Authors: Tareka Watson
“I’ve known several people who don’t have either!”
“That’s right. Having both, and at the same time? It’s a balancing act, Addie; one that’s
almost impossible to perfect. I only wish I’d had more time to work on it before ... ” He pauses
and stares out, corner of his mouth dipping into his cheek.
“Well, a family is only one way to have a personal life,” I say with an optimistic air. “I’m
sure you’ve been juggling plenty of girlfriends over the years.”
“No, I ... I guess I’ve been letting my career get the better of me in that regard.” With a deep
sigh, he adds, “Still, there’s always tomorrow, right?”
And it’s true, there
is
always a tomorrow; they seem to keep showing up whether you want
one or not.
♡
This particular tomorrow proves to have a lot to offer, however. Randolph may not have an
office, but he does have a lovely home in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles, at the very top of a
tall hill and on a large piece of property. It’s a modern square concrete-and-glass fortress at the
top of what feels like Mt. Olympus. In the front yard there is a fountain and, near it, a stone grill
that emits a curtain of fire about three feet high.
Hot and cold.
I follow him through the spacious interior; the open family room that shares the huge high
ceiling with the bedroom above it. The upstairs rooms are accessible from a hallway that almost
seems to be floating in the middle of the big main room, above the lower story.
“When was it built?” Randolph asks into the phone as I follow him through the family room
and into the kitchen. “Nineteen eighty-one? How many units? ... Offer one-point-five ...
because there’s no rent control on a building in L.A. built after that date, we can spruce it up and
charge doublethe rent ... So put a little something together and nobody’ll think twice ... Okay, let
me know.”
He sets the cellphone down and crosses to the fridge, covered in wire-brushed chrome to
match the rest of the appliances. “Freshly squeezed O.J.?”
“Sounds great.” He fills two Baccarat juice glasses, handing me one. It’s thick and pulpy,
cool and delicious as it slides down my tongue. “So, what’s on for today?”
He tosses me a set of keys. “Get this washed, please, it looks terrible.”
Wait,
I think to myself,
what? Is that my job, getting your car washed? I mean, I know I’m
your personal assistant, but that’s a bit much!
Hold on,
I caution myself.
If this isn’t what a personal assistant is supposed to do, then what
is? The job’s not his accountant or business manager, after all. A personal assistant probably
has to take care of all kinds of things; some more closely related to business, some more
mundane.
Lucky as I am to have the job, I smile and say, “Simonize?”
Randolph shrugs. “I dunno; it’s
your
car.”
“It’s ... what?”
He smiles. “You need to have some wheels in this town, Addie. It’s only a Beamer, but she
runs like a dream. You don’t mind driving a used car?”
“Do I -? No, Randolph, not at all, I ... I just don’t know what to say. I’m so grateful, thank
you!” I have to fight off the urge to jump into his arms. It wouldn’t be very businesslike, even if
he
did
just give me a car.
It’s a company car,
I reassure myself,
not a personal gift. It’s probably not even a gift, just a
... a perk.
So I say, “Anything you need while I’m out?”
Randolph looks around his house, giving it a little thought. “Some croissants or something,
there’s a bakery on the way and a fifty in the glove compartment.” I don’t like the idea of
fetching him a snack likethis; but I figure it’s the least I can do, since I’m getting pretty hungry
myself.
The BMW four-door 3 Series is beautiful, an amazingly smooth ride and appointed with all
the power functions and luxuries; transmission, windows, mirrors, temperature are all automatic.
I halfexpect it to pull up and park for me too. I’ve driven before, of course; I was the main
errand runner at our house for ten years! But this is a far cry from the old Nissan Sentra I was
pushing around Boulder. This is like driving up to a fancy casino with every mile, like being in a
car commercial as I glide past the green street lights, catching every one.
I’m exhilarated by the time I get back to Randolph’s house at the top of Micheltorena. The
croissants are flakey and tender and so good with the hot, Columbian-blend coffee. Randolph
takes his black, but I like mine with a bit of cream and a single Sweet‘N Low.
