Addie Combo (6 page)

Margaret spends a lot of time turning and coughing, waving us away and hiding her face. At
one point, I lean over and ask, “Are you okay, Margaret? Need some water?” She nods and I
get her some, her fingers taking the glass with quivering uncertainty. We spend an hour or so
with her, then move on to the Santa Monica Pier, to watch the Ferris wheel and have a few
margaritas, the waves churning restlessly in the distance.
“Your mother is a real hoot! Do you really understand everything she says? It’s like another
language.”
Randolph says, “It
is
another language! And no, I never really understand half of what she’s
saying.” After a little pause and a look over the inky sea around us, he adds, “But I understand
what she means.”
After a sad little pause, I have to ask, “Is she okay? That cough ... ”
Randolph looks at me, suddenly quite, his smile melting away. “No. She’s not okay.”
Nice one, dummy,
I hear that voice reprimand me from deep inside my skull.
You sure know
how to kill a vibe!
Well, we all get older,
I hear myself respond,
it’s not like either of us thinks anybody is going
to live forever.
Ultimately, Randolph says, “She sure is a hoot though, you’re right about that.”
I let the subject go, and he doesn’t make another mention of her. Instead of getting all
wrapped up in that Freudian nightmare, I follow Randolph’s lead and look ahead, to the future.
Because it’s coming fast, whether I’m looking or not. And the past, however hard I may try
to leave it behind, keeps clinging to me; holding onto my heels like a nipping wolf with a taste
for my blood.
Later that night, I pull out some paper and a pen, deciding to give those wolves more than
merely an email. But I don’t even know if my father and brothers still share the same house,
much less if they still get the internet.
All the more reason to write them a letter,
I decide. So my hand trembles a bit as I write, but
I force the issue and the tissue and begin with the familiar greeting. Everything else after that is
up for grabs.

Dearest Family:
I am doing well in Los Angeles, and wanted to take a moment to let you know not to worry
about me. I think about you often, and always with a warm heart. I hope you think of me the
same way, and that you are finding all the happiness in the world which is allotted to you by the
grace of our Lord.
When I think of you, I think of Mom; how she must be looking down on us, so happy that we
are finding our destinies, even though they may not be found under the same roof for us all.
I should take this opportunity to apologize for leaving so abruptly and without a proper
goodbye. It was just too much emotion for me to face, to say goodbye to even more of my family,
the rest of it, and for who knows how long? I hope you have found the strength to forgive me.
Yours in Christ, Addison.
Okay, I can’t say that it’s
entirely
genuine, thought it is for the most part. Of course I could
include,
You worked me like a servant and ignored me to the point of heartbreak. I would have
left sooner if I could have, and I won’t ever come back!
But the truth is not reason enough to say something, and there is no reason for me to express
these things to my father now. It’s long past the point of making any difference.
It just doesn’t matter.
But I don’t want that stuff following me into the future. I want to go clean into that bright
and brilliant horizon, and this is the best way to do it. And I really do wish them all well, and I
do regret just leaving without so much as a kiss on the cheek. But I send the letter and let my
sadness go with it, casting it to the wind and placing it upon the alter of the Lord.
Two weeks later, Randolph and I take an American Airlines flight to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida,
to have a look at some property he may buy for a new cartel of investors. I’m more excited than
I ever thoughtI’d be to be visiting Florida, but I know it’s not the gators or the swamps or
anybody’s grandma I’m going to see. I’m learning so much as the weeks go by, every new deal
is a lesson and an adventure.
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 say, “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.”
Emily forces a smile. “Of course, you can’t just expect to go from one man’s care to the
next! You don’t want to be relying on the kindness of strangers your whole life.”
“Oh, Emily,” I say, “I didn’t know you were a Tennessee Williams fan.”
“I’m not,” she says with a smile, “I’ve never even been there.”
After an awkward moment, Quinton clears his throat and says, “Either way, you’ve got
friends here, Addie; never forget that.” Emily glares at Quinton again, but we both ignore her.
He’s just being helpful, after all, and right now that’s all I need or want ... or can handle.
