2 comments/ 10363 views/ 0 favorites The Great Architect By: Gary Chambers Dr. Len Chesney wondered what it was worth, to send someone into a den of sexual depravity, expecting them to remain professional and get their job done without succumbing to their own yearnings. He examined the woman across the desk from him. Catrina Balieu was the most beautiful member of his staff. He hoped this meant she had her choice of lovers in New York, so she wouldn't be lured into Andreas Toscano's sex trap in the Nevada desert. It was a story he wished he could disregard, but as publisher and editor of America's most respected architectural journal, Chesney knew Toscano's work had to be addressed. He had a growing stack of mail from subscribers wanting to know when the magazine would review Toscano's experimental community, and it was obvious the day American Architect and Designer published the feature, every newspaper and broadcast station in the country would be quoting his publication. You can't buy publicity like that at any price. All the gossip rags had already done splashy features on the world's most unorthodox architect, so it was silly to think American Architect and Designer could continue ignoring Andreas Toscano, regardless of Chesney's personal distaste for the man and his nonsensical designs. Catrina had always been the most logical choice for the assignment. Her impeccable academic credentials would give the story a stamp of authority, and the magazine's critique of Toscano's so called Sensory Schemas would be especially searing if written by such a desirable woman. Toscano wanted people to believe he was creating a sexual Utopia. Who better to break that image than the most desirable architectural journalist in the industry? Though she was only twenty-six, Catrina Balieu's beauty was already legendary within the fashionable social circles in which she worked. Her thick tresses of almost raven hair flowed over her shoulders in stormy waves, complimenting her traffic stopping countenance before plunging down to brush the satiny cleavage of her generous bosom. Catrina knew how to package her assets too, in attire from New York's finest salons and boutiques. Combined with her turbocharged intellect and uncompromising wit, it all resulted in a charismatic feminine persona that turned heads and fixed gazes in every room she entered. If you were anyone of consequence in America's architectural profession, or within those elite social cliques who are the connoisseurs and consumers of sophisticated art and design, then your home had probably either been visited by Catrina Balieu and featured in American Architect and Designer under her byline, or you were waiting for her to arrive so you could claim to have done the same. Catrina's outstanding attractiveness, however, was the exact reason Len Chesney had avoided giving her the assignment. He knew Toscano's taste in women only too well. The architectural heretic liked them elegant, well bred and thoughtfully nurtured; smart and well educated women whose decency he could defile with his contemptible lust. Whenever Chesney thought of men like Andreas Toscano, he could not help think of his own dear daughter, once a celebrated debutante, a bright young woman not unlike Catrina Balieu, with an equally brilliant future ahead of her. Then she married that man; that hedonistic philanderer who abused her with his selfish lust until it drove her into the arms of an even worse wastrel. Now she lived in a trailer on five acres in Laurel Canyon outside Los Angeles, sharing her new husband's unchecked taste for alcohol which they both used in copious quantities to wash down their Valium and Prozac. Dr. Chesney felt he had lost his only daughter to an inferior social caste. It made him bitter and angry. It had transformed his once tolerant, liberal intellect into a pressure cooker of rigidly conservative moral values, and it caused him to view anyone who promoted hedonism as nothing less than a dangerous predator. Andreas Toscano was just such a man. That's why Chesney had avoided sending his top feature writer on this assignment. He wanted to avoid exposing her to Toscano's evil temptations, so he tried two freelancers with the task first. Neither of them had offered any expertise in writing about architecture. One was an iconoclastic paparazzo hired through an agency specialising in puritanical show biz gossip, while the other was a timid young woman from Salt Lake City, whose experience ran more to columns about kitchen table arts and crafts than the complexities of structural design. Sending such people to write about any architect's work was a veiled insult, but Dr. Len Chesney was convinced it was even more than Andreas Toscano deserved. "We've sent two freelancers on this assignment before you," the editor admitted. "The first delivered us nothing we could use. The other sent us an invoice for expenses, with a terse note saying the story we're looking for doesn't exist. I'll entertain a two thousand dollar bonus if you deliver the goods for us, Catrina." Catrina was surprised. As a staff writer with impressive qualifications in art and engineering, her wages were already four times the going rate for most trade journal writers. The idea that Dr. Chesney would pay even more was almost embarrassing. "That's very kind of you, Len, but what am I missing? How difficult can it be to fly to Nevada, spend a day or two interviewing an architect and taking pictures of his project, then fly back with the story? We've been through this routine countless times." "Andreas Toscano is no ordinary man, Catrina. Few architects achieve his level of fame. Those who do become famous are usually known only to other members of their profession, and