AN – This chapter is dedicated to Rust Phoenix, who's an unbelievably talented poet and whose reviews made me snap out of my decision to abandon this story and write a new chapter in 4 hours flat. You're amazing!
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I discovered my castles stand on pillars of salt and pillars of sand
~~~
"Ames, are you alright, darling?"
It was a very a good question, given the state of things. Incidentally, it wasn't a question she'd encountered only once.
Moments were treacherous beings. But Amelia already knew all that.
Moments were treacherous beings that snuck up on you like the breeze on a summer night, coming to pass before the batting of an eyelid, barely touching a life but changing its course all the same, and for a mind at peace, that would be a lovely, poetic thought. But Amelia already knew all that.
What she really, really wanted to focus on was the moment that was fast approaching. You see, the thrill of the moment was lost the very second it could be anticipated – waiting for one to pass was no pleasant business. Amelia would learn about it on two separate occasions, both in the company of a sagacious blonde, and both would involve Adam in ways that would make her heart speed up uncomfortably.
It was almost funny how little things changed in a span of four years.
...
"Ames, are you alright darling?" asked Sarah, a smile playing upon her lips.
Amelia chose not to answer the question, instead focussing on her reflection in the mirror, watching how blank and glassy her eyes looked in the bright fluorescent light bouncing off the mirror in the ladies' room at Callaghan's. A few seconds passed, however, and she could tell by the silence that Sarah really did expect a reply, and she was just being frightfullyrude.
"I'm alright", she offered, after much deliberation.
Sarah merely smirked in response, watching Amelia's movements with interest, then spoke again after a few seconds, "You know, green really suits you."
"What? Oh, um, thanks." Then, after a thoughtful pause, "Really, though?"
"Yes dear, it brings out your eyes so well. By the way, Adam loves green."
Amelia's momentary smile slipped from her face.
"Sarah, there's something –"
"I know, Ames!" Sarah interjected hastily, aware of the line she'd overstepped, "I shouldn't be doing this. I know this is too fast for you and you don't wanna go out with anybody so soon, but Adam's just –"
"Sarah, no. Just, listen – it's Jason."
It was time for Sarah's smile to disappear.
"I thought you were done with that asshole."
"He messaged me this morning", said Amelia, ignoring Sarah's expletive, focussing instead at the small furrow between her brows and the giant shadows it cast on her face. It was almost comical enough to pry away her attention from the problem at hand. Almost. "He said he wanted to grab a few drinks with me, and, well, talk about... things."
"You're not going, are you?" Sarah stood with an identical frown, her arms crossed across her chest.
"Well, no – I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"
"Oh. Oh, he meant tonight?"
Amelia nodded in response.
"Oh, but then – ", Sarah appeared confused for a while, "then how come you said no?"
"You must think I have very poor impulse control."
"Ames, you know that's not what I meant."
"I know, darling, it's just...well, Adam asked so nicely."
Sarah smirked again. Amelia attempted some damage control.
"Speaking of which, we should head back out, the poor chap must be wondering if we climbed out the exhaust."
...
"Ames, are you alright darling?" asked Emily, a frown on her forehead.
Amelia chose to not answer the question, instead focussing on her reflection in the mirror, watching how blank and glassy her eyes looked in the bright fluorescent light bouncing off the mirror in the ladies' washroom at Thompson and Lowell Inc. A few seconds passed, however, and she could tell by the silence that Emily really did expect a reply, and she was just being frightfullyrude.
"I'm alright", she offered, after much deliberation.
Emily continued to observe the brunette, watching her touch up her mascara with small, deliberate strokes, and tugged uncomfortably at her shirt. Amelia could feel the unease settling between them, and contemplated when exactly their relationship had become so tainted with discomfort and forced intimacy. Poor Emily had really no business standing by her side, yet here she was, and Amelia wasn't sure if she should was merely thankful by the blonde's support, or additionally embarrassed by how tangled their lives had become with one little slip of information.
Things were so much easier when Emily was just her work buddy.
"Green looks good on you", said Emily tentatively, and Amelia smiled in her direction, "Thanks a lot, Emily."
"No, really. It brings out your eyes."
Amelia had heard the statement enough to not doubt its veracity, and despite her general abhorrence for human contact, reached out and lightly grasped Emily's fingers.
"Thanks Em."
"It wasn't all that magnificent a compliment, Ames."
"No, I mean – for everything. For being here."
Emily chuckled nervously and replied, "Well, Campbell did send me here, so..." The smile slipped off her face as she added, "But, in all seriousness, I'm here, okay? I don't know what else I could do, but I'm here if you need me."