We sit in his front yard, overlooking the street below, and Hollywood beyond it. I almost
think I can see my apartment building. But it’s not my building, the way this is Randolph’s
house. I don’t really own anything; not even the car.
Don’t ask him about that,
I tell myself.
What does it matter if you own it or not? Drive it for
as long as you need it; it’s only a thing, an object that comes and goes like all other objects.
I
never found happiness in wealth or possessions like these before, and I’m not sure it’s such a
great idea to start now.
But I’m not entirely against it; and as I look around at this grand, modern house, just a step or
two shy of being a mansion, I can’t help imagining myself owning a house much like it, buying
property the way Randolph does.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Randolph asks.
I chuckle to myself. I want to say,
They’re gonna cost a lot more than that!
But instead I
offer a simple, “I’m just thinking how lucky I am to have that car to drive. Thank you again,
Randolph.”
“It’s a necessity, not a luxury.”
“No, Randolph, I’m sorry, but ... some beat-up old clunker is a necessity. A BMW is a
luxury, no matter how you slice it.”
He smiles and raises his coffee in a casual toast. “I’m glad to see you have a taste for the
finer things.” After a moment he seems to be using to reflect, Randolph twitches, as if from
inspiration. “Have you given any thought to how you’re going to get them for yourself?”
I haven’t, and I know I should have. But instead of just admitting that, owning up to it, I say,
“I like the way you do business, I think there’s a lot I could learn. People will always need a
place to live, right?”
“Yes, Addie, very good, exactly. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Taking a tactical pause
and a refreshing sip of coffee, he goes on to say, “I thought you might like to get going on a
career of your own. If you don’t have any objection, I’m willing to help you get started.”
“Really? Randolph, that is so generous, I ... first the car, now this?”
Randolph’s head bobs slightly from side to side. “Well, like the car, it’s really about
practicality as much as anything else. I mean,you’re only gonna learn so much by following me
around all day, and that makes you of only limited value to me. But if I can position you as my
protege, as it were, then I’ll be getting the benefit of your professional expertise as well as your
... utility.”
“Utility?”
“Well, I will still need a personal assistant, to follow me out on open houses and meetings
and the like. We’ll get you set up and start looking for your first property.”
I’m flushed with excitement, my body very nearly trembling. I’m so warm with adrenaline
that I’m almost afraid I’m beginning to blush.
Then that cold chill returns, replacing my glee with gloom and my excitement with
trepidation. “I ... I don’t have any money to invest, any capital.”
“I’ll extend a loan for the down payment, you can pay it off with the turnaround. I won’t lie,
Addie, it’ll eat up most of the income from the first deal; but you’ll come out of it with real
equity, buying power. We’ll roll you over during the course of a few years, 1031 exchange.”
“Wait, I haven’t bought anything yet and you’re already planning on selling?”
Randolph shoots me a cool businessman’s glare, his voice steady and strong. “Never buy
anything without knowing how you’re going to sell it. In no time, you’ll have a nice little nest
egg, collateral to borrow against for your next buy and enough experience to do it.”
It’s almost more than I can believe; it seems too good to be true. And there’s that cold chill,
sinking like a stone in my nauseous stomach. I don’t want to ask, but I just don’t see any choice.
And there’s no more time to think about it anyway, so I finally say, “And what do
you
get?”
He raises his orange juice, then looks around his headquarters at the top of the world. “What
more do I need?”
But I know what he really wants out of life, what he really needs.
And it’s not more money.
CHAPTER FOUR
Over the next week or so, we work with Randolph’s real estate agent, Martin Strich, a
chubby man with a neverending smile and a heavily cologned scent. I don’t like being in a
small room with him, but according to Randolph he’s absolutely the best person to be in bed with
in terms of buying real estate.