perhaps to its rather exclusive cross section of patrons. You know how it works. Just stop the first ten people you see on the street and ask them who Frank Lloyd Wright was. At least five will tell you he was Orville's brother." She smiled graciously, but couldn't help wondering why her employer was so vociferous in his resentment of Toscano's success. "We both know that's sadly true," Catrina conceded, "but isn't that why a greater public interest in architecture is a positive thing? Isn't Toscano at least causing millions of people to pause and contemplate the way architecture shapes their lives?" Dr. Chesney's intense expression softened, replaced by a thoughtful squint over the rim of his spectacles, the facial gesture Catrina was more used to seeing when he gave due consideration to lofty issues of art and engineering. He rocked back in his plush leather executive chair and seemed to begin forming his words with greater care. "We must be fair, of course," he said, "and give the devil his dues. If Andreas Toscano's charisma and flamboyancy is really encouraging ordinary people to give more thought to the aesthetic quality of their lives, we must acknowledge it. My concern is that historically when architects have reached this level of popular approval, it's too often had tragic consequences. Adolf Hitler wanted people to believe his Third Reich would last a thousand years, so he appointed Albert Speer to design convincingly sturdy edifices. Millions of misguided people were seduced by Speer's imposing edifices at Nuremberg, even though they were nothing more than a grand backdrop for a mad dictator's dramatic speeches. Andreas Toscano isn't trying to promote fascism, Catrina, but he is promoting a way of life based on extraordinary lewdness and depravity. As the country's main journal of architecture and design, we must obviously question the wisdom of such a radical departure from the moral dignity of our society, and question the motivations of the man behind it all. Like Speer before him, Toscano is the darling of the privileged classes. The Hollywood crowd fawns over him, and being associated with all that glittering razzamatazz causes millions of less privileged types to support his ideas too. "Let's face it," Dr. Chesney concluded, maintaining full eye contact to make his final point, "depravity isn't unknown in Tinsel Town, but the architecture of licentiousness may not suit the family of a Kentucky coal miner or a New York cab driver. We have to remember that for better or worse Andreas Toscano has become a pop icon more than an architect. He's trying to sell his twisted philosophy to everyone, and for most people it would be a disaster." Her editor's argument was rational, but Catrina still wasn't sure she agreed with her boss. She made a mental note to reserve judgment of Toscano's character until after she had met him and seen his work. She had to concede, however, that Toscano had become the architectural profession's first sex symbol. "I know," she responded, "you only have to read Playboy, Salon.com, or even Rolling Stone and you'll know that much. But American Architect and Designer is a professional journal. Surely you don't think I would fawn over Toscano like a besotted groupie." Dr. Chesney leaned forward to the desk again. "I certainly want to believe you have the strength to resist the enticements a man like Toscano offers, Catrina. To be perfectly frank, you remind me of my own daughter and I wish no less for you than I ever did for her. These days my daughter is beyond my reach, I have only my grandson to offer me any optimistic outlook, and its my most sincere hope that one day he finds a young woman like yourself. Unfortunately, there are too few of you in the world, so I'm loathe to send you on this mission, exposing you to the same kind of depravity that claimed my only daughter. I must trust that you have the character to rise above the licentious entrapments of men like Andreas Toscano, but I must warn you that it may not be an easy task." Dr. Chesney picked up a file from his blotter, then slid it across the desk to Catrina. "This is what the second freelancer sent us," he said. "One glance will give you an idea of the problem." Catrina's jaw dropped as she leafed through the photos in the file. Not a single image seemed to have been taken to show off a building exterior or interior. Every photograph of the architecture used it only as background for shots of people, all of them naked or nearly naked. Some pictures even depicted group sex orgies. "Surely no one expected you to publish these." "I'm afraid that's exactly what was expected," Chesney assured her. "This is how Toscano gains his followers. His movement for architectural freedom is really just a sex cult, and it's already corrupted two of our freelance correspondents." Catrina took a print from the file and studied it with a grin. It showed a group of naked volunteers labouring in the searing desert heat, applying rendering to one of Toscano's buildings. She remembered reading somewhere that students paid for the privilege of doing Toscano's construction work. This made her laugh aloud. "A two thousand bonus you say?" Dr. Chesney nodded. "Plus the usual expenses, we mustn't forget that." "But no clothing allowance, I presume." "No, but you can bill us for suntan oil if you like." The Great Architect "You just stay right where you are," she said to it. "I don't bother you if you don't bother me, okay? Who am I kidding? This is a rattlesnake I'm talking to. I can't do much to you, but you could easily have bitten me by now if you wanted to. So I'm going to get into my car now and leave you alone now, okay? Don't be frightened, I'm going to move very slowly