," Roy said with a chuckle.
"Don't start thinking you're going to get a raise now, Roy," I said, returning the chuckle.
"My mom and dad are not pleased with Bob right now."
"So I have heard, Christine, but we are not Bob. My esteemed colleague and I here, plan to do whatever it takes to get the project back on track."
"Count on it," Roy added.
"That may not be possible, at this point," Christine said pessimistically.
"Roy tells me you just graduated from the RISD School of Architecture."
"Yes," she said, flattered by the acknowledgment, "with a Master's Degree."
"I am impressed. Have you already found a worthy architectural firm?"
"I have feelers out, but mostly I want to take the summer off. Earning a Master's in Architecture was a significant undertaking, and I need a break."
"So I have heard," I said, "regarding the work required by students of architecture, that is. From an architect's viewpoint, what do you think of the design of your parents' remodel?"
"I like it," she said, seeming pleased that someone had asked her opinion, "but there are certain details and specifications I would have done differently. Nothing major, just a difference of opinion, I suppose."
I nodded, acknowledging her scrutiny.
"Well, it was good talking to you, Matt, and Roy, I have to be going, maybe I'll see you next week?"
"I'll be looking forward to it," I said, with a subconscious wink.
Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she turned toward her vehicle, then she spun around for a second look, and gave a cute index-finger wave as she entered her car and drove off.

Roy, who had been listening to the whole conversation while pretending to caulk a door, broke radio silence.

"Matt, you sonovabitch!"
"What?"
"You know what."
"Well, Bob asked me to smooth things over on this job, and I am doing just that. And it's not just bullcrap either. I like Christine. She seems cool."
"Just be careful, Matt. Don't start anything you can't finish."
"Don't worry, Roy, I'll be cool."

Roy and I divided the punch list and worked all day, separately, trying to knock out as much as possible. At the end of the day, I located Roy at the opposite end of the house.
"It's time for a beer!" I hollered.
"Now you're talking! Let's get out of here!"

After the second round, I left the bar and drove an hour and a half back to Woodbridge and stopped at a fast-food joint for a bowl of red beans and rice before heading home. As I turned onto our street, I noticed Jack and Sue's van parked in the driveway. I was delighted; they were usually away on weekends, selling their wares at some arts-and-crafts festival.

"Hey Matt, come join us for happy hour!" Jack hollered from the basement.
"Let me get a beer and I'll be right down!"
"Hey Jack and Sue," I said, as I took my seat on their 'guest' chair.
"What have you been up to, Matt? We haven't seen you in a while," Sue said, while Jack passed me a smoke.
"I'm working on a job in Arlington right now," I said.
"Oh God, that's a long drive from here," Jack said.
"It is, but it won't last too long. We're supposed to be wrapping things up by the end of next week."
"I see you're setting up a drafting desk in your room," Sue said, sounding pleased.
"Yes, I decided it was time to add drafting to my resume; just need a few more tools to make it complete."
"There's an awesome office supply store in Fairfax you might try. They have lots of drafting tools," Sue said. "I don't recall the name, but if you take 123 to Main Street and turn right, you'll see the place about two blocks down on the left. It is huge."
"Thanks! I'll check it out tomorrow."
"We're getting ready to watch a movie. Do you want to join us?" Jack said.
"Not tonight," I said, "I'll never make it to the end, I'm beat."
"No worries. Get some rest," Sue said. "We have a show in Occoquan tomorrow and Sunday. You should stop by; Lisa will be working with us."
"Who?"
"You know, Lisa, from next door?" Sue said, snickering.
"The girl who has a crush on me?"
"That's the one," Jack said, laughing.
"I'll swing by if you think it's safe," I said.
Jack and Sue laughed.
"I'm sure she forgot all about that day," Jack said.
"Okay, then, I'll see you guys somorrow. Good night," I said as I finished my beer and walked upstairs to my room.

On Saturday morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and decided to clean up and drive to Fairfax to shop for drafting supplies. On the way, I stopped at an IHOP for a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. While waiting for my food, I poured myself a cup of coffee from the pitcher the waitress left on the table, pulled out my notepad, and began making a list of the drafting supplies I needed.

After breakfast, I bought a coffee for the road, drove to Fairfax, and purchased the items on my list. Sue was right. The store had everything. It was like a person with an incurable sweet tooth visiting an overstocked candy store. And you can bet I didn't leave the store without adding that electric eraser! I now had all the necessary tools to dive into architectural drafting. Anything else I needed, I would purchase later.

