Jen and Lee wound up spending the night, so after my morning workout I brought pastries and coffee from a nearby French bakery for everybody. Honestly, I was surprised to find anyone awake back in the apartment, but there Jen was, straightening up and washing the glasses from the night before.
“You don’t need to do that,” I said, setting the bag of croissants down on the counter and handing Jen a hot cup of coffee.
“Coffee? And what’s this?” she said, looking into the bag. “Pastries? Oh, dude- no wonder Emmy loves you so much!”
“Do I smell coffee?” asked Lee, stumbling into the kitchen, bleary-eyed. “Must. Have. Coffee.”
“Pastries, too, baby,” Jen said, handing him a chocolate croissant.
“Oh, awesome!” Lee said, gratefully.
Emmy wandered in about that time, snuggling up to me in a sleepy hug. “Good morning, my love,” she said, nuzzling her face in my chest.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in tight, enjoying the feel of her body against mine.
“Help!” came her muffled voice. “I am caught in a booby trap!”
Laughing, I kissed the top of Emmy’s head, then let her go.
“I did not say I wanted out,” came her response, difficult to hear as her face was still buried in my chest. I hugged her tightly again, getting a solid squeeze in return.
“Do you guys have any plans today?” I asked to the group in general.
“I’ve got work this afternoon,” Jen said.
“Lee and I were going to look at some studios today, and hopefully find a good practice space for the time being,” Emmy said, releasing her grip on me and gravitating towards the coffee. “Do you have any plans?” she asked me as she selected a croissant.
“I need to go in to the Santa Monica office, show my face, make sure everything is set up, but I wasn’t thinking of spending the full day there,” I answered. “Other than that, I have nothing going on.”
“I’m not sure how long it’s gonna take Emmy and me,” Lee said. “It might be a long time. All day, maybe. We have a pretty long list of places to check out.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Just let me know if I’m on my own for dinner, O.K.?” I said to Emmy.
“Of course,” she replied.
I don’t think anybody in the Santa Monica office had expected I’d roll in first thing Monday morning. The receptionist seemed flustered when I came in right at nine.
“Ms Farmer!” she said when she realized who it was that walked in the door. “Can I help you?”
“No, it’s alright. I’ll be in my office,” I said as I headed back.
“Um-” she said, unsure of what to say. “Will you be here for a while?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Full time from now on.”
“Oh,” she said. “We haven’t hired you a P.A. yet,” she said, flustered.
“I don’t need one yet, Marisa,” I said. “But I’ll talk to H.R. later this week about hiring one.”
With that, I left and went back to the last door on the right that led to my new office suite.
I left the door open, of course, and sat down, adjusted the chair, and set out my laptop. I checked the desk drawers for the usual office supplies and saw that my favorite pens and writing notepads had been stocked. I took out a notepad and pen and started making a list of what I needed to personalize the office when somebody knocked on the door.
“Come on in,” I said, recognizing Randi, my property acquisitions director.
“Leah,” she said, sitting down in front of the desk. “So this is it? You’re here for good?”
“Well, mostly,” I admitted. “I figure I’ll have to spend a few days every other week up in the Bay Area, but yeah, other than that, here I am.”
“That’s good,” she said. “There are a few properties that I’ve been interested in that I want to show you to sign off on. Maybe once you get settled in here?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve also got something I want to talk to you about. I need a house. I’m renting a place in Century City for now, but I want to buy.”
“What neighborhood?” she asked.
“That isn’t as important as what I need in the house. You know my wife is a recording artist, right?” When Randi nodded, I continued. “We need a house that has a professional-level recording studio, or space to build one out. I mean, a real top-level studio, not some converted bedroom or something. Like maybe, I don’t know, the house Quincy Jones is selling, or something.”
“This is Los Angeles. That shouldn’t be too hard,” Randi said with a smile I’m sure she meant to be charming, but just seemed forced. “What else do you need?”
“As far as the house goes, it needs to have a big garage, at least five cars, preferably a somewhat separate staff quarters, and decent security,” I said.
“Does it need to be move-in ready, or are we willing to look at spaces that could be built to suit?” Randi asked, taking notes on her phone.
