The Architect [Pipabeth AU]

f i v e: los angeles

A N N A B E T H

On rare occasion when I was little, my father would venture to Los Angeles with me in tow. Every single time, we found ourselves at the Getty Center. I could appreciate the architecture, and my dad, though not typically smitten with art or art history, thoroughly enjoyed their selection of masterpieces. I've seen hundreds of museums with my dad in multiple countries: Egypt, England, France, Italy, Spain, Ireland, Mexico. Granted, most of these are museums of history and science, but there have been a few art museums we've explored too. The only thing we shared back then was our love of knowledge. Unfortunately, that has been yet to change.

And Los Angeles, also, has been yet to change. Everything is mostly how I remembered: litter in the streets, sketchy shops dominated by neon signs, unflattering alleyways, smoggy air and the constant overbearing obsession with nightlife that its inhabitants detain. It wasn't my favorite city, and California was not my favorite state. I dreaded nothing more than coming back home.

Memories of my abusive step mother and verbally abusive father flooded my mind. The good memories, which were few and far between, came nowhere close to amending the bad. I shook my head and focused on the task at hand.

I was to be staying in the home of Piper McLean rather than one of the overpriced hotel rooms in the city, which was fortunate.

I was supposed to be meeting a chauffer at her record labels headquarters that would taxi me out to her home in the valley. I knew how to navigate the streets, I knew most of the major buildings. Capitol Records was historical- the first west coast record company with a base. It wasn't a tourist attraction, but it was famous. One of the biggest record companies in the country. I rounded the corner and proceeded towards Capitol Records' corporate building. I could respect the unique architecture of their building. A cylindrical, sleek and white building topped by a tower that blinked the word "Hollywood" in Morse code. Not that I knew that off the top of my head or anything. From my random assortment of vast Trivia knowledge, I was familiar with this place. Their artist roster included Katy Perry, the Bee Gees and Calum Scott. Diversity is key in the record industry.

I made my way inside and was met with the white lobby. Several security guards roamed about and the front desk lady looked up.

"Do you have an appointment?" She asked.

"My name is Annabeth Chase, I'm supposed to be meeting somebody to meet Piper McLean?"

The secretary snorted. "Sorry ma'am. We all want to meet Piper McLean."

"I'm her architectural designer," I pressed. "There's somebody here to see me."

"Move along hun," the secretary said. "I would hate to have to ask one of these gentlemen to see you out."

The elevator dinged and a frantic looking woman in a purple sweater and a loud orange floral skirt popped out with an armful of boxes and a rainbow canvas bag. There were several thumps, and the lady arranged some of the boxes to see over them and walk out. Her eyes caught mine, and she grinned.

"Ahh! Annabeth my girl!" She said, shuffling so she could see over the boxes. "Piper will be so excited! You know... come to think of it I don't think I told her that you'd-"

She dropped one of the boxes and a flood of sheet music and spreadsheets spilled onto the tile floor. I quickly walked over and began helping her pick up the loose papers, having been familiar with the feeling myself. Only for me, it would've been graph paper and blueprints.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You must be Piper's..."

"Secretary!" She beamed. "The name is Trisha."

I was sort of surprised. I didn't picture a rising celebrity's secretary as a 60 year old woman who looked like she'd been washed out of the seventies. Watching her made it seem like the Hippy Movement had been revitalized before my eyes.

"Nice to meet you," I said. I wasn't keen on offering assistance and I wasn't typically good with people, but I figured it was the least I could do. "Would you like some help?"

I shouldered a few of the boxes after we finished packing the papers into the box they'd came out of.

"Aren't you a dear," she said. "Come on- my cars out back. Piper will be thrilled."

Knowing celebrities, that wouldn't be the case. They were always rude and indecent. But I didn't protest.

***

The ride to Piper's home was uneventful. The California valley was empty and bare. Beautiful, drab and uneven, it wasn't much my scene, but I could appreciate the appeal of privacy.

I opened my briefcase to review the ideas I had had for Piper's new Californian mansion. They were rough drafts, and I'd have to adjust them per her request, but judging from what I'd seen online, I liked to think I captured her aesthetic fairly well. She wasn't shallow, she was humble and down to Earth. Judging from the way she carried herself, I was willing to bet she'd been through quite a bit of adversity throughout her life. I wouldn't stay long enough to learn of this; however, I was good with body language. Reading people was a career necessity in business. A successful woman in a cutthroat male-dominated environment had to be able to see through deception in order to maintain her place. I had tried to be calculated and strategic throughout my navigation of Wall Street. Up to this point, I had done a good job.

Finally, after several miles of empty land and vacant roads, with a huge Californian Mansion occasionally making an appearance, we arrived at none other than Piper McLeans gated estate.

Immediately, I was swept off my feet. I've worked for a lot of celebrities, but none had this much money early on in their careers. In my mind, I added up the costs of every aspect of her house- the security system, at least thirty thousand dollars. The landscaping and shrubbery- hard to tell, but I gauged at about twenty thousand for such a lawn. The five story house itself- over twenty million.

A white, modern mansion presented itself as the gates opened. A pool on the balcony, five stories with the top being an at-home gym with floor to ceiling windows, a ten car garage, a basketball court in the front yard, a sleek black fire pit on the patio accompanied by a bar and 72 inch television. My mind raced at how this young, twenty five year old like myself had accumulated such affluence.

"And here we are!" The secretary parked her Mercedes and giggled at my gaping expression.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "I've never had a young client with such an... inventory."

"Well well," smiled the secretary. "Piper is smart. She invests in good stocks."

Stocks. That made sense. No way could she have profited this much off the music industry as a rising artist.

"And of course, her father," she continued. "Their family is very wealthy. But Piper is modest. Come come."

She stepped out of the car and I followed her lead.