I stopped at the art show in Occoquan on my way home and located Jack and Sue's shop among a sea of white 10x10 canopies. The girl next door was there, the one who saw me without my shirt that day when I first moved to Virginia.

"Hey Matt, I'm sure you remember Lisa, from next door?" Sue asked, repressing a giggle.
"Hi Lisa, it is a pleasure to meet you. The last time I saw you was from my bedroom window after a steamy shower."
Her face turned beet red.
"Lisa's birthday was yesterday, Matt, she is 13 now," Jack said, subtly implying that she had reached 'marrying age.'
"Happy birthday, Lisa. So, you're a teenager now," I said to her with a smile.
"Yes," she said, timidly.
"You must have lots of boyfriends," I said.
Lisa was speechless.
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm running late," I said. "I'm meeting Jeff in Rockville tonight, but wanted to come by and say hello."
"Okay, Matt. We're glad you stopped in," Sue said.
Jack smiled.
"Bye, Matt," Lisa said softly.
"Bye, Lisa," I said, making an effort not to wink.

I woke up late Sunday morning with a slight headache, having spent the previous night two-stepping across Maryland. Jack and Sue had already left for the day. I got the coffee brewing and headed straight for the shower. Afterward, I subconsciously peeked out my side window, toward Lisa's house, half expecting to see her gawking at me from her bedroom, but remembered she was working with Jack and Sue and would have already left for Occoquan. Good. After a cold cereal breakfast and a few cups of coffee, I was ready to get to work.

Once I unpacked and arranged my newly purchased drawing materials on my desk, I taped a new sheet of vellum onto my drafting board and began drawing the floor plan for a two-room cabin. I broke in my electric eraser sooner than I thought; I don't know how I ever managed to finish a drawing without one. By the end of the day, I had completed the floor and foundation plans and was ready to relax with a cold cerveza.

"Ah," I said aloud, "beer tastes just as good after a hard day of office work as it does from a hard day at the job site." An accomplishment is an accomplishment.

Feeling good about my weekend productivity, I fell asleep early. In the middle of the night, I stirred a little when Jack and Sue came home, but soon zonked out from fatigue.

When I got to the Smyth job on Monday morning, I found the replacement mahogany doors attentively stowed in the Smyths' four-car garage. A few minutes later, Bob rolled onto the unfinished driveway and hopped out of his truck.

"Good morning, Bob. It looks like the mahogany doors were delivered."
"Good. I have already talked to David, and he is all in on our plan."
"It's ludicrous," I said, "to think that just because we hire someone outside our organization, the door installation will be flawless. It's offensive they think we're that inept."
"We're going to call the company, David's Doors," Bob said.
"Ha, catchy! And equally offensive, and corny too, but whatever."
At that moment, Roy rounded the corner and parked next to Bob.
"I'll send David here tomorrow," Bob said as he ambled to his vehicle, "so he can start early, take his sweet time, do an 'expert' job, and get these stinking doors installed by week's end...Hello, Roy."
"Hello, Bob and Matt," Roy said, "and we will finish by then, too."
I nodded.
"Thank you both," Bob said. "The company needs closure on this project. If not...well..."
Bob crawled back into his truck and left.

Roy and I worked hard and fast to keep pace with Bob's schedule, but we weren't a minute late to the bar at quitting time. Staying sane was part of our master plan.

"I have never seen Bob so worried," I said after the bartender brought us our first round.
"Me neither," Roy replied, "but if he was so concerned about this job, why the hell did he bolt and fly to Africa for a stinking month?"
"Who knows," I said, "maybe he was having marital problems and wanted to get the hell out of Dodge."
"Well, if things don't go as planned, I hope he doesn't blame it on us."
"I don't think that will happen, Roy. I don't know why exactly, but I think he has changed. Maybe that trip to Africa made him see some light."
"Yeah, but he should have taken us along, so we could also see the light."
"Yeah, I'll bet the night sky in Mozambique is spectacular."

I arrived on Tuesday to find Roy and David enjoying their morning coffee in the Smyths' new remodeled kitchen. Roy wore his usual painter's outfit, while David sported pressed jeans, shiny work boots, and a long-sleeved plaid button-down, looking like someone who owned the business rather than just worked there.

"Hello, David," I said. "Have you met the Smyths yet?"
"No, but I think they're supposed to be here today," David said.
"Just remember, you don't work for Bob."
"I know, I know, I am the owner of David's Doors."

A thought popped into my head: maybe David's Doors will turn out to be David's ultimate calling. David might even become the largest door contractor in the northeast. Who knows?

