by James Ross
Neal finished up the word teaser he’d become addicted to that was posted in the morning paper next to the funnies. He read the obituaries and then got up-to-date with the news around the world, courtesy of the satellite television broadcast that Norma had insisted on putting in her ancient diner. He dabbed the remnants of apple butter and ketchup off of the sides of his mouth and stood to leave. “Same time tomorrow, Norma?” he asked as he stepped toward the front door.
“What the hell else would I be doin’?” came her crusty reply. “ . . . The alarm’s been goin’ off at four-thirty in the mornin’ for over thirty years. I might as well come in here if I’m gonna be up.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another dollar bill. Before he got too far away he returned to his seat and threw it on the countertop next to his empty cup of coffee. “I can always count on a great meal and excellent service.” Neal said as he gave her a heartwarming grin.
“Whatcha gonna do with the farm?” she pried. Norma could tell that Neal was not himself. He seemed to be preoccupied with all of the decisions that he had to make concerning his land.
“I don’t know,” Neal stammered in frustration. “Part of me says go and part of me says no. Giving it all up means that part of my life goes with it. I don’t know what to do and I certainly don’t know what the right answer is.”
“Time doesn’t stand still, does it?”
“No it doesn’t,” Neal said as he exhaled a large breath of air. He was exasperated. “But you can’t hold out against the path of progress either.”
“In a way that’s kind of a sad statement ’bout the world that we’ve created for ourselves, isn’t it?” Norma stated in her own insightful style.
“It’s almost crazy to hold out and expect to get more down the road someday,” Neal reflected. He gazed out the front window of the diner and seemed to be talking to no one in particular.
“You sound like you’re gonna take the money and run,” Norma prompted him as if she was putting words in his mouth.
Neal placed his left hand on the counter. He was deep in thought. His right hand rubbed across the whiskers between his nose and the top of his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder and looked back at her as she stood in front of the griddle. “You think so, huh?”
Norma nodded her head. “I would.”
“But you just said a little while ago that you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You get up at four-thirty in the morning every day.” Neal babbled before he posed a question to her. “What happens if there is nowhere to go once you’re up?”
Norma’s world was a far cry different from the world that Neal was accustomed to. Her answer surprised Neal. “I think that I’d do somethin’ that I’ve always wanted to do but never found the time.”
“What would that be?” Neal wondered out loud.
“Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to go to the beach and collect sea shells,” Norma stated matter-of-factly as she caught herself dreaming off into a childhood fantasy.
“Yeah, but what would happen then after you collected all of the sea shells that you ever wanted to collect?”
Norma let her mind wander off. “I would grab my crochet bag and walk up and down the beach somewhere in North or South Carolina,” Norma said, her mind off in never-never land. “You ever been there?”
Neal shook his head back and forth. “No, can’t say that I have.”
“My grandmother took me there when I was a little bitty girl,” Norma said as she momentarily focused back on Neal.
“It must have made quite an impression on you,” Neal responded.
“The light-colored sand and the dunes and the tall, wispy grass blowin’ in the ocean breeze,” Norma recited as she imagined the site in her mind, “and all of the houses on stilts to protect themselves from the risin’ water.” She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to take her back to those childhood memories.
“That sort of makes me feel guilty about giving you an extra dollar for a tip,” Neal deadpanned.
“Why would you say that?” Norma snapped back to the reality of the morning in the diner.
“If I did make a bunch of money on selling out, then I feel like I would have to share a little with you to make your dreams come true,” Neal rationalized.
“Well, whatever it is won’t be like winnin’ the Powerball or the Big Game or anything like that,” Norma shot back. “Now you’ve got my mind back to all of this crap in the diner.” She picked up a damp towel and wiped down the countertop.
“You never know. Maybe I’ll leave you a real big tip someday,” Neal threw out, “something more than that measly dollar.”
“Don’t tease me unless you mean it,” Norma chastised him.
“Oh if something like that did happen, it wouldn’t be enough to get you a place on the ocean,” Neal backpedaled. “But maybe someday I can help you out on the daily expenditures for all the good service you’ve done for me over the years.”
Norma smiled at him, appreciative of the gesture. “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?”
Neal shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know the final answer to that just yet. I still want to find out about what you’re going to do with the sea shells and what you’re going to do after you collect all of the ones that you want.”
Norma quickly drifted off to her dreams. In a trance-like recital she started back up. “I would empty the crotchet bag every day and pick out the very best ones. Then I would wash the sand out of them and polish up the good ones and put them in a chest with glass doors.”
“And what would you do after you collected all of the shells that you could ever dream of?” Neal probed further. He repeated his point as if on a mission.
Without missing a beat Norma said, “Then I would go out on the deck in back of my house and listen to the chimes as they blew in the wind. And I would get out my paints and paint a pretty picture on a canvas as it sat on the easel. And just relax as the ocean breeze blew over my body and the waves pounded on the shore.”
“Wow!” Neal exclaimed. Her soliloquy was so vivid that he caught himself drifting off to the Carolina shore. “See . . .”
