The Brandywine Prophet

3.4 Whitaker & Reid

If a homeless man was given sixty dollars to buy clothes, he might look something like William did on the days he visited Marvin Gibson at the architecture firm downtown Grand Rapids. The cuffs of his jacket were rolled up enough to see his arm hair, and his knees were brown with “real work.” How can people function in such a sterile environment? he wondered as the elevator beeped, signaling the fourteenth floor. It wasn’t a cynical thought--Marvin was a genius and Will respected his work--but what kind of mind functions in a place completely stripped of character? No matter how many times he visited this office, he was never prepared for the sickness he felt when the elevator doors slid back to reveal thin berber, fluorescent bulbs, and the smell of copy-machine toner; things that epitomized failure.

However, if the smell of toner meant failure, what did the vomit stink on his left shoulder say about him? He was going to need to supervise Janie’s dance education... Kayla was dealing with her own demons and couldn’t be trusted to teach.

Marvin’s office was at the end of the cubical corridor. In the corner. Lots of windows. Will pushed his hair behind his ears, gave a polite knock, and stepped inside. 

“What I’m gonna show you is the best anyone could do with the plans you gave me,” Marv said instead of “hello.”

“Not my plans,” Will said.

“God’s plans. Right, right. Like I told you two months ago, God is a damn good architect. The layout you brought me was surprisingly detailed for a sketch on notebook paper.” When Marv spoke, William listened as if he was trying to catch a train on horseback.

The architect pulled out a cardboard tube.

“Is that it?” William asked.

“This is it.” He tapped the end, then pulled out the blueprints. There were seven sheets stacked together and Marv spread his hands to keep them flat on his anally methodized table. “I don’t like to ring my own bell, Will, but not many people could tame your imagination and design something as beautiful as this.”

The prints were beautiful; no one would doubt the source of inspiration. In only twelve meetings, Marv turned a torn piece of yellow notebook paper back into something divine. 

Will ran his hands over the pages and studied every hand-crafted detail. “The chorus room... it’s going to be--”

“Expensive. You’ve got room for forty actors in there. I’m meeting with Leo Sims about the specifics. He’s the general contractor and theater specialist I told you about and we’re going to discuss all the shitty details that I don’t understand because I’m not a theater guy, you know? We’ll go over the plans to make sure that our visions align. We’ll assure the architecture matches the reality of a working theater, and then he can start the bid process.”

“Twenty-five rope pulley system.”

“Right. The pulley system, the sound system, the lights, the piano-hatch, the projection and screen you keep talking about, the orchestra pit, and your silly curtain--”

“I want a curtain.”

“I know. They’re not customary with amphitheaters, especially amphitheaters in Michigan. You’ll need to winterize her like a boat. Take down the curtain, protect the floors... but whatever you want, we’ll make it happen. Anyway, we’ll also have a preliminary conversation about the standard bids too: electric, heat, structure, excavation, plumbing. I’ll be working with him based on our conversations, but he’ll meet with you down the road to discuss specifics. He’s not cheap, Will. You understand? He’s not cheap.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“I’m just sayin’... he’s not cheap. You’re going to need to start thinking about maintenance, even outside of the winter months. There’s a reason Michigan doesn’t have many large-scale amphitheaters, you know? You’ll need to consider all types of weather and that’s something I’ll talk with Leonard about and something you should talk to him about too. You’ve got that beautiful wood floor and the hydraulic lift...”