Table of Contents
1. Discovered In The Interview
2. Worse Before Better
3. Lunch Crasher
4. Trapped Between Honor and Ruin
5. Stand Off . . . For The Moment
6. Lamb Among Three Woves
7. No Ordinary Farm Girl
8. Getting Down To Business
9. . . . And Then She Said
10. Meetings For More Than Information
11. Too Late For A Good Idea
12. From Bad To . . . What
13. Stars In The Making
14. It Should Have Been A Candlelit Dinner
15. Starlight is Better Than Candlelight
16. The Need To Be Safe
17. Waking Nightmare
18. Plenty To Go Around
19. War At Home And Abroad
20. Inviting The Grand And Notorious
21. The Fearless and the Family
22. Gowns That Should Melt Men's Hearts
23. Night Of Splendor . . . And Regret
24. Of Planes And Parting
25. Change In Time Zones
26. Saturday Morning Coffee
27. Road Trip
28. Meetings And Mixed Messages
29. Will He Get Her Back
30. It's Raining Pay Offs
31. The World . . . Starts Small
32. On The Wings Of Morning
33. Divide And Conquer
34. Her Instincts Were Right
35. War Stories . . . Many Wars
36. Wrong Call At The Wrong TIme
37. Fight For One's Own
38. And Justice For All
39. It's All In The Family
40. Back In The Judge's Chambers
41. Falling Short Of Glory
42. United We Stand
43. The Far Side Of The Sea
JEWELS AMONG THE RUINS
CHAPTER 1 - Discovered in the Interview
Elle Dejna, as she was known in America, looked over the top of her reading glasses, suddenly aware that her project interview – was over. She restored a wayward strand of blond hair, to the style she’d hastily sprayed in place earlier, and began to gather her designs and calculations.
Born in Poland during the collapse of the Soviet-imposed government in the 1980’s, Elżbieta Anna Maria Dejna fumbled with her notebook to shake hands with one of Chicago’s top finance attorneys, Daniel Chacon.
Instructed by her Uncle Joseph, owner and CEO of the architectural firm where she worked, Elle had applied for Dan Chacon’s remodeling project – although her uncle did not yet know the project requirements had been amended to include some complicated work-arounds.
She had counted on this interior architect interview to help her win the job of remodeling the interior of Dan’s just-purchased building next door in neighboring Wilmette, Illinois. Hoping to pour all her unused talent and innovation into remodeling that new space, Elle had listened intently to Dan’s vision for his new accounting division.
“Wilmette has the perfect infrastructure for me,” Dan said as he leaned back in his executive’s chair. “We have access to commercial litigation, which we absorb from our close neighbor, Chicago.” He paused for effect and studied her with one eye shut. “Many international legal issues are referred to us by our U.S. federal connections.”
Elle took meticulous notes on Dan’s goals and desired outcomes for the project, as he drifted in and out of visions of grandeur.
Although taller than Elle, he was as slender as she was – fast-talking, fast-thinking, and overflowing with energy that could surely keep the lights on in all downtown Chicago.
Elle assumed he would be difficult to work for, but … she wanted the job. This possible assignment in Wilmette was just right for her, too. Her Uncle Joseph Falkenberg’s architectural firm set up the meeting with Dan Chacon. It was a bonus that his office was central to a charming neighborhood, with architecture reminiscent of the early twentieth century. Elle considered the job as a perk to work within that lovely ambiance.
Wilmette was just thirteen miles from her apartment in Portage Park. Elle’s other Falkenberg clients were located all over the greater Chicago area, and lately she had been fighting big city traffic in February snow. Since she knew she was never going to be big enough to wrestle with combative commuters on the train, she had developed skills in being inconspicuous.
Elle knew how to become very, very small.
Elle believed she would adore Wilmette’s tree-lined sidewalks in spring, where the shops would be filled with fashionable clothes she would never buy. She imagined the world flowering after the snow melted, when she could stroll along friendly streets during her lunch hour.
Dan Chacon’s offices were on one of those streets. Elle would be able to breathe fresh air, smile at other walkers with ease, enjoy moments of quiet – so rare in other neighborhoods.
