Hey Readers! If you haven’t already, be sure to check out other posts here to read previous chapters of The House On Astor Street. Enjoy!
Chapter Six
It was a bitterly cold night, but there was no snow on the ground. Accent lighting drew beams of orange pillars up the stone columns that adorned the front of the palatial building. Ornamental reliefs of the tragedy and comedy masks were carved into the limestone edifice, surrounded by intricately chiseled marble wreaths, delicately placed gold leaf, and topped by two large Greek nudes. The black limousine pulled up to the red carpet that stretched into the vast grand foyer. An usher opened the door and put his hand out. A soft, pale hand reached out, followed by two legs draped in red silk. “It’s Margot Crawford!” someone yelled. The cameras exploded.
Hanging across the entrance of the Lyric Opera building was a large banner that read “Crawford Foundation Winter Gala.” Margot stopped to greet a few reporters and comment on the state of the foundation. She stopped to take photos with dignitaries, socialites, and celebrities. These formalities continued as she made her way inside where servers were running around with trays of appetizers and champagne. Guests and donors mingled with each other in their fineries. The Mayor of Chicago was engaged in some serious conversation with the Governor. Jessica Bryant, tv’s newest star, was making a group of guests laugh and gawk at her as she told stories about her time in Hollywood. Foundation employees were huddled around, taking in the sights and sounds of the Gala.
Margot was talking with Anton Reed, the 1980’s biggest action hero star, and his wife when Harold walked up with a kind smile said, “Good evening, Ms. Crawford.” Glancing over towards Anton, “Good Evening Mr. and Mrs. Reed.” Back at Margot, “Could I steal you for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” Margot smiled. “Please, enjoy yourselves tonight. Great to see you.” Margot hugged the Reeds, then followed Harold to a room off of the main hall.
“Well, you were right. Our numbers grew again this year. The unofficial count is nearly thirty-five hundred guests. Congrats, Margot!”
She smiled affectionately, “None of this would be possible without you, Harold. You and the rest of the team.” Margot gave him a hug, the way one lovingly hugs an Uncle or an old family friend. Harold started with the foundation as an intern back when Jacinda was just getting it off the ground and now he was the foundation’s director. He’d helped Margot find her footing in the world of philanthropy and thought she was a shining display of humility, elegance, and beauty. The perfect figurehead. “Thank you.”
“Well, let’s get through tonight, then we can really celebrate. I’ve had some remarks prepared.” He handed the papers to Margot, who flipped through them casually. Noticing her disengaged skimming, he surmised, “Or, are we going with a Margot original?”
“I appreciate the effort, truly! But I just can’t help myself. Margot original it is.” She laughed as Harold motioned towards the door.
“Well then, let’s get you upstairs and one of the ushers should have a mic waiting for you.”
“Thank you again, Harold.” Margot smiled and headed out of the room and towards the stairs.
Chapter Seven
“Good Evening,” heads were moving side-to-side, looking for the source of the disembodied voice coming from the speakers scattered around the hall. “Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Halfway up the grand staircase, dressed in a long red silk dress, Margot was waving to the crowd below. Her pinned up hair shimmered with her movements, and her diamond jewelry reflected the light like a night sky full of fireflies. Her bright red lips outlined her brilliant white smile, perfectly matching her gown. “It is so nice to be amongst so many amazing friends tonight.”
A couple cameras hired to document the event flashed rhythmically while Margot continued with the formalities and niceties: introducing dignitaries and special guests, thanking the board of the foundation, the foundation’s director, Harold, and the staff “who, without each of them, tonight wouldn’t be possible.” She briefly reiterated the foundation’s mission to provide quality educational programs and recreational activities to all kids across Chicago, and again thanked all those who have donated throughout the years to make their programs a success.
Raising a glass of champagne, Margot leaned into the mic and said “Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge one very special woman, my grandmother, Jacinda Crawford. She understood that a better future for all of us, started with our children. With that, cheers to Jacinda Crawford, cheers to the foundation staff and patrons, and cheers to all of you for helping us make Chicago a better place. Please, I invite you to make your way into the theater. Enjoy your evening.”
Once the applause died down, guests began streaming through the theater doors and to their assigned seats. Margot was joined by Harold on the stairs as an escort. She looped her arm through his as they began walking down the stairs, “Excellent speech, as always.”