I drive back to my apartment, half-expecting to see a bunch of police squad cars with their
lights flashing, carrying an arrest warrant with my name on the charge of grand theft auto. I
begin to wonder what Randolph is capable of, what actions he might take.
I trusted him too much,
I realize, and I wonder if I can reverse the damage to my life and
future that I may have inadvertently caused, or unwittingly allowed Randolph to cause.
Nice theories, Princess Paranoia,
I chide myself.
Things aren’t that bad. You got hurt,
doesn’t mean anyone’s out to destroy you.
The next day, I get a closer look into what Randolph is thinking and feeling.
And planning.
As he promised, Quinton follows me up the winding hillside street Micheltorena, to that
modern manse behind the locked gate. Emily insists on joining us. The cluster of square,
concrete sides and big, glass windows shines like a beacon on the hill.
I park his Beamer on the street while Quinton idles behind me in his Kia Sentra, in a whole
other class; a much better class, as far as I’m now concerned. I pitch the key ring over the fence.
Hearing the little clanky thud, I know my payload’s been delivered. Without giving him the
satisfaction of a rant, the humiliating display of any emotion, I turn and cross back toward
Quinton’s car.
The sooner I get out of there, the better I know I’ll feel.
Until I hear the click of the massive wooden front gate, released from its stone wall jab;
followed by his voice, instantly recognizable. I don’t need to turn around when he utters my
name.
But I do.
I just stand, waiting. He’s come down, having seen my approach from On High when he
could have remained safe in his sanctuary, to collect his property and let me slink away. But His
Holiness, the great and majestic Ruler of the Silverlake Mountains has deemed to grace me with
his presence, so surely he has some reason that I in my lowly ignorance cannot manage to guess.
Finally, he says, “Won’t you come up? Your friend can come too.”
My mind streams with thoughts; bickering voices (as usual), each with something to say and
nothing to hear.
Come on up? To be tricked and manipulated again? No! Take your mansion and go to hell!
Come on up? Well, if you’d like to clear the air, I suppose that’d be good for us both.
Come on up? How do you know the person behind that wheel isn’t a paid gunman ready to
finish you off and usurp your life entirely, while I stay in the shadows and reap the benefits?
I can’t believe such a thing would cross my mind. I’d never have entertained that kind of a
malevolent notion before, not even in jest.
Randolph really is a bad influence on me
, I realize,
and that’s when I decide to stand my ground and not be coaxed back into his luxurious spider’s
web.
Instead, I remain standing in the street with Randolph in front of his house. If he has
something to say, he’ll say it here. And he does.
“Okay, Addie, I know things didn’t look great when you came over here last time. But I’m
asking you to think for a minute. Were we ever committed to each other in that way? Did I
really make any promises that I wasn’t able to keep?”
“Able? She was holding a gun to your head, I suppose?”
“Willing, then,” Randolph responds. “But you have to admit, we were never exclusive, at
least not specifically.”
“The hell we weren’t,” I respond, letting my voice get louder so his neighbors can hear.
“You made love to me, we travelled together. I wasn’t seeing anyone else and you knew that -”
“Your choice, I never -”
“But you knew! You can’t stand here now and tell me you didn’t realize what kind of
relationship we were having, no matter what was explicitly said. You might be a complete moral
blank, Randolph, but you can’t possibly be that dense!”
“I’m not saying I wasn’t conflicted,” he says, his voice faster and louder. “I had ... I have
real feelings for you, Addie. But ... it all was happening so fast -”
“You were seducing me!”
“Maybe it’s best if you see things that way.” He looks at me, calmer now, as if I’ve stepped
over some line and put him squarely in the right.
“You don’t give a damn about how I see things!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Addie. I helped you out ... financially. Regardless of what has
happened between us personally, there are business matters that bind us together. We have to
respect those boundaries -”
“Boundaries?” I can hardly believe he’s said it, even less so after I repeat that hated excuse.
“You didn’t think we needed any boundaries when you were laying me down in your bed, or in
your Jacuzzi, or on your backyard lawn.” With a bit more volume for extra neighborly effect, I
add, “Or on your