Amelia grimaced in response; it really was much more than she could ask of her companion, "I hope you know how much I appreciate it."
Emily nodded, then turned to face the mirror, smoothing back her hair and straightening her glasses, "When exactly do we head for the meeting?"
"In about ten minutes", said Amelia, tugging at her skirt and smoothening at the creases in her blouse, "Thompson is still talking to the blokes from L&T and the chaps from Urban Aesthetics Initiative haven't turned up yet."
Emily nodded, her face not betraying any trace of emotion at the mention of the chaps from Urban Aesthetics Initiative, and Amelia felt her affection for the blonde increase exponentially.
"Come on then, why don't you show me around the office until then? The models out front looked rad."
...
"But Eleanor Rigby is sad as fuck!"
In Sarah's opinion, thing were going very...oddly.
To her immense (and continued) surprise, Amelia shot back, laughing, "But that's the point!"
"The Point? The point is to listen to a song that makes you question if you're doing enough for the lonely people?"
"No, the point is there's untold beauty in desolation."
It was like watching a tennis rally.
"Beauty in desola – let me tell you, no matter how charming it sounds in your British accent, Beauty in Desolation is not what Paul McCartney was going for when he wrote that song."
"Paul McCartney and John Lennon."
"So you're partial to Lennon?"
"I'm partial to facts," Amelia replied, a smug grin on her face, "and to John Lennon."
"That's so cliché."
"Well, writing off Eleanor Rigby is cliché too – you don't see me pointing that out."
The two sat in a temporary stalemate, and Sarah noted (with a happy jolt) that there were smiles on both their faces.
Sarah Montgomery was, for all purposes of context, a true genius.
A month ago when she'd bumped into Amelia on her walk of shame back from Jason's apartment, she'd wanted nothing more than to cheer up the brunette, (except perhaps a punch to Jason's face) and as with most problems she'd ever encountered regarding her own little sister, she'd proposed a walk to the nearest barista and a hearty chat as the perfect solution. Amelia was nowhere as easy to read a her sister, and even less open to being led around the city to catch up in unfamiliar coffee shops, but whatever fight she may have left in her had fled at Sarah's affectionate insistence. Or so Sarah told herself.
The thing about the painting lessons had been improvised brilliance, however.
They'd spent an hour sipping Jamaican roasts, Amelia's mojo sapping with each passing moment, and Sarah had watched the regression with helpless concern as the brunette's shoulders sagged with each sip, her face almost painfully blank and her eyes listless, and she cast around for any inspiration to help her friend when she chanced upon an old argument.
Sarah wanted everyone to learn how to paint. Sarah wanted to teach everyone how to paint. Amelia was no exception.
It was an old joke, really – one that started as Amelia rambled about design projects and digital rendering and Gosh-darn-it-I'm-terrible-at-fine-arts, and while Abigail tactfully rolled her eyes and stayed out of it, occasionally offering help in terms of encouragement and colour palette suggestions, Sarah felt her burgeoning need to help overtake and offered to teach Amelia the ways of the brush. The offer was met with blank stares and firm refusals, but Sarah wasn't one to take no for an answer.
The ultimate (and inevitable) yes had results far outreaching than anything Sarah had ever expected. She eyed them now with blissful uncertainty as Adam lowered his chin to smile at Amelia, who visibly blushed and brushed the hair away from her face, a smile on her lips.
Yep, she'd certainly not seen that coming.
She was forced out of her reverie as Adam turned to her, a twinkle in his eyes, and said with clear amusement, "You can't possibly be on her side."
"You already know the answer to that."
"She's a very loyal friend", put in Amelia, barely supressing a laugh.
"Doesn't that apply to me?" he asked with mock indignation.
"Unlike you, McAllister, she actually listens to my advice", Sarah added sagely. "And Ames, darling, please order a real drink – your iced tea makes us two look so bad."
"You know I'm terrible with alcohol", said Amelia resolutely, raising her glass like a trophy, "Before you know, I'll be jittery off this stuff too, and you lot will have to drop me home."
"We wouldn't mind all that much", Adam said, seizing the moment, and Sarah noticed a small smile on Amelia's face even as she firmly ignored his not-so-subtle invitation. This was infinitely better than what she'd ever had in mind.
...
"We've dropped a proposal to the City Council for increased ground coverage and built-up area in lieu of changed land use, but they'll only get back to us after a couple of week or so – red tapism and all that", said Amelia, sitting upright, her brows raised in a very professional, dignified manner, as she read off about various proposals and permits from a leather bound notebook, arguably a force to contend with in the cosy conference room they'd all been ushered in a quarter of an hour ago. Mark Lowell, a corpulent, balding man, sipped his coffee, lounging back in a large chair, as he listened to her report of innumerable obstructions with as much as suited being told about a sugar shortage in his home's kitchen.
