Kianna Alexander - Tempo Of Love

“Even though I haven’t read it yet, I know it’ll be gold.” Wendell made himself comfortable in the chair on the other side of Nona’s desk. “And that’s why I have an assignment for you.”

Nona’s brow lifted in surprise and curiosity. “Really?” She chose most of her assignments, but when Wendell chose on her behalf, it usually meant the story would be a particularly compelling one.

“Yes. Are you familiar with the Grand Pearl Theater?”

She nodded. “The old building near J. C. Smith, on Beatties Ford Road, in Biddleville, right? It used to be the only black theater in town during segregation.”

“Right. Well, the city has just shelled out millions to have it remodeled and restored, and get this...the architect is Asian, and a small business outfit at that. It’s the biggest contract ever awarded by the city to a sole proprietor.”

Nona’s eyes widened. “Wow. A multimillion-dollar contract on a project like this, and it’s not going to some global architecture conglomerate? This is news.”

Wendell nodded. “You’re telling me. The higher-ups at corporate are already buzzing about this, and the editor in chief called me about an hour ago. We want you to cover this.”

Nona clapped her hands together as the excitement buzzed through her veins. “Sounds great! What’s our angle? Are we looking at the rich history of the Grand Pearl and the surrounding neighborhood? Or are we attacking gentrification and lauding the city for its efforts at restoring an important landmark?”

“Actually, we’re doing both of those angles. And a third angle.”

“What’s my third angle, Huff?”

“Learning everything there is to know about the architect, Ken Yamada. We want to know who he is, where he comes from, what he does in his spare time. But most of all, we want to know what drives him, what inspires his art. I’m told his winning design for the restoration is quite stunning.”

Cupping her chin in her hand, Nona thought about what Wendell was saying. It had been years since she’d done a personal profile, but it hadn’t been so long that she’d forgotten how odd artists could be. “So I’m getting all up in this guy’s business?”

“Basically.” Wendell clasped his hands in front of him, lacing his fingers. “There has to be something remarkable about him. He beat out some pretty stiff competition to get this contract.”

“I agree.” She knew that such an unprecedented contract could only have gone to someone like Mr. Yamada because he had something that amazed and impressed the city officials overseeing the project. “I’m on it.”

Huff let a broad grin spread over his face. “Excellent. You’ll start bright and early Monday morning on this. There’s a big unveiling of the new theater design in three weeks, and we want to debut the feature a few days before that.”

Her jaw dropped. “A feature? As in front page of the entertainment section?”

He rose from his chair. “No. As in, front page of the paper, above the fold.”

Holy crap. “I’m writing a headline feature?”

By now he was standing in her office doorway. “Yes, if you can handle it. Can you get me a great story in two and a half weeks?”

Parts of her were a tiny bit uncertain, but this was the opportunity of a lifetime. It could make or break her journalism career, and she decided she’d rather give it a shot and risk screwing up than let the opportunity pass by. “You got it, Huff. I’ll get the story.”

“That’s what I like to hear, ace. Have a good weekend.” With a tip of his imaginary hat, Wendell disappeared into the crowd of newspaper staffers headed home for the evening.

A glance at the clock showed Nona that it was already six thirty. She usually liked to be long gone from the office by this time, especially on a Friday. But as she sat at her desk turning Wendell’s words over in her mind, she found it hard to focus on anything else. She sat there for several more minutes, jotting notes on a pad. Finally, as the janitor wheeled his cart into the main area of the newspaper office, Nona shut down her computer, gathered her belongings and left.

* * *

With a large cup of his favorite coffee in hand, Ken Yamada sat at the drafting table in his office. It was a beautiful summer morning in early June, and the weather was so nice it made Monday more tolerable. Spread out before him on the slanted surface of the table were the original floor plans for the Grand Pearl Theater, along with some historic photos of the structure. It had taken quite a bit of digging on the part of his assistant, Lynn, but they’d managed to obtain the floor plans along with images of the interior and exterior of the building. Seeing the theater in all its former glory brought a smile to Ken’s face. He couldn’t wait to get into the project and restore the Grand Pearl to greatness again.

Lynn entered then. A petite brunette in her late twenties, she wore dark slacks and a bright red cap-sleeve blouse. “So, do you think I’ve dug up enough information on the theater?” she asked before bringing her mug filled with the herbal tea she preferred to her lips.

Without looking back up from the bounty of images spread out before him, Ken nodded. “Yes, this should be sufficient. Thank you, Lynn.”

“You’re welcome.” A twinkle of humor lit her blue eyes. “And I’m glad you said that, because I don’t think I could’ve gotten you much more.” She pulled up a stool next to Ken’s and sat down.

As she came into his space, Ken could smell the aromatic scents of mint, citrus and bergamot rising from Lynn’s steaming cup. He inhaled, enjoying the scents. He’d tried the tea once, after much prodding from Lynn. But he preferred to be caffeinated in the morning and wasn’t a fan of the taste.

“Now that the city’s on board and has accepted our proposal, we’ll have to move quickly on this project.” Ken jotted notes on a blank sticky paper with the charcoal pencil he kept tucked behind his ear most days. Affixing the small piece of paper to a corner of the drafting table, he added, “They’ve given us a tight turnaround on this. They expect to break ground the first week of July.”

Lynn pursed her lips. “Wow. That is tight. So how closely are they expecting us to stick to the preliminary design plan you included with your proposal?”

He shrugged. “The committee says they like my vision, but they didn’t really say I’d have to leave the plans unchanged.”

She let her eyes roll up toward the ceiling. “You know me. I’m an ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ kind of girl. It was your preliminary design that won the contract, so I think you should stick pretty close to it.”

“That’s true.”

“However, I also like my job. So since you’re the boss, I’m going to defer to you no matter what you decide.” She winked, taking another sip from her mug of tea.

He chuckled. “Wise decision. Anyway, I’m thinking I will stick pretty closely to the preliminary design. My goal with the Grand Pearl Theater is twofold—I want to modernize the structure and pay homage to its rich history.”

Lynn nodded. “I agree totally. I mean, look at these photos.” She picked up one of the black-and-white images, which depicted three well-dressed African American couples standing in the theater’s foyer. The caption read, A Show at the Grand Pearl, 1956. “I mean, it really was a grand place. The history surrounding it isn’t the most pleasant, but it deserves to be honored.”

“You’re right. And upholding and honoring that history will play a large role in this project.” Ken looked at the image of the smiling men and women, knowing the image was taken during a lighthearted moment. Still, as a man of color, he knew that life in America was much more complex for minorities. His own ancestors had been interned in a camp during the World War II era, and every day he encountered those who wished to define him only by tired old stereotypes of what an Asian man should be. He knew the specific issues were different for African Americans, but he couldn’t help seeing the similarities in the way prejudice could affect the lives of people of color.