Authors: Bebe Wilde
It was hell. How could I climb out of this? Why had I been so stupid with money? I had acted nouveau riche without having the riche. Sure, I had made excellent money but I had spent it as fast as I made it and that kind of money, no matter how good it is, rarely lasts. That sort of money needs to be saved. If only I had known that. But I didn’t and I found myself in a financial hell that was not only anxiety inducing but completely and totally embarrassing.
I didn’t tell anyone, of course, and I sure as hell didn’t tell my mother who would have loved to shake a finger in my face and say, “I told you so!” And she had told me so. She’d told me to save my money, to pay off my debts and to watch my spending. She did. I just hadn’t listened. I had thought she was just acting poor and old fashioned.
I hid it well, though. Everyone thought I was okay financially, especially due to the fact that I’d been married to a very famous and wealthy actor. But I wasn’t okay. My assistant Hailey was the only one who knew what dire straits I was headed into and she only knew because she helped me go through my closet one day and took some of my stuff to a consignment store. When she handed me the money, she said, “They only paid you twenty bucks for the Dolce and Gabbana dress. I’m sorry, Teagan.”
I felt a sharp pain shoot into my heart at her words.
Twenty bucks for that?
Twenty bucks?
I was about to cry when I looked at her. She looked so sad, so dejected, I straightened up and forced a smile.
“It’s okay,” I said nonchalantly and waved my hand. “It’s just some old stuff I never wear. Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” she asked, her blue eyes sad. “I love my job. I love working for you!”
“No,” I said and pulled her into a hug, patting her thin back. “Now hush. Nothing is wrong. I just needed to clean out my closet.”
“You would have never sold that stuff if you didn’t have to,” she said.
She was right. It had cost too much! I shook my head and forced another smile. “Listen, Hailey, it’s true that things are a little tight right now but you are golden, okay? I have plenty of money to pay your salary. And you can still go on your auditions.”
She wanted to be an actress and working for me meant a flexible schedule so she could pursue it. If she got another job, she wouldn’t be able to drop everything and head to the “one audition that might make me,” as she always said. I wanted to tell her to give it up and get a real job. Looking back, I probably would have told myself the same thing. Maybe I should have listened to my mother and never moved out here. But I wasn’t that sort of person. I would never tell someone to give up on their dreams. And, right then, I was so desperate, I wanted her to make it now more than ever, if only so I could be
her
assistant, if need be. Besides, if I let my assistant go, it would be obvious that I wasn’t doing well and that would be career suicide in the Los Angles real estate market.
She nodded and smiled a little, her face splotched with red. “Next time you clean out your closet, let me have the first look, okay? You practically gave away some really good stuff.”
I blanched at the thought. I knew that, of course, and I prayed to God I wouldn’t get that desperate again. I had been a fool and I really felt like one, too. My only saving grace was the fact that I paid cash for most everything, having been taught from an early age by my mother not to go into credit card debt. Even so, I spent way more than I should have and should have saved way more than I did. But I didn’t do much of that because I never thought the good times would end. I was a good real estate agent. No, I was better than good; I was a great real estate agent and yet, I had acted like an idiot. In my defense, however, I had never seen the market when it was in recession. I had no clue that my skills as a real estate agent would only get me so far in a bad market. I hadn’t planned ahead. I hadn’t planned for failure. I was paying for it now.
But I could turn it around and I would. I was a survivor and I would survive this. I just had to keep working my ass off. Even though I didn’t tell Hailey this, I knew that if I couldn’t make it happen, I would eventually have to let her go, as I had my maid and my gardener. Luckily for me, my neighbor, an older man who had probably been there since the town was built, sent his gardener over, telling me one thing he would
not
put up with was overgrown shrubbery. He also liked to peek in my windows when he didn’t think I was looking. I didn’t say anything; it was LA, after all. But I did keep the shades drawn.
