Chapter 1
Anthony looked idly at the unsold plot of land in the center of New York, two shakes from Grand Central, and wondered just how long it’d been that way. From his seat at the small outdoor café, he could see the area well, and there was a distinctly empty place on the horizon, almost like someone had reached down and plucked a building from the skyline, and discarded it without a thought.
A strange thought, Anthony conceded. He’d walked these streets for years and he’d never felt like it needed more buildings. IF anything, he preferred there be significantly less. He’d have loved retiring to the country side someday. A small house, a loving wife, no kids. Ever. He got enough of kids for a lifetime. Anthony knew exactly how that would go. They’d be all adorable and curious and wonderful, and then they’d become teenagers and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from remembering the good old days when they listened to you and you’d start to wonder where it all went wrong; was this your fault? Could you have done something different?
He was getting a headache just thinking about it.
Still, as he looked at the city’s skyline, he couldn’t help but think there was something wrong with it. Maybe he’d put something there, just there on the plot of empty space above Grand Central Station, when he was rich and famous and financially capable enough to afford building a giant garish tower that was a blemish on the New York skyline.
He laughed at the thought.
Anthony Stark was thirty-six years old and living in a shitty apartment with his cat on a high school science teacher’s salary. Well, living probably wasn’t the right word for it. Maybe surviving, or scraping by – something that heavily implied that he was living paycheck to paycheck, and that sometimes that wasn’t enough.
A bell chimed in the distance, snapping him out of his reverie. He sipped at his coffee, counting the bells – five, six, seven, eight (shit) times. He was going to be late. He couldn’t exactly survive paycheck to paycheck if the paychecks stopped coming.
Grabbing his backpack, he threw some cash on the table and darted off to work.
Mondays were never easy for Anthony Stark, and by the end of the day he looked and felt like he’d run a marathon. He had detention with a couple of kids (surprise, surprise), which he spent on Craigslist, looking at classic cars he could only pretend he could afford. Finally, around four-thirty, he was free to go. He took the sub back to his street, stopping at the grocer’s for a loaf of bread and a bag of instant coffee, then climbed the steps to the fifth floor.
Pushing into his apartment, he found the cat curled up on his bed, only opening one eye at the intrusion on its precious sleep, before stretching out and idly licking its paw.
“Hey buddy,” Anthony sat next to the ball of black and white fur, reaching over to scratch under its chin. “Look, Jarvis, we need to have a talk.” He crooned, “See, we don’t have all that much money and a lot of what we have is going towards those fancy dinners you love so much. Now, I know we’ve tried this before, but I think it’s time we give it another go. I’m going to buy you the generic version - significantly cheaper, only slightly less appetizing – and we might actually be able to afford good food for me. What do you say, bud?”
The cat gave him a look, then stood, stretched, and padded over to the litter box to make a deposit. The action clearly said ‘Try it and you’ll find this in your shoes.’ Anthony scowled.
“Fine.” He stood and took out the papers he need to grade, placing them on the kitchen table. “But you’re gonna have to get a job.”
The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. Each morning, Anthony found himself in the same little outdoor café, with the same cup of hot coffee, looking at the same blank spot on the horizon, and wondering why someone hadn’t bought up the advantageous plot of land years ago.
By Friday he was designing a building that would fit there. Something handsome, not too garish, that would fit the aesthetic of the area. Maybe he could draw inspiration from Grand Central, since it was basically attached. He found himself back at the café on Saturday, this time with a sketchbook and some art supplies in hand. He wasn’t the best artist, but he could manage schematics and blueprints, so how hard could a skyline be?
Very hard, as it turned out. Perspective was a bitch, when it came down to it. A cruel and cold bitch that could go fuck herself with her own ruler for all Anthony cared. He let out a deep sigh, erased a couple of lines, tried again, then ran a hand through his coarse hair, staring wistfully at the empty spot.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” said a cool voice. Anthony looked over at the stranger. He was sitting at the next table, twisted around to face Anthony, a cup of hot tea in his hands. A handsome sort, clear green eyes, black hair slicked back, but still waving, curling around his ears. He was dressed in a crisp black button-down, the sleeves delicately folded up to his elbows. Very British, Anthony concluded.
“Excuse me?” He murmured. The man smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges.
“I said, ‘feels weird, doesn’t it?’ Like there’s something missing. I don’t know… A building or something. Right there,” he pointed, “On the skyline.”
Anthony chuckled a little, “It’s like you can read my mind. I’ve been thinking that same thing for the past week. I’ve even brought this, trying to figure out what belongs there.” He motioned to his sketchbook, “Just, well, nothing seems to fit right.”
“May I?” The man gave him a charming smile and Anthony couldn’t help but oblige him. He stared at the picture and hummed, then nodded, “I think I know what the problem is.”
“Do you? Is it that I’m terrible at perspective? ‘Cause I already knew that. I’m a scientist, not an artist.” The man gave a surprised smile, but before Anthony could decipher it, he was speaking in that inviting British accent again.
“No, not that. You’ve made the building too small, too forgettable. It should stand out.”
Stark considered it for a moment. He wasn’t really a flashy guy. Maybe that’s why all of his ideas for the building were falling flat (although that could’ve been the shoddy perspective.)
“Guess someone else should design it, then. I’m all for not standing out.”
“Are you?” The man’s demeanor changed suddenly, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer from Anthony, and he was disappointed.
“I’m sorry, have we met?”
There was a pause, then, “No. No, we haven’t.”
Anthony frowned. He downed the rest of his coffee, suddenly uncomfortable around this stranger, collected his things and stood quickly. He managed a ‘Have a nice day,’ before rushing away from the café, not looking back.