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
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
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