“ . . . What?”
“You know what you’re going to do with yourself after you make all kinds of money,” Neal bellowed.
“ . . . And you don’t?” Norma questioned him.
“I haven’t got the foggiest idea what I am going to do with the rest of my life,” Neal responded. “Maybe I’ve been living my dream.”
“Well let me tell you somethin’. I have to have dreams like that,” Norma said.
“Why is that?” Neal wondered.
“I’d go nuts looking at all of those egg yolks and egg whites if I didn’t dream a little.” She laughed at her station in life. Her light brown locks sprinkled with gray were covered by a hairnet. Dental work was needed on her jagged teeth. Her stockings had a run down the calf from the knee to the ankle. The smell of grease shot up the hood vent. Reality of life in the diner displaced the dreams of the East coast.
Neal had to laugh along with her. “See you tomorrow.” He headed out the door to his rusted-out Chevy. Over his shoulder he yelled. “Keep working on those dreams and then give one to me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ricki Sandstoner jumped into action the moment she saw Neal Brownfield’s weathered truck pull into the parking lot. It was late July of 2007 and the weather in St. Louis was scorching. It could be anywhere from dreadfully hot to unbearably hot to humid and hot. That was life in St. Louis in July. Generally, the Cardinals were involved in some sort of a pennant chase, the NFL and college football season were weeks away from kicking off, and the year-end scrambles were slated to take place on the golf courses around town.
Neal pulled his pickup to a stop on the bank’s parking lot and was almost afraid to step outside even though it was only a quarter past nine. The air conditioning was a much needed luxury even at that time in the morning. He neatly folded over the opening of hi
s pouch of Red Man chewing tobacco and threw it onto the passenger seat before exiting the pickup.
As Neal walked along the sidewalk and entered through the revolving glass door of the bank Ricki scurried to welcome him. “Good morning, Mr. Brownfield. I’m Ricki Sandstoner, Mr. Syms’ private secretary.” She extended her hand. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, not right now,” Neal responded. He felt a wee bit out of place standing in front of Ricki. She was dressed in a sharp business suit. Standing in medium heels she stood eye to eye with the farmer. Her personable demeanor, professional approach, and physical appearance slightly intimidated the farmer. He had on overalls and work boots with dried mud around the edges. “I just came from Norma’s and had my share of coffee there.” Out of the corner of his mouth he blurted, “I could use the restroom though.”
“It’s right over there on the other side of the lobby,” Ricki said as she pointed in the opposite direction. She handed him a newspaper. “Here’s the morning paper. Make yourself at home. Harold will see you in a minute.” Neal nodded and sauntered over to the restroom to relieve himself and tidy up. He deposited the chew of tobacco in the waste basket then splashed some water into his mouth for a quick rinse.
Neal felt like he knew how all of these hot-shot bankers worked. They all wanted to schmooze you when they wanted your money to go into a long-term CD but were quick to hammer you with an interest rate the second it came time to borrow from them. After exiting the restroom he plopped down on the couch in the lobby. Before he could cross his legs Harold Syms approached with outstretched arm. “Hi, Neal! Good to see you.”
The farmer stood and noticed that Harold’s hand was on a forty-five degree angle from his waist as he reached up to greet Neal. When he shook Neal’s hand it was as if Harold’s hand was at the level of his eyes. I didn’t remember that this guy was such a short little bugger, Neal thought. “Good morning.”
“Come on into my office,” Harold offered as he led the way to the large suite in one corner of the bank. “Have a seat,” he said as he motioned to one of the leather upholstered chairs opposite his desk. He closed the door to his office. “Can I get you anything?”
“Sure, a higher interest rate on my deposit,” Neal deadpanned as he slid into the fashionable chair. “You don’t mind if I leave a little mud in here, do you?”
“If it was a problem, I would have told you to take your boots off at the front door. The cleaning crew can get the place cleaned up later,” Harold emphasized. “So what brings you in here this morning?” Neal had been banking at First Cornstalk Bank for a number of years and Harold had always included him in all of the festivities that the bank catered. Even though Neal was simply a local farmer Harold had always made it clear that he was appreciative of his sizeable account that was on deposit. It was a relationship that had grown over the years. Neal always figured that Harold networked for a reason and was friendly only because he saw an opportunity to make a buck on a large sale of some land.
“You know what you have told me over the years,” Neal started.
“What’s that?” Harold played stupid. He was dumb like a fox when he needed to be.
“A few of the real estate people in town have been swirling around and have told me that some builders are interested in my farm,” Neal stated matter-of-factly.
“ . . . And you remembered what I always told you,” Harold was quick to continue.
Neal smiled. “You said if I ever wanted to sell, to see you first.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Harold asked.
Neal studied Harold. I better watch what I say. I know the guy is sly; he even looks like a fox. “It’s an option, but I don’t want to give the place away,” Neal carried on.
“You shouldn’t have to,” Harold agreed.
“What should I do? Any opinions?”
Harold reached for the clock on his desk and made note of the time. “You want advice, huh? Okay then . . . the clock is ticking. I’ll send you a bill next week for my legal opinion.”
