You can’t design and build houses for 23 years without having a few stories to tell. One such story is about a lovely lady named Sally (not her real name) who was building an “escape-from-DC” house for herself, her husband (not so much) who was a political consultant, and her three boys, teenagers ranging in age from 13 to 15 (three years between campaigns, I’m guessing). Husband Bernie (not his real name, but close) would be staying, pretty much, in DC. Sally would be building the house, pretty much, on her own. The design build process was, to say the least, interesting.
For a few, very few, of our design sessions Bernie was in attendance. Such sessions were short and to the point. “Four walls and a roof, nothing fancy, we have a pretty tight budget. Just make sure the boys each have their own room. Boys this age need a private place where they can lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling, if you get my drift.” I got his drift and the boys each got their own room.
For most of our design sessions Bernie was not in attendance. Such sessions were definitely not short, but were definitely to the point. A different point, unfortunately, having little to do with houses and everything to do with Sally and Bernie’s love life, or lack thereof. “I don’t think he loves me anymore. I think he loves Sally.” Sally (not her real name but her real name was, in fact, Sally’s real name) was his business partner. “I know he doesn’t really want to build this house but I need it, and (I loved this part) don’t pay any attention to his silly budget. He’s got plenty of money, believe me.” I did believe her, I didn’t pay any attention to the silly budget, and Bernie, fortunately, always paid my not-so-silly invoices.
Eventually the design was complete and construction began. All things considered, it went pretty smoothly, if very slowly. It helped somewhat that changes, which were many, didn’t need to be discussed with Bernie (I guess he was far too busy partnering with Sally). But Sally (the wife, not the partner) was a little fickle and liked to see it built before she decided if she liked it. Often she did, but more often she didn’t. At times it almost seemed as if she didn’t want the building process to end. It was fine by me; the bills got paid and she was always very pleasant to work with. I was pleased that we had such a great working relationship. I realized later that she was less pleased about the work and more about the relationship.
I learned the truth of the matter much later, as the house was nearing final completion. It was that transition time, after the house was essentially done, but there still was a punch list of little items that needed finishing or fixing. Sally had been living in the house for a couple months. This particular day was a weekday, and the boys were at school (or at least not at home, but that’s another story). I knocked on the door (knocking always felt strange after many months of just walking on or in, but the sad/happy time always came when “my house” became “their house”). Sally answered the door wearing a lovely negligee. It was quite attractive, as was Sally, with full make-up and jewelry, and quite transparent. It was also the only (I mean nothing else) item of clothing she was wearing. She greeted me with a warm inviting smile. It was soon followed by a loud scream, when my head carpenter entered the house right behind me.
It finally dawned on me. She may not have appreciated me entirely for my skill in designing and building houses.
12/13/10
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