Authors: Joan Early
“I’m sure it’s very disappointing to learn you can’t purchase the home you dreamed of owning. I’m not sure these prospective borrowers were told they could qualify by providing additional information. Copies of pay stubs, gift letters for money being used as a down payment, proof of clear title to an automobile—all minor issues, but critical to prove their ability to repay the debt.”
Trying not to wilt under his stare, she began speaking more slowly, watching him watching her.
“You must also know that this institution is in the middle of the conservative spectrum. While trying to be the best, not necessarily the biggest, we follow established guidelines, and it’s that practiced caution that has kept Sealand afloat and profitable while many others have gone under. Like selling cars or anything else, our production employees are rewarded by the number of loans they approve, not the ones they turn away.”
He said nothing, but his wary expression sent Susan’s temperature soaring. He wasn’t buying her story, and her confidence was slipping. Her heart had been weakened by his intense appeal. Her emotions kept getting in the way of rational thinking. Feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, she coiled into strike position and lashed out.
“You must be a busy man, Rev. Cartwright. How do you find time for these little confrontations? You say it wasn’t your intention to initiate a combative relationship, but that’s exactly what you did from the moment you first walked through that door. I understand and admire your need to serve your community, but this is strictly business. It’s not about race or boundaries.”
He finally blinked. “I came here, not so much for answers, but to end the discrimination Sealand imposed on my neighborhood. I could have gone to the press and, if nothing else, created a lot of bad publicity. I’ve apologized for our earlier meeting. We fired the first shot and you retaliated, but this is not a personal attack. Can you abandon your defensive anger and just concentrate on the facts?”
“I will if you will, Rev. Cartwright,” she said impassively.
“I’ll just state the facts as I see them, no conjecture, no editorializing. Our records clearly show that some loan applications for properties in your neighborhood were denied. Others were approved. I’ve reviewed the rejects and I agree that the loans, as they stand, should have been denied. I remain doubtful regarding Sealand’s communication efforts to the applicants, so I am offering to meet with them individually, waive fees, and make a concerted effort to rectify the situation. Any loans that can be approved, which are probably all but two, will be expediently reviewed. That’s the best I can do.”
“Now, Miss Cross, you know as well as I do that Sealand had to approve those government applications. The others were rejected because Sealand didn’t want to make any loans in Cedargrove Heights unless it had to do so. Redlining is prohibited. If this practice were known to exist, the government agencies involved would void any commitments formerly issued to this company. I want those loans approved, Miss Cross, without further delay. As head of production, were you not given the authority to set this right?”
“Questioning my weight again, are you?” Her tone was still controlled and even, but the fire in her eyes raged brightly. “I have full authority to carry out the duties of this position, Rev. Cartwright. Let me reiterate that I cannot approve any of the loans unless issues related to the applicant’s credit, employment, or past payment history are resolved. I can only discuss the particulars with the applicants.”
He shook his head and looked into her eyes. Her thoughts zigzagged. She was losing control. Gripping the arms of the chair with trembling hands, she wondered if she was not convincing because she could not convince herself, or because the man before her had everything that was missing in her life. She searched for concluding words that would pack the punch she needed to win the round. Smiling slightly, she continued.
“As I stated, most of the situations are easily rectified.”
“Well, if it’s so simple, you should be able to approve them now. I’m sure you know the courts will uphold what I’m saying.”
“Rev. Cartwright, court dockets are packed with claims that are not only frivolous and unfounded, but just plain stupid. Unfortunately, a lot of these nuisance claims are settled simply to defray the cost of a defense, but I will not put aside this company’s underwriting guidelines just to rid myself of a nuisance.”
His body jerked as if he had been struck, and she immediately regretted her choice of words and her inflammatory delivery. His smile became rigid.
“I see. I’m very sorry to have been a nuisance, and I’m sorry you and I couldn’t have met under different circumstances. I will trouble you no further, Miss Cross. Good day.” He nodded and left.
Her heart sank. No matter how well prepared she had been, looking into those eyes and watching the movements of his powerful body had turned her to putty. She started to run after him, but by the time she was able to command her feet to move, Price had charged into her office at a full trot and was bombarding her with questions.
“That man is determined to create a lot of public speculation about this company, and that’s not good for our image. What did he want this time?”
“Just a continuation of our earlier discussion.”
