“The house is coming along nicely,” he said. “I think you’ll be surprised by the progress.”
“You sound antagonistic,” Altar said.
“No.”
“Accusatory then. I’d have gone up to the site, but I’ve been busy with other things.”
Larry glanced at the girl, smiled, and said, “Yes, I see.”
“Not Joan,” Altar replied. “Important things. I think we’ve got a movie sale for Stone. A big fat percentage deal.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Larry said.
“You sound positively overjoyed.”
“Success always pleases me. Do you know any men who’ve bitten dogs lately?”
Altar chuckled. “You expected a movie sale?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I suppose so. In a way, I was hoping we wouldn’t make one. It scares the hell out of me. All we need now is a book club, and the pattern is complete. I can almost see those bad reviews before they’re printed.”
“It’s heartbreaking,” Larry said. “Your life is so dull and meaningless.”
“Larry’s life is very exciting,” Altar said to Joan. “He’s been commissioned to straighten out the Tower of Pisa.”
“That sounds very interesting,” Joan said, as if she thought it were possibly the dullest project in the history of architecture.
“Joan is a very enthusiastic girl,” Altar explained. “Her enthusiasm, however, is limited to several clearly defined areas. Don’t judge her by her silence. She is what is commonly referred to as still water.”
“I’m a very exuberant girl,” Joan said blankly.
“She works for a movie company,” Altar said. “She sorts the mail. She also makes all the decisions which are later attributed to courageous Hollywood producers.” He paused. “Actually, she comes from a very creative family. Her mother is in your profession, Larry.”
“Oh? Is she an architect?” Larry asked, interested.
“No,” the girl said. “She designs sets for the Howdy Doody show,” and Altar burst out laughing.
The land was swarming with workmen when they reached it. They drove down the rutted, mud-soaked road to the construction site and then stepped from the car. Joan chose to stay out of the mud. She opened a magazine and began reading while Altar and Larry headed for the house. It was beginning to take real form. Like a giant bird poised for flight, the structure clung delicately to the slope of the land, waiting to spread the wings of its roof. Even in skeleton there was a soaring sweep to the house, the majestic surge of rising wall against angled roof.
“Jesus, it’s going to be beautiful,” Altar said.
Larry nodded absently. “Do you see Di Labbia around anywhere?”
They searched the grounds for him and then went into the house. Carpenters were busily sawing and hammering. Electricians were paying out lengths of wire. Plumbers were carrying flexible copper tubing which would be twisted into radiant heating loops beneath the floors. There was the smell of sawdust on the air, the reverberating solid bang of metal hitting metal. Trying to keep out of the workmen’s way, they climbed a makeshift ladder to the upper level of the house and found Di Labbia in the uncompleted room which was to be Altar’s study, a room facing north, with floor to ceiling windows stretching its entire thirty-foot length. The windows were not in yet, but the effect of the window wall was obvious even at this stage of construction. The room seemed to extend itself into the woods, enveloping the outdoors, giving Altar a workspace commanding a wide vista of tree and rock and sloping land and sky. Assuming that Altar wanted to feel like a god while he wrote, Larry had spread the world out at his feet.
Di Labbia was squatting on the rough wood floor with his foreman, looking over one of the printed drawings. He looked up when the two men entered. He was wearing skintight dungarees and a filthy white tee shirt. A hammer hung in a loop on his trousers. He rose instantly, his face splitting in childlike pleasure.
“Larry!” he said. “Hey!” and he extended his hand. He shook Larry’s hand vigorously, apparently really pleased to see him. Then he said, “Hello, Mr. Altar. I haven’t seen you in a long time. It’s really beginning to look like something, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is,” Altar agreed.
There was pride in Di Labbia’s eyes. He clapped Larry on the shoulder and said, “I’m really enjoying this house, do you know that? Come on, let me show you what we’ve done. I think you’re gonna—”
“Frank?” the foreman said.
Di Labbia turned. “Yeah, Joe?”
“Do you want to ask him about this door?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Ordinarily, I’d have changed it myself, but I know how you are, Larry.” He grinned. “It’s this door from the master bedroom to the bathroom. The way you’ve got it hung, it swings open into the closet. Can we hang it from the right instead?”
“Let me see the drawing,” Larry said.
They talked over the door for several moments. Larry agreed the swing was awkward and okayed the change. Di Labbia seemed pleased that he’d pointed out this small error and had it corrected in construction. Watching them, Altar had the feeling that Di Labbia, no matter what he’d said earlier, needed Larry’s guidance and supervision — in fact, admired and respected it. They began discussing the reinforcement necessary in the basement to support the flagstone entrance hallway, and again there seemed to be complete understanding and rapport between the two men. Then Di Labbia, like a kid anxious to show off his latest toy, said, “Come on, I want you to see what we’ve done!” and he led the men downstairs again.
In planning the living space on the lower level, Larry had utilized two separate areas as expressions of opposing experiences. One was a cool formal living room to be enclosed almost completely by glass, with the sliding doors from Slipwell to provide access to the outdoor terraces. The second area was a smaller living room at the opposite end of the house. Conceived in terms of wood and stone, the room was intended to convey a sense of intimately warm enclosure as contrasted to the open, airy feeling of the larger space. An interior stone wall was to separate the room from the adjoining efficiency kitchen. A mason was working on that wall when the men entered the room.
Larry came in behind Altar and Di Labbia, saw the mason, and stopped. He faced the wall, hands on his hips, and said, “What’s that supposed to be?”
Di Labbia turned, the proud smile still on his face, the eagerness to exhibit his work still shining in his eyes. “What’s what, Larry?” he asked, still caught in the intoxicating grip of what had seemed to be ideal builder-architect rapport.
“That wall,” Larry said.
“It’s gonna make the room,” Di Labbia said enthusiastically. “When you step into this room—”
“You’ll be smacked in the face with a wall that looks like the local bank!” Larry snapped.
Di Labbia blinked, puzzled. “What?” he said.
“The drawings call for a random rubble pattern,” Larry said, his voice rising. “Your mason’s doing ashlar. There’s supposed to be a natural feel to this room, and you’ve got him laying the stone up in neat courses. Look at it! He’s got half the wall done already — and all wrong!”
“Gee, that’s funny,” Di Labbia said. “The elevation—”
“The elevation indicated the pattern clearly!” Larry shouted. “Get the plans! Where are they?”