Addie Combo Page 6

  This isn’t my first time in a commercial airline, but it is my first time in First Class. The seats are so wide and comfy, the service so friendly and fast. The shrimp cocktail is perfectly chilled, the Champagne is sparkling and tasty, the perfect accent.

  I notice Randolph looking past me once or twice, to the couple sitting on the other side of the aisle. She’s a pretty redhead, about my age, her slender body is otherwise round and bulging in the middle. She sits with her hand resting lovingly on her pregnant belly, her handsome and devoted husband seeing to her every need and hanging on her every word.

  I look back at Randolph, whose eyes catch my own. We almost speak, but there doesn’t seem to be any need. We clasp hands, our fingers interlocking as our eyes burn into one another’s with a growing intensity that I know is more than just a passing feeling. I’m high above the country with a wonderful man who is opening up whole new worlds to me, figuratively and literally.

  I can’t help but imagine what may come of our time together, how our relationship is likely to grow. I don’t just fall into bed with a man; not any man, let alone my boss! But things have happened, and they’re continuing to happen, that seems clear. What they will lead to, however, is still anybody’s guess.

  But watching Randolph watching that family, his fingers cradling mine, even raising my hand to kiss my fragile knuckles, resting them against his cheek; I’m ready to guess what he’s thinking.

  And I guess I’m thinking the same thing.

  The humidity of the rainy Florida summer has passed, and the balmy warmth of winter is a tropical treat. The air is dewy, but not oppressive.

  The best of both worlds.

  We spend a few days looking at several big apartment buildings; complexes, really, some with as many as thirty units. They’re all built in that mid-twentieth century postmodern design; square and plain, painted pink or yellow or light blue. Cruising down the streets in a rented Jaguar XK coupe, I feel like I’ve slipped back in time; everywhere I look, it’s the 1950s all over again.

  “A good Florida real estate investment can bring back three-to-four times the investment capital,” Randolph says, another pearl of wisdom to add to my growing pool of information. “But it’s gotta be the right buy, an exceptional buy; you’ve got to see it, put eyes on it. Average buy means average return.”

  “Your guy Martin line these up?”

  Randolph shakes his head. “Gave me a few numbers, but this is a bit far from his stomping grounds. I root these out on my own, using the internet, tips from people I knowout here.”

  “Spies?”

  Randolph smiles a bit. “If you like. Anyway, I make a trip out when the time seems right. What do you think; about the properties, I mean?”

  “You want my opinion?”

  “Sure, you’re an up-and-comer in the business. Anyway, think of it asa little test.”

  So I give it some thought. There’s a lot to think about, but I don’t want to just sit for ten minutes reflecting on it like some spacecase. For this little test, I’m going to have to show my work.

  I say, “Well, the big one near the park is filled, but there’s hardly anyone there under fifty. So they’re not likely to be leaving anytime soon. That’s not great if you wanna raise your rents.”

  “Exactly, a steady turnover is good for business. What about the place on Fiesta Way? Three vacancies there.”

  “With a homeless shelter at the end of the block?”

  Randolph looks at me with a new respect, a smile that says I may just be acing this little test. I feel myself smile a bit too.

  Randolph says, “What about the condo on the beach? Could rent it out for Spring Break and make a ton, use it as a getaway the rest of the year.”

  “Not really what your investors have in mind, is it?”

  “No, I suppose you’re right.”

  “You could always just buy nothing,” I say. “No deal at all is better than a bad deal, even in Florida.”

  “Especially in Florida.” We cruise onward for a few miles further, toward our hotel. Something catches Randolph’s eye as we pass, and he double-checks his rearview mirror.

  “Randolph? What is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” he says, parallel parking as he adds, “but let’s find out.”

  Randolph steps out and crosses the car to open the door for me. I’d never just sit there waiting for someone to do it; but it’s something he always does, so I let him. And I like it, I’m not gonna lie. It means he cares, even in the midst of business or sudden inspiration. He doesn’t ignore my needs, my presence, or take them for granted.

