Chapter Seven
The Library Bar, tucked away in the corner of the Dominion Hotel, is my favourite bar-slash-restaurant in the entire city.
Not just because they serve incredible food, and not even because of the exotic cocktails and the fact that there’s no martini they can’t make to exact specifications.
It’s the Art Deco, Gatsby feel of this place, and the way those cocktails clinking in crystal become almost part of the decor.
The speakeasy ambience is both romantic and business, catering to tastes, and everyone in the place looks like they can afford to be here.
The women’s hair, makeup, and style are perfection, their smart gazes sharp.
The men wear rich, dark suits that make every one of them appear more handsome than they might actually be.
Every short beard is trimmed just right, every tie perfectly chosen and knotted.
I am dressed well tonight, too, because I’m celebrating. I’m supposed to be here with my boss, Claudia Vale, but, as usual, she is late.
Fifth Business, Birdbath Martinis, Red Snow, the Man in Black, Fifty Year Storm, Voodoo Child, Poseidon…
I pore through a menu of drinks and catch most of the literary references.
Right now, I’m sipping on a Twist of Fate and have a vague idea of what’s in it: gin, wine, raspberry, prosecco rosé.
Not bad for twenty-four dollars, I suppose.
I’ve been here for half an hour, and the glass is almost empty, but I tell myself I shouldn’t start a second drink before Claudia gets here.
I catch a flash of burgundy hair at the entrance, but it’s not her. I drink the last of my Twist of Fate and catch a waiter’s attention. Another? It’s poured and placed between my fingers in a matter of seconds.
I love the feel of this place, just like I love the hotel itself.
The Dominion was built in the late 1920s.
Sitting here, I can almost feel the mood of a hundred years ago, when musicians and singers stood just over there, performing for the sparkling socialites.
I admire the marble tables and countertops, the bold-hued leather furniture, the large oil painting of George Locke hanging over the dark fireplace, and the sixteenth-century Renaissance reproductions.
I wonder how much has changed in here since those days.
“There she is!” Claudia’s exuberance sings through the bar as she glides toward me.
“My darling girl. What are we drinking? Oh, well, that’s not enough.
” She waves a manicured hand, heavy with diamond rings and platinum bands, and a waiter appears like magic.
“Champagne, dear sir. Taittinger, I think. Pre-Covid if you have it. Seems like a good choice for toasting. Oh, and oysters.”
The waiter hurries off, and Claudia’s observation passes over the room.
She smiles briefly at someone, and her Pat McGrath lipstick gleams in the table-lamp light.
I watch her flick her fingers in a friendly wave to a client across the room.
I’m certain she knows everyone here, unless some are hotel guests who happened to wander in and discover this hidden gem.
“Marshall,” she says offhandedly. She’s filling in names for me since I’m facing away. “He’s thinking the Gerrard and Elm area for his next one. Oh, and there’s Zack. What a pain.” She beams his way.
The champagne arrives and is expertly poured, the bubbles dancing in a celebratory mist over the glasses, and Claudia finally focuses on me. Even after all this time, I feel the usual rush of anxiety at her appraising glance. No one would argue: Claudia is a force to be reckoned with.
She lifts her glass. “Good work, Bridge. You really nailed this one. I’m proud of you.”
I am, too. I was up against two tough competitors, and despite their lowball offers, I walked away with the contract.
The oysters land on our table. We shoot them back, feeling smug, then clink our glasses.
I always wonder about that tradition. What’s the point of clinking glasses? Does anyone know?
We have a few business rivals, but generally, and mostly due to Claudia’s influence, Vale’s is the go-to firm for construction inspections here in Toronto.
With so many condos shooting up these days, stealing parking lots, parks, and general airspace, we are a busy bunch.
Developers want their buildings up now, so they pay a lot for our quick and efficient services.
The basics for inspection are fire safety, smoke alarms, ventilation, plumbing, and electrical issues, but Vale’s is known for more substantial issues as well, such as structural problems during and post-construction.
I know what you’re thinking. And no, being a building inspector was not a career I would have picked, either.
Not one I would have even considered, to be honest, but it is one that has shaped me.
If I hadn’t been so practical, I’d be an unemployed history major, but bills take priority.
I have always been fascinated by historical architecture, but it’s not like I could make a living admiring buildings.
Toronto is not a cheap place to live, and I had to be sensible.