She blurted out a question that had been in the back of her mind since the Cedargrove matter had been dropped on her shoulder. “In case of an emergency, how do we contact Mr. Deeds?”
“From what I heard he’s out of the country.”
He turned to leave, but suddenly realizing the weight of her question, he turned and gleefully asked, “Is it that bad? Don’t you think you should tell me what’s going on? Are those people suing Sealand?”
“I plan to inform everyone at the same time. I have a few other assessments to make, which, hopefully, I can conclude this weekend. We’ll discuss the matter in detail at the next management meeting.”
CHAPTER 3
Rev. Cartwright left the emotionally charged meeting with Susan and joined an even more daunting one in the meeting hall at Cedargrove Baptist Church. As his father’s assistant, he had felt the arrows of discontent from congregation members, but his father had been there to deflect the sting. He wondered if his father had been a stronger man. Feeling dejected and physically beat, he stopped in front of his parents’ home and tried to calm his frayed nerves.
The wonderful aroma of his mother’s cooking was comforting, even in his agitated state. “Hi, Mom,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Something smells mighty good in here.”
“Thanks, dear. It’s pork roast and yams. I’ll call when dinner is ready and you can help your father in to the table.”
He stopped in the doorway and looked at his father. He knew a wide vein of pain and helplessness was hidden under the senior Cartwright’s façade of indomitability.
“Hey, Pop,” he said, briefly resting his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“What put that frown on your face? The meeting at Sealand or the one at the church?” Rev. Cartwright Sr. asked.
“Both.”
“I don’t know what transpired at Sealand, but I know why Clyde Otis is so fired up. He’s a skunk, and simply put, he aims to turn the spotlight on himself by any means available to him. He’s always been that way. He still wants my pulpit, and it’s eating him up that you got it. If he had bat brains, he would recognize his own shortcomings. The church voted him down because they knew he couldn’t stand up. He’s a weasel.”
Will listened to the sounds of home. His mother in the kitchen. His father watching the news and offering his usual support. It was the only part of his life that felt right.
“He as much as accused me of being the weasel because I advised against legal action. On top of that, I went down to Sealand and made matters worse. I can’t seem to have a good exchange with Miss Cross, and I did try,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know what it was today. It was as if she was trying to say something without actually admitting wrongdoing. I antagonized her, and that’s not what I wanted to do.”
“You want to ask her out, so why don’t you?”
“That’s not even a thought right now. She can’t stand the sight of me. I’ll keep trying to make this right, but I’m afraid Otis will act out of his own selfishness and initiate legal action. I don’t want that for the people involved, or for her.”
He heard his mother setting the table. “Come on, Pop, I’ll help you into the kitchen. Or do you prefer to use the walker?”
“Since you’re standing with me, I’ll try the walker.” Using his son’s arm, he pulled himself up from the chair and grasped the rubber-covered handles. “I feel like I dumped my problems on you when I had this stroke. Don’t let Clyde or this situation get you down.”
Will put an arm around his father’s shoulder and guided him into the kitchen. Mrs. Cartwright brought filled glasses of lemonade to the table.
“What did crazy Clyde do now?” she asked.
“Same crazy stuff he’s always done to get attention. I knew he’d make things hard for Willie.”
“Don’t worry about me, Pop. I can handle Clyde Otis.”
“You shouldn’t have to. He’s a self-centered braggart.” Rev. Cartwright Sr. elaborated, looking at his wife, “I’ve always known he was a crook, but your mother didn’t. She even dated him back before we married. I suspect that’s the reason he’s been carrying a grudge all these years. He is angry because I married her and he didn’t.”
Mrs. Cartwright grunted her disagreement, saying, “I didn’t date Clyde Otis. I went to the movies with a group of my friends and he happened to be in the group.” She placed a comforting hand on her son’s arm. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“I must look pretty bedraggled if you’re offering me wine, Mom. I’m fine with the tea.”
“Looks like you’ve had a hard day. You need to relax.” She sat next to her husband and looked across the table at her son. “How did your meeting with the mortgage company go?”
“Awful,” Will answered. He could not stop thinking of Susan Cross. He had sat in his car after their heated discussion and tried to collect his thoughts. His vivid memory of her body didn’t help. He was ashamed and frustrated. “I’m trying to keep peace here, but I went down to that company and spoke out of mind, not my heart.”