We talk about a variety of options, including a crack house in Boyle Heights and a newly
renovated four-unit apartment building in Atwater Village. Atwater is just east of the posh
artist’s community of Los Feliz, at the foot of spectacular Griffith Park. We drive down to each
place, and I can’t deny how exciting it all is; actually shopping for buildings with the intent to
buy and own one. It’s much more than I would have expected; maybe more than I’d have
believed just a few months before.
“Five things you’re looking for,” Randolph says as we gaze up at the four-unit complex,
“first is solid land component. At least thirty percent of the purchase price should be about the
land, because land is the only thing that’s in limited supply. So if you buy a condo in a high rise,
you have less land component; a
lot
less. This one’s got a parking lot, courtyard, even a nice
little front yard. Of course, you’ll be paying to maintain it, but it’ll bring in way more than it
pulls out.”
I look up and nod.
It makes sense
, I think to myself, letting my new mentor continue.
“This area’s also got a stable or increasing population. No lack of that in L.A. County, or
just about anywhere in the Southland, tell you the truth. Around here there are plenty of shops
and bus routes; amenities aren’t really an issue.”
I look around, a little nervous that it’s not the best neighborhood I’ve ever seen. There is
some graffiti on the public walls, the cars on the street are generally banged up and filthy, a lot of
power lines strung over the buildings.
But it’s not the worst neighborhood I’ve ever seen either; very little trash on the streets, the
buildings lack broken windows, lawns aren’t cluttered with too much refuse.
No, not the worst,
I have to admit.
Pretty close though.
“And it’s affordable,” Rudolph says, “for you and your renters.”
Taking a quick count (land, population, location and affordability for the investor and for the
renter) I say, “That’s five all right.”
He chuckles. “You don’t get where I am in life by not knowing how to count to five.” After
a sardonic pause, he adds, “Counting up to two is where I go wrong.” He becomes somber
again, a sad expression overtaking his handsome countenance. Shaking it off, Randolph asks
me, “Shall we make an offer?”
♡
Fast as things are moving for me, they’re just as exciting for Emily and Quinton. So when
Randolph has lunch with his mother,the three of us take off for a lovely day at one of the city’s
amazing beaches. We wind up at a stretch called Zuma, north of Santa Monica and its famous
pier.
It’s still hot out, and I’m fairly confident laying in my pale blue bikini. In a red bikini, Emily
looks more like a natural Los Angeleno; a classic beach bunny with her blonde hair, upturned
nose and shapely little body.
And I won’t lie, we get a lot of admiring glances from the boys (men, really) who walk up
and down the beach. Their bodies are so well-toned; caked with muscles rippling just under the
skin, arms hanging from their broad shoulders, hovering beside their taught torsos as they stride
past, legs long and firm.
Emily says, “It’s great, isn’t it?” I look over, pretending not to know what she means. She
adds, “L.A.! Best-looking guys I’ve ever seen!”
I can’t deny their overall excellence, and why would I? But I come from Colorado, where
working hard on the farm or the ranch or in the smith shed gives most men that big, hardened
look. And I guess I’ve always been able to appreciate it; for as long as I’ve been interested, I
mean. Before my teenage years it was all doll houses and coloring books. And for some reason,
when puberty hit I always found myself drawn to a different type of guy, a little more ...
sophisticated.
Once we’re into the conversation, I explain to Emily, “They’re in shorter supply.”
“Not just in Colorado either.” We share a chuckle as we watch the men walk past, and some
of the girls too. Not in the same way, of course, but it’s hard not to notice how many perfectly
built girls there are, so many pretty faces; it’s almost a little disconcerting. It’s not that I’m
intimidated, I’m just a little bit ... intimidated.
So I keep my mind on the guys, and Emily doestoo. I finally say, “I guess there won’t be
anymore new butts in your future.”
Emily gets suddenly serious. “Oh no, no way, I’d never cheat on Quinton.” Her voice even
softer, she adds, “And he’ll never cheat on me.”