“I don’t mind a remodel, but I don’t want to build from the ground up. I want to be moved in by this time next year at the latest,” I said, thinking about it.
“Budget?”
“All in, I’d rather not spend more than, I don’t know, twenty or so,” I said, thinking about our finances.
“Twenty million?” gasped Randi. Recovering, she said “That’ll get you a whole lot of house.”
“Well, I’m spending fifteen on our place in Manhattan, and that sorta stings a bit,” I admitted.
“Can I be honest?” Randi asked. When I nodded O.K., she said, “Those numbers are a lot higher than I would have expected. I know the REIT is doing well and profits have been, well, excellent, but your compensation package can’t be that good,” she said.
Choosing to not be offended, I said “I have other irons in the fire. I could spend up to, I don’t know, maybe fifty? But I’d rather not.”
“Fifty would buy a palace,” Randi said.
“We don’t need a palace, and let’s say ten, plus five for remodel and decoration, should buy us a plenty nice place.”
“All right,” Randi said. “A recording studio, big garage, secure. Got it.”
I wasn’t convinced she really had a grasp of what I wanted, so I figured I’d have to do some hunting of my own.
All morning was a parade of the various staff members of the office, all wanting their face time with the boss who’d been a distant figure up until now. It isn’t as if they’d never met me- after all, I’d come down to sign off on all the big money deals a fair number of times, but I’d never really been a presence in the office. Now they knew I was going to be there all the time, and wanted to make sure that I was aware of the value they brought to the company.
I’d expected something like that to happen, and I’d undergone sort of the same thing when I’d bought the property management company in San Jose three years before. It didn’t make it comfortable, but it was understandable.
The most awkward conversation was with Jake Harris, the most senior property manager in the Santa Monica office.
I’m not sure really what started it, but he seemed to take a defensive attitude right from the start. Jake came out metaphorically swinging, immediately questioning why I was going to take over the office when it had been doing fine for years without my supervision.
“Jake,” I said, “It’s this simple. My wife and I moved from the Bay Area to here in Los Angeles. I’m not here to micromanage the day to day workings here any more than I did up in the San Jose office. I do intend to re-orient the general thrust of the business here, but that’ll have little to no effect on ongoing operations.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“This office has been plenty profitable as is- why change it?” he demanded.
“This office has been all about property management. The acquisitions here have all been with that in mind. That’s all well and good,” I said, “And that business will continue the same as ever.”
“So what are you talking about, then?”
“Property development. When I bought the company three years ago I started doing more than simply buying and maintaining existing properties. We have been very successful there in the Bay Area with this, and my intention is to bring that expertise to the LA Basin as well.”
“That’s a tough field- lots of competition,” Jake said, dismissing the idea.
Shrugging, I said, “Lots of competition in the Bay Area, too. That’s just the way it is.”
“A lot of people have come into this market thinking they’ll shake things up, only to go home with their tails between their legs,” Jake said.
“I have no doubt,” I replied. “And that’s why I’m not asking you to be part of this new division. You’ve done really well in your market- and believe me, I’ve analyzed the numbers. I’m a firm believer in the Peter Principle, so I’m happy to keep you where you’ve proven to excel. There’s no reason for you to do any differently than you have been up to now.”
Unsure whether I’d just insulted him or not, he replied, “So who will be doing this new ‘development’ work?”
“I’m bringing two of my experts in the field from San Jose down here. We’re probably going to need to expand our footprint as far as office space is concerned fairly soon, but for now Nash and Sandy can work with the space we have here now.”
“You have this all planned out, don’t you?” Jake asked, a dismissive look on his face.
“Jake,” I said. “When I bought this company, it was a small real estate property management company with twelve employees in two offices- one here in Santa Monica, and one in San Jose. We had a good name and reputation among our owners, and made decent profits and kept costs manageable. George Loeltz was quite happy with the way things were, and I was happy to pay him what he asked for the business.”
Looking Jake in the eye, I said, “But here’s the thing. Since I took over and started making changes, we’ve gone up to thirty-four FTEs, and net profits have jumped to nearly eighty million a year. Net profits under George’s ownership were in the four to five million dollar range per year, which was quite respectable for a basic bread and butter property management company, but tiny compared to what a development company makes, and that’s smaller than the real estate investment trust fund generates in an economy like this.”