Generally, inspecting is a male-dominated category, so even after I learned my trade, there were hurdles.
The day I met Claudia, almost exactly five years ago, I’d just been laughed out of an interview.
She was outside the contractor’s office, and she saw me exit.
She hadn’t been the least bit hesitant about asking a crushed and frustrated stranger what was wrong.
I didn’t mention any names, didn’t off-load any of my complaints, but I did admit that I was finding it difficult to break into the boys’ club.
That lit a spark in her, I recall. She asked me if I’d ever heard of Vale’s.
Fortunately, I had. Pleased, she interviewed me right then and there. Fastest, easiest interview ever.
“Frankly,” I remember her saying after she handed me her card and asked me to call, “I can’t understand why more women aren’t hired for this job. Men miss things, we find them. We all know that.”
And so I began working with Claudia. Yes, she can be brusque, and yes, she can dominate a conversation, but those are qualities a woman needs when faced by men keen on taking control.
She is generally a good boss, and I’ve learned a lot from her.
We get along, and I will never forget that she was the one who unlocked the door for me.
She also pays me well. I’m no longer broke.
Sure, there are days when my job can be dry and dull, but there are also times when I get to admire the craftsmanship of an old structure.
I go out of my way to walk past the Royal Ontario Museum and other masterpieces when I can, aching a little for the history in their walls, and I visit from time to time to get a fix.
My fascination with historical design is part of why I love this bar so much. And this hotel. Claudia knows this. We are here because winning this job today was a big moment for me. She chose this place because she wants me happy. But also, I know, because she wants something.
“I have wonderful news,” she begins, leaning in, and I know I’m right. “Did you know there are renos happening right here in the hotel?”
I do. In fact, the major renovation of the hotel, the one that brought it back to its original 1929 glory, took five years and was only just completed in 2019. The ones she’s talking about now are ongoing, small changes.
“I was speaking with the hotel manager. Seems they need a new building inspector. Something,” she says with a wink, “went wrong with the last one.”
The wink means she paid someone under the table to fire the old inspector and hire us. Usually that idea bothers me, because ethically, who thinks that’s okay? But tonight, I’m intrigued and feeling more than a little greedy myself. I could work here? At the Dominion?
“I see that gleam in your eyes, darling,” she says, swallowing her champagne and holding up her glass for more. The waiter magically appears, plucks the bottle out of the ice bucket at her elbow, and pours.
By now you might have noticed that when it comes to my boss, I don’t need to speak. Ever. In fact, it’s usually better when I don’t. When I first joined Vale’s, I tried to edge into conversations, but I’ve learned since that I’m mostly there to listen.
“There’s something going on up at the rooftop garden,” she’s saying now, “and a few suites are getting upgrades, among other things. Some of the old ballrooms need a little sprucing, and of course all the electrical will need going over. I’ve asked Jack Samson to email you a list of what they’re doing regarding modern building codes, et cetera.
” She beams. “How’s that? And I’ll take care of the Nickel building. ”
How can I argue? The only sticking point is that the Nickel building is the contract that I just closed. It should be mine. She knows that perfectly well, but she has plans for Nickel. In her mind, the manager there owes her for last time, when he hired L&L instead of us.
“The hotel is using Shears.”
They’re fine. I’ve dealt with them before. Good construction company. They know what they’re doing.
“Oh, and, darling, I want you to speed up the process.”
Finally, my mouth opens. “In what way?”
“You know.”
Claudia Vale likes to cut corners. Developers sometimes like that, too.
Construction companies, not so much, because it usually falls back on them if there are problems. I don’t like it, either, because it’s my signature on the paperwork, my name on the line.
I’ve always found a way to do the job properly, despite Claudia’s demands for expediency, but I have a feeling that one of these days I’m going to run into trouble.
It’s the law of averages. Right now, she loves me.
I’m the golden child because I work fast and clean.
She urges me to drink up and shows me how, tipping her glass almost vertical. Then she rises effortlessly onto the highest-heeled shoes I’ve seen outside of the Oscars.
“Gotta go, darling. You know how it is.” She blows me a kiss as she strides away from the table. “Congratulations again, Bridge. I can’t wait to hear how things work out here. Check your email.”
Claudia’s a bit like a tornado. You know she’s coming, but you’re never quite prepared. I’m the storm tracker, following her around, and I am aware that at any time, that storm could spin around and rip me to shreds.