so I don't upset you." Stealthily she crept along the side of the Jeep, never taking her eyes off the poison serpent. Only when she was next to the driver's running board did she risk a sudden movement, jumping into the vehicle and getting it into motion as quickly as she could. Catrina had been driving for some minutes before she remembered the fact that she was still naked. Without another soul on the road modesty wasn't even an issue, but she felt she should put some clothes on anyway, to help protect herself from the scorching sun. Catrina reasoned, however, that since the sagebrush on and around the wagon track was now thicker once again, she should not risk getting out of the Jeep. There was no telling how many dangerous creatures might be hidden in that foliage, so she just drove on, agreeing with herself that she would stop if she felt her skin burning, but even then would remain in the Jeep to find some clean clothes and put them on. By the time Catrina had been on the wilderness road for about an hour, she had become totally accustomed to her own nudity, but it was approaching high noon and the sunlight was more intense than ever. She looked for another clear area where the ground vegetation was sparse so she could spot any approaching wildlife. Once she found a suitable spot she stopped the Jeep and began rummaging in the back for clothes. The dusty air had combined with her perspiration and the sunscreen to create another layer of filth on her, but she decided against getting out of the Jeep for another shower with bottled water. Instead she just put on a sun hat, a thong and open vest, leaving most of her torso exposed to whatever breeze it might be able to catch. After driving through the sagebrush for almost three hours she was tired, hungry and thirsty. Gradually the flat desert gave way to the gentle rolling foothills of the Spring Mountains, but the expanse of thorny desert foliage and the harshly hot temperature remained. As the Jeep lumbered over the old wagon track, Catrina wondered if anyone could pick a less hospitable place to build a dream community. She changed her mind, however, when she caught her first glimpse of the town site. The wagon track ended at the crest of a steep precipice on the rim of a canyon. From there a better gravel road wound down to the valley floor, where Catrina viewed an oasis that seemed entirely out of place. A brilliant lake shone like silver in the sunlight. It was fed by a spectacular waterfall on the other side of the canyon, and on the near shore the new community of Tosca City, Nevada, was nestled like a jewel, reflecting the vibrant colours of its gayly painted adobe structures. Even from a distance those buildings seemed to feature an abundance of glass, which shimmered like the lake in the intense desert sun, causing her to squint. Again she riffled through her baggage to find a tee shirt and a clean pair of shorts. Driving naked and then virtually naked through the desert for three hours hadn't quite calmed her uneasiness over the thought of exposing herself to the citizens of Tosca City. Before proceeding she also took out her camera and made some images of Tosca City from her higher altitude vantage point, then she proceeded down the switch back gravel road into the town. Driving into the community Catrina noticed that everyone was minimally dressed, in colourful translucent garments ranging from loin cloths to full length robes. Some people wandered about totally naked, except for sun hats, footwear, and accessories like shoulder bags. As the open topped jeep meandered through the narrow streets, every eye examined her curiously. She stopped at a square and asked directions to Andreas Toscano's house. A man walking with his wife and young child directed her to a villa on the lake shore. At the villa an older Mexican woman escorted Catrina through the house to the patio. Toscano's villa was like a rabbit warren, with a confusing arrangement of oddly angled hallways. Most interior walls were made of clear or mirrored plastic. Catrina doubted she could find her own way back out of the building through the maze of halls and doors, even though she could see through many of the walls. It was like wandering in a house of mirrors on a carnival midway. Finally they passed through French doors at the back of the villa onto a huge patio, which doubled as a private boat dock. AndreasToscano was hovering over a marble table covered with sketches and plans. There were five younger people around him who appeared to be students. No one wore a stitch of clothing. The architect glanced up at Catrina as she strode onto the patio. "You will be the writer from Architect and Designer," he said. "If Chesney had called sooner to let us know you were coming, I'd have sent the helicopter to pick you up. We don't usually expect our guests to suffer the journey here by road." Catrina was mildly surprised at how uncomfortable she felt, being the only person modestly dressed. Even the Mexican maid wore only a translucent kaftan and a white kitchen apron. For a fleeting moment Catrina wished she could strip off too, but she quickly drove the thought from her mind. "The magazine has a policy. We're not allowed to accept gifts from people or companies we write about." Toscano seemed to be suppressing laughter. "A very noble gesture, I'm sure. Trust Chesney to be the model of ethical correctness at the expense of his employees." "I think it's a sound policy." "Now that's a real pity. I had hoped you'd join us for dinner this evening. Breaking bread to break the ice is a Tosca City tradition. Maybe you'd consider dining with us despite Chesney's regulations, if I let you bring your own sandwiches?" One of the students, a buxom