Eddy's Current (40 page)

Diane showed up at Eddy’s door early that evening. Eddy welcomed her in, and the three of them sat and talked.

“Diane, you have such a wonderful daughter. I hope I do as good a job raising my twins as you did raising Penny,” Eddy said.

“Thank you so much, but I have no idea how Penny turned out so well. It certainly must have been in spite of her father and me, and not because of us.”

“Well, I’m going into the twins’ room to get them bathed and ready for bed. I’ll leave the two of you to talk.”

“Mom, what are we going to do? We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Penny. We’re in trouble.”

Eddy could hear the conversation from the twins’ bedroom. She heard the words of two people who loved each other deeply, but who were living without hope.

“Mom, we’re in more trouble than you know. I didn’t want to tell you because—I mean, are you pre… I mean, I’m pre… I’m not sure; I mean, I am but—maybe several months from now. A baby, a baby.”

“Penny, are you trying to tell me that you want me to have a baby brother? When you were very young you asked me each day for a baby brother. I’m not having anymore children, Penny. I can’t even take care of you.”

“Mom,” Penny said forthrightly, “you’re not going to have a baby, but I am.”

“What! Penny, please don’t fool around with me like that. I can’t take it. You’re not serious, are you? Penny! Penny! You are serious, aren’t you. Oh, my gosh, what are we going to do? How did it happen? You’re only sixteen. You’re only sixteen. I’m sorry, Penny, I’m so sorry. I put you under so much intense pressure. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Diane rambled all of her questions and statements out in quick succession, while tears streamed down her face. She didn’t understand what was happening to her anymore than Penny understood what was happening to her.

Eddy returned to the living room to check on Diane and Penny. “Well, that went fairly well, didn’t it?” Eddy said, hoping that her statement would provide at least a small bit of humor to lighten the moment.

It worked. Diane and Penny smiled slightly. “Let’s eat,” Eddy suggested. “I have something here to eat somewhere. It’ll take me just a minute or so to get it together.”

AUGUST 2025

Real estate agent, Antonio Rodriguez, had not brokered a decent deal in over four years. It had been nineteen years since he had earned an annual income that provided a high standard of living or even paid the bills for a basic living. Rodriguez had been living off of his savings for years. He was nearly broke.

At sixty–six, Rodriguez was supposed to have been ready to face retirement. Like many Americans of that day, Rodriguez faced the grim reality that there would be no comfortable retirement for him. Maybe, if he were lucky, his retirement would be a simple existence that would include a steady stream of small monthly Social Security payments, walks in the park, golf once or twice a month, and cards and bingo on Friday nights at the recreation center. This was not exactly the country club life style he had imagined for his retirement forty years earlier when he began his career in real estate sales, but it was all he could hope for.

Eddy had called Rodriguez because he was known to handle the purchase and sale of small apartment buildings. Eddy needed a small apartment building in order to continue her charitable work. Her clients needed a place to live. She could no longer accommodate pregnant young girls in her small apartment, especially if the girls’ mothers came with the package, as they often did.

After driving nearly every road in the Houston area looking for an apartment building to sell to Eddy, Rodriguez stopped on the road in front of 1206 Southwest Dallas Street. He pulled into the parking lot. Eddy’s eyes watered as she looked at the building from the passenger seat in Rodriguez’s car. It was perfect. Fifteen apartments. Three of them had two bedrooms, two baths; twelve had one bedroom and one bath. The building was located in a decent section of town. The girls would be safe there. Eddy and the twins would live on the ground floor, in one of the two–bedroom units. She would run the center from there.

The girls would live in the other apartments with their babies. No men allowed. Only the girls’ mothers would be permitted to live on the premises with the girls and their babies. It was perfect. Eddy cried as the plans raced through her mind. She begged Rodriguez to work out a purchase arrangement with the buyer.

Eddy would put down three hundred fifty thousand dollars and finance four hundred fifty thousand. She had no idea how she would obtain the loan or, for that matter, how she would make the payments.