The corporate world was a weird place, Emily reflected silently.
She wasn't quite sure what Campbell had hoped she'd achieve when he'd asked her to attend the meeting with Thompson and Lowell; she'd only learnt about the new Visual Arts Centre on the Fifth avenue about a month and a half ago from Amelia, and hadn't bothered herself much with the matter except on two fronts.
One, she really liked the British chick's vibe, and being an architect seemed kind of cool.
Secondly, she wasn't sure she wanted anyone to add anything to the Museum Mile.
Born and bred in the city, Emily had spent much of her time escaping to the vibrant street after school, roaming the halls of the Met and the Guggenheim, spending hours poring over inscriptions and sketching likenesses of the sculptures, and it felt intrusive that anyone would even conceive of the idea to build anything on the coveted street. But somehow, Amelia's firm had obtained the lease for an obsolete residential block and the city council hadn't put on much of a fight, and Emily was now trying to come to terms with coming to work amid loud drilling noises and hoarse cries of construction workers, and didn't exactly feel like being on the British chick's side anymore.
The British chick in question sat admirably composed, and Emily shot a glance at the other side of the table, where two men sat, looking distinctly out of place and bohemian, both (if one more than the other) with equally impassive faces, while Mark Lowell sat in his partner's stead next to a lady from a construction company (Emily didn't quite catch the name, and decided she'd ask Amelia to fill her in later) who didn't do much except offer alarmingly exorbitant quotes for the services her company had to offer.
Emily wasn't quite sure where her place was in this arrangement.
Amelia, however, had greeted the blonde with enthusiasm in the morning, if a little pale in comparison to what she was used to receiving in the past, and wrung her hands fretfully when she didn't think anyone was looking, and so Emily decided she might spend a morning away from the museum sticking up for her girl. It wasn't every day someone was asked to strike a business deal with their ex.
...
"I understand your concern, but we can't rescind the project and forfeit all funding simply because the Urban Aesthetics Initiative won't back us up", Amelia replied coldly.
To Emily, the meeting had gone downhill the omet Amelia had stopped reporting and started the negotiations.
She wasn't quite sure how Mark Lowell had held onto his hat with the way he treated matters – he'd left all responsibility of defending the validity of the project as well as its financial feasibility (Amelia threw that phrase around a lot) solely to Amelia's shoulders, and from the moment she'd started discussing the design concept and invited Armin and Adam to weigh in, they'd come out in arms against the whole project.
"What we're seeking is not to destroy culture, but reinstate it."
"You're talking about demolishing residential blocks that've been there for seventy years, yeah? How is that not destroying culture?" asked Armin hotly.
"Those buildings are well past their shelf life, it's bordering on irresponsible to actually leave them as is.
"So the best solution you've got is to knock 'em down? They've been fine all these years, fully lived in, and suddenly they're past the point of all repairs and maintenance?"
"I'm not an architect", Adam spoke up finally, his tone low and guarded, and the whole room turned to listen to him, "but if I'm not wrong, those housing blocks are built in the Roman baroque style?"
"That is correct", said Amelia tersely, her face taut as she gazed back blankly at him.
"So these buildings could be counted as part of the city's collective heritage?"
Amelia merely arched a dark eyebrow.
"Once this project does go on the floor, I don't expect anyone in the city to have no objections about it, much less the UAI."
The successive silence was deafening.
"The City Council has already given us the required permit", Amelia replied tightly, and Emily watched as her mouth drew in a thin line. Adam, in response, sat a little straighter in his chair and leant forward to rest his elbows on the table.
"What about the residents of those blocks? How are you planning on relocating them?"
Emily could see Amelia trying not to frown, "More than half of them have already received their settlements and moved out. We're also inviting them to invest in our realty along the Hudson River on a right of first refusal basis."
"That can't be applicable to all the residents. Besides, aren't the houses along the Hudson expensive?"
She audibly huffed as she replied, "We cannot account for every single one of them, Mr McAllister. What we can focus on, however, is how to make sure this Visual Arts Centre gives back as much to the city as it would temporarily take away from it"."
Emily watched the exchange with bated breath, wondering how much of Adam's vehemence was personal and how much of it truly came from his altruism. She didn't get to ponder for long.
"You're from the Metropolitan, aren't you Miss Gilbert? What's Mr Campbell's take on this?"
