“Never too old to be prancing around the forest.” Edison claps his hands together. “Okay, we should get to work, or else that brother of yours is going to have a conniption that we didn’t accomplish anything.”
“Can’t have that.” I dramatically roll my eyes.
“First thing’s first . . . Regis isn’t going to like working with Kelsey.”
Uh, that’s not what I was expecting him to say.
“Why the hell not?” I ask as I see Kelsey shift uncomfortably next to me.
Edison crosses one leg over the other and says, “I’ve worked with him a few times. He’s a great guy, does amazing work, but when it comes to renovations, he has a certain esthetic. He likes things done his way, and sustainability isn’t in his wheelhouse.”
“Did Huxley know this when he hired him?”
“I warned him. He said you’d be able to handle it.”
“Of course he did.” I lean back on the couch, draping my arm behind Kelsey, and say, “What kind of trouble are we talking here? How much grief will this cause?”
“Enough to make you want to go back to Los Angeles.” Edison cringes.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Hold on, it might not be that bad,” Kelsey says. “I can be quite agreeable and accommodating. I think we need to give Regis the benefit of the doubt first. He doesn’t know what my plans are and I don’t know what his plans are, so maybe we go into this blind and just see how it goes.”
Spoken like a true rookie.
Regis stares, unblinking.
It doesn’t take a mind reader to know exactly what he’s thinking.
He DESPISES Kelsey.
Let me paint a picture for you.
Regis Stallone, born and bred Italian, straight from New Jersey with a heavy accent and a no-bullshit attitude, is decked out in worn, paint-splattered jeans, a Henley top, construction vest, and a dented construction hat. His mustache has more character than the two assistants he brought along with him, and the tape measure that he keeps snapping up and down is his frustration meter. The more he opens it and snaps it shut, the closer and closer he’s getting to lashing out.
Kelsey, charming, yet na?ve Kelsey, in her high heels, pencil skirt, and skintight top, has come in hot with design ideas that have been approved in previous buildings of ours but from the look on Regis’s face, have no business being tossed around in the Angelica. Which, according to Regis, was designed to proclaim its intricate architecture, not save the earth.
Then there’s me and Edison, standing between them, watching them volley ideas back and forth. Currently, we’re on the topic of windows.
“Do you realize how old these windows are?” Regis asks. “These are casement windows, very rare. You can’t possibly replace them.”
“But don’t you see? They can’t even swing all the way open due to building code, and because they’re original to the building, they don’t have any insulation, meaning they have zero energy efficiency.”
“You can’t possibly be proposing to remove all of them?”
Kelsey nods with gusto. “I am. I’ve already written it in my notes.”
Regis grows even more furious. “And what do you suppose you do with the windows? Toss them in a landfill? How sustainable is that?”
Ooh, he has Kelsey on that one.
“Actually,” Kelsey says while flipping her notepad around, “I was going to suggest that we refurbish them and use them throughout the building. Since they’re looking to make this into apartment buildings, you can fashion the old windows as room dividers in the individual apartments, or in the common spaces like in the laundry room. I’d never suggest we toss anything into a landfill. As a matter of fact, I believe I’ll talk to Huxley about an approval process. Nothing is tossed without our permission.”
Okay . . . okay. Point for Kelsey.
“Do you understand the cost of replacing all these windows? These casings aren’t standard size.”
“Do you understand the type of impact we’ll have if we do change them? The energy costs for the entire building? Actually, can you add installing a geothermal system for heat to your list? That will definitely cut costs on energy.”
“And where do you suppose we dig for a geothermal system? If you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the city. Jesus Christ.” Regis then looks at me and says, “JP, a word.” He walks away and I know I’m about to be on the receiving end of a rant. Just what I fucking want.