“You’ve been doing all this out of the San Jose office?” Jake asked, a look of surprise on his face.
“A lot of it will remain there,” I said. “But I’m planning on building up those other branches here, too. That doesn’t mean the property management aspect will lose out in any way- more properties means more management work, after all. But it does mean that yes, things around the office will change.”
Looking at my watch, I said, “Hey- let’s go get lunch and we can talk about things while we eat.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“Hey, I’m the newbie here, you’re the local. You get to show me the good spots.”
We wound up at a sushi place that I was half convinced Jake picked because it was the most expensive place he could think of on a moment’s notice. I’m not a fan of raw fish, so I got the chicken yakisoba, and I do have to admit it was really good. The waiter said they made their own noodles, and I could believe it. They were just right.
Jake had a couple of enormous rolls and I seriously considered telling them to separate the checks, but in the end I didn’t. The conversation had gone well enough, and once Jake realized that his turf was safe he lightened up a bit. He didn’t come close to apologizing for acting like an ass earlier, but I didn’t care. As long as he continued to do his job well it didn’t matter to me if he thought I was some sort of rich kid playing at business.
After lunch I settled back into my new office and dealt with some emails, but nothing was really pressing so I called it a day around two in the afternoon. I hadn’t gotten any news from Emmy all day, so I shot her a text asking how it was going, then wandered over to the office manager’s desk.
“Brenda, do we manage this building?”
“What? No, we don’t manage any commercial properties.”
“Find out for me if the owners are willing to sell,” I said. “It’s about time we started doing commercial space here, and we need to expand. If they won’t sell, we’ll need to relo the office.”
“Seriously?” she asked, surprised. “But we’ve been here for over ten years now!”
“And?” I asked with a shrug. “Call me as soon as you find out. I’m going out for a drive.”
Most of the managed properties were on the west side, so a Santa Monica location made sense, but really, it wasn’t absolutely necessary. If we couldn’t expand where we were on Wilshire, moving was inevitable. I’d prefer to keep my commute short, and it would be good employee relations to get input on where worked best for the group as a whole, but really, the office could relocate pretty much anywhere.
Without really thinking about it I headed west on Wilshire, then south when I got to the beach. I just sort of followed traffic, and pretty soon the area I was driving through turned super hip. Lots of little independent boutiques, surf shops, and restaurants dominated the mix, with precious few chain establishments.
On impulse, I pulled over and parked to just walk a bit and enjoy the area. I’d just stepped into a shoe store that specialized in Doc Martens when my phone rang. Giving an apologetic smile to the sales girl, I stepped to the side of the shop to talk in some degree of privacy.
“Leah Farmer,” I said, answering.
“Ms Farmer, this is Brenda, at the office,” she said. “I asked the building’s manager if the owners might be willing to sell, and he said he’d ask, but they are foreign investors and might not get back right away.”
“All right, that’s fine,” I said. “Thanks for looking into it, and keep me posted when they do get in touch. In the meanwhile, what availability is there for us to expand the office under the current circumstances?”
“Um, I don’t know,” Brenda said, her uncertainty coming through loud and clear.
“All right, well, realistically, we need twice the current footprint. Talk to the building’s manager and see if we can make that happen for the near term.”
“All- all right, I’ll ask,” Brenda said.
“Thanks, Brenda,” I replied. “Let me know when you have an answer.”
Hanging up the phone, I apologized to the sales girl who had been waiting for me to finish.
“I’d like to get something for my wife,” I said. “Do you have those old-school punk high-top boots?”
“You want the 1460s,” she said, leading me over to the correct wall display. “Of course, the real classic punk color is the oxblood, but black is good, too,” the girl said. “I like the oxblood, myself.”
I examined the boots, and realized that not only did Emmy need a pair, so did I. They didn’t have the women’s version in my size, but that was O.K.- the men’s model fit me just fine, even though the leather was brutally stiff.
“They take a while, but once they’re broken in they’ll be your most comfortable shoes,” the girl assured me. In addition to the two pairs of boots (black for me, oxblood for Emmy), she sold me some conditioner and handed me an instruction sheet on how to break the boots in quickly and easily.