  Instantly, I see what has caught Randolph’s interest; a for sale sign in front of a little singlestory house on a quiet, residential street. Randolph is already working his smartphone, flicking the screen and squinting to read the information. “Going into foreclosure. What do you think?”

  I don’t have to think about it long; there are two different answers, but I decide to go with my heart and not my brain. “Gee, a foreclosure.” I take a look at the house; drapes behind the unbroken windows, no real signs of neglect. “You don’t wanna kick anybody out of their home.”

  “Don’t have to. It’s been empty for two months.”

  I take a closer look, concluding that sometimes looks can be deceiving. I shrug. “Still, your investors are looking for commercial property, aren’t they?”

  “Not for them, for you! For your expanding empire.”

  “Oh no, Randolph, I couldn’t ... I can’t ... ”

  Randolph wraps one arm around me, leading me closer to the house. “This one’s a banker, I’m telling you. We’ll buy it, spruce it up and rent it out. Next year we sell it and you make a killing.”

  My head starts to spin. Who buys a house like this, I have to wonder, just passing by, at the drop of a hat?

  Professional real estate investors, I tell myself, that’s who. Why don’t you watch and learn?

  Randolph reads my expression, even saying, “Now, I know that look! Addie, I love how much you want to do these things for yourself, how proud you are. But this isn’t charity and it’s not even me helping you out.”

  “Oh no?”

  He rests one hand on each of my upper arms, barely touching me. “With the profit you turn on this one house, you’ll be able to pay me back for this, and for the down payment on your building back in L.A. So really, I’m just securing my own chances of being repaid, and faster. It’s a purely selfish move, I assure you.”

  I know he’s lying; well, stretching the truth. He doesn’t want me to feel helpless or beholden; he’s helping me stand on my own two feet. And he’s right; after a year or so this could really put me ahead of the game, and at virtually no risk to me.

  How could I refuse?

  We spend that night strolling along the shops and cafes of the charming Las Olas Boulevard, where Old Spanish architecture meets modern, a lot like back in Los Angeles. And it’s even warmer here. Older couples stroll everywhere, many are snowbirds who come to get away from the blustery and sometimes lethal chill of the winters in New York, New Jersey and surrounding states to the north.

  I wonder if Randolph and I will ever be such a couple, looking back on decades together; children born and reared and raised and sent off to have lives of their own. We hold hands, my head leaning against his shoulder, the ocean mist heavy in the warm evening breeze.

  Again, Randolph seems to lose himself in a reverie; watching the occasional family go by, kids running and shrieking with delight, parents rolling their tired eyes and trying to keep up. It happens almost every time. He squeezes my hand just a little tighter with every stroller we pass.

  Don’t even think about saying anything to him, I caution myself.

  Why not? We’re together, he’s obviously wanting a family. If not with me, what is he doing with me in the first place? He doesn’t need another real estate protege, I’m sure. He likes me for me, loves me ...

  He loves me.

  Oh
yeah? my internal skeptic must challenge me (as it always does), then how come he hasn’t said it?

  This is a challenge I have no answer for.

  Don’t you dare say anything to him, Addie!

  I clear my throat and look around at the picturesque boulevard, flickering lights coiled around the palm trees’ trunks and fronds. “It’s so beautiful,” I say, testing his reaction.

  He says, “You’re the most beautiful thing here,” and we share a little kiss.

  But nothing more.

  So I say, “I always thought I’d live by the water someday; a little place on the Colorado River maybe, or a beach house in New England.” I let a little pause slip by, but neither of us has any words to fill it.

  Don’t do it, Addie, I’m begging you!

  I say, “But now I realize; it’s only water, right? I mean, what matters is who you’re with, not where you are.”

  One more word, Addie, and I’ll never forgive you, I promise I won’t!

  Still no answer from Randolph. And I can’t just cling to his arm and say nothing.

  Of course you can, I urge myself.