She looked forward to being in and out of the impeccable interior décor of Dan’s offices, so subtle – yet rich in warm chestnut, ecru and burnt sienna. The décor was much like the owner, descended from Cuban immigrants, warmly attractive – too hot to handle in court. Earlier, while waiting for her interview to start, Elle had relished Dan’s warm and comfortable reception area in complete rapture.
A man who owned this space could surely write a reference that would advance her career. She needed this job.
Now, in the intimidating grandeur of Dan’s private office, with him challenging her for project specifics, Elle had been able to retain her focus and humbly answer him with quiet confidence.
In response, Dan registered surprise at her detailed understanding of what he wanted. So, he’d given her more attention and further investigated her credentials, testing her responses – for agreeableness.
He didn’t want to hire someone who would waste future time by arguing with his decisions. He wanted a professional who would keep the wheels of his project on track, on time and fuel efficient.
A woman’s voice came over the intercom on Dan’s desk, “Burke Gann just called. He wants to know if you can fit him in this afternoon.”
“Absolutely not,” Dan answered gruffly. “Tell him I’m in court.” Flipping off the intercom switch, Dan patted his desk, held out his hand for a shake and dismissed Elle with, “Appreciate you coming in, Ms. Dejna. You seem to have a grip on what we’re needing here.”
Elle stood, quickly shook his hand, stuck her glasses on, slipped her notebook into her tote bag, grabbed her briefcase as she gathered her coat – all while answering Dan’s surprise last question regarding potential budget overruns.
While Elle answered him as realistically as she could without losing the project on the spot, Dan saw a text on his phone. Suddenly, Dan whisked around his desk and rushed Elle to his private door. Polite but brisk, he promised to get back to her – reminding her that he had many other competing interviews remaining on his busy schedule.
Long lines of applicants appeared in Elle’s imagination. She thought back to the long lines of Polish neighbors forming outside her parents’ grocery store nearly her entire lifetime ago, to buy whatever food they were apportioned – if it was still on the shelf.
Her parents, Leon and Anna Dejna, had done their best to keep themselves, their son, Alekzander and daughter, Elżbieta – fed. Although Elle’s parents were managers of the store, they were careful to abide by the ration rules established by the communist government. Gossip, however, creeped into the neighborhood. Some said that the Dejna family took advantage.
Anna Dejna, Elle’s mother, grew increasingly anxious about her family’s safety in 1988. She believed that her husband and her nine-year-old son, Alekzander, would be able to make the best of their uncertain future – but as for her frail, little Elżbieta … Anna wanted her daughter to get out.
Anna got word to her cousin, Joseph Falkenberg, in “Illinois, America” … that she needed him to help Elle get to the United States as soon as possible.
Joseph, whose branch of the family had fled to America after World War II, was now a successful architect. He owned his own firm and lived in the Portage Park suburb of Chicago. Portage Park had been a welcoming neighborhood for Polish immigrants generally – especially those who had fled various generations of oppression.
Although Elle’s mother, Anna, and Joseph Falkenberg, her cousin, did not have a close relationship, their separate family ties did. So, Joseph had reluctantly agreed to accept a non-English-speaking child from a woman connected to him – only by blood. His wife, Krysia, had helped him feel the guilt of his ancestors making a better life for him … while Anna’s forebearers had trapped her family in a destiny beyond her control.
In 1988, Elżbieta Dejna, age six, had been shepherded onto streetcars with urine puddled in the aisles and through streets lined with sleeping drunks – on the way to the airport in Warsaw, Poland. The plane Mama Anna had rushed her into flew out of the gray, polluted air of Warsaw into blue skies rimmed by gold. After the long and bumpy flight over the ocean, into New York, then another to Chicago – little Elżbieta had landed in Chicago (escorted by a very kind stewardess) … airsick, tired, and traumatized.
There, she was surrounded by the Falkenberg family. Krysia, Joseph’s wife, immediately swallowed Elle in her arms as the child trembled from fear and the cold – noting that Elle’s best clothes were shabby. Krysia glanced up at her husband and rapidly urged him in English to “do something.”
