A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

“It was whenever we didn’t have classes. Mom had transformed her library into a one-room schoolhouse and because we were so close in age, excluding Tariq and Viola, we were given the same instruction.”

“Why did you choose to become an engineer?”

“By the time I was ten I knew I wanted to build things because I was obsessed with Lego. I had a table in the corner of my bedroom where I’d created an entire town, and then it was a city with bridges and tall skyscrapers.”

“How did your brothers choose their careers?”

“Patrick is a math prodigy. He spent more time at our father’s office than any of us. Once he passed the CPA exam he went to work for Dad. We all knew Tariq would become a vet because he took care of our pets. We had dogs, cats, birds, fish, and a family of rabbits that kept multiplying until Mom finally gave them to various pet shops. Joaquin was an enigma because he couldn’t decide what he wanted to be until he’d enrolled in college. He’d applied for a part-time position at a local nursery, and that’s where his love affair with plants and flowers began. He also fell in love with the nursery owner’s daughter and married her.”

“Are they still married?”

Taylor shook his head. “No. They were married less than two years and even when pressured Joaquin refuses to discuss the reason behind their breakup. As a landscape architect he has a number of celebrities as his clients.”

“Will he also refurbish the golf course?”

The seconds ticked while Taylor appeared deep in thought. “I don’t know. That’s something I’ll have to discuss with Patrick and Joaquin. We have to determine whether having a nine-hole course would be advantageous to guests looking to play several rounds of golf. Perhaps if it could be expanded to eighteen holes, then it could possibly be used as a golf club or for local tournaments.”

“What services do you plan to offer your hotel guests?”

“Bainbridge House will become a full-service luxury hotel with restaurants, lounge facilities, meetings rooms, bell and room service.”

“What about specialty shops, Taylor? And I’m not taking about the standard gift shop.”

Taylor affected a mysterious smile. “What ideas are you hatching in that beautiful head of yours?”

Sonja blushed when Taylor called her beautiful. As the daughter of a black father and Puerto Rican mother she had always thought of herself as an attractive woman of color, but not what she would deem beautiful. “Most luxury hotels have upscale jewelry stores, spas and boutiques. And because Bainbridge House is listed on the National Register of Historic Places you could have an on-site museum shop.”

“And what would we sell at the museum shop?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Do you mean you, Taylor?”

“No, Sonja. I mean we. If we do open a museum shop, will you assume the responsibility of running it?”

Her pulse kicked into a higher gear when she thought of the possibility of managing what would become an art gallery. “Yes. If that’s what you want?”

“You’re the one making the suggestion.”

Sonja chose her words carefully. “After I catalogue everything, I’d confer with you about what you’d want to exhibit for sale. Wealthy families during the Gilded Age always purchased duplicate sets of china, silver and crystal for their over-the-top banquets with hundreds of guests. You’ll be able to use some of the sets for weddings and retirement dinners, although I recommend purchasing commercial dinnerware, preferably stamped with BH for the restaurants and lounges.”

“I can’t believe you’ve planned all of this out even before you begin going through the crates.”

Sonja wanted to remind Taylor that she was an art historian and that she’d been involved in countless estate sales. “This is not my first rodeo, Taylor.”

“That’s obvious.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I give up, Ms. Rios-Martin. You are hereby responsible for every glass, dish, knife, fork, spoon, table, chair, lamp and rug on the property. And there’s no need to confer with me about anything you believe you can resolve on your own.”

“Does this mean you’re going to consider opening a museum shop?”

“I can’t commit to anything until I meet with an architectural engineer. We’ll have to reconfigure the entire layout of the first story.”

Sonja wanted to remind Taylor there were endless possibilities when renovating an 86,000-square-foot private residence into a hotel and catering venue. While he’d estimated it would take a minimum of two years to completely restore and renovate the mansion and the outbuildings, she had her own timetable for examining, cataloguing and authenticating thousands of items.

“How many hotels have you put up?”

Taylor lifted his shoulders. “I’ve been involved with a few.”

Sonja stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown a pair of horns. “A few! I can’t believe you let me go on and on about what goes into a hotel other than rooms—”

“Enough, sweetheart,” Taylor said, cutting her off. “I didn’t stop you because I wanted to know what you were thinking. I’ve warmed to your idea of a farm-to-table setup and opening a museum shop on the premises. How many guests can say that they’ve stayed in a historic hotel and had the option of purchasing an original item that once belonged to the owners.”

“I suppose not too many.”

“You suppose?”

“All right,” Sonja conceded. “Hardly any.”

She had visited enough museums and their shops to occasionally purchase a replica of a particular item she just had to have. She had duplicates of Michelangelo’s Pietà and the Head of David in various sizes, and framed reproductions of countless Renaissance Dutch and Spanish painters. Sonja also had begun collecting the work of African American artists from colonial to modern times.

Purchasing her own home had become a priority for both her independence and the ability to display the pieces she’d begun collecting following her divorce. Whenever she purchased a painting, print or sculpture she would have it shipped to her parents’ home for safekeeping, with a promise that one day she would come and take her treasure trove to her