A slight dip in house prices threw people into a brief panic. Articles in The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal started referring to the housing market as a “bubble.” But Arizona Prime Path had an ally in their trusted appraiser, Marshall Berg. Samantha’s loan officers always got the property values they needed. There were strict regulations meant to prevent collusion between lenders and appraisers, but Leila had little doubt those had all been thrown out the window. She didn’t even want to think about the implications if the rumors were true—that Samantha had started sleeping with the appraiser.
Toward the end of the summer, closed mortgage loans became more difficult to place with investors. While Leila, Cox, and Tommy kept selling loans to new borrowers, Samantha would spend most of her days on the phone with investors who had become reticent to buy subprime mortgage paper. Leila marveled how she always managed to find someone. There was still plenty of willing investment money, even if it came from odd places and the securitization of the mortgage debt grew more creative by the month.
“It’s a temporary blip,” Samantha told Leila when she dared ask what she really thought. “The economy is as strong as ever, and the stock market is at all-time highs. The mortgage market needed this. It helps clear out the people who just got in the business for easy money.”
Leila couldn’t help but be a little concerned, despite her stunning monthly commission checks. The easiest thing was to work and not think too much.
Early in September, Samantha stopped at Leila’s desk at the end of the day. “Do you have plans tonight, honey?”
Plans? Since when did she have plans on a Wednesday night?
“Come to dinner with me. My treat.”
Leila wrapped up her work and accompanied her boss down the elevator. They took Samantha’s SUV to downtown Scottsdale.
“Do you remember this place?” Samantha asked as they walked in.
“Of course.”
The room was dark, with high ceilings and modern chandeliers slung low over the tables. The pervasive smell of the grill filled the artificially cool air. Leila wished she had brought her sweater from the office. It was the restaurant where her waitressing career had ended. All the little sounds of the place—the clatter of dishes, the sizzle of the grill, the whir of the air conditioner—registered themselves with her memories.
“I wanted to bring you back here to show you how far you’ve come. I’m incredibly proud of you.”
Leila smiled. An extravagant gesture like an expensive dinner was typical of Samantha.
As the hostess led them to a booth, the men at the bar all looked up from their drinks. Leila knew they both looked good that night—herself in black pants and a flattering black blouse, Samantha in a fitted button-down white shirt tucked into a pinstriped pencil skirt.
They started with oysters and an enormous martini for Samantha. Leila ordered the sea bass, the most expensive fish on the menu. She knew Samantha’s generosity would be offended if she didn’t splurge.
“I see a lot of myself in you,” Samantha said after the oyster shells were carried away. “Neither of us grew up rich. Neither of us went to college. We made our own breaks. Now look at us, queens of this city.”
Leila smiled again.
“Most Mexicans never get out of the kitchen of a place like this.”
“Samantha!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. That wasn’t very PC.”
Leila shook her head, appalled, though she didn’t know why it even surprised her anymore. She focused on her fish, which was delicious, although it took her a few minutes to regain her appetite. The cover band in the corner started a new song.
“I’ve so enjoyed the renewed focus I’m seeing in you this summer,” Samantha said. “You’re really coming into your own and turning this job into your business. Successful loan officers do that—they make it into their own small business. Things are getting tougher, but you’ll survive it.”
“What do you think will happen, really?”
Samantha took a long sip of her cocktail. “It all depends on the politics. I’ll be the first to admit that the housing market looks like it could be in a bubble. If so, we’ll have a little downturn and then get back to business. But the politics scare me. Last night on Fox News, they were talking about a bill in Congress banning subprime mortgages. That would be a disaster. Think of all the people we gave those low adjustable rate mortgages to with the promise that they could refinance in a couple of years. What will happen if they can’t? Mass foreclosures.”
Leila thought of Mr. and Mrs. Collins and so many others. She had never thought about this possibility before, but Samantha was right, not that politicians wouldn’t look at it that way.
As the martini began to hit Samantha, her eyes moved downward the way a man’s would. It wasn’t the first time, and Leila had to admit to having been guilty herself a time or two. It was about power, the way they noticed each other, not sex. Samantha would have given anything for hers to be natural, while Leila marveled at Samantha’s lift, even when she didn’t wear a bra. They were each envious of the other . . . but only a little.
“Paul’s Desert Villas complex is having their first occupancies later this month.” Samantha’s gaze returned to Leila’s eyes. “How many are you closing in the first batch?”
“Three. And I have four more in contract for later in the year.”
“That’s fantastic. Which reminds me, Paul’s hosting a gala Saturday after next to serve as an unofficial launch. It will be a beautiful event at the Wrigley Mansion. I’d love it if you could go. Paul adores you.”
“I wouldn’t be intruding?”
“Not at all. Think of all the Realtors who will be there. A huge opportunity. I can’t take Cox after what he said to Paul last year.”
Leila laughed. “Is Cox truly oblivious, or does he just not care?”