“You’ve got that backwards, son.” His father spoke matter-of-factly. “Your heart did the talking. Your mouth just didn’t say the right things.”
* * *
The rest of Susan’s week was filled with associating names with faces. She used her special mnemonic system to remember who did what, but the task proved to be more taxing than she had imagined. Her catalogue of who’s who in the Canton office was miniscule compared to the staff roster for the Houston office. There appeared to be at least two people for each position. No one seemed particularly busy, but most of them needed her input before decisions were made. While fulfilling daily duties, she continued to gather information for her report. She also added possible overstaffing to her growing list of concerns.
“I was able to get copies of all rejected loan files for Cedargrove Heights since inception of the development,” she told Angie over lunch. “I know Price’s people are not on my side, but no one suspects my motives for requesting the files and no questions were asked.”
“Just as I said, you have the upper hand when the people around you underestimate your abilities or your intentions. That has always been my insurance.”
“I also decided that economic fluctuations dictate I review several loans that were approved at the time each Cedargrove loan was denied. That will give us a comparative basis.”
“Good thinking,” Angie said.
“I wish I had more time to devote to Cedargrove, but whenever I get a little free time another crisis develops. I’m beginning to wonder what they did before I arrived, and that maybe I was shortchanged on my new salary. When I take one of those files and start a review, I already know the outcome. So far, I have only seen two loan applications with denials that wouldn’t hold up in court, and Sealand got lucky both times. One applicant had a job-related accident and decided to wait for an insurance settlement before purchasing a house. The other is a young couple now in the middle of a divorce.”
She rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension. “These files were sloppily underwritten, to say the least. I know some, if not all, of Price’s employees are involved. I can’t help wondering if Price is the highest link in the chain.”
Friday was a day of pure torture. She regretted every recent decision she had made, including accepting her current position. She wanted to call Rev. Cartwright and apologize, but feared he would hear the hypocrisy in her regrets. Her other fear was of weakening at the sound of his voice.
She worked through lunch, as she did most days, but somehow found time to thank Tom Waverly, the source of her extensive knowledge of the lending industry. One of the founding partners at Sealand, he had become a figurehead when she was hired, and readily admitted he was just waiting “to be put out to pasture.” With lots of time and a wealth of information to share, he seemed happy to have a willing listener. The knowledge he passed along to Susan was priceless, especially now.
Fondly and gratefully remembering an old man in English tweed with elbow patches, she called her favorite florist in Canton and had the largest plant they offered delivered to Mr. Tom Waverly with her heartfelt thanks.
Thankful the day had lurched to an end, Susan crammed her briefcase with loan files, picked up a stack of reports, and prepared to leave. After locking her office door, she turned and literally ran into Travis in the hallway.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he offered.
Shifting the binders that teetered uncertainly against her chest brought her close enough to be reminded of the pleasure a man’s arms could bring.
“Don’t tell me you have nothing better to do on the weekend than ponder over this mess. Get out and explore the city. Houston has a great theater district, and a few clubs that actually cater to those of us who are over twenty-five.”
“I’m sure it’s a wonderful city, but its size and my poor sense of direction tend to dampen my adventurous spirit. I’m basically confined to the area between my apartment and here, except for shopping and eating. That leaves entertainment. Are there any good jazz clubs in town?”
“Well, if I may be so bold, I’d love to take you to this great little jazz club in Montrose tomorrow night. It’s an area north of here.” He pointed to her right. “The place is small, so we would have to arrive early to find a seat, but I know you’ll like the band. Can you make it?”
“Sure, I’d love to. Thank you.” His smile was not as sweet and inviting as Rev. Cartwright’s
,
she thought, and she did not trust his professional loyalties, but she needed a night out. “I enjoy live music. I actually prefer the kind with lyrics I can sing without having to do penance. With the current crop of singers and musicians, that means listening to the oldies or jazz. ”
“I agree. When I’m not listening to jazz, I put on the oldies. Motown. The Philly sound. It doesn’t get better than that. Of course, your oldies are probably a lot newer than mine.”
“I guess my oldies are a little more current, but I can listen to Al Green for days.” She put her purse on the hood of her Jeep and reached in for a pen. “Let me give you my address…or I can meet you there if you prefer.”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy. I’ll pick you up.”