Roy and I helped unpack the new mahogany doors and load them onto sawhorses David had set up in the foyer. Other than being branded "Kenyan Mahogany," the doors were rather dull and unattractive. The interior faces were plain, consisting of a single sheet of solid wood. There were no distinguishing decorations or impressions to separate the top from the bottom. The exterior faces had raised panels affixed to each, nearly covering the entire face. They were hideous.

"Do you have everything you need, David?"
"I think so," David said while plugging in his tools.
"Roy and I will get back to our list of tasks," I said. "But let us know if you need anything."
"Thanks, Matt."

I had never worked with David, but he had a reputation as a conscientious carpenter, and he seemed competent enough. Roy and I let him work without interruption and continued knocking out our assignments. About mid-morning, Cristine drove up and parked in the gravel driveway next to David's truck. She wore jeans and a blue RISD T-shirt, the tail tied around her tanned waist, and the whitest tennis shoes I had ever seen.

"Hello, Cristine," Roy said. "How are you on this fine day?"
"I am doing fine, I suppose," Christine chuckled, dismissing Roy's facetious tone, while she made her way toward David's door operation.
I headed that way too, you know, for support, in case David unintentionally let the cat out of the bag.
"Hello, Matt, are these the doors my parents re-ordered from Africa?"
"Yes, Christine, and this is David, with David's Doors, he is doing the installation."
"Gawd, they are awful," Christine said, laughing.
"What?" I said.
"The doors. They are horrid," Christine said. "Don't you think so, David?"
"I like them," Roy chimed in.
I gave Roy a your-full-of-crap-look.
"I'll bet nobody ever accused you of having taste, Roy," Christine said with a smile. "What do you think, Matt?"
"Well, you know, I'm not here to judge."
"I know," Christine said. "I can see it in your face. You think they are appalling, don't you?"
I just smiled and said, "Okay, time to get back to work."

Christine poked around the house for a little while, then slipped out without saying goodbye.

"Why didn't you tell the truth about those doors?" Roy said. "You two were hitting it off."
"Under normal circumstances, I would have jumped right in, but this situation is different; she's not our adversary, but she is our adversary's daughter. I don't know her well enough to trust her. She is nice enough, but I have this feeling. There could be a wild animal caged beneath her skin."
"You're probably right," Roy said. "She seems sweet, but there's something disingenuous about her personality, and you know she is gathering evidence for her parents' lawsuit."

On Thursday afternoon, Bob came by the job to assess the situation. Roy and I had finished our tasks, and David had installed all the hardware on the doors and frames and was ready to hang them on Friday.

"Good," Bob said. "We're on schedule. I am meeting a man here in the morning who will asphalt the driveway. When that is complete, David's Doors should have the doors hung, and we should be handing over the keys to the Smyths by mid-afternoon."
"Sounds almost too good to be true," I said.
"Matt, I want you and Roy back here tomorrow just in case something comes up. We have to finish the job this week!"
"No problem, Bob," Roy said.

I arrived at the Smyths' house on Friday, the 13th, a little after 7 a.m., and noticed Bob's employees had parked their cars on the street so that the asphalt contractor could do his work. I found a parking spot close to the front of the house and walked inside. Half of Bob's entire crew was there, including, of course, David, from David's Doors.

As Bob suspected, the Smyths found more work for us to do. The eight of us, including Clint, divided the list and went to work, while David continued his door installation.

Around noon, the asphalt contractor arrived.
"The only way I can do this job is if you pay me in full today," the contractor told Bob.
"Sure, no problem," Bob said.
"I mean it," the contractor reiterated. "If I don't get paid today, I'll have to eat the cost of the asphalt."
"Don't worry," Bob said. "You'll get paid."

The paver went to work while the rest of us completed the final tasks on the punch list. Lastly, we picked up the cardboard we had laid out to protect the new flooring, then swept, vacuumed, and mopped the whole house.

David was proud of his work and asked me to inspect the doors. David hung them flawlessly. The swing was right, the reveal between the doors and the frame was spot on, and when the two doors closed together, the latch mechanism made the unmistakable 'click' sound of pure quality.

"Matt, do you have a utility knife with you?" David asked. "I need to cut off these tags."
"I have one in my truck, let me run and get it."
I left through the front door and listened again for that consonant 'click' as the doors closed with mechanical precision behind me. "Exceptional work," I muttered to myself.

As I moseyed to my truck on the fresh paved driveway, a thought popped into my head about a woman I once knew who loved the smell of hot asphalt. I think she also played the cello.

