Life on Sand Dollar Avenue

 

Ms. Dunlap's mind wandered as the lawyer was speaking. A sudden memory seeped into her consciousness from some hidden cavity of her subconscious. She was building sand castles at the beach. Through her small fist a handful of wet sand dripped methodically onto the castle tower. The lawyer continued his explanation clumsily. The use of additional contractors would increase their liability.

To Ms. Dunlap his disclosures were routine. Yet she feigned deep interest. It was her ability to integrate such routines that had been a central fulcrum to her success. Early on she'd understood the importance of covering all the bases. A stitch in time . . .

Her Project Development Director cut in. He suggested a study on the cost-effectiveness of in-house management of the paving work. She knew she'd have to reject the idea, but she let him speak, gave him the professional courtesy to complete his proposal. She was not in the paving business. One of the basic tenets she'd taken with her from Stanford was to concentrate your resources where you had the greatest competitive advantage. She missed Stanford. She wondered what Frank was doing now. Probably working for a Republican Representative in Sacramento. Two kids and a wife. Or, knowing Frank, two wives and one kid. She giggled.

The Controller paused, thinking his comments caused the response. She waved him on; tried to be more attentive. If the bank papers were not signed by the end of the month an adjustment would be necessary on miscellaneous accrued expenses. Ms. Dunlap said she understood. She said she hoped they made the deadline, an innocuous comment intended to convey an air of optimism. They nodded agreement and went on.

She was doing what she had come for. Still, the vision was deficient. She longed to prance through a peppermint-stick avenue and wherever she pointed her silver wand, there a sparkling castle would appear. What happened in the transformation? Who defaced the dream?

The fingers of children move with the fragility and dormant power of the species. She molds the gates, being careful to avoid disturbing the footbridge. Her brother drops the smallest of sand dollars into her moat. She looks up, startled, and she delights at the addition to her world. In which chamber would the princess live? Why, it would have to be the tallest tower in the kingdom. She thinks she sees her knight in the far distance.

Anyone have a comment about that?

The lawyer begins again. An almost audible sigh went up around the room. They saw another long one coming. It’s OK. (Cover your bases, Ellie!) She was due to meet with Horace Rowe from the Planning Commission over lunch. Like her, he was divorced. He had already made intimidations of romance. His alliance was useful, but his advances were a nuisance. Like herself, he'd once allowed a chimera to distort his full and clear survey of the future.

This would have to be researched. The county was always slow with their permits. Ms. Dunlap held an eraser to her lips. The Chief Architect was telling one of his funny stories. They'd given him the wrong room key! The discussion was deteriorating. She would have to end it soon. She wished she had something more substantial to add to the exchange, some allaying observation or timeworn truism to put all enterprise into perspective. A crane swung lazily across the street. She had none. Perhaps these castles too, formed in compromised virtues, would be swept away by some future tide.

In either case, the Commissioner awaited.