Midas Touch Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sandra to listen.
    Why did she call this woman by her first name? Sandra wondered.
    Ms. Dysan gave Ms. Angelo a look and actually patted her hand.
    “I wouldn’t,” Sandra blurted, determined not to let her anger show. People could not hurt you, unless you cared.
    “Why not?” Ms. Dysan asked, as she arched a perfect eyebrow.
    “Because I don’t know what an English Tudor looks like.”
    Ms. Angelo dropped her head quickly, but not before Sandra saw her smile. A wave of warmth rushed over her.
    “I see,” Ms. Dysan said, with a slight smile. “Then how did you design this model?”
    Sandra thought about it for a moment. “I just copied it from my head.”
    Ms. Dysan tipped her head to one side and stared at Sandra.
    “So you’ve seen it somewhere in a magazine or something?” Ms.
    Dysan persisted.

    “No.”
    “Sandra,” Ms. Angelo said, her dark brown eyes mesmerizing Sandra. “I have a Boston Terrier and two cats. I love to read and listen to music. I hate to cook and have little use for a kitchen.
    I’m a homebody. When I entertain, I prefer small, intimate settings. How would you design my home? Can you give me a rough sketch?”
    Sandra’s heart pounded. She would walk across West Texas barefoot, with no water, if Ms. Angelo asked her to. Taking the pencil, she balanced the pad on her lap.
    “Sit over here,” Ms. Angelo instructed, motioning to Ms.
    Dysan’s desk.
    Sandra tried not to notice the heat from Ms. Angelo’s body as she eased by her. Sandra sat down and closed her eyes. She thought about what Ms. Angelo wanted. Slowly, the rooms formed in her mind’s eye and began to come together. She opened her eyes, still seeing the scene going on inside her head. The pencil began to move, roughly sketching the home Ms. Angelo wanted.
    She drew a spacious living room with a stone fireplace at one end. Tall, deep-set windows graced the living room walls.
    In the master bedroom, a large window seat overlooked the back yard. Next to the window was a smaller, more intimate fireplace.
    The kitchen was a simple design with French doors leading out to a trellised patio. Lost in the joy of her creation, Sandra rapidly penciled in crude outlines of furniture.
    She closed the yard off with a short picket fence and added a doggie door to the back door. She drew a quick line sketch of two cats sitting on the window seat in the bedroom before blinking and gazing at the design before her.
    She felt disappointed. The house was not majestic enough for Ms. Angelo. Unable to look up to see her disappointment, Sandra pushed the paper toward her. A hand reached out to take the pad.
    “My God,” Ms. Dysan breathed. “If I hadn’t been standing here, I would not have believed it.”

    Sandra looked up to find the two women staring at each other and smiling. She looked away quickly and swallowed her pain at their closeness.
    Finally, Ms. Dysan cleared her throat and pulled a side chair up close. “Sandra,” she began, “have you given any thought to college?”
    Embarrassed, Sandra stared down at her hands. There was no money to send her to college.
    “I’m not going.”
    “Why not?” Ms. Angelo exclaimed. “Sandra, you have a very unusual talent. You could…”
    From the corner of her eye, Sandra saw Ms. Dysan reach out and touch Ms. Angelo’s hand and she fell silent.
    Ms. Dysan placed the pad back on the desk before Sandra.
    “I think your grades alone are good enough to guarantee you at least a partial scholarship, but what I’d like to do is enter your model in an architectural design contest. Of course, I would need your father’s permission to do so.”
    Not able to follow the turn of the conversation, Sandra frowned.
    “Nancy, explain it to her,” Ms. Angelo prodded.
    “Every year the National Association for Women Architects sponsors a contest,” Ms Dysan began. “It’s opened to women between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. They are looking for young women who show promising