While rummaging through my tools for a knife, someone passed through the new doors. I looked back to see who it was. It was Clint. As he strolled toward me, I focused beyond him at the well-hung ugly mahogany doors. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I couldn't speak.

"OH. MY. GOD," I said quietly.
"What's the matter, Matt, you look like you've seen a ghost."
"I have. Turn around, Clint."
"No way," Clint whispered.

David, from David's Doors, hadn't noticed that the small gap between the top and bottom of the outside door panels was not the same, and hung one of them upside down.

"Bob is going to freak," Clint said as the asphalt contractor walked toward us. "And the Smyths will implode!"
"Where is Bob?" the contractor asked.
"He went back to the office about 30 minutes ago," Clint said.
"I knew it, goddammit!" the contractor exclaimed. "Did he leave a check with either of you?"
Clint and I shook our heads.
"I knew I couldn't trust that mutherf@#%*r!" he said as he stormed off.

The rest of the crew, except David, had finished for the day and joined Clint and me on the driveway.

"So, are we done?" Roy said, with a big grin.
"For today, I think," Clint said, "but we will likely be back."
"What for?" Roy asked.
"Take a look at the doors David hung," I said.
"Oh, sh*t!"
"Yep."
"Has David seen them?"
"I don't think so."

Suddenly, the Smyths rounded the corner in their Cadillac. Christine was in the back seat. Their jaws dropped as they pulled onto the asphalt driveway.

"I think they saw the doors, Clint," I said.
"Ya thank?"

The Smyths stepped out of their vehicle and meandered toward us. I thought Mr. Smyth's head was going to pop off his shoulders as he eyed the faulty installation of yet another set of overpriced mahogany doors.

"What happened here?" he said with eerie calm, as if something supernatural were suppressing a looming detonation.
"What is the matter?" David asked as he walked out to join us. He saw everyone glaring at the expertly hung doors and turned around with a jerk.
"Oh, no!" he hollered, almost in tears, ashamed at his indefensible blunder. He hid his face and staggered away.

The image I had of David's Doors becoming the largest door contractor in the northeast vanished.

"I hope Bob doesn't fire David," said Bill, one of Bob's workers who was unaware of Bob's scheme.
"What did you say, son?" Mr. Smyth asked.
"David is a good carpenter, I hope Bob doesn't fire him for screwing up your doors," Bill said.
"David works for Bob?"
"Yes," Bill said, wondering what he had said wrong.

The Smyths looked around the group for an explanation, but everyone remained silent. Christine looked at me, and at Roy, as though she had been the butt of a bad joke. She trusted us, and we deceived her. There was no coming back from that.

I left that day feeling morose for having been part of Bob's deceptive plan. The Smyths were likely wondering what further deceit they would discover.

That night, Bob called me at home.
"Hi, Matt, is there any way you can work on Saturday at the Smyths' house?"
"Are they still talking to us?"
"They are, but not for long, and want us out of their lives. They added new items to the punch list and agreed to pay us tomorrow if we took care of them."
"What about the doors?"
"I agreed to buy new doors for them and take the door installation fee off the agreement. They will select their own expert to do the work."
"That sounds like a win for both teams."
"It is. Roy and Clint will be there also."
"I'll be there. What time?"
"8 o'clock."

We met the Smyths on Saturday and knocked out the final few items on the list.

I slithered, like a snake, toward Christine, holding my head in shame.
"Goodbye, Christine. I'm sorry for how things turned out."
"It wasn't your fault."
"You forgive me?"
"No."
I smiled.
"Well, good luck with your career, Christine. I'm sure you will be great."
"Thank you, Matt."

Mr. Smyth handed Bob the final check, thus officially ending the job, and we were out of there by noon. On the way home, Bob took the crew out for pizza and pitchers of beer to celebrate.

"Matt," Bob began, "I want to thank you and Roy for bringing this job to a close. The Smyths were pleased with your work this past couple of weeks."
"Thanks, Bob," I said. "Roy and I work well together. We came to work each day loaded with zeal, and that, combined with our assiduous, headstrong attitudes, got us through each day."
"That and our daily trips to the bar down the street," Roy added.
The whole crew laughed.
"Speaking of fun," Bob said. "We're having our annual company picnic in a couple of weeks. Are you guys coming?"
"I'll be there," I said.
"Me too," Roy said.

After the last pitcher of beer we could persuade Bob to buy, we left the restaurant to salvage the remainder of the weekend. Jack and Sue were selling marbles in Punxsutawney until Monday, so I had the house to myself. I heard the telephone ringing as I was fumbling with the locked door. It was Jeff.