"Mr Campbell doesn't think it's an entirely bad idea", Emily said carefully, conscious on all eyes on her," he regrets the noise and the mess that the visitors will have to endure for the coming months, but he thinks it's a good venture."
"Are you his administrative assistant?" piped up Armin.
"No", she replied, flustered at his intrusive question, and even more at the validity of it, "I work in the Research Cell at the museum."
Nobody said anything in opposition, but Emily felt the heat flare up around her neck just as well. She turned to Amelia, who now sat poring over her notebook, her fingers beating an incessant tattoo over her knee, her hand poised over her brow. Lowell took the moment of silence as an opportunity and finally spoke.
"Well, Mr McAllister, Mr Bluhm," he said, nodding at both, as Adam nodded back and Armin politely put in please, call me Armin, "my partner saw your work's exhibition last week and was very impressed. I believe he even spoke to you, Mr McAllister?" as Adam nodded again, grave and composed, "and he thinks very highly of your artistic acumen. I think what Amelia here is trying to say", he nodded at Amelia this time, who didn't react, "is that we're going through with this project, one way or another. It was, however, decided for the best, that we take in account the artists' feedback on what they want from this centre as well as our own design proposal, and how best to get this place to blend in with the Museum Mile. Your cooperation, gentlemen, is highly sought, but we understand if you're not okay with that."
Emily felt the very air in the room freeze up as Lowell dropped his ultimatum; she finally understood why Amelia remained in awe of her boss despite having worked there for four years, and waited for the two artists to give their verdicts. At last, she saw Armin and Adam exchange looks, and Armin sat back in his chair as Adam spoke, his voice even quieter than before.
"We cannot promise you any cooperation until you get all clearances from the City Council. We're just a bunch of artists, and preserving the city's spirit comes in first for us. But in case you do get through", Emily saw him turn towards Amelia, who looked up from her notebook almost on cue, "you can count on our support – we're not entirely opposed to the idea, and we'd like to help."
Amelia remained impassive as he met her gaze, and Emily sat silent, wondering if anyone else could feel the tension between the two as vividly as she could.
...
Sarah could practically see the sparks flying between the two of them.
The party of three had taken off from the bar, a bottle of scotch nursed in Adam's tattooed arm, Sarah's hair askew as she somehow lost her knit hat on the way, and Amelia giggling relentlessly as they made their way across Brooklyn in the pleasant April night. The three had had entirely too much to talk about and a recurring topic had been Abigail, and Sarah had decided that five days was far too much to have passed without her having seen her sister, and an Amelia (with Irish coffee in her system) had agreed wholeheartedly with her. Adam, agreeably the most sober of them all, had jumped on the bandwagon with appropriate enthusiasm and led the way to Amelia's apartment without being entirely sure of its address.
It was a memorable night, even without the aid of hindsight.
The three walked in youthful abandon, Sarah's arm thrown around the other two as she leaned on them. Throwing her head back and laughing at the poorest jokes and poking her companions in the ribs with her elbows as she told a raucous tale of the time Gerry brought home a Chihuahua, she was hardly privy to the surreptitious looks Adam threw over her shoulder at the Amelia, who, in turn, peeked from behind Sarah's back at Adam whenever she had the chance. The three continued their merry way to the street where Amelia lived, when Sarah decided to run on ahead and up the apartment steps to surprise Abby, leaving the two behind.
Amelia brushed her hair back from her face. Adam scratched his nose.
Both searched for something appropriate to say.
What may or may not have transpired between the two, or within their own minds, is a debatable matter. Amelia distinctly recalled, on several occasions Before, that she'd tried and keep her distance as Jason's message still burned in the back of her mind, and on several occasions After, that she'd fought the urge to brush her shoulder against his and finally see what his eyes looked like in the evening. Adam, on the other hand, recalled Before that he'd teetered on the edge of taking her dainty hand and feel the curve of her fingers, entranced as he was by them from weekend after weekend of seeing them wield a paintbrush. He recalled much the same After.
What Sarah recalled, however, was that she wasn't all that drunk that evening as everyone remembered. She'd barely sprinted to the doorstep leading to Abby's apartment when she'd remembered Amelia's thing with Jason, and had felt guilt douse her like cold water. She'd turned back in order to rescue her friend, and had instead caught her looking at Adam with a look of shy interest she hadn't seen on her face in a long, long time. Smiling to herself, Sarah had turned towards the apartment building instead, content with the wait.
~~~
Author's Note – Finally enough Adam! Not nearly enough as I'd like, but we're getting there. :D
Please vote and comment, my lovelies. Your words are all the motivation I need. :)