  But I don’t. It amazes even me, as if I’m not in control of my body or my brain as I sit and watch myself say, “And I think I know who I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.”

  No, oh no...

  “A man who’s looking for the same things,” I say, “a man who’s been hurt and is afraid to try again ... ”

  Shut up shut up shut up, you idiot!

  “A man who seems to have everything, except for this one thing, the only thing that means anything to him.”

  I stop walking and turn. He stops too, looking deep into my eyes.

  Now you’ve done it, I imagine that voice saying.

  Then he kisses me, with the passion he reserves for our moments in private, our most heated and sensual exchanges. He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me; our faces pressing against one another, desperate to interconnect, to become one.

  You see? I chide myself. No need for all that worry, that wonder, that trepidation. The mind wonders, but the heart knows! And when it knows, you better stand back, because it’s going to be fireworks!

  Okay, my inner skeptic allows. I just hope you don’t get burned too badly. ♡

  The next few weeks go by with a strange tenor. It’s true, Randolph and I are both very busy. He helps me through the escrow on the Florida house, and even sets up one of his so-called spies to oversee the rehab and the rental, for what he insists is a very reasonable fee. “It’s a lot cheaper than flying out to that sauna every two months,” Randolph says, and I know he’s right.

  We spend Christmas in Las Vegas. I’ve never been, and it’s a better choice than flying to Colorado to visit my family, which Randolph suggests.

  So we get a huge suite at the Venetian and spend a few days in the rattling clamor of the casinos, braving the gusty winds to see Elton John do a special holiday concert at the Hard Rock Hotel.

  Once the new year begins, things settle quickly; like dust. Randolph is involved with a variety of things in the meantime, including hiring another personal assistant. “It just doesn’t feel right,” he explains, “you’re above that kind of position now.”

  “Also,” I point out, “you don’t want to be sleeping with your assistant.”

  “No, right, yes, exactly. It would be demeaning to you, that’s my concern.”

  It’s hard to argue with that, even though I am pretty happy with the job; learning a lot and spending time with the man I love. But I am glad that, once again, Randolph is showing concern for me; for my feelings and for my future. That’s a rare thing in my experience, so I’m more grateful than I am skeptical.

  But it means we’re spending less time together, and the time we do share seems clouded by some vague tension, something that’s indescribably different.

  I told you not to force the issue back in Florida, I tell myself. That was too much, too soon!

  What, too much too soon? I silently counter. We’re lovers. Somebody had to make a move. And these are modern times. It’s up to women as much as men these days; to earn a living, to start a family.

  The best of both worlds.

  But there is something wrong; in our bed, in our lives, in our hearts. And as the days go on and the weeks become chillier and less intimate, I find I have to mention it somehow. If I don’t and I lose him, I’ll have to carry the weight of knowing that I thought something was wrong but did nothing, just stood by and let it all go to waste.

  So one night I drive up to his house at the top of Micheltorena. I don’t call first, but that doesn’t bother me; there’s not much room for formality between us anymore. His security gate is open, which I don’t think too much about either. And when I get to the top of the stairs, I see why the gate is opened.

  A pizza delivery guy stands in a familiar red and blue polyester shirt and cap, handing Randolph a pizza box in exchange for a few folded bills. Both look at me as I climb the hill toward them.

  “Addie,” Randolph says, “what a surprise to see you here ... unannounced.”

  Ignoring his stammering tone and the unfamiliar tension I feel around the house, I say, “I hadn’t heard from you, and your cellphone message box is filled up, so I ... ”

  “Hurry up, babe,” I hear the voice say from inside the house, “I’m starving for some pizza!”

  Randolph looks directly at me and the guilt in his expression is instantly recognizable; blood drains from his face, his lips shrink up.