She tore the address corner of a page from her new checkbook and jotted her cell phone number on the edge. “What time should I expect you?”
“Let’s have dinner first, say seven? The restaurant is close by, so I’ll pick you up around six-thirty. I’ll introduce you to our Tex-Mex cuisine if your stomach can handle the challenge.”
Feeling more carefree than she had since arriving in Houston, she shopped for groceries before going home. As soon as she got home, she made a hearty salad and called her mother. Tammy sensed her mood change right away.
“You sound much more upbeat than you did on Monday. Have you discovered anything new?”
“Not really. I know the ship is full of rats, and I’m almost certain Price Bishop leads the pack. Guess I’ll have to find out if Mr. Deeds was also involved before I can determine my intended role.”
“Well, don’t let it bother you,” Tammy replied. “I was an oddity in the operating room when I began, but I learned to live with it, and the people around me learned to stay out of my way. It’s called respect and, believe me, that is the key. I want to be liked by my coworkers, but I insist on respect, and I never let cynics or assholes get me down. ”
“I’m not worried, just curious. I did meet a nice man at work, Travis Polk, head of the appraisal department. He asked me out for dinner and jazz tomorrow night.”
“O-h-h-h! So that accounts for the lilt in your voice. I knew there was a man behind the change,” Tammy bubbled, sounding relieved. “Your father and I hoped you’d find romance in your new city.”
“Don’t go there, Mother. He probably felt sorry for the lonely newcomer and invited me on a pity date. Besides, if my salary was a problem for Stanford, imagine how Travis will feel. I’m his boss’s boss.”
Her father joined in. “Don’t worry, honey, you’ll find the right man. Enjoy your evening out, but stay clear of office romances. They’re usually more trouble than they’re worth.”
Not for the first time, her mother shared a few memories of her first year as a scrub nurse and Susan began to relax. She would enjoy her weekend and try not to worry about Sealand, Cedargrove, or the handsome Rev. Cartwright.
* * *
Sleeping late on Saturdays was a holdover from her college days, but this Saturday Susan awakened before daybreak and began her day with a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel. In short order, she fed Dino, did a load of laundry, and tackled household chores.
Sealand provided a housecleaning service on Fridays, but this was home for now and she wanted to add her personal touch. She arranged brightly colored placemats on the table and lit candles, igniting fond memories of her marriage. She knew Stan had loved her. His fingerprint on her life would be hard to remove, but the finality of their divorce precluded any hope of reunion. She was alone, but she was not afraid.
She put on a simple black dress, pulled her hair back in a loose twist, and waited for her date. Travis was on time, earning his first plus of the evening. Casually sharp in dark slacks, plaid jacket, and open-collar shirt, he looked much younger than he had the day before, and more relaxed. He wore his hair closely trimmed, and his mustache formed a heavy line across smooth brown skin.
“You look radiant,” he said, beaming when she opened the door. “I hope you’re hungry. The restaurant serves huge portions of fantastic food. It’s also close to the club.”
“As a matter of fact, I am hungry. I got carried away with household chores and forgot to eat.”
After she locked the door, he then took her arm and escorted her to the elevator. “Tell me you’re not one of those women who constantly counts calories. You have a perfect figure.”
She quickly adjusted her bodice to cover the area of her chest on which his eyes were resting.
“The only problem with a perfect figure is keeping it that way. I don’t gain weight easily, but with two brothers and a former college all-star father, I was very active back home. Since my ‘teammates’ are all in Ohio, I might have to join a gym.”
“What sports did you and your family play?”
“You name it. Dad loves basketball, and so do my brothers. Even Mom likes to shoot hoops. Mom and Dad both play golf. I played occasionally.”
“So what’s your handicap?” he asked, escorting her to his car that was parked in front of her apartment building.
She laughed. “I was too bad to have a handicap. I would swing and pray I had hit the ball.”
They continued talking sports while he toyed with the radio dial. Casual conversation turned more personal once they were inside the restaurant.
“I hope this doesn’t offend you, but I always wonder about pretty women who are still single. You’re not just pretty; you’re accomplished, confident, and gracious. Even Mr. Van Dyke, the building maintenance superintendent, called you an angel, and he never seems to like anyone. Is being single a matter of choice or just not finding the right guy?”