"Hey, Matt. What are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing," I said, "what's up?"
"I found a new club in Springfield that's loaded with single women. Do you want to meet there tonight?"
"Let's see...nightclub loaded with single women...YES!"

I met Jeff at the club, just after sunset. The place was rocking and very loud. We managed to find seats at the bar and ordered a round of beer. There were beautiful women everywhere. While chatting (more like yelling) with Jeff, the bartender brought me another beer.

"I didn't order that!" I said to him.
"I know! That blonde over there bought it for you!" he hollered, pointing into a crowd of people.
"Which one was it?!"
"I don't see her now! She's gone!"
"I'm going to hit the dance floor!" Jeff said. "I'll yell at you later!"
"Okay, Jeff!" I said as I took the first sip of my second beer, hoping the mysterious purchaser would appear.
"Is this seat taken?" a cute blonde with a sexy smile whispered loudly in my ear.
"No, hi there, uh, please sit down. Did you buy this beer for me?!"
"What?!" she said, confused.
"Did you...Do you want to dance?!" I hollered.
"Yes!"

After about an hour of dancing, we were exhausted and tried to make small talk, but the bar was just too loud.

"I have to go!"
"So soon?!"
"Yes," she said, smiling, while handing me a drink napkin with something written on it, Danielle: 555-5555
I read the note and smiled.
"What is your name?!" she hollered.
"Matt!"
"Pat?!"
"No, Matt!!"
She shook her head, "Just call me!"

I woke up Sunday, vigorous and energetic, brewed some coffee, and went straight to work on my drawings. I finished the front and right-side elevations of my two-room cabin plans, then added dimensions and details to complete the attached sheet. Afterward, I peeled the tape from the corners, removed the sheet of vellum, rolled it up, put it in a protective tube, and taped another blank sheet onto my drafting board for afternoon work.

By the end of the day on Sunday, I had completed a set of plans for a two-room cabin, including all the specifications. The last step was to take the originals to a graphics printer and have them converted into blueprints.

Before sunset, I worked up the nerve to call Danielle.

"Hello," a woman's voice said.
"Hi, uh, Danielle?"
"Yes, I'm Danielle."
"This is Matt, from last night."
"Matt?"
"Yeah, you know, Pat," I said.
She laughed.
"I knew who you were, I was just teasing you," Danielle said.
"That was fun last night, but just too loud," I said.
"Yeah, it was. Do you want to come over to my house tomorrow night? It will be more fun to talk in person. I would ask you to come over tonight, but I have to study for a big test," she said.
"Sure, that sounds like fun."
"I can't wait," she said.

The next evening, I met Danielle at her house in Burke, which was not far from Woodbridge. We enjoyed each other's company and spent the next eight evenings together. I was happy to have a girlfriend again until the ninth night, when she wasn't home and, according to her roommate, she never was again. There was no, "I can't see you anymore." No, "Go to hell." No nothing. Radio silence. Danielle was out of my life forever. And I let her go, having never known if it was she who had bought me that beer.

The following week, during one of my lunch breaks, I took the original drawings for my two-room cabin to a graphics printer located in Falls Church and had them bound into my very first set of blueprints. That raised my spirits. It was time to get back on track, think positive thoughts, and work toward something constructive, like Bray Building & Design.

The Company Picnic

On Saturday, I drove to Bob's house for his annual company picnic. I arrived earlier than most folks and helped Bob set up the music, barbecue pit, tables, chairs, ice chests full of beer, and a trash can of Chesapeake Bay Blue Crabs. The only other menu items were hot dogs and hamburgers, meant for the kids, of course, since every self-respecting adult raised in Maryland or Virginia would be ripping into crab meat.

"Do folks in Texas eat crabs?" Bob asked.
"Yes, we have these same blue crabs in the Gulf of Mexico, but they aren't as popular as they are here."
"I wonder why that is," Bob said.
"I don't know," I said. "Perhaps blue crabs aren't as plentiful in the Gulf as they are in the Chesapeake."

Others arrived, including Roy, Chris, Tracey, and David (from the now-defunct David's Doors), Aaron (and his girlfriend), and Clint.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to have a beer!"
"Hell yeah!" Roy hollered.
"Before you pop that top, Matt, can you help me move this table?" Bob asked.
"Sure," I said as I grabbed onto one end of the oversized tablecloth-covered table.
"Wow, this thing is heavy, Bob. What is it made of?"
Bob smiled and said, "Kenyan Mahogany."