“No, of course not. I don’t know him that well, but I can already tell he’s just not that kind
of man.”
“Oh Addie, they’re
all
that kind of man if the circumstances are right.” My blood runs a bit
colder despite the heat from the sun. Emily adds, “But I’d kill him, him and whatever little
tramp he ruts with. And he knows that.”
“Gee, Emily, that’s ... that’s great, you’re so lucky.”
“I really am! Now that he’s got a good job, we don’t have to wait to take that next step.”
Looking at her in a new light (or with that powerful sun, perhaps
new glare
is better) my
confusion must be clear in my expression. Emily adds, “He’s moving in. Oh, I’m sorry, Addie,
I thought you figured that out; at the end of next month.”
“No, I, um, no, I didn’t realize,” I say, an awkward chuckle spilling from my surprised throat.
“But you’re right, Emily, now that he’s found a job; it makes perfect sense.”
“Right. But you have until then to find a new place, it’s almost six weeks.”
I try to keep things light, even as my anxiety begins to well up inside me. “Yeah, more than
enough time,” I say. “Of course, you might have told me before that this might be a possibility,
so -”
“It’s fine,” Emily says, waving me off. “You’ve got a great job with that handsome
millionaire -”
“I don’t know if he is a millionaire,” I say, “not that it really matters, but -”
“Of course it matters, Addie. This is the big time, this is real life! As your boss or your lover
or both, those things matter a lot!”
“Randolph says it’s important to keep your personal and your professional lives balanced.”
She shoots me a little look, a crooked halfsmile that seems to ask me if I’m joking. Instead
of that, she jumps right to it: “Addie, this is Los Angeles. Personal life? Business? Around
here, those things are one and the same; it’s a combo, isn’t that your specialty?”
Quinton runs up to us from the shoreline, glistening with water, dripping. He’s got a
gorgeous body, tall and lean and strong. He’s my roommate’s fiancee, so I’m not interested in
that way, but there’s just no denying that he’s a good-looking man.
Very
good looking.
He leans over and gives Emily a kiss on the cheek, but she winces and waves him off.
“
Yecch
, it’s not bad enough you go swimming in that poison, now you wanna smear it all over
me? You’re lucky I take you out here at all.”
Geez
, I think to say,
he’s not some dog on a day at the park!
I glance at Quinton and he back
at me, but it’s clear he wants to drop it; and it’s his issue to drop, not mine. Instead, he shrugs as
he lays back to dry in the sun.
The vague breeze caresses my cheek with its wafting salty sting, hair fluttering past my eyes.
We three lay on the sand, just taking in the relaxed pace, the free-flowing, uninhibited vibe of all
this youth and muscle and joy.
There’re plenty of worse places to be,
I have to admit, imagining
my brothers and father sitting down to another meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes; fighting
over which one of them made the food so poorly and which would clean up the dishes, probably
with results that aren’t much better.
Yeah,
I think as I gaze out over the spectacular Pacific Ocean, sunlight bouncing off in
countless crests along its glittering surface, surrounded by the best-looking and healthiest people
in the world in the prime of their lives.
I could definitely get used to this.
♡
But days off come and go and the business of business is tireless. Randolph, Martin and I
convene in a series of document signings, one or two per day for several days and even into
weeks, it seems; offers and counteroffers, inspections to be signed-off, paperwork to be collected
and sent to the proper loan officers and so on. Finally we’re ready to sign at the close of escrow,
in a little office in Glendale, about three miles east of the Los Angeles Zoo.
I’m nervous as I sign my name, and excited. I’m going from virtually nothing to an overall
value, including the loan, of almost a million dollars! Not only isn’t this something I do
everyday (unlike Randolph and others of his powerful ilk), but it’s something I’ve never done
before. My mind begins to reel with terrible images; courtrooms and lawsuits, liabilities and
responsibilities and fires that consume the entire structure for one reason or another.