young woman, giggled out loud. Andreas scowled at her and she blushed profusely, before scurrying away to the water's edge with a protective young man at her heels. "I don't think dinner would be a serious breach of protocol," Catrina responded frostily. "Dr. Chesney isn't nearly as tyrannical as you seem to think." The fifty-year-old architect stepped from behind the table and sauntered toward her. His body was lean and muscular, like a man half his age, and tanned to a rich bronze. As he walked his generous penis swayed and bobbed. Catrina tried not to look directly at the free wheeling organ, but disappointed herself with a few less than furtive glances. He extended his hand in greeting. "Welcome to my sunny paradise Ms. Balieu. Please relax and enjoy your stay. This place is designed to gladden the spirit. I hope to prove that to you. We don't get many visitors, so I haven't been able to justify building a hotel yet, but if you'll accept my hospitality, offered without any strings, of course, Maria will be happy to show you the room she's prepared for you. She'll get someone to fetch your luggage too." "You're certain I won't be imposing?" "I'm an architect with a serious point to make, Ms. Balieu. I enjoy entertaining visitors within my creations. It's no trouble at all, and even Len Chesney would want you to get a decent night's sleep, I'm sure." "Then I accept your offer, and please call me Catrina." "Excellent, Catrina, and I'm Andreas, or Andy if you prefer. Dinner should be at six." He glanced at Maria who nodded in agreement. "But if you'll excuse me for now, I must finish briefing these people on tomorrow's construction schedule. I'm sure they're anxious to get on with whatever they have planned after work today." "Certainly," she agreed. Toscano turned to walk back to the marble table. Catrina noticed his buttocks were equally as attractive as his animated sex organ. Then a thought struck her. "Oh, just one thing!" she called after him. He turned back to face her. "It may seem like a silly question, but do we dress for dinner?" He smiled. "I seldom do at this time of year, but as a guest you will be entertained in whatever suit of armour makes you feel most comfortable and secure." The Great Architect Toscano didn't just fall silent. He lowered his eyes to gaze into his empty dinner plate as though it were a crystal ball. The self proclaimed egoist suddenly looked a bit like a sheepish little boy; a hungry lamb that had lost its ewe. After a short uncomfortable silence he said: "I'm afraid Len Chesney will never accept my work, Catrina. It's more than a disagreement over architecture and philosophy. It's personal between us." The room fell silent again, and Catrina considered whether she should pursue the matter. She had herself detected Chesney's dislike for Toscano, and perhaps if pressed the radical architect might reveal the reason for the rift between himself and her publisher. Despite her curiosity, however, she decided to leave that conversation for another time. It was Kate Black who detected her host's discomfort and shattered the new layer of ice. "We were planning a little get together later, as a matter of fact," said the actress as she sipped an after dinner liqueur, "you're more than welcome to join us." "I have no wish to put a damper on that," Andreas interjected, "but I must warn you Catrina, sensual hedonism is a normal way of life in Tosca City. Chesney probably wouldn't approve." Catrina waged a small war within herself, between the exciting prospect of group sex with some of the world's most famous living sex idols, and her loyalty to her employer who would certainly disapprove of her participating in sex orgies on her expense account. The healthy woman within her longed to jump at this new opportunity, but the staid academic journalist cautioned her to stay an arm's length away from the things she had seen in Len Chesney's office. Directly across the table, Sal watched her with a deadpan expression. Only his eyes betrayed his curiosity, leading her to suspect he was more interested in her answer than he wanted anyone to suspect. "I'm sure it would be a lot of fun," she explained, "but I had planned on taking the more standard guided tour of Tosca City, as offered to me earlier by Sal. I think I'll let Sal decide what I should see first." Sal's eyes widened and a pleased smile darted briefly across his face. "Well, that settles the question," Andreas remarked to Swenson and Black, "my son is tolerant of our ways, but as yet unconvinced of any natural connection between humane architecture and sexual pleasure." Sal and Catrina locked gazes for a few quiet moments across the table, then Sal spoke up for himself. "Perhaps it's time I reconsidered that position," he said, then turning to Kate Black he added, "if you don't mind, that is." "Of course not," Kate Black gushed, "you know you are always welcome at our gatherings, Salvatore. You require no more invitation that your father, which means none at all." Catrina peered at Sal with a coy smile, as he smirked at her lasciviously. The others were grinning too, and firing savvy glances at each other. In any other company, Catrina would have been mildly embarrassed. The rapidly growing attraction between herself and Sal Toscano was as conspicuous as their physical nudity. So obvious was this mutual attraction, they might as well have been fucking in the middle of the dining table at that very moment. That they would almost certainly enjoy sex with each other before the night was over was the instant conclusion of everyone present. Andreas put a cap on the scenario. Lifting his brandy glass in a toasting gesture toward Catrina, he said, "Welcome to paradise by night, Ms. Balieu."