Rocking Elle back and forth in her arms, Krysia had said in Polish, “My golden child.”
Years later, after Elle had learned English, she realized that Krysia had begged Joseph to get Elle immediate medical attention. Following a long nap, Joseph and Krysia had driven Elle to the local hospital. With Krysia’s nursing, Elle had blossomed into better health.
On that first day, however, when Elle landed in that strange world of America,
called Chicago – Joseph and his family had watched her survey all that was shiny and clean around her. They decided on the spot to not call her by her Polish name. Then, and there, Elżbieta Anna Maria Dejna, would be forevermore known as “Elle”. Her mother’s cousin, Joseph, suddenly became her “uncle”.
Although there was a sizable population from Poland settled between Chicago and Detroit, Joseph and his family knew that other Americans would never be able to pronounce Elżbieta’s name, much less understand her complicated family configuration.
Elle shut her eyes to force out the memory of arriving in the U.S. so long ago – speechless in a world of noise. She sighed and smiled her best professional smile at Daniel Chacon – as he opened his office door and ushered her out.
Dan swung the door wide and saw his long-time friend (printer, golf buddy, Thursday-night shield against romantic entanglements) … John Wainwright.
A former football tight end at Northwestern University, John Wainwright, stood up from chatting with Dan’s receptionist. John stood taller than everyone else in the room. He struck his fists on his hips and settled into an A-frame stance.
John teased Dan, “Hey, buddy, we’re on Chicago time. I’ve got a business to run!”
John looked over at Elle, expecting Dan’s introduction, but Dan was still on a mission to guide Elle out onto the street. John shot a disapproving look at Dan, who ignored it.
Standing next to John, however, was Trish Draper – a well-known interior decorator in Chicago. She stood slightly taller than Elle, was more tastefully dressed than Elle had ever been in her past, or on that very day – or on any day she could imagine in her future.
Elle gasped, escaping Dan’s steering hand, and exclaimed, “Oh, Ms. Draper! I’m so glad to meet you! The environments you create are exquisite … “she paused to think of an extra, accurate compliment, “and comfortable.”
Elle released her held breath, “You are truly an artist with line and color!”
Trish took Elle’s eager, outstretched hand and smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry – have we met? Are you interviewing for Dan’s re-build, too?” Trish swallowed her surprise, and looked at Dan.
Dan quickly assured Trish, “Well, Elle Dejna works for her uncle, Joseph Falkenberg – the architect that designed the building I just bought. He talked me into interviewing Miss Dejna. Her college degree in Interior Design included the required courses for the architectural degree. Joseph Falkenberg said she’s good at finding inches.”
“Inches …” Tall and broad John Wainwright eyed Dan with suspicion. Then, shifting his scrutiny back to Elle, John breathed out some empathy for her.
There she was, carrying a lightweight coat in February weather, a man’s briefcase, her tote bag with a blueprint rolled beneath her arm. He nodded to her as if they had been introduced – and then, quickly looked down at his feet. To John, Elle looked professional, pleasant … and too genuine to have interviewed for a job that was already taken.
“Oh, Miss Draper, I hope to see you again,” Elle sighed. “You’re so … versatile.”
Dan laughed heartily, assuming he had clarified the situation to all except Elle.
She graciously drifted to the side of the conversation. Dan then quickly reached up and grabbed John around his shoulders. John looked back to see Elle maneuver through the crowded waiting room.
“John, I hope you’re not here to bankrupt me with that marketing proposal you emailed yesterday,” Dan declared. “I’m telling you – felons aren’t paying what they used to.”
Dan led his two long-time friends toward his office. Trish’s mouth smiled – her eyes did not. John turned back to see where the young woman had gone – the one carrying more than she should handle.
“No calls,” Dan barked at his receptionist. The three friends clustered together, walked into Dan’s private office, and shut the door.
Elle steadied her blueprint, adjusted her tote bag, briefcase shoulder strap – and navigated her way through the busy, waiting room … and out onto the snow-covered street.
Just another day.
