All Chapters of The False Facade: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Blake"What's the matter with the model?" I spoke to the other line."The foyer," he replied with a burst of Russian accent. "It's a bit extra."I heaved a sigh. "In what sense?""In terms of width. Don't you think it's too wide?""Too wide you say." I sneered. "We are talking about a guesthouse here.""I'm aware," he said, "But I want a normal sized lobby. Not too wide and not too small.""Alright then. If that's the case, necessary adjustments will be made," I stated."Thank you, Mr. McGregor.""You're welcome. And one more thing, Mr. Smirnov.""Okay?""I'd leave you with the Chief Interior Designer. She'd be handling your calls.""Alright. Bye.""Goodbye."For the rest of the journey, I

 LauraI had never been angered as I was seated in the reception, before. Not even the pile of work I regularly buried myself in or the hair pulling nagging of Benny---my boss---had irked me to this extent.The bitter taste of frustration remained on tongue as I glanced at my watch.Ten minutes.It had been ten freaking minutes I had been in the reception, doing nothing but gaze. Everyone seemed to be engrossed in one thing or the other. The vast number of receptionists---ok, that was a bit of exaggeration---had their hands on work.There were three receptionists in total. All seated in a U-curved table. The frizzy haired lady stationed in front of me was currently attending to a middle aged blonde, the Asian male at the far right was on the telephone and at the same time scribbling some notes down. At the extreme left was a

Laura "Five down, three-sixty to go," I whispered, adding a cross on the table calendar.  I dropped the highlighter on the drawer beside and rolled back to bed, lying on my stomach. That had been my new style of sleeping since my grand entrance here.  Having a room all to myself wasn't in any way new: back in Boston, Taylor and I had our individual rooms; the case wasn't different in my Brooklyn apartment, since I shared my space with no one.  What made this a special case, however, was the warm homely feel this particular bed had.  The mattress was solid, not in any way clumsy or soft. I woke up eve

 Laura.Jet lags were the worst, tales from Faith and some survivors on net confirmed the harsh reality. I'd done my best in following the preventive measures; with an emphasis on 'best'. As much as the guidelines, rules and hacks that ensured a pleasant journey---for long distance travellers---were reasonable, they were far beyond achievable for me.Fair enough, I'd cut my craves for the airplane's complimentary coffee and had rather stuck to nuts and fruits. However, the idea of ditching my sleep to accommodate the far-stretched time difference between New York and Melbourne, was a no-no. At first, I made to go for it- staying awake like a bat and managing to listen to Blake's shallow description of his family. But then, who was I to decline the call of nature?I took no notice of the hum and buzz that went on at the terminal. My puffy ey

Blake Hearing Laura say those words sent an unexplainable feeling to me. As funny as they sounded, I didn't find myself laughing---or better still, stifling a laughter. I'd have gone ahead to ask: 'are you kidding me?', the way her lips pinned together let me know she was far from cracking jokes. "What do I think of you?" "Yeah. Cos I don't get it anymore." This has got to be a joke. Just yesterday, she started one of her melodramas, and I tried---in my gentlemanliest way---to avoid creating a scene. I'd let her be, hoping that whatever ill feelings she had, would leave.&nbs