“Well, your notes inspired me.” Margot replied with a wink.
Harold laughed. “Oh please. I should have learned years ago that you do not need me to help when it comes to mesmerizing a crowd. Anyway, here’s the plan for the rest of the evening,” they were walking slowly in an effort to let the crowd get ahead of them, “in about ten minutes, as everyone settles in, I’ll make some remarks about fundraising, some silent auction item updates, all the boring business stuff. The symphony will get started with the first two movements of the piece…”
“Beethoven’s Symphony Number Nine, right?” Margot interrupted.
“…of course. I know it’s your favorite. So, after the first two movements, we will take a forty-five minute intermission. I know it’s long, but we are going to feature a second round of heavy appetizers and more drink service. Then, the last two movements, followed by closing remarks from you and the Richardsons. We should be all wrapped up by ten, at the latest. How’s that all sound?”
“I think it sounds perfect. This is and will continue to be a wonderful evening.” Margot squeezed Harold’s arm affectionately. As they got a bit closer to the theater doors, Margot paused and leaned in to whisper to Harold, “You go ahead, I’m going to go freshen up really quickly before the symphony gets started.”
“No problem! We’ve got a couple of seats saved up in the front, so I’ll just meet you there.”
“Great… And, Harold,” Margot put her hand on his shoulder, “thank you again for everything you’ve done for the foundation. I know my grandmother would be proud.” She hugged him and turned back towards the entrance hall.
Instead of walking over to one of the side rooms the building had reserved for the event staff, Margot subtly made her way over to the elevators. When the elevator chimed to notify her it had arrived, Margot moved in quickly with her head down, choosing a spot against the side wall out of full view of the lobby, and pressed “22”.
The elevator rose slowly to the 22nd floor and eventually stopped. The large metal doors slid open with a muted ding. Margot took a deep breath and walked out into the dark elevator bank. The doors closed and, aside from a few streaks of city lights pouring in through the windows, she was plunged into darkness. She ran her fingertips against the wall, using it as a guide as she walked towards the stairwell. Meanwhile, back down in the theater, Harold had finished his remarks and made his way offstage towards his seat. As he was walking down the aisle, he checked his watch in confusion when he noticed the seat next to his was still empty. Trying his best to keep up appearances, he took his seat, seemingly unphased. Then, Harold checked his watch again.
As the symphony began to fill the space with the first few notes of the first movement, Margot’s hands felt the cool metal handle of the stairwell door. She pushed the door in and began to move up the steps. The air was colder in there, no doubt permeating in from the small crevices around the rooftop door. She could hear the wind whistling as it moved around the maze of pipes and utility equipment on the roof. She made her way to the heavy, industrial door and pushed. She was immediately hit with a chill that seeped into her bones. She let the door close behind her, shivering, as she walked over to the edge of the roof.
There were hardly any people out that evening due to the chilly weather, besides the periodic dog walker, jogger, or couple on a stroll along the river. One couple in particular was on the opposite side of the water when, by pure chance, a flash of red caught one of their eyes. The woman stopped and turned her head, squinting to get a better glimpse of the roof of one of the two parallel buildings that made up the wings of the taller Civic Opera tower. “Oh my God, I think there’s someone up there!”
The man turned back to look at his wife, who he hadn’t realized had stopped walking, “What was that?” he asked.
“There!” Pointing to the southern wing, she yelled over her shoulder, “There’s a woman standing at the edge of the roof!”
Vividly contrasted against the sandstone walls and dark sky behind her, Margot was slowly walking to the edge of the roof in her bright red gown. She stayed facing straight ahead, ignoring the cold, the wind, the sheer height of the tower.
“Stay here. Try to flag someone down or, I don’t know, scream for someone! I’m going to run to that café down there and call the police.” The man ran away along the river while his wife cupped her mouth and started screaming for help. Margot was too high to hear the couple down below.
Some of the press that was covering the beginning of the event heard the commotion on the river on the other side of the building and made their way around the corner to see what was going on. A small crowd of passersby were beginning to accumulate on the Madison Street bridge and along the west side of the river. Meanwhile, inside, the symphony was halfway through the first movement when an usher stealthily made his way up to Harold in the front row and said “Mr. Ackerman, there’s an emergency that requires your immediate attention. Please come with me.” Harold looked at the empty seat next to him and sprinted up the aisle and out the door.
Chapter Eight
The wind on the roof was far more intense than it was on the ground. Margot’s dress whipped around her ankles and her hair came undone and fluttered wildly around her head. She could see the gathering crowd below along the bridge and length of the river in her peripheral but kept her gaze forward. Cameras that were filming the beginning of the gala only hours ago, were now fixed on the roof of the Civic Opera. Margot could hear the distant sounds of sirens growing louder as she took a few more steps towards the edge.
“This is Rachel Stanton, reporting live from the Madison Street bridge in Chicago’s ‘Loop’ neighborhood. We are receiving reports that Margot Crawford, who was seen just hours ago entering her family foundation’s annual gala event, is on the roof of the Civic Opera tower.” As Margot moved closer to the edge, Rachel broke back in, “That’s her! Ladies and gentleman, we now have visual and can confirm, that is Margot Crawford. She is wearing the same outfit we captured her wearing earlier this evening.” Rachel looked up at the small, bright red figure for a few seconds, gulped, and turned back towards the camera, “We will keep you updated throughout the night as this situation develops.”
“Where is she?” Harold was running out of the theater doors into the great hall, panicked and yelling erratically to staff preparing for the upcoming intermission, “Where is Margot? Have you seen her? Where did she go?” He ran towards the side room they were in earlier.
The first of the responding officers arrived on the scene and began to take inventory of the situation. He began to corral some of the spectators away from the bridge and moved his cruiser to block all traffic along Madison Street. From the car, he radioed the other responding officers and the precinct, “This is Officer Campbell, we have a woman on the southwest corner of the roof of the Civic Opera building. Subject is dangerously close to the edge. Situation developing.”
A second cruiser pulled up and another officer jumped out, “Steve, what seems to be going on here?”
Officer Campbell pointed up towards the roof, but before he could get any words out, the radio on his shoulder crackled, “news reports are indicating that the subject is Margot Crawford.” Both officers looked at each other, then up towards the roof.
Harold opened the door to the side room he and Margot were in earlier, “Margot!” His eyes darted around, “Margot!”
“Sir! Sir!” The usher Harold left in the theater when he first received the news caught up to him, “Sir, I was told she was seen going up the elevators about twenty minutes ago.”
“Twenty minutes? Why am I just finding out about this?”
“We didn’t think anything of it until the alarm for the rooftop door was triggered. It looks like it was the door on the southwest…”
Harold didn’t wait around to hear what else the usher had to say, he was already sprinting towards the elevator. He jammed the call button repeatedly, his heart pounding and his lungs tight. The elevator dinged and the same large, metal doors glided open as Harold jumped in. He was already pressing the button for the 22nd floor before the doors had even opened all the way. Slowly, the elevator climbed the over 200 feet, seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. Harold was pacing in the elevator calling out frantically, “Margot! Please no…. Margot!” Ding! The doors opened unto a dark elevator bank and Harold leapt out.
Numerous cameras were trained on Margot and several more emergency vehicles had arrived. A helicopter cut through the downtown skyline and was floating overhead, shining a spotlight on the dazzling red figure as it moved to the edge of the roof. Margot climbed onto the edge, hardly able to balance as the wind swirled around her. People down below gasped, yet the cameras didn’t move.
Harold burst into the stairwell and in a head-throbbing daze, jumped two stairs at a time to the door to the roof that still stood slightly ajar. He pushed the door open and was immediately struck with a blast of cold air. He recoiled only for an instant before he saw red silk dancing frantically in the wind far in front of him. Harold ran towards the figure, tears in his eyes, screaming, “Margot!”
When she jumped, her red gown fluttered in a cocoon-shaped cradle, pulling against the shape of her body. Her eyes were closed, her face serine, in perfect contrast to her hair which whipped around madly in the wind. The spotlight from the helicopter highlighted every soft feature of Margot Crawford as she crashed with a sharp echo into the freezing waters of the Chicago River. Screams erupted from the banks of the river and along the streets as Rachel looked into the lens of the news camera and whispered with a shocked expression, “Margot Crawford has jumped from the building.” She paused, looked behind her and, without turning back to the camera, said, “My God, Margot Crawford jumped.”
From the couch in his living room, Adam picked up the tv remote, powered off the local news, sank his head into his hands, and wept.