  Then she appears from the kitchen, wrapping her stillwet body in Randolph’s bathrobe, red hair plastered against her cheeks. “I put out the wine and the plates. Let’s get back into the Jacuzzi!” Randolph’s new personal assistant, and new lover, sees me and freezes, standing behind Randolph. She clears her throat, nervously holding her ground. “Um, hi,” she finally says. “I’m Sarah.”

  The pizza delivery guy stands among us, looking from one awkward member of our unfortunate party to another. He snaps out of it, turning to Randolph. “Let me get your change

  -”

  “Keep it.” The delivery guy nods, jams the bills into his pockets, and scurries down the stairs, leaving the three of us standing in front of the house. Randolph goes on to say, “Addie, listen, things with us were great, but -”

  Rage bursts in me, all at once. I bring my hand up in a blur, smacking the bottom of the pizza box. It flips up out of Randolph’s stunned hands, the top opening as the box twirls in midair. Randolph and his new tryst step back, cheesy triangles flinging in every direction.

  Sarah says, “She’s crazy!”

  You’re next, Red! I want to say, knowing what’s in store for her over the next six months. But I can’t. I’m so filled with shame and embarrassment and confusion and disgust that all I can really do is spin on my heels and walk down that hill with as much self-respect and dignity as I can muster. I leave Randolph with his lover, their ruined pizza and the rest of it behind; a life like that pizza box, shallow and empty and turned completely upside-down.

  What hurts most is that I may as well be thinking of my own life as much as of Randolph’s, which is not something I can just walk away from.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I don’t have anywhere else to go, and after hours of sitting home alone, sobbing into my couch cushions, I accept the invitation to go to Emily’s. She and Quinton are tremendously supportive, and I really appreciate it.

  And I need it.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” Emily says in as loving a tone as she can muster. “Guess that’s what happens when you date your boss, huh?”

  Guess that’s what -- ? When I -- ? I repeat her remarks, unable to finish either one. You recommended I date him, I want to scream at her, you remember how you said in L.A. a personal life and a business life were one and the same? And you have the nerve to say that to me now, in the position I’m in?

  Not wanting to be thrown out (or deserving to be) I take a deep breath and sa
y, “I played the hand I was dealt.”

  “And you’re not out of the game yet,” Quinton offers from across the room, earning a disapproving little glance from Emily that I choose not to acknowledge. Ignoring Emily too, Quinton goes on tosay, “You’re still way ahead, in any case. You own property now, you have your L.L.C, tons of experience. Okay, it didn’t work out with this guy, but they can’t fault you for trying, right?”

  “Can’t you sue him?” Emily asks him. “That’s what lawyers do.”

  “It’s not a matter of contract law,” he says. “And I don’t think the firm would handle anything that small, in any case.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, glad to be moving forward. “I just want to get on with my life.”

  Emily says, “That is a good idea, Adds. Have you thought about going back to Montana?”

  “She can’t go back to Colorado,” Quinton says. “Just because this jerk doesn’t know what he’s missing?” This doesn’t seem to bring Emily much comfort, but it does make me feel a bit better. But just a bit. Quinton asks me, “What about the car?”

  “Forget the car,” I say without even thinking about it. “I’ve got some money saved, credit’s good. I’ll find another car.”

  “Good for you,” Emily says, her increasing discomfort clear in her quickening words. “You don’t need a lot of objects weighing you down. Travel light, isn’t that what they say?”

  Quinton looks at me. “You’re not going anywhere, at least not for the wrong reasons. Addie, you’re here now; don’t you think that’s because this is where God wants you to be?”

  I’m not even sure how to answer that. I love God and I believe in God. But I know God helps those who help themselves, and right now that’s my main goal; helping myself. “I’m not running off anywhere,” I say, with an innocence which is quite genuine. I never mentioned selling off the property and running away; that was Emily’s idea. “Anyway, God’s business is eternity; mine is this week. I gotta find a new car, a new job ... ”

  Quinton says, “I’ll follow you to the guy’s house, you can drop off his car. Then we’ll go to the lots on Glendale Boulevard, find something good, affordable. As for a job, I dunno.”