“Some of both, I’m sure. Afterward, he claimed he didn’t realize Paul was gay when he said it. If that’s true, then he really is oblivious.”
“His loss, my gain.”
“So, will you come?”
“Sure. It sounds like fun. I’ve never been to the Wrigley Mansion.”
“One condition: You have to wear that sapphire necklace I gave you. I want you to sparkle and glow.”
“Okay.” Fine, she would be Samantha’s exotic dress-up doll for one night. That was still the roll Samantha had assigned her to, no matter how many loans she closed. She was the immigrant success story who got out of the kitchen, damn her.
Everyone always spoke highly of Samantha—an example of a powerful woman succeeding in a man’s world. It would be harsh to say that Samantha did it for the wrong reasons. Perhaps the power and the admiration of the community were what made Samantha happy, and if so, who was Leila to judge? But Samantha was no role model. She had succeeded by using all the same dirty tricks that men had been using for years—along with a few added tricks that only women knew. She subtly encouraged the misogyny that pervaded their business, because she knew how to use it to her advantage. Samantha had no interest in empowering Leila or other young women. If Leila’s success or aspirations ever threatened Samantha’s, she would quickly be made an adversary.
They finished their meal.
“For the gala, will I be your plus one?” Leila asked as they walked back toward Samantha’s car.
“No. Bring your own date if you like. I’m bringing my son as my date. He looks so handsome in a tuxedo.”
Leila stopped for a moment before falling back into stride beside her boss. She was glad Samantha wasn’t looking at her face. It wasn’t the right reaction, but she found herself looking forward to the event even more.
What would she wear? What would she say to him when she saw him again, with Samantha inevitably standing right there beside them? It would be a dangerous moment.
“Here.” Samantha handed her keys to Leila. “You drive us back to the office. I’ll go up and work some more to sober up.”
&n
bsp; 13
LEILA TRADED PLACES with the valet outside her car door. She had been looking forward to this night, albeit with some trepidation.
The two-story white stucco mansion with dark wood trim and Spanish tiling glowed in the sunset. It sat at the hilltop, up a long, twisting drive from the base of the valley. From here, she could see the entire Valley of the Sun, spread out in all directions, to the distant mountains that surrounded it on all sides. She looked back toward the mansion, feeling several sets of eyes look toward her from the entryway.
The party was in full swing. She was late, but it was worth it. It took time to look this good.
It had been hard to decide what to wear. Since Samantha had insisted on her wearing the sapphire necklace, she needed to wear something it would complement. Nothing in her closet would do, so she and Jen had gone shopping. She’d found a gorgeous, cream-colored dress with stitched detailing. It fell just below her knees, with half-inch straps and a sweetheart neckline. It was the most money she had ever paid for a dress; she knew she wasn’t supposed to care. A pair of blue heels tied in with the necklace perfectly.
The valet drove off. In her sunglasses, with a small clutch in her hand, she looked up to the second-floor balcony. There he was.
He did look good in a tuxedo. She smiled upward, feeling a little flutter inside and then she hurried in.
She entered the grand lobby beneath a high rounded ceiling of ornately painted wood. It felt regal walking in there, like stepping back into the 1930s.
“Leila, darling!” Paul Weidman hurried toward her from the parlor.
She regrouped. Her thoughts had drifted away. She forced herself back into business mode and kissed Paul on the cheek. He held a glass of champagne, which was clearly not his first.
“You look absolutely ravishing. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Have you been to the Wrigley Mansion before?”
“No. It’s beautiful.”
He offered her his arm and led her back through the hall, past the library, into the parlor, which served as the main gathering for the gala. Two young real estate agents milled eagerly with sales packets while Paul worked the room. It was easy to spot the investors and business partners, who looked at ease in the setting and had dressed appropriately. By contrast, those two junior agents—in dresses better suited for the nightclub, with new money they hadn’t learned how to spend and new breasts they hadn’t learned how to carry—looked as out of place as the bright real estate posters on the walls beside the stately paintings by Dutch masters.
Paul excused himself, leaving her with Clary and going to talk with one of the investors. Clary looked a little too tan in his white dinner jacket.
“By dinner, he’ll have the development a hundred percent sold,” said Clary, watching his partner with pride. “You may need to take some loan applications on napkins.”
Leila laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Samantha and Ashford entered the room from the bar, each holding a glass of champagne. Samantha glowed in a floor-length yellow gown with a plunging neckline. Ashford, in his classic, fitted tuxedo, was easily the most handsome man in the room.
“You wore it.” Samantha rushed toward her. “How gorgeous you look. That dress is perfect for your figure.”
They embraced. Leila’s eyes were on Ashford.
“Naturally, you two need no introduction,” said Samantha.
Leila leaned in toward Ashford. Considering the setting, it felt appropriate to greet him with a touch of their cheeks. Maybe she just wanted to. “Hello, Ashford.” She lingered close to his face, breathing in his scent. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too, Leila.”
