A Match Made on Madison (The Matchmaker Chronicles) by Davis Dee

Author:Davis, Dee [Davis, Dee]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pocito Press
Published: 2013-10-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Flatiron Building. 175 Fifth Avenue (between Twenty-second and Twenty-third streets).

Not well-known among those not from the area, or not into historic architecture, the Flatiron Building is a favorite of New Yorkers and admirers around the world. Perhaps because it symbolizes so much of how New Yorkers see themselves—defiant, bold, sophisticated, and interesting. The Flatiron’s most interesting feature is its shape—a slender hull plowing up the streets of commerce as the bow of a great ocean liner plows through the waves of its domain.

—www.glasssteelandstone.com

∞∞∞

I’d never actually been in the Flatiron Building. Actually when you think about it, there are a lot of buildings in Manhattan I’ve never been in. That may sound like a blinding glimpse of the obvious, but the point is I still know those buildings. They’re part of the fabric of the city. The imprint we New Yorkers have made as we trudge through our daily lives.

We might never look up, but that doesn’t mean we don’t know what’s there. And the Flatiron is one of the city’s best efforts. And like all buildings in New York, it comes with its own history. Once the tallest building in Manhattan—honestly—it was never supposed to have lasted. Locals actually bet that it would fall down with the next big wind. Even better, that same wind created a wind tunnel that became the subway grate of its day, provocatively lifting women’s skirts.

Of course, in 1902, Marilyn Monroe was just a gleam in someone’s eye and an ankle was considered quite risqué. But men will be men, no matter the era, and so young men supposedly flocked to Twenty-third in hopes of a glimpse of stocking. So much so that the constables had to chase them away and in doing so coined the term “23 skidoo.”

And you thought all I ever thought about was Italian leather.

Anyway, I wasn’t exactly sure why I was meeting Grayson here. He had offices on Madison. But I wasn’t complaining. The building held that kind of allure. Inside, the man at the desk had me sign in and then directed me to the top floor. I wasn’t surprised. Mark Grayson seemed like a top-of-the-building kind of guy.

What was surprising was the fact that the elevator opened onto an empty floor. And when I say empty, I mean e-m-p-t-y. Even the walls had gone AWOL. Obviously the security guy had sent me to the wrong floor. The open space was clearly being renovated. Paint cans littered the tarp-covered floor, and from my immediate vantage point, I could see framing, a couple of saws, and a staple gun.

But even better than that, I was almost completely surrounded by windows. At the apex of the building’s triangle, it was sort of like that scene in Titanic. Only instead of an endless ocean, I had the sparkle of the city. There were probably better, higher views—but for my money, this one ranked right up there with the best.

I stood for a moment just soaking it in.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

I whirled around, embarrassed to have been caught gaping.

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