As she was bagging everything up, the girl gave me a shy look and said “Um, could you tell Emmy that I’m a huge, huge fan?”
I smiled and said, “I’ll tell her. She loves hearing that people enjoy her music.”
“I can’t believe how amazing she is,” said the girl, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“You work here full-time?” I asked.
“Weekdays, usually, but yeah, I’m usually here.”
“Maybe I can talk Emmy into coming by,” I said, totally making the salesgirl’s day.
“That would be awesome!”
Feeling good about the present I had for Emmy, I checked my phone but still no text. A bit disappointed, but not too concerned, I got back in the car and continued south, turning left on Venice Blvd. It was not even four in the afternoon yet, so I figured I’d have time to play a little bit. I turned north on the One to head back north to Malibu. I’d heard so much talk about some of the roads in the Malibu hills that I figured I’d let the Aston run a bit up there.
Topanga Canyon seemed as if it would be a hell of a lot of fun if it didn’t have so many cars on it. Every time I got a little bit of a groove going I’d catch up to another Prius or G Wagen or something and have to shut it down until a passing opportunity arose.
A bit frustrated, I pulled over into the parking lot of a run-down looking store for a Coke. The place was a dump, but at least they kept the fridges nice and cold. I was sipping my Coke, leaning against the Aston, when an AMG coupe pulled in to the lot and a good-looking guy in his 30s got out.
“Nice car,” he said, admiring my Madagascar Orange Vantage.
“Thanks,” I said, tipping my Coke bottle in his direction. “Hey, do you drive?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.
“I mean, do you drive? Like, really put that AMG to work?” I said.
“You mean, like get out on the back roads and haul ass?” he asked for clarification.
“Yeah, exactly,” I nodded, taking a sip. “I’m not from around here and I’ve heard the roads are good, but have no clue where the secret stash is,” I admitted.
“Well, it’s a shitty time of day for that right now, since everybody is getting home from work. You really want mid-morning, or really early on weekends, and yeah, there are some really fun roads around here. They film a lot of sports car commercials on some of these roads, you know.”
“Is there a place to meet other drivers, to maybe get the local knowledge?” I asked.
The guy winced, and said, “Well, there’s The Snake, over on Mulholland, but don’t bother with that. I mean, seriously, it’s a shit-show. You could try the Rock Store, maybe you’ll get a Leno sighting, but that’s kinda shit, too,” the guy said, thinking about it. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, coming to some sort of decision. “Give me your email address and I’ll hook you up with a bunch of car guys I know that like to get out and rip it up.”
“Do any of them spend any time on the track?” I asked, hopefully.
Surprised, the guy asked, “You track that Aston?”
“Not much any more,” I said with a shrug. “Mostly I drive my race car nowadays.”
“You have a track car,” he said, starting to re-evaluate me a little bit. “What kind?”
“It’s a GT-R in GT3 spec, but I’ve had the engine worked on quite a bit. It isn’t homologation-legal any more,” I said.
“Are you serious?” he asked, stunned.
I just gave a ‘what can you do?’ shrug. “It’s one hundred per cent not street legal, though, so it’s track-only.”
“I really gotta hook you up with the boys,” the guy answered. Handing me his phone, he said, “Here- plug in your contact info- well, email address, at least. I’ll shoot out some introductions this evening.”
“Cool, thanks!” I said. “By the way, my name is Leah.”
I got another look of surprise when I stood up straight to hand him his phone back. I don’t think he’d actually realized I was taller than him until that moment.
“Uh, Stephen,” he replied. “So, I’ll shoot you an email tonight. The guys usually get out at the crack of dawn on Saturdays, and maybe meet after work once in a while.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “I’m an early riser.”
Stephen gave me a tip on a nearby road to try, and just as I was pulling out of the lot Emmy called.
“Hey, babe,” I said, answering the phone.
“Leah,” Emmy said. “Would you like to have dinner at Lee and Jen’s place tonight? Jen gets off work at eight, so it would be a late dinner, if that is O.K. with you.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, checking the time. “Just text me the address and I’ll be there by eight.” I figured this gave me another couple of hours play time before I had to head over to Pasadena.