The roof was good. The walls were sound. The foundation was solid. The appliances were old. Most of the air conditioner units clunked along, but not all. Some didn’t clunk at all. The place was filthy, inside and out. It was abandoned. Every wall needed paint. No carpet to fret over because each unit had Linoleum flooring throughout. Outside lighting was not bad. Each unit had an outside light fixture in the ceiling of the overhang, above each door.

The building was a three, at best, on a scale of one to ten. Eddy saw a ten. She saw fifteen Palm Beach mansions. She was thrilled. She and Rodriguez engaged regarding the business of the deal. Eddy was at a disadvantage because she understood nothing of business. Her advantage, though, was that she was willing to beg on behalf of her clients.

Rodriguez and Eddy had not met before. He knew nothing of her plans. She knew nothing of his. He was on the verge of financial collapse. She had money. He was consumed with personal financial desperation. She was burdened with visions for the use of her money. Rodriguez was working to satisfy himself. Eddy was dedicated to River, her children and her vision to help pregnant young girls who had no place to turn.

Rodriguez worked alone. Eddy labored day in and day out with her husband, regardless of the fact that he was often thousands of miles from her. Rodriguez was trapped by his dependence. Eddy was free because of hers. They went to a coffee shop around the corner to talk.

“Mrs. Warwick, this place is a great investment. Even after paying me my ten percent commission, you could still pay the asking price and come out way ahead. Listen to me, each apartment will bring you an average monthly rent payment of nine hundred dollars. Nine hundred times fifteen equals thirteen thousand five hundred dollars a month income. Wow! Can you believe it? You’ll be rich, Mrs. Warwick. You mentioned to me that you can put down three hundred fifty thousand dollars. If you are able to do that, your payments could be as low as seven thousand dollars a month. You’ll make a gross profit each month of six thousand five hundred dollars.”

“What do I do if the girls can’t pay me?”

“What girls are you talking about, Mrs. Warwick?”

“I want the apartment building for use as a shelter for young girls who are pregnant and have no place to live. With the economy so bad and the government and churches out of money, pregnant young teenage girls have no place to go. They’re literally having babies on the street.”

“Well, they shouldn’t get pregnant, then, should they?” Rodriguez said, in a half–hearted attempt at a cruel joke.

“No, Mr. Rodriguez, they shouldn’t get pregnant, but they do. It happens all the time. As soon as they become pregnant, Mr. Rodriguez, they have to be cared for. Would you agree?”

“Okay, I see; you want this building for some kind of a charity, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please, Mr. Rodriguez, you have to help me. I have no idea how to put this all together, but you do. You’ve done this kind of thing many times. Please help me.”

“Mrs. Warwick, do you have a husband?”

“That’s a question straight out of the 1920's, Mr. Rodriguez.

“Yes, I do have a husband. He’s on assignment out of the country.”

“Sorry. Listen, I can try to line up a business partner for you, a person who will invest money with you, but he’ll expect a return.”

“A return of what?”

“He’ll expect a return on his money. Mrs. Warwick, do you understand that we have to come up with an additional four hundred fifty thousand dollars, plus other costs, on top of the three hundred fifty thousand dollars you have to put down? You also have to pay me my ten percent commission. And, if you want me to broker the financing as well, you will have to pay me a lending brokerage fee of twelve thousand dollars. There are closing costs, repairs to the units, miscellaneous costs, painting. And what about furnishings? I assume that you want the girls to be able to move into furnished apartments.”

Eddy’s head was swimming. She had gone from visions of fifteen Palm Beach mini mansions to fifteen black holes to dump money in. Eddy moved on, not understanding much of what Rodriguez said to her, but still determined to secure the apartments for her clients and others in need.

“What if a person who has lots of money wants to help me? Wouldn’t that work as well, Mr. Rodriguez?” Eddy asked, with as much contagious excitement as she could pour into her statement.

“Few people have money today, Mrs. Warwick. Those with money to give are laying low these days, hoping to go unnoticed by the masses who need so much. It doesn’t do the wealthy any good to be known by the government, either. Are you aware that the government raised the income tax rate to seventy percent for those in the uppermost income brackets? The girls you’re planning to help will have a tough road ahead of them.”

Eddy did not understand the complexities of such a deal, but she did know how to break things down to simple bites so that the deal could be consumed and digested by all who would get involved. She began with Rodriguez.

“Mr. Rodriguez, would you reduce your commissions?”

“To what?”

“To zero?” Eddy grimaced as she asked, shrinking down slightly in her seat.

“Zero?!” Rodriguez exclaimed. You just named my income for the past four years. I have no income from which to make up such generosity.”

Rodriguez was no longer pretending that Eddy was the customer. “People just don’t do that, Mrs. Warwick. They don’t. I have nothing—no money, no income. My assets are all gone. You’re looking at a man who pays for food and utilities on credit. I can’t be involved in such an irresponsible deal. I’m sorry, Mrs. Warwick, I would like to help you, but I just can’t.”

The ride back to Eddy’s apartment lacked the normal chatter one would expect when a talkative sales person is in the presence of a potential buyer. Eddy decided that she would take advantage of the time to pitch her idea.

“Mr. Rodriguez, what are pregnant teenage girls — who are alone in this world, broke and without medical services — supposed to do? Should they just be relegated to the streets because we don’t have government, church or charity money to help them?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mrs. Warwick. I just don’t know. All I know is that I’ve given up myself. I’m sixty–six, I have no money, no future, and even less hope that things will get better in this country. I’m just waiting for a new governmental system to come into place. Our country has failed. We’ve lost. The U.S. is sort of like one of its many failed financial institutions—waiting to be taken over by a stronger competitor. That’s what we’re doing here in America now, Mrs. Warwick, we’re waiting for a leveraged buyout, a hostile takeover. I just hope things are better under the new system of government.”

“So when you look to the future, you see no hope for America?”

“When I look to the future, Mrs. Warwick, I see no America at all.”

“I’m ashamed for you.”

“Ashamed for me or of me, Mrs. Warwick?”

“America will bounce back, Mr. Rodriguez. Things have been tough, but we will bounce back. I need your help. Please help me. Please believe that if you do what’s right, things will turn for the better. If it’s all so hopeless, as you believe, what do you have to lose by helping me? You even seem to believe that things are so bad that a few dollars in your pocket are not going to help you. Your commissions won’t help you in a country that’s doomed. Just think about it, Mr. Rodriguez. That’s all I ask. I can’t make this deal work without you.”

Rodriguez stopped outside Eddy’s apartment. Eddy opened the door, removed the twins from the booster seats in the back of Rodriguez’s car, and proceeded to the door of her apartment. Rodriguez assisted her with the twins and booster seats. She unlocked the apartment door and led the twins inside. She walked inside, turned to say goodby to Rodriguez and began to close the door. Rodriguez said something. She didn’t hear him because he had turned toward the street and walked away from her as he mumbled. She suspected that he said something that he didn’t want her to hear. Good salesmen are good communicators, so if Rodriguez wanted her to hear him, he would have faced her squarely and spoken directly to her.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rodriguez, I was tending to the twins. I didn’t hear what you said to me.”

He continued toward his car, and did not respond.

“Mr. Rodriguez,” she called out to him, “I didn’t hear what you said to me.”

Rodriguez turned back to face her. “I said that I know of a very wealthy woman who has a heart for helping people.” He turned back toward his car.

“Will you call her for me?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Will you agree to drop your commissions?”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

Rodriguez turned back toward Eddy once again, just as he opened his car door, and spoke loudly to her, “She’s disgusted with large charities, churches and governments. She’s vowed never again to give a dime to any of them. I think she’ll help you. I’ll be in touch.”

Eddy fed and bathed the twins, read to them, prayed with them, and put them to bed. She could not contain her excitement. Regardless of the exact words Rodriguez used to communicate to Eddy, Eddy heard him say that the apartment building deal was going to become a reality. She went to her small utility closet, off the kitchen, reached up to the top shelf and removed the sign that would hang on the wall, outside of her new apartment building, “Emily’s Angels.”