Chapter 3 - THE INVITATION WITH NO RETURN ADDRESS
Norah expected to be fired.
Instead, Frank called her into his office the following afternoon.
He looked exhausted.
“Do you have any idea what you did?”
Norah folded her arms.
“Served drinks. Cleared tables. Danced badly.”
Frank stared.
“You embarrassed Enzo Russo.”
“He seemed capable of doing that himself.”
“Norah.”
She sighed.
“Look, I know. It was reckless.”
Frank rubbed his forehead.
“You don't understand these people.”
“Probably not.”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a cream envelope.
He slid it across the desk.
“This arrived for you.”
Norah frowned.
There was no return address.
Only her name.
She opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Norah Bennett,
Thank you for the dance.
I would like to ask whether you might be interested in helping me with a project. It involves music, architectural acoustics, and a building that nobody in my family believes is worth saving.
You may decline.
Elliot Russo.
Beneath the message was a phone number.
Norah read it twice.
Frank watched her.
“What does it say?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
He looked offended.
She smiled.
“See? I can be mysterious too.”
That evening, Norah called.
Elliot answered after the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It's Norah.”
A pause.
Then:
“Hello, Norah.”
She smiled.
“I got your note.”
“Was it inappropriate?”
“No.”
“I rewrote it eleven times.”
“Why?”
“I didn't want it to sound like an order.”
Norah's smile softened.
“It didn't.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
She sat on the edge of her bed.
“What project?”
Elliot explained that he owned an abandoned neighborhood theater on Chicago's South Side.
It had belonged to his mother.
She had purchased it years earlier with plans to restore it.
But she died before the renovation began.
Since then, the building had remained empty.
Elliot wanted to turn it into a community music space designed for people with different sensory needs.
Quiet rooms.
Adjustable lighting.
Acoustic treatment.
Flexible seating.
A dance floor.
Norah listened.
“That sounds wonderful.”
“My father thinks it's a waste of money.”
“Does he own it?”
“No. I do.”
“Then why does his opinion matter?”
Elliot was silent.
Finally, he said, “Because he controls the trust.”
Norah frowned.
“Your trust?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the wall.
“Are you legally allowed to manage your own property?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Then maybe someone should explain that to your father.”
Elliot made a small sound.
Norah realized he was laughing.
“Would you like to see the building?” he asked.
She hesitated.
May you like
Then smiled.
“Yes.”