A few days later, I was outside our offices smoking a cigarette, a bad habit I had re-acquired since the stress of the market had almost killed me. I promised myself I’d quit again soon and I would. Hailey walked out of the building, looked around and spotted me on a bench in the little courtyard where everyone came to smoke and drink coffee and talk about how bad the market was.
“Oh, there you are,” she said and smiled at me.
“Here I am,” I said and flicked the ash off my cigarette.
She sat down beside me, patted me on the leg and grinned mischievously.
“You look like the Cheshire Cat,” I said.
“Who’s that?”
I rolled my eyes. Hailey was a natural blonde so I was used to this kind of thing. But I didn’t say anything.
“Never mind.
What is it?”
“I got the inside scoop on something,” she said, very proudly.
“What?” I asked.
“Roman Juniper is selling his house.”
I thought about that,
then
rolled my eyes. “What is a Roman Juniper?”
“He
was
an actor.”
I groaned. I hated working with actors. It was a requirement, selling in LA; however, it could be a daunting process. Most of them acted like prima donnas. Some were nice, of course, as there are always few in each bunch, but most? No. The houses were always too this or not enough of that and they had such big egos, even my Southern charm and disarming manner never swayed them. They were a pain in the ass, to say the least. I did make a lot of money off them, but I earned every single cent. Also, many of them were nowhere as rich as they acted so finding them a house that looked good for what they could afford was sometimes a big challenge. In other words, I was skeptical.
“He
was
an actor,” she said again. “Now he builds houses or something. I got a bunch of stuff on him printed out for you to go over before you meet.”
“I have a meeting with him?”
“You will once you agree that this is the best idea ever.”
I thought about that. “Where’s the house?”
She gave me the address. “It’s near your house, not right near, but near-near. And it’s on this to-die-for lot. The property alone is valued in the millions. And he has flat land. Imagine that!
In the Hills!”
“How the hell did he get flat land?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Who knows? He bought that old Alden House. Remember that one?”
“That old rat hole?”
I asked, my eyes growing wide. “I thought that was a tear down!”
“No, it’s totally like on the historic register or something.”
“It is?” I asked, shaking my head. “But it’s a mid-century and not good mid-century, either. And, let me add, a monstrosity. I think it has over five-thousand square feet or something. Maybe it’s six.” I thought about it, but couldn’t remember the exact figure I had heard.
“That’s pretty big,” she said.
“But I don’t think it’s old enough to be on the historic register.”
“Maybe someone pulled some strings to get it on there. Maybe I’m wrong about that! I don’t know!” She shook her head, exasperated. “Anyway, he’s looking to sell. And he totally redid it, from top to bottom. I heard it looks fantastic.”
“Huh,” I said. “What do you know about him?”
“He’s French,” she said.
“French?”
I asked, thinking that sounded intriguing.
“Yes,” she said. “Anyway, who cares? He wants to sell, this place is worth millions and we need a big commission. You game?”
“You do know nothing is selling right now, don’t you?” I said.
She nodded. “But if anyone can sell it, it’s you.”
“I love how you have faith in me when I have none in myself.”
She gave my arm a little punch. “Stop it! You are the best! The best! You can and will do this!”
I thought about it. Maybe I could. I needed this
sale, that
was for sure. But right then, no one was buying that sort of house. But what did I have to lose? I glanced over at Hailey. “Can you set the meeting up?”
She grinned. “I can and I will.
Today?
After lunch?”
“Before,” I said and glanced at my watch. “I have another listing appointment at two. I’d like to get this done.”
She stood and smiled. “I think this is the one, Teagan. I think we can do this.”
I nodded and put out my cigarette. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am,” she said. “Oh, and don’t forget, the Pasadena house might come through any day. Those people were really interested in it. The offer was good. It might happen.”
I wished it would. We were just waiting to hear back from the seller, who stood firm on her price and refused to move. She, like so many others, had yet to realize just how dire the real estate situation was. That’s one reason the place had been on the market one-hundred and sixty days, which, in the real estate world, was the equivalent of death. If it didn’t sell soon, I’d have to pull the listing which meant all the money I had put into selling it would vanish it not thin air—
poof!