“So that’s how you work,” Neal said indignantly. He made a motion to get up out of the chair. “I don’t see any law license hanging on the wall.”
Harold erupted with laughter. “I was only kidding. Don’t get your bowels in an uproar.” He laughed heartily.
Neal grinned. “You had me going there for a minute.”
“It was all in good fun. Banking can get pretty dry at times so I have to loosen things up once in a while,” Harold said.
“In reality and in all seriousness, what is available to me?”
“Actually, it depends on how much of a risk taker you are,” Harold answered. Neal adjusted his position in the chair, tilted to the right putting more weight on his elbow that was positioned on the arm of the chair, and leaned forward. “You can sell the ground outright and be done with it, but in that scenario you won’t get top dollar for the real estate. You’ll have to leave something on the table for the next guy.”
“Let’s assume I might want to take some risk,” Neal proposed.
“Then you might want to consider taking on a partner,” Harold clarified. “You don’t have any development experience so I would advise getting someone involved that has gone down that road before.”
“ . . . Any suggestions?”
Harold grinned from ear to ear. “I didn’t think you’d ever ask.”
“Is that what you do?” Neal questioned. He was foreign to how real estate development worked, but he was very familiar with the land that he had farmed since he was a child.
“I’ve got a corporation on the side that can handle that,” Harold admitted. Privately he had been salivating to get his hands on Neal’s property for decades.
“So you do more than banking,” Neal said as he started to put two and two together.
“The money is the vehicle to make things happen,” Harold hinted as he threw out a hook.
“How does it work?”
Harold rolled his chair closer to his desk. He reached for a pad of paper and grabbed a pen. He started to scribble numbers on the blank piece of paper. “Basically, it works like this.” He doodled some more. “You don’t have any idea what you’re doing as far as developing property goes. Is that a fair assumption?”
Neal nodded his head. “I’ve got no idea.”
“Then you’ll have to pay me twenty percent right off the top,” Harold said without expression. His business side was kicking in and he wanted to make the best deal for himself.
“That’s crazy,” Neal countered.
“Not really,” Harold stated in defense. “You’re going to need someone that can get the site plan done from an engineer.”
Neal shrugged his shoulders. “I can call one.”
“And you’ll pay them a lot of money,” Harold argued against him. “That’s only part of it.”
“What else is there?” Neal asked.
“The difficult part is getting the property rezoned,” Harold maintained.
“The master plan for the city is residential housing,” Neal followed. He had done some of his homework.
“Don’t assume that it will be granted just because you get the property engineered,” Harold said steadfastly.
“ . . . Really? Why do you say that?”
Harold gave him a sly grin. “There’s a little bit of politics that comes into play with that. I think that you’ll find that I’m connected to city hall and that my services will be well worth it.”
Neal stopped for a second and evaluated what Harold just said. “So that’s how it works.”
Harold looked him square in the eye. He motioned his hands as if to say that was the way of the world. “It pays to know people in our world. I can get things done.”
“You want twenty percent for doing that?” Neal reiterated.
“That’s just for getting the site plan and the property rezoned,” Harold reminded him.
“What else is there?” Neal asked indignantly.
/> “To get the loan we’ll have to have some builders in line to commit to take down the developed lots after the work is completed,” Harold explained wryly. “I’ll take another ten percent for accomplishing that.”
Neal was incensed. “Oh, come on.”
Harold shrugged his shoulders. He motioned his hands again as if to say to Neal that he could take it or leave it. “We haven’t even gotten to the loan end of the deal yet.”
“I guess you want more for loaning me the money,” Neal said.
“Stella likes to have a roof over her head and I have six little mouths to feed,” Harold replied.
“So what do you charge for that?” Neal said in a huff.
“I’m going to assume that you don’t want to put any of your own cash in the deal, is that correct?” Harold guessed.
“If I go along with this, then I would be a seller. I want the money,” Neal stated as he nodded his head affirmatively.
“Then to do that, we’d have to build the interest carry into the loan,” Harold said.
“What are you talking about?” Neal hadn’t had a loan in years and had no idea what Harold was alluding to.
“There’s work that needs to be done. That costs money. You understand that,” Harold explained. Neal nodded his head. “Those fees will be line items in our development loan. So will the interest on any money that is borrowed. When that money gets disbursed we’ll have to start paying interest on it. We can put a request in our loan packet that the interest is built into our loan.”
“That would be a good thing I suppose,” Neal agreed.
Harold smiled. “I’m glad that we’re on the same wave length. But it’s going to cost you.”
“How much do I get dinged for that?” Neal was starting to get the feeling that his ass would be chapped before he got it out of the leather chair.
“I charge ten percent for one year’s worth of interest carry.” Harold wielded his authority with the unlimited funds that were at his disposal.
Neal snorted a sound out of his mouth. “That figures.”
Harold laid his cards on the table. “But on a deal of this length we’ll need three years’ worth of interest carry built into the loan. That will come with a twenty percent fee.”