Samantha took her son’s arm, unwilling to relinquish her escort. Leila walked beside them. She glimpsed Ashford stealing glances toward her, but she forced herself not to look at him. She felt drawn to him as if by a magnetic force. Her whole body tingled.
Why him? He was only a boy: raw, naïve, untested by the toughness of life.
Soon, dinner was served. The dining room, directly off from the lounge, glowed with soft light. In contrast to the lounge, the inner walls of the dining room were white, with bronze curtains framing the two long walls of windows. The sun had gone down, and the city shimmered in lights. Far in the distance, the mountains formed a glowing pink silhouette against the dark sky.
Leila was seated with Paul and Clary, along with several investors and the lead contractor. Dinner conversation buzzed with business talk. If they could sell Desert Villas so easily, why not build farther out into the desert? No one mentioned the dip in home prices or the tightening regulations on mortgage lending.
Though Leila took part in the conversation, she couldn’t concentrate. Against her will, her eyes kept being drawn toward Ashford’s. He was all the way across the room, but their eyes met several times throughout the meal. He was clearly looking at her as much as he thought he could get away with. The first few times she caught him looking, he shifted his eyes away. After the main course had been carried away and dessert was being served, he dared to hold her gaze. They looked at each other for several long seconds, just like they had as she arrived, but this time neither smiled. She saw the longing in his eyes and wondered if her eyes gave her away too. Finally, it was Leila who looked away.
He had never been able to hide his attraction for her. But the way he looked at her was different than other men. His eyes were filled with kindness instead of lust. He looked inside her, inviting her to reveal what was there.
She yearned to give love a chance. She was tired of this life and its false validations. With the right man, perhaps she would be ready to try again. But why did she have to be drawn toward this man?
After dinner, the party spilled back into the lounge and through the dining room to the bar on the other side. It grew noisy. Wine and champagne had flowed freely, and now more cocktails were being poured. This was the time for the deals to get made. Leila, normally so good at using her sobriety as an advantage, struggled to keep her focus. Her mind was on anything but business. She needed a moment to herself.
She passed through the lounge, back toward the lobby entrance. It was a beautiful building with things to see on every wall and in every corner. From the lobby, a staircase spiraled up toward the ornate ceiling. She walked up, curious about what treasures were to be found on the second floor.
Soft lights from the city below and the stars above shone through the windows of the dimly lit bedrooms. Oddly shaped passageways led from one room to another. The whole building creaked and sang. The old pipes echoed in the walls. Soon, she came around to a landing above the noisy bar. The commotion drowned out the songs in the old building’s walls.
Leila glanced over the dark wood banister. Samantha held court below, with contractors and real estate agents wrapped around her finger. Leila stepped back and sat on a dark-velvet couch, looking out the windows through the palm and mesquite trees toward the glowing night.
Samantha sold with such ease. Leila could hear her, pretending to flirt with the men who had gathered around her, who had no idea the sale was well underway. It was almost too easy. Leila could do it too, if she wanted to, but she didn’t like doing business that way. It grew harder and harder to keep doing it the right way.
Her father was right—everything else was worthless unless there was space for love in her life. What else had she been working for all these years?
A footfall sounded on the stairs, coming up from the bar. It was him. She knew it even before she saw him.
“I wondered where you were,” he said.
“I’m tired of it all.”
“I know.”
He sat down on the couch beside her. After a few moments, he placed his hand on top of hers. She reflexively squeezed down around his fingers, surprising herself. She had craved his touch more than she realized.
“I think about you every
day.” A whisper was all he dared. “You told me it could never work between us. Maybe you’re right, but I can’t help it.”
He paused, seeming to gather his courage. She tried to steady her racing heart.
“Leila . . .” Her name hovered on his lips.
She turned toward him, her breaths coming quick. Her decision had already been made.
Samantha emitted a sharp laugh close below, as if to warn them of their folly.
In a moment, the care with which she had ordered every detail of her life would be shattered. She wasn’t worried anymore.
The space between them broke. Their lips met. Her arms were around his neck, her chest crushed against him. Her tongue darted and found his between their parted lips. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his arms. He kissed her with passion. It felt so good, she could have cried.
She pulled back for a moment and looked at him, beaming as she studied his face.
“I love you,” he said.
“Kiss me again.” She grabbed the back of his head and made him.
Another footfall sounded on the stairs, coming up.
Leila leaped off the couch, taking Ashford’s hand and snatching up her clutch. They ran noiselessly into the nearest passage out of the landing. As soon as they were away, they began laughing. She kissed him quickly, kicking her leg back behind her. Still clutching his hand, she led farther through the strange passageway as it twisted first right, then left. They found themselves in a lavish old powder room, ornately tiled in green. To one side was a long, inset seat, covered in antique, brocade cushions. The green tiles darkened the whole room.
Leila reclined onto the cushions. Ashford leaned over her. His kiss was soft and tender now. She wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him into her, kissing him harder. She couldn’t get enough of him.
The Exile Page 7