Just like my real estate career.
“Chin up,” she said and winked at me. “I’ll make the call to Mr. Juniper. Oh, all of his info is on your desk.”
I watched her go inside then stared around the courtyard, then up at the blue, blue sky. I loved living in Southern California so much. The thought of having to leave due to being broke was scaring me. I
had
to make this house work. I
had
to get the listing. I had to do it today. If not, I might have to move back to my hometown and in with my mother. I shuddered at the thought. No, that just wasn’t an option.
* * * * *
Hailey set up the listing appointment and I scanned the information she had printed out on Roman Juniper, as well as Googled him myself.
Odd name.
Oh, it was a stage name.
Odd stage name.
His real name was some long, French name that was totally unpronounceable to me.
Once I started the research, I remembered him as being an actor who was somewhat big years ago. I’d heard of him but, because I was more obsessed with real estate than actors, I’d never stored that much information about him into my long-term memory. But as I researched him, I became intrigued. He was an interesting, if not completely fascinating, character. He had come to Hollywood with his mother, a former model, who set out to open a talent agency. He had been eighteen at the time. He got a few walk-ons in some movies and, meanwhile, his mother’s agency bombed out. She moved back to France to be with his father, whom had refused to make the move to the States. He stayed, getting better and better parts. His accent and good looks didn’t hurt things for him either. But he didn’t go the typical route. Even though he was what people would call a good looking guy, he didn’t try to be the romantic leading man or the action hero. No, he preferred playing entirely unlikely characters, ones that were not the type that a guy like him would normally play.
In other words, he was usually the bad guy and this approach worked. He was tough, good looking and rugged. He was fierce. Women
swooned
over him. Men wanted to
be
him. They’d go see his movies just because he was in them, even if the part was just a cameo. He had a following like no other bad guy in history. And he loved playing those parts, those parts of the bad guy who made others pay just so he could get what he wanted.
He did this for a few years until he was in his late twenties, then he just suddenly quit acting, telling the press that it bored him. His real love was building, making things he liked with his hands. He was especially fond of working on houses. He said once, “Houses don’t need to be bigger. They need to function better. Why build a house that you’re uncomfortable living in? It’s absurd! Put up a wall! Divide the space! Make it function for living! Have a place for the TV!”
He sounded like a character in an Ayn Rand book or, rather, a more modern version of one. But that’s what made him
him.
He didn’t care what other people thought of him. He wasn’t trying to please anyone. He just wanted to do what he wanted to do. I have to say I admired him for that. I wanted to be like that, too, to just do what I wanted to do and not worry about what other people might think. I wasn’t born that lucky, however. I did worry about other’s opinions and, in a way, I let it imprison me. I knew, on an intellectual basis, that the opinions of others were worth about as much as lead paint, but this did little to dissipate the insecurity, the need for approval I had. It really didn’t matter what other people thought; what really mattered was what really mattered to
me
. If only I could believe that. Besides, I was in sales. I had to care what other people thought, at least until I closed them.
But from the things I read, it was Roman’s world and the rest of us just lived in it. He played by his own rules and did what he wanted. And he wanted to quit acting. So he did and started a company that built houses, taking his love of the Arts and Crafts movement to new heights. The man had a talent for it, to say the least. He paid attention to the details, like the dentil molding that was rampant in his houses. He paid attention to the functionality, as well, creating practical yet beautiful living spaces. This was his thing, as they say.
He put up the capital for the initial construction of the houses, money he’d made by being an actor and then made a fortune both designing and building houses for “real” people just outside the city limits of Los Angeles. He did this for several years then, just like that, he was done. “I get bored easily,” he said in an article from a few years ago. I gathered that he got bored building houses, just as he had with being an actor. He was ready to move on, to try something new, something different. After the construction of hundreds, if not thousands, of houses, he withdrew. He was done. What was next? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was like that. He waited for fate to give him his next move. He was patient like that. At least I assumed he was.