Page 70 of The Game Plan

I’ve known Hal and Jackson since my senior year in high school when my mother stopped in their studio to look at some diningtables. Known as Jackson Hal Designs to the rest of the world, the couple creates some of the most beautiful modern furnitureI’ve seen.

They work out of their apartment and have a studio on the ground floor, both of which Jackson inherited from his uncle, whobought the place in the ’80s when the Meat Packing District was, as Jackson puts it, “The domain of queers and steers.”

Now it’s a fashionable district, filled with couture, night clubs and hot restaurants.

And there is my baby. I give a little happy sigh as I run over to the dining table I made. Sixty-six inches long, it featuresa butcher-block top of reclaimed wood, organized in a pattern to take advantage of the natural colors and grains of each slabof wood.

At the moment, it’s all held together with massive clamps that have been in place while the glue dried.

“Want to do the honors?” Jackson asks.

I’m already unscrewing everything, eager to see the table unbound.

For the past five summers, I’ve been apprenticing with Jack and Hal, learning everything I can about furniture making. It’shelped me become a better designer, and I like that I get to work with my hands instead of simply drawing out sketches ofrooms.

We all stand back and check out the table. It’s rough andneeds sanding. I don’t want to use a slick varnish but plan to rub on several coats of soft, subtle wax.

“I don’t like that one dark piece,” I say, pointing to a length of wood that catches my eye. “It looks off.”

“You need a bit of imbalance,” Hal argues. “Otherwise the thing becomes bland.”

“Hal’s right.” Jackson walks around the table with a critical eye. “It works.”

We discuss the merits of the table and what I can do to improve it for a while, but eventually, my friends drag my troublesout of me.

Curled up in the corner of one of their massive couches, I palm my second cup of coffee and finish up my tale of professionalwoe.

“Quit.” Hal waves a hand as if this piece of advice solves everything in one fell swoop.

“And do what? I need to work. And I can’t just run away whenever things get hard.”

“Felix is a talentless hag,” Hal says with a sneer. “And he knows how to manipulate. You want to stay in that toxic environment?For what? So you can lose your soul?”

“Very dramatic,” Jackson deadpans before looking at me. “But he’s right. Felix isn’t going to teach you anything but how tosucceed in business by being an asshole. There are other ways. Do what you love, love who you do.”

“Don’t you mean ‘love what you do’?” I ask with a laugh.

Jackson leers. “That too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ll have lots to do while he and the-thief-who-shall-not-be-namedhave fun on the Robertson project.”

“Robertson as in Cecelia?” Hal asks.

“Yep.” Cecelia Robertson and her thirty-million-dollar penthouse.

“She bought a dining set from us last year.” Hal crosses oneleg over the other. “That bitch better not be ditching it in her redesign.”

“That bitch,” Jackson drawls, looking at me, “is in fierce competition with Janice Marks. I know because that’s all she couldtalk about during our consultation. How she had to have bigger and better than Janice. How her table couldnotlook anything like something Janice would purchase.”

A slow, evil grin spreads over my face. “You don’t say.”

“Mmm... Janice is having a cocktail party at her house in two weeks. Want to be my date, sweet thing?”

Hal glances between us and grins as well. “You two...”

At that, I stand. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure as always. But I’m suddenly feeling the need to go in search of a cocktaildress.